Friday, May 06, 2005

Love Letters

O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

*The Sick Rose, by William Blake


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

*From The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot


My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and tart,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

*Jilted, by Sylvia Plath


  1. I am usually loathe to leave long comments, but since you seem in a poetic mood, and are hurting for your friend, I felt compelled to share this. It always lifts me a little. It's Seamus Heaney from *The Cure at Troy*. Sorry for the length:

    Human beings suffer.
    They torture one another.
    They get hurt and get hard.
    No poem or play or song
    Can fully right a wrong
    Inflicted and endured.

    History says, Don't hope
    On this side of the grave,
    But then, once in a lifetime
    The longed for tidal wave
    Of justice can rise up
    And hope and history rhyme.

    So hope for a great sea change
    On the far side of revenge.
    Believe that a farther shore
    Is reachable from here.
    Believe in miracles
    And cures and healing wells.

    Call miracle self-healing
    The utter self-revealing
    Double take of feeling.
    If there's fire on the mountain
    And lightning and storm
    And a god speaks from the sky

    That means someone is hearing
    The outcry and the birth-cry
    Of new life at its term.
    It means once in a lifetime
    That justice can rise up
    And hope and history rhyme.

  2. ahhhhhh, Sylvia Plath, my dear sweet love.....

  3. Trick,
    I love long comments, and that one was especially wonderful. I haven't read much of Seamus Heaney's poetry (because my library doesn't have any..urrg), and I'm glad you shared that one. It is very uplifting. Will be copying it into my journal for future readings. Thanks a bunch!

  4. I thought I might get that from you, Amanda. lol
    I'd never read this particular poem. A nice late-night find.

  5. Ahhh...I'm not much of a poetry person but I do love some William Blake and I did like ole Prufrock. Here is one of my's sappy, but it always makes me feel good.


    If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
    But make allowance for their doubting too,
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
    And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
    If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
    If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breath a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
    If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
    If all men count with you, but none too much,
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
    And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

    --Rudyard Kipling

  6. Heather,
    I really like that poem!! I'm not opposed to some sap! I've (hiding face in English major shame) never read much Kipling, so this is a new experience for me!! Thank you!

  7. Well, as an English major as well, I haven't read much Plath (gasp!!)

    Glad you liked the Kipling!

  8. Heather,
    For some weird reason I always forget that you were an English major. I link you to web design. Weren't you a web designer when I met you on the book groups?

  9. Okay, I am leaving this on the first blog you posted in May because I went back that far out of curiosity to see what types of blog broke the "30 comment barrier". Also, I don't want you to think that I am posting this to start an argument and I figured that not many other people would see it here so that is okay. Wanted to say that these were the results.

    14 blogs had 30 or more comments.

    7 of those were the Half Nekkid Thursday ones. That is 50%.

    Of the other 7 the subjects were:

    1)Ear Pain

    2)Fish Preperation



    5)Who your lesbian wives and
    girlfriends would be

    6)Angry Midgets at the Library

    7)And last but not least the one witht he most comments of all was about "To hug or not to hug" and it had 57 comments.

    Something like the first four or five that I came across were all Half Nekkid Thursdays.


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