I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...
People give you that look and say, "I guess you had to be there."
ReplyDelete...you can't move away from the table! :)
ReplyDeleteyou give your 5 year-old a cell phone when they go off to their first day of school
ReplyDelete...the salesperson tells you not to buy it.
ReplyDelete"It'll be on sale next week. Trust me."
... it's only the 2nd week of class and you're already fatigued.
ReplyDeleteyou think to yourself, "this is too much."
ReplyDeleteWhen Joe Choi rebukes you for being sketchy.
ReplyDeleteshell - you just made my day!
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ReplyDeleteTrue story Beth. True story.
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