Day 358 – Get To Work!!!

Get To Work!!!

Day 358

The End Of The Library by Weldon Kees

When the coal
Gave out, we began
Burning the books, one by one;
First the set
Of Bulwer-Lytton
And then the Walter Scott.
They gave a lot of warmth.
Toward the end, in
February, flames
Consumed the Greek
Tragedians and Baudelaire,
Proust, Robert Burton
And the Po-Chu-i. Ice
Thickened on the sills.
More for the sake of the cat,
We said, than for ourselves,
Who huddled, shivering,
Against the stove
All winter long.
•••
Interesting poem find at a time when libraries in Florida are banning the trilogy “Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Day 286 – And Don’t let the Door Hit You on Your Way Out

And Don't let the Door Hit You on Your Way Out

Day 286

So Long, Farewell by Oscar Hammerstein II

There’s a sad sort of clanging
From the clock in the hall
And the bells in the steeple too,
And up in the nurs’ry an absurd little bird
Is popping out to say “coocoo”.

Regretfully they tell us,
But firmly they compel us
To say goodby to you.

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, good night,
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.

So long, farewell, Au’voir, auf wiedersehen,
I’d like to stay and taste my first champagne
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, goodbye,
I leave and heave a sigh and say goodbye,
Good bye

I’m glad to go,
I cannot tell a lie.
I flit, I float,
I fleetly flee, I fly.

The sun has gone to bed and so must I
So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye,
Goodbye,
Goodbye,
Goodbye!

•••

At long last, you are going away.  You ugly squares of carpet.  You teal and awfully woven textile.  You throwback to 1986.  For over 15 years, you have softened the noise of thousands and thousands of footsteps.  Your color is regrettable, but not your fault.  You have been reviled as your squares have separated and frayed.  And you have been replaced along with the oatmeal colored paint in many dark and dingy offices.

When your final squares slink out the big double doors, pray, do not let the door hit you on the way out.

Day 283 – If I Had a Hammer

Quote

If I Had a Hammer

Day 283

Tools for life by Ivan Donn Carswell

Has life ever dumped you in a heap?
Perhaps you’ve found self belief so strongly
reinforcing that doubt never enters it,
nor divorces you from your own reality.

While I admire conviction I see it an
affliction of the blessed, sign of the righteously
possessed and indeed, a decent place to serve
a sentence for dereliction of self-doubt.

I argue without it I am a cautious man and
easy to live with, I resound like a drum,
resonate to sympathetic percussion,
inflating nothing, merely imitating sound.

I feed on my doubt, I feast into the long night
of feverish dreams, fitfully sleep from crisis
to crisis, I am fêted, riven, inspected,
and reformed in every second of oblivion.

I waken rehabilitated, consummate with
confidence I can face the day’s rigors and
pursue challenges in the same vigorous
way I did yesterday.

And I die in the dawn of each new consequence,
ashamed I have no plan but the rising sequences
of random words, at times inadequate, at others
inspiring, as my tools for life.

•••

I have not been myself of late.  Well, I have been me, but just haven’t felt like me.  Does that make any sense?  When I look out of my eyes colors don’t seem to have the same luster.  When I listen to my favorite music, I am not swaying to the music.  Chocolate isn’t even tasting as good.  Am I in the middle of a winter funk that will end with day light savings?  I sure hope so, because chocolate does NOT deserve this treatment!

Day 280 – Peering Through

Peering Through

Day 280

I was Looking a Long While by Walt Whitman

I was looking a long while for a clue to the history of the past for myself, and for these
chants—and now I have found it;
It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them I neither accept nor reject;)
It is no more in the legends than in all else;
It is in the present—it is this earth to-day;
It is in Democracy—(the purport and aim of all the past;)
It is the life of one man or one woman to-day—the average man of to-day;
It is in languages, social customs, literatures, arts;
It is in the broad show of artificial things, ships, machinery, politics, creeds, modern
improvements, and the interchange of nations,
All for the average man of to-day.

