The only continuity on this blog, apparently, is that I am the one in charge of it. Ah well. I am reading (along with the 10 other books currently stacked around my bed) a book of Seamus Heaney’s prose essays. They’re phenomenal. My father sent it to me a while back, and I continue to dip in and out of it. <\/p>\n
I was reading one of his essays last night and came across a poem I have never read which suddenly struck me as the saddest poem ever written. That probably says more about my state of mind at this moment, than about the validity of such a claim. I’ve read a lot of really sad poems, (aren’t most poems sad?) but this one, for whatever reason, pierced through my heart like a blade. It’s by Stevie Smith. A cheery end to a very weird week. <\/p>\n
I always remember your beautiful flowers
\nAnd the beautiful kimono you wore
\nWhen you sat on the couch
\nWith that tigerish crouch
\nAnd told me you loved me no more.
\nWhat I cannot remember is how I felt when you were unkind.
\nAll I know is, if you were unkind now I should not mind.
\nAh me, the power to feel exaggerated, angry and sad
\nThe years have taken from me. Softly I go now, pad pad.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The only continuity on this blog, apparently, is that I am the one in charge of it. Ah well. I am reading (along with the 10 other books currently stacked around my bed) a book of Seamus Heaney’s prose essays. … Continue reading