Thursday, January 21, 2010
Marching on the old Stomping Grounds of Summer
This picture of Heidi and I was technically taken during Christmas break of my sophomore year of college. I came home and crashed in the guest room because Mom had taken over my room in order to organize clothes stored in the attic (and I was exhausted from the semester to move them). I love when Heidi comes up to my room over breaks (on the third floor, not the guest room). It's the best way to sleep!
Leaving for the March For Life in D.C. in less 3 hours and have not packed. Heather has her bio comps tomorrow and will most likely roll into bed when I am rolling out.
I made a map for Sarah and Biz so that they can find their way A) from the red line to the yellow line to King's Street and B) from King's Street to Rach's apartment and C) from Rach's apartment to St. Mary's. I miss D.C. so much and am now ecstatic to go back! It's going to feel like going back to a secondary home, a familiar place with many good memories.
Poem(s) of the Thursday, then packing, then bed. I am simply exhausted from the day. Lots of meetings and switching up my schedule (lost a class and an audit, picked up a class and an audit). Lots of Faulkner reading too. I am liking Go Down, Moses immensely. Dr. Somerville called on me today in class to explain the significance of the first chapter title ("Was"), which I (fortunately) think is interesting, because it conveys the passive sense in which the action of the story takes place though the being verb. Faulkner is brilliant in cultural observation.
This first one is dedicated to Margaret, because she recommended Hopkins to me.
"Summa" by Gerard Manley Hopkins
The Best ideal is the true
And other truth is none.
All glory be ascribed to
The holy Three in One.
The second is by T.E. Hulme, a humanist I've come to admire very much indeed, although he did not write many poems.
The Embankment by T. E. Hulme
(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
And finally, the third poem: I bought my own copy of E.E. Cummings' poetry when I was a junior in high school, took it on vacation with me to Michigan and could not find it again for years. I was despondent; losing books is always personal since I usually spend so much time reading and writing in them. I found it, however, in the back pocket of one of my suitcases my sophomore year of college and was very happily reunited. He's a favorite, so I'll have to share him more.
may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
Happy Thursday! Be well and have good conversations.