Day 279 – Children’s Room

Children's Room

Day 279

Children Selecting Books In A Library by Randall Jarrell

With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright.
The child’s head, bent to the book-colored shelves,
Is slow and sidelong and food-gathering,
Moving in blind grace … yet from the mural, Care
The grey-eyed one, fishing the morning mist,
Seizes the baby hero by the hair
And whispers, in the tongue of gods and children,
Words of a doom as ecumenical as dawn
But blanched like dawn, with dew.
The children’s cries
Are to men the cries of crickets, dense with warmth
— But dip a finger into Fafnir, taste it,
And all their words are plain as chance and pain.
Their tales are full of sorcerers and ogres
Because their lives are: the capricious infinite
That, like parents, no one has yet escaped
Except by luck or magic; and since strength
And wit are useless, be kind or stupid, wait
Some power’s gratitude, the tide of things.
Read meanwhile … hunt among the shelves, as dogs do, grasses,
And find one cure for Everychild’s diseases
Beginning: Once upon a time there was
A wolf that fed, a mouse that warned, a bear that rode
A boy. Us men, alas! wolves, mice, bears bore.
And yet wolves, mice, bears, children, gods and men
In slow preambulation up and down the shelves
Of the universe are seeking … who knows except themselves?
What some escape to, some escape: if we find Swann’s
Way better than our own, an trudge on at the back
Of the north wind to — to — somewhere east
Of the sun, west of the moon, it is because we live
By trading another’s sorrow for our own; another’s
Impossibilities, still unbelieved in, for our own …
“I am myself still?” For a little while, forget:
The world’s selves cure that short disease, myself,
And we see bending to us, dewy-eyed, the great
CHANGE, dear to all things not to themselves endeared.
 •••
Four days worth of posts coming in tonight.  I am afraid that this is the only one that I am going to do any writing on.  It was a struggle to get even a modicum of desire to get these shot and even more of a struggle to get them posted at all.  I don’t know what is wrong with me because normally I am quite anxious to see what I have shot enlarged on my monitor, to do my edits and to get them uploaded as well as reading everyone’s posts and looking over photographic offerings.  Oh well, this too shall pass….

Day 184 – I am Ready for a Cat Nap

I am Ready for a Cat Nap

Day 184

Lost Kitten by Robert William Service

Two men I saw reel from a bar
And stumble down the street;
Coarse and uncouth as workmen are,
They walked with wobbly feet.
I watched them, thinking sadly as
I heard their hobnails clink,
The only joy a toiler has
Is to get drowned in drink.A kitten on a wall,
A skinny, starving stray;
It looked so pitifully small,
A fluff of silver grey.
One of the men came to a stand,
A kindly chap was he,
For with a huge and horny hand
He stroked it tenderly.

With wistful hope it gazed at him
And arched a spine of fur;
It licked his hand so grimy grim
And feebly tried to purr.
And then it climbed upon his chest,
And to his drunken glee,
Upon his shoulder came to rest,
Contented as could be.

The other fellow with a jeer
Made feint to dash it down,
but as it shrank with sudden fear
I saw the first one frown;
And then I heard him coarsely cry:
“Have care for what you do;
Just harm a hair of it and I
Will twist my knife in you.”

So there they stood like brutes at bay,
Their blood at fighting heat;
And snarling at each other they
Went weaving down the street,
Leaving the kitten all alone
Upon its stony shelf . . .
And as I haven’t heart of stone
I took it home myself.

Mittens jumped into my car 5 days ago.
I parked that day in a space I will normally never use, as it is in the patron parking area at the library.  Every other space was taken.  I left work at 5 pm on the dot.  I usually leave at somewhere around 5:20 pm because there is always some fire to put out.  I never speak to anyone when I leave the library.  I opened my door and asked Gary Brown how the software I loaned him was working out.  And Mittens hopped into my car and into my heart.

Day 175 – Time on my Hands

Time on my Hands

Day 175

The Map by Elizabeth Bishop

Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador’s yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
–the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves’ own conformation:
and Norway’s hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
–What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North’s as near as West.
More delicate than the historians’ are the map-makers’ colors.