Now and then it seems as if the ease strives venturing in my direction capturing me in its sights with an intermittant ideal of release and liberty I hear it creeping about a private confidante with ambitions in my favor though often the obstacles draw it back Ease is a timid thing rather uncertain somewhat skeptical I need to reassure it and convince it of its value through patience and survival guided by trust alone
Seamus Heaney is one of my favorite poets, and he is still alive, which is awesome. He was born in 1939 and was the 1995 winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature. He’s an Irish poet, though if you never heard of Heaney before, you might have figured that out, not only by his name, but also by his brogue that comes across powerfully in his poetry. I love this poem, “Follower” because the imagery is so vivid, and the way it captures a son’s admiration for his father and the father/son elements of years passing, is both moving and humorous. Also, it’s a different life from my own, so the rustic and earthy essence of it appeals to me.
by Seamus Heaney
My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
Today I have chosen Edgar Allan Poe to be my posthumous ‘guest blogger.’ Poe is one of my favorite writers, and it’s especially cool that he was born in Boston, Massachusetts. You can be sure I will post other works by him. At first I thought of posting “Annabel Lee” because the melancholic beauty and rhythm of it is quite moving, but it just may be his most popular poem, for a reason, and so I decided to post a lesser known one. I selected “To My Mother” because I remember when I was working on my B.A. I did a literary perspective/psychological analysis piece on the symbolism of “Cask of Amontillado.” I compared the catacombs to the womb, and delved into Poe’s preoccupation with premature burial in this and other works (such as in “The Premature Burial”). I based my ideas on a book I read (it was actually a physical book with pages, and not information I researched from the internet). Poe’s mother died presumably of consumption when he was a toddler. He watched her die; I believe his young siblings were also there, and they were alone with her as she died, and with her body following death. I think I read that it was for a period of two weeks after she died that they remained in the small apartment in Virginia with her body. I tried to find this information before posting but I couldn’t verify the accuracy, so this could be a bit off. She died at the age of 24, in the presence of her three young children. Poe was a toddler, perhaps about 2 years old, and the middle child.
Poe wrote the following poem to his mother-in-law who was more of a mother to him, since his own mother died when he was so young.
“To My Mother”
by Edgar Allan Poe
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.
My mother- my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
I just thought this poem really touched upon my thoughts about how I feel about the blogging community…
If We Meet Face To Face
The words I scribble
You kindly read
Once committed to type
On my thoughts you feed
No judgement is passed
Just support you give
Encouraging my heart
Making it easier to live
Humbled by your likes
At your comments I cry
You touch my heart
Lifting my spirits high
If I could meet you all
I’d give a loving embrace
With a hug so tender
When we meet face to face
When there are necessities which are accessible to everyone else besides him he gets pissed off If he doesn't have insurance to cover dental care and he needs a root canal, does he have to wait until it becomes a medical requirement, when the infection might seep into his brain and kill him, must he wait for that for the insurance to cover it And how long does he have to suffer before that happens It's ok, he has no money to buy food anyway Now that he has starved long enough he's finally willing to swallow his pride but they won't give him food stamps because he makes too much money on his unemployment benefits They don't take into consideration the debt he has when each month he pays out more than he brings in on rent and student loans Because he was so fucking stupid believing that when he got his Master's degree he would get a good job but he was better off working as a bagger at the grocery store And so when he sees people on television spend $50,000 on a novelty item merchandise that means nothing to them essentially a part of him dies inside thinking, that's just a fucking trinket But that $50,000 would pay all his debt get him back on his feet and spare him from homelessness which is the path he is on Hopefully they won't reposses his car because that will one day soon be his home
It is time to break away and transpire together forfeiting all the dark and sorrow bechancing warmth with disregard of all tomorrows here and now in the midst of all else no existence but our own throbbing life among the stone nothing is so important as your smile, your soul your breath shaking and each of your whispers devotedly bestowed upon my neck as nothing is so valid worthy and true than each moment being here with you right now
All permitted within your expectations of his glance and efforts do not be so forgiving if he is undeserving of the chance do not impart me to ration your woes and discomforts your whims and desires as if I am an instrument for only gladsome music for oft a little "Moonlight Sonata" will go a long way
Ok here goes another update:
ROMANTIC MONDAYS – I love participating in Romantic Mondays at http://edwardhotspur.wordpress.com and I will continue to do so, as long as Hotspur keeps it up. Have a look at his site for the works of other participants, and his own. Perhaps you can participate as well.
Otherwise, damn. I was going through my media library and thought I’d delete some images. I didn’t realize that it would likewise delete the images from the posts they appeared in. Call me naive, think of me as a technological neanderthal, but I’m still learning the ropes of the blog. Fortunately, I had started with my Romantic Monday images, so it will be easy to locate them and I’ll just have to take a trip back over to http://edwardhotspur.wordpress.com in order to scoop them up again and put them back in my library and my posts. I won’t be doing it all at once because it’s slightly time consuming. So if you see a post while digging through my archives that has an inaccessible image, this is why.
AWARDS – I still have yet to make it obvious that I’ve gone award free, and use widgets to make my site a bit more organized looking, but it will happen…one day…very sorry about that.
FAY – I will also eventually create titles for reference purposes for “Fay.” Also, I’m open for anyone to point out any inconsistencies that I might miss. “Fay” is not outlined at all. I write it for about an hour the morning I post it, and I try to pay attention, but I’m sort of making the story up as I go along, so there may be some contradictions in there. If anyone notices them, please let me know.
POETRY – Suggestions for themes are welcome. I love to write about topics that are prompts from my readers.
THE JOURNAL OF WALL GRIMM – For those that don’t know, Grimm is fictional, and can be read out of sequence and sporadically. Also, he’s a 23 year old guy writing a journal. As you know, journals are meant to be private, so he says some things that can be kind of vulgar and/or intimate, so please forgive him. Also, please have a look in the Wall Grimm character directory and post index page, link above near my “About”, and you’ll see an explanation about how you can either be a character in Grimm’s world, or you can create a character to interact with him. Also, if you like, you can suggest new things for him to do or experience.
BLOG FREE DAYS – My semi blog free days, Wednesday and Friday, are intended to give me time to work on my novel. So on those days I’ve begun to just reblog old material instead of writing new stuff. Last Thursday, after posting a poem from Shelley, and getting a great response to that, I had an idea. I think I will probably post works from various authors and poets on Wednesdays and Fridays on occasion in lieu of my own work. I think people enjoy that change of scenery, so to speak, and for me it feels like a privilege to have that content here on my site. It is also cool to be able to share some of my favorite literary pieces.
Anyway, that’s all for now. Please don’t hesitate to comment or contact me with questions, concerns, feedback, or ideas. firstname.lastname@example.org @sagedoyle
Thanks so much, I deeply appreciate your readership!