Sunday, March 15, 2009
For Tatyana R:
When I Was One-And-Twenty by A.E. Housman
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
but not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
When I Was One-And-Twenty by A.E. Housman
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
but not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
From Tatyana R:
The Bistro Styx by Rita Dove
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness
as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, silvery cape
billowing dramatically behind her. What's this,
I thought, lifting a hand until
she nodded and started across the parquet;
that's when I saw she was dressed all in gray,
from a kittenish cashmere skirt and cowl
down to the graphite signature of her shoes.
"Sorry I'm late," she panted, though
she wasn't, sliding into the chair, her cape
tossed off in a shudder of brushed steel.
We kissed. Then I leaned back to peruse
my blighted child, this wary aristocratic mole.
"How's business?" I asked, and hazarded
a motherly smile to keep from crying out:
Are you content to conduct your life
as a cliché and, what's worse,
an anachronism, the brooding artist's demimonde?
Near the rue Princesse they had opened
a gallery cum souvenir shop which featured
fuzzy off-color Monets next to his acrylics, no doubt,
plus beared African drums and the occasional miniature
gargoyle from Notre Dame the Great Artist had
carved at breakfast with a pocket knife.
"Tourists love us. The Parisians, of course"--
she blushed--"are amused, though not without
a certain admiration . . ."
The Chateaubriand
arrived on a bone-white plate, smug and absolute
in its fragrant crust, a black plug steaming
like the heart plucked from the chest of a worthy enemy;
one touch with her fork sent pink juices streaming.
"Admiration for what?" Wine, a bloody
Pinot Noir, brought color to her cheeks. "Why,
the aplomb with which we've managed
to support our Art"--meaning he'd convinced
her to pose nude for his appalling canvases,
faintly futuristic landscapes strewn
with carwrecks and bodies being chewed
by rabid cocker spaniels. "I'd like to come by
the studio," I ventured, "and see the new stuff."
"Yes, if you wish . . ." A delicate rebuff
before the warning: "He dresses all
in black now. Me, he drapes in blues and carmine--
and even though I think it's kinda cute,
in company I tend toward more muted shades."
She paused and had the grace
to drop her eyes. She did look ravishing,
spookily insubstantial, a lipstick ghost on tissue,
or as if one stood on a fifth-floor terrace
peering through a fringe of rain at Paris'
dreaming chimney pots, each sooty issue
wobbling skyward in an ecstatic oracular spiral.
"And he never thinks of food. I wish
I didn't have to plead with him to eat. . . ." Fruit
and cheese appeared, arrayed on leaf-green dishes.
I stuck with café crème. "This Camembert's
so ripe," she joked, "it's practically grown hair,"
mucking a golden glob complete with parsley sprig
onto a heel of bread. Nothing seemed to fill
her up: She swallowed, sliced into a pear,
speared each tear-shaped lavaliere
and popped the dripping mess into her pretty mouth.
Nowhere the bright tufted fields, weighted
vines and sun poured down out of the south.
"But are you happy?" Fearing, I whispered it
quickly. "What? You know, Mother"--
she bit into the starry rose of a fig--
"one really should try the fruit here."
I've lost her, I thought, and called for the bill.
The Bistro Styx by Rita Dove
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness
as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, silvery cape
billowing dramatically behind her. What's this,
I thought, lifting a hand until
she nodded and started across the parquet;
that's when I saw she was dressed all in gray,
from a kittenish cashmere skirt and cowl
down to the graphite signature of her shoes.
"Sorry I'm late," she panted, though
she wasn't, sliding into the chair, her cape
tossed off in a shudder of brushed steel.
We kissed. Then I leaned back to peruse
my blighted child, this wary aristocratic mole.
"How's business?" I asked, and hazarded
a motherly smile to keep from crying out:
Are you content to conduct your life
as a cliché and, what's worse,
an anachronism, the brooding artist's demimonde?
Near the rue Princesse they had opened
a gallery cum souvenir shop which featured
fuzzy off-color Monets next to his acrylics, no doubt,
plus beared African drums and the occasional miniature
gargoyle from Notre Dame the Great Artist had
carved at breakfast with a pocket knife.
"Tourists love us. The Parisians, of course"--
she blushed--"are amused, though not without
a certain admiration . . ."
The Chateaubriand
arrived on a bone-white plate, smug and absolute
in its fragrant crust, a black plug steaming
like the heart plucked from the chest of a worthy enemy;
one touch with her fork sent pink juices streaming.
"Admiration for what?" Wine, a bloody
Pinot Noir, brought color to her cheeks. "Why,
the aplomb with which we've managed
to support our Art"--meaning he'd convinced
her to pose nude for his appalling canvases,
faintly futuristic landscapes strewn
with carwrecks and bodies being chewed
by rabid cocker spaniels. "I'd like to come by
the studio," I ventured, "and see the new stuff."
"Yes, if you wish . . ." A delicate rebuff
before the warning: "He dresses all
in black now. Me, he drapes in blues and carmine--
and even though I think it's kinda cute,
in company I tend toward more muted shades."
