Windchimes

Carpe Sleepum

A caterwauling in the nearby stand of trees (not enough to be referred to as "woods")...not much else going on around here at the moment. Except I can't sleep. Even with the pain medicine. At least nothing hurts. Had a small cup of coffee earlier, but not enough for this kind of sleeplessness.

I should be able to sleep, my eyelids aren't cooperating with any other endeavors very well. I'd do the assigned history reading otherwise, so won't have to fight with my daughter for the book in the morning. I'm sure I'll be up much earlier than her anyway.

Today's been nice. I stopped in the coffee shop on the square this morning, after dropping my younger daughter off at the high school. One of the guys I often see around there said, "good morning, Sunshine," as I walked in and he walked out. One of the nicer ways to start a day. Later on, some friends of mine told me if I lost any more weight, I'd turn into a stick. They'd been talking about me before they saw me out on my favorite deck on the campus. One of them had told the other I had "the soul of a poet." That made me feel good, except I'm not sure I know what one of those is. I know she meant it very nicely though.

What I don't know has been bothering me a lot lately.

For instance, I'll think I have a pretty good grasp on what's going on in one poem or another, get to class and find out I'd totally missed something in that poem. I'm not talking about different ways the poem could be interpreted, either. I mean just the action literally going on, being described. Not that I have to know that before I can enjoy a poem, just that I enjoy it more when I do, and know I will feel absolutely foolish if I try to do any further theorizing if I don't.

This Bishop poem I've been preoccupied with (and I have the thing memorized cold now, I've gone over it so many times) I've been told is very much in the tradition of the metaphysical poets, like John Donne. So I went back to my Brit lit anthology and read "The Flea" and "A Valediction; Forbidding Mourning". Makes me smile just remembering reading them, even though I doubt I totally understand either one on a basic level. Also went back and read Marvel's "To His Coy Mistress". My poor husband waited patiently while I read them all out loud. At least I spared him my favorite Ronsard carpe diem poems.

The whole idea of someone presenting arguments to a lover as to why they should submit to reveling in physical acts of affection...well, I guess it's just...

nah, nevermind. That's a TMI thing.

J.H. Larrew
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J.H. Larrew
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