Wanderlust: La Jetée

Poetry Wednesday

small insomnia

i wished very much to

take down the sky to pull it

all in from the edges/

crumpled against my chest

and nothing overhead.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

The Forms of Love

by George Oppen

Parked in the fields 

All night 

So many years ago, 

We saw 

A lake beside us 

When the moon rose. 

I remember 

Leaving that ancient car 

Together. I remember 

Standing in the white grass 

Beside it. We groped 

Our way together 

Downhill in the bright 

Incredible light 

Beginning to wonder 

Whether it could be lake 

Or fog 

We saw, our heads 

Ringing under the stars we walked 

To where it would have wet our feet 

Had it been water

And I Lost My Heart Over...

This song.

Wanderlust: Going Up

Update: I'm Getting Old

Yes, I know that 22 is actually quite young. I'm still not old enough to rent a car. Or be President. A little more than a year ago, my love of good whiskey was confined to lusty dorm parties, and I had a TERRIBLE  fake ID that I dared not use. So yes, I'm technically quite young.

But I'm getting old. Here's how I know.

The University of Rochester is a very different kind of school compared to Vassar, which is what I tend to use as my measure for what a school ought to be. Unfair, I know, but I've been spoiled. So when nine out of ten students in a class are blatantly texting on bedazzled iPhones in class (phones out on the table top, not even attempting to hide what they're doing under the table) and the professor just sighs and keeps teaching, I get mad. I get realllll mad.

It's not just because I have a five-year-old flip phone with a broken display and an unreliable "3". I love my phone. I'm a technophobe whose fears are generally reserved for complicated phones. So mine is just perfect for me. I'm not jealous of portable internet capability or functioning touch screen "3"s. That's not the issue.

I read a news tidbit a while ago about a Yale professor who took some heat for choosing a classroom without wi-fi/cell service for his art history survey course. AND I DECIDED HE WAS MY HERO.

I just can't stand in-class-texters. Maybe it's a respect thing. Maybe I'm a huge nerd, and I just genuinely like learning, and think everyone else should too. Or maybe I'm just getting old.

Poetry Wednesday

Blue Drop-off (I Am Watching)

I could wait

all night

by the level edge

the drop-off of the blue world

I do not know what comes after

everything that ripples

running suddenly smooth

to water without ships

a body that has suffered no touch

carried nothing

no offering

sound of milk over shale

no place to gather

but a revolving light

a sign I have not seen and will see again

I am watching

Annnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Tree and Sky

by William Carlos Williams

Again

the bare brush of

the half-broken

and already-written-of

tree alone

on its battered

hummock---

Above

among the shufflings

of the distant

cloud-rifts

vaporously 

the unmoving

blue

Wanderlust: Love and Other Drugs

I love you Moody-pants.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Wanderlust: I Make Windows

Poetry Wednesday

Metamorphosis

                   I have considered

what it is to know the

boatman, I have

taken measure of things, followed

a light

a tangent

                           I have

slipped with rain from a bench

and stayed there,

        allowed my

gutted middle

to curl in on itself

and a shell to form            (pink as my insides, less and less unlike them)

(the view was changing, hardening. the bow-lip seized,

                and became different)

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Summer Song

by William Carlos Williams

Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer's smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?

Selah Sue, I Do Love You

A new music-maker to love. The buzz is that Amy Winehouse and Adele had a baby, and gave it some tea, and that this is the product, but I'll let you be the judge.

Doesn't it make you feel like such a slouch when people your age whip out stuff like this? Le sigh.

The Girl With Seven Horses

I love this photo essay oh-so-much. The photographer, Ulrika Kestere tells us the tale:

Once upon a time there was a girl who had 7 invisible horses. People thought she was crazy and that she in fact had 7 imaginary horses, but this was not the case. When autumn came the girl spent a whole day washing all her clothes. She hung them on a string in her garden to let the gentle autumn sun dry them. Out of nowhere, a terrible storm came and its fiercefull winds grabbed a hold of all her clothes and all seven horses (authors note: since they are invisible they obviously didn't weigh much). The girl was devastated and spent all autumn looking for each horse spread around the country, wrapped in her clothes.

Enjoy.