She paused and had the grace
to drop her eyes. She did look ravishing,
spookily insubstantial, a lipstick ghost on tissue,
or as if one stood on a fifth-floor terrace
peering through a fringe of rain at Paris'
dreaming chimney pots, each sooty issue
wobbling skyward in an ecstatic oracular spiral.
"And he never thinks of food. I wish
I didn't have to plead with him to eat. . . ." Fruit
and cheese appeared, arrayed on leaf-green dishes.
I stuck with café crème. "This Camembert's
so ripe," she joked, "it's practically grown hair,"
mucking a golden glob complete with parsley sprig
onto a heel of bread. Nothing seemed to fill
her up: She swallowed, sliced into a pear,
speared each tear-shaped lavaliere
and popped the dripping mess into her pretty mouth.
Nowhere the bright tufted fields, weighted
vines and sun poured down out of the south.
"But are you happy?" Fearing, I whispered it
quickly. "What? You know, Mother"--
she bit into the starry rose of a fig--
"one really should try the fruit here."
I've lost her, I thought, and called for the bill.
I request the following for my birthday gifts:
1. A twenty-five word biography of yourself.
2. Your view of the world in twenty-five words.
3. A story from your 25th year. If you have a picture or an items that accompanies your story, that would be awesome!
4. Travel to some part of the city that you have never been to before (like the polar opposite side of the city) and take a picture that takes your fancy. It can be absolutely anything. As long as you have had some sort of an adventure!
5. A book you recommend that I read.
6. Send me your favourite poem. I'll send you mine.
7. Advice on life.
8. What adventure would you like to partake with me? I'm in Edmonton for two more months - and then I'm on the road again...
9. A mix cd of your favourite music. I'll give you one in exchange.
10. Do one new thing and tell me about it. I'll do the same thing in exchange.
11. Smile to twenty-five people. Tell me the people you smiled at and what their reactions were.
12. Walk twenty-five minutes (from work or from your home) and take a picture of something. If you’re keen, do this from all four points of the compass. I'll do the same thing in exchange.
13. Walk twenty-five blocks (from work or from your home) and take a picture of something. If you’re SUPER keen, do this from all four points of the compass. Ditto.
14. Go see something that you would not see - a show, a festival, a statue, whatever. Take a picture, sketch it - whatever. Document the process and send it to me.
15. Eat something new. Take a picture of it and tell me how you prepared it and how it tasted.
16. Drink something new. Take a picture of it and tell me how it tasted.
17. A drawing. I don't care if you think you can't draw. YOU HAVE HANDS! You CAN draw! If it is a doodle on a napkin, all the better! :)
18. A twenty-five word poem. I’ll send you one in exchange.
19. A picture of your most cherished item. Tell me why it is your most cherished item.
20. Don’t do anything for twenty-five minutes.
21. The one place in the world that you wish to visit.
22. Tell me two things that you love and five things that you hate.
23. Notice something small that nobody seems to notice (like a line of ants going about their days, the lint on someone’s shirt, a baby watching the world go by, whathaveyou) and tell me about it. I’ll exchange a similar story.
24. Talk to a stranger. Tell me what happened.
25. 25 cents.
1. A twenty-five word biography of yourself.
2. Your view of the world in twenty-five words.
3. A story from your 25th year. If you have a picture or an items that accompanies your story, that would be awesome!
4. Travel to some part of the city that you have never been to before (like the polar opposite side of the city) and take a picture that takes your fancy. It can be absolutely anything. As long as you have had some sort of an adventure!
5. A book you recommend that I read.
6. Send me your favourite poem. I'll send you mine.
7. Advice on life.
8. What adventure would you like to partake with me? I'm in Edmonton for two more months - and then I'm on the road again...
9. A mix cd of your favourite music. I'll give you one in exchange.
10. Do one new thing and tell me about it. I'll do the same thing in exchange.
11. Smile to twenty-five people. Tell me the people you smiled at and what their reactions were.
12. Walk twenty-five minutes (from work or from your home) and take a picture of something. If you’re keen, do this from all four points of the compass. I'll do the same thing in exchange.
13. Walk twenty-five blocks (from work or from your home) and take a picture of something. If you’re SUPER keen, do this from all four points of the compass. Ditto.
14. Go see something that you would not see - a show, a festival, a statue, whatever. Take a picture, sketch it - whatever. Document the process and send it to me.
15. Eat something new. Take a picture of it and tell me how you prepared it and how it tasted.
16. Drink something new. Take a picture of it and tell me how it tasted.
17. A drawing. I don't care if you think you can't draw. YOU HAVE HANDS! You CAN draw! If it is a doodle on a napkin, all the better! :)
18. A twenty-five word poem. I’ll send you one in exchange.
19. A picture of your most cherished item. Tell me why it is your most cherished item.
20. Don’t do anything for twenty-five minutes.
21. The one place in the world that you wish to visit.
22. Tell me two things that you love and five things that you hate.
23. Notice something small that nobody seems to notice (like a line of ants going about their days, the lint on someone’s shirt, a baby watching the world go by, whathaveyou) and tell me about it. I’ll exchange a similar story.
24. Talk to a stranger. Tell me what happened.
25. 25 cents.
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