June 21st, 2009

owl i gave was me

face // off

lisa did not speak for a moment. "i should like to stay in vannes a little longer," she said. "i did not tell you, but--my mother is buried there. that was why i came; i should like to be with her."

startled at the stillness broken
by reply so aptly spoken,
"doubtless," said i,
"what it utters is its only stock and store,
caught from some unhappy master
whom unmerciful Disaster
followed fast and followed faster
till his songs one burden bore --
till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
of 'never--nevermore.'"

but the raven still beguiling
all my sad soul into smiling,
straight i wheeled a cushioned seat
in front of bird and bust and door;
then, upon the velvet sinking,
i betook myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking
what this ominous bird of yore --
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

saturday xcvii
  • Current Music
    what a predicament

i have something crazy to tell you

the sixth line, undivided, shows the overthrow and removal of the condition of distress and obstruction. before this there was that condition. hereafter there will joy.

i went to my maiden who waited for me at the dew-ponds. there was a lamb to be killed. i cut it in two halves with my knife, and told her all my tale. she said, “it is the work of a god.” i laughed, but she pushed me away, and being on my blind side, ran off before i could kiss her. i went to the men of the sheepguard at watering-time. there was a sheep to be killed for their meat. i cut it in two halves with my knife, and told them all my tale. they said, "it is the work of a god." i said, "we talk too much about gods. let us eat and be happy, and tomorrow i will take you to the children of the night, and each man will find a magic knife. "

he excused himself from visiting on the ground of his occupations, his habits, and his health, which latter did not allow him, he said, to return at night along a road which led by the foggy banks of the thune.

these bold insinuations have been rebutted by no rebuke, no resentment, no chiding, scarce even by the usual female protestation that she would live and die a virgin princess. her words have been more courteous than ever, though she knows such rumours are abroad--her actions more gracious, her looks more kind--nought seems wanting to make me king of england, and place me beyond the storms of court-favour, excepting the putting forth of mine own hand to take that crown imperial which is the glory of the universe! and when i might stretch that hand out most boldly, it is fettered down by a secret and inextricable bond!

at last we turned back, and under the walls of some outbuildings i heard a smothered, wailing cry, so stifled that it was scarcely audible. the sound seemed to come from a place that might have been a granary. i went in at all risks, and there we found juliette. with the instinct of despair, she had buried herself deep in the hay, hiding her face in it to deaden those dreadful cries--pudency even stronger than grief. she was sobbing and crying like a child, but there was a more poignant, more piteous sound in the sobs. there was nothing left in the world for her.

daughters of calumny, i summon you!
you shall decide if this a portrait prove,
or fond creation of the muse and love. --
attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage,
ye matron censors of this childish age,
whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare
a fixt antipathy to young and fair;
by cunning, cautious; or by nature, cold,
in maiden madness, virulently bold! --
attend! ye skilled to coin the precious tale,
creating proof, where innuendos fail!

living hungrily through the morning, at two o'clock i used to experience definite relief in the knowledge that now at any moment i could have my meal.

friday xcvii
  • Current Music
    now we're gonna find out what's in papa's bag