Time Gone By

Never Mind

Denver Butson

      that guests no longer come unannounced
      or that the photo album contains pictures
of much younger people than we remember being

     never mind that swallows etch Sanskrit
              on the wrinkled sky

                 it's November
     and the present is emptying its wine
                into our glasses

     never mind that we're not touching now

because our shadows are holding hands
         in the dark behind our backs


Every now and then I meet a poem that I really, really like.  When this happens, I can rarely explain my affection coherently.  Usually, these are by Merwin so coming across Never Mind was a real treat.  Each stanza contains such a strong central image that, combined with the others, do a fantastic job of illustrating the speaker's attitude toward aging and the passing of time.  On their own, the photo album pictures, swallows across the wrinkled sky, wine emptying into glasses, and shadows holding hands are subtle suggestions but together, they hammer it home for me.

I also really admire short poetry.  In so few words, inevitably so carefully chosen and crafted, the poet does an amazing job of getting us there.  Wherever "there" may be.  

Deck the Halls

We decked windows last weekend and we decked our own halls this weekend.  I am slightly obsessed with Christmas.  I love it.  A few nameless individuals have likened me to the Crazy Target Lady from their recent holiday ad campaign.  Here's a sample so you can judge for yourself.  In the meantime, here's a taste of my madness.

Tree, dog nose and husband legs

Mistletoe...tee hee

Dog heads on human bodies crack me up

November Rain

It has been raining here since midnight with a pervasive damp chill on the commute to work.  I know it's not up to me, but I would much prefer November snow.  When the days are cold and dark and the trees are bare, the rain makes me chilled through and through.  At least with snow it’s pretty! 

November Rain

Linda Pasten

How separate we are

under our black umbrellas--dark

planets in our own small orbits,

hiding from this wet assault

of weather as if water

would violate the skin,

as if these raised silk canopies

could protect us

from whatever is coming next--

December with its white

enamel surfaces; the numbing

silences of winter.

From above we must look

like a family of bats--

ribbed wings spread

against the rain,

swooping towards any

makeshift shelter.

As I was retyping this, I realized that there is a lot more going on than humans under umbrellas.  Lots of violent language--"dark," "assault," "violate," "protect," "shelter"--suggestive of an attack or conflict.  It's strange how poems can be read and seen as one thing then reread and interpreted as something completely different.  No two readers probably share the same experience with a poem just as no two humans share the same experience with anything.  That said, I liked it more when it was just a nicely described observation of people hustling about in the miserable weather.

Deck the Windows

Since Simon and I have been together, one of my favorite holiday traditions has been decorating the windows at the family business, an old time Rhode Island pharmacy (complete with soda fountain and delicious coffee cabinets...aka milkshakes for you non-New Englanders).  We took the short drive there over the weekend and here are the fruits of our labor.  I may or may not have broken the non-Christmas-music-before-Thanksgiving rule.

Friday Rants*

Experiencing Boston Wrath When Riding the T
In Boston, an announcement informs riders when the next subway is either "approaching" or "arriving" in the station.  There is a series of escalators to navigate as one descends to the platform, so when the "approaching" announcement is made, people tend to pick it up a notch.  But when the "arriving" announcement happens, steer clear, because you will more than likely be mowed down by lunatics who will literally sprint down escalators and through turnstiles to get the train.  Today, I was walking down the steps onto the platform when I heard an "excuse me" and shifted to the side.  A woman lugging a suitcase scurried past me, ran down the stairs bumping her bag behind her, and nearly decapitated herself trying to board the subway as the doors were closing.  She didn't make it, and as she tried to pull herself together, she glanced over her shoulder and shot me a look of death.  I guess being unwilling to participate in the "catch the train olympics" has the potential to attract the wrath of Bostonians.  Noted.

Overhearing Cell Phone Conversations in Bathroom Stalls While You Are in Another Bathroom Stall
Seriously?  This has happened to me at least twice.  Once, it seemed to be a seriously legit, business-related conversation. 

Fake Ketchup
If it isn't Heinz, it really isn't ketchup. 

*Pardon the attitude.  This week has consisted of folding 3,300 letters, stuffing them into 3,300 envelopes, glue sticking 3,300 adhesive strips, and applying 3,300 postage stamps to the envelopes.  Enough said.

One for the Dogs

I think he has a secret...

   Dogs
   Aaron Kramer

   Looking foolish next to the tree in a one o'clock rain:
   umbrella aloft, the leash in my other hand—
   I wanted my late-coming neighbor to understand
   that dogs are worth the expense, inconvenience, and pain;

   their tails are truthful, no coiled rebellion beneath
   a loving look; they are quick to kiss you, and quick
   to fetch for you, and —should you raise a stick
   threateningly—they are quick to show their teeth;

   and better still (but this I never revealed),
   when you bring downfall home, the death of a hope,
   their nonchalant manner does more for you than a drink;
   and best of all, when triumph's to be unsealed,
   such lack of respect they show for the envelope,
  —your fingers halt, the brain cools, and you think.

A Look See

On the way to work I realized that every day on my trip to the office, I don't really look at anything.  I see the brick sidewalk, storefronts, the guy filling my mug at the coffee shop, others who are hustling to work like me, but I don't really look.  Today I glanced up and there was the the day.  Its palette was golden--bursts of oranges and reds in trees contrasted against a classic fall blue sky.  The sun was bright, but almost leaned like a late summer afternoon gently tinging everything in warm yellow.  I liked it and thought to myself, "Wow, I should look at this more often."  After all, the apocalypse is on its way.  More probable is the idea that winter is approaching and looking around will freeze my eyeballs.  Either way, any way, we need to enjoy it while we can.

Turning
W.S. Merwin

Going too fast for myself I missed
more than I think I can remember

almost everything it seems sometimes
and yet there are chances that come back

that I did not notice where they stood
where I could have reached out and touched them

this morning the black shepherd dog
still young looking up and saying

Are you ready this time?

Red Potpourri

I never gave Simon a shout out for his St. Louis Cardinals amazing win of the World Series.  Yay, birdies on bats!  Pretty unexpected and although it led to many evenings of baseball watching instead of Development Economics studying, I think he would agree that it was worth it.






It is quickly becoming the time of year of the careful balance between being soooooooo excited for the holidays and trying to quell the desire to crank up the Mariah Carey Christmas album and decorate the house with all of my red and green tschotskes.  Must. Wait. Until. After. Thanksgiving.  In the meantime I'm expressing my love for all things December on my Holiday Delektables (puns are wonderful) board on pinterest.

And to truly make this post a random assortment of relatively useless factoids, how cute do you think Merwin would look in this?  I know, I know, not until after Thanksgiving.

Mystery of the Ginkgo

My parents have a beautiful ginkgo tree outside their back door, and growing up, it was always sort of a contest to predict when its leaves would fall.  If you aren't familiar with gingkos, they truly do experience a leaf exodus as Nemerov describes in his poem below.  One day, every leaf is clinging to its branch, and the next, nearly all have hit the dirt.

"The Consent" so beautifully describes that process but also makes us wonder how swift and complete it could be for humanity.  Could it?

The Consent

Howard Nemerov

Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves
In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind
But as though to time alone: the golden and green
Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday
Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.

What signal from the stars? What senses took it in?
What in those wooden motives so decided
To strike their leaves, to down their leaves,
Rebellion or surrender?  And if this
Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt?
What use to learn the lessons taught by time.
If a star at any time may tell us: Now.