To appease Geoff, I will post as well. Unfortunately, not too much is happening with me. I am sick, so that's something...I have spent the last four days video-taping the second-year UM Opera Studio's fall piano opera. And there is one more performance tomorrowI evening, during which I think I might jump off the balcony to put myself out of my congested misery. I am currently sitting on my red couch watching "The Simpsons," waiting for my apple cake to finish baking. Yes, I made an apple cake. Ummm, in other news, my parents have decided to seperate, so Thanksgiving is going to be bizarre: my mother is staying in Delaware, and my father, my aunt, my uncle, my cousin and I will be eating out somewhere in DC. At least there will be no dishes to clean.
And to further calm Geoff, the blog-patrol captain, I will post a poem (not original, but pretty nifty). Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good night.
Otherwise
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
--Jane Kenyon
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4 comments:
great poem for the holiday.
do you view the last two lines as negative or positive? does life suck now and it will be better later? does life rock now and one day it will suck? or is it a "i'm starting to get older and one day i'm going to die" kinda thing...
or is it just that maybe my mind is bent on this "i'm getting older" thing. why is older bad?
What's interesting is that Jane Kenyon died of leukemia in her mid-30s. She wasn't sick when she wrote this, but it certainly skews the meaning of the last lines when you consider that it is a bit fortune-telling.
I actually recently read "The Best Day the Worst Day" by the poet Donald Hall, Jane Kenyon's husband. It is an amazing book that details their life together, through her sickness and death. He so candidly describes their journey as a couple, and it is just heartbreaking. They lived most of their years together on a secluded farm in New Hampshire, and he reflects on their typical daily routine: they woke up, ate breakfast, wrote, ate lunch, wrote, took a walk, ate dinner, made love in front of the fire and read to each other. The writing is so vulnerable, and I gained such an insight into Kenyon's work after reading Hall's book. I highly recommend both husband and wife...
I love this poem! I'm with Paul-- I didn't really take it as negative. It's really emotional though, isn't it? It's like she had a really simple day, and sat down at the end to realize that she loved every minute of it. And, of course, it won't always be like that. It's really touching though, isn't it?
Perfect Thanksgiving poem, for a lot of reasons.
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