i seem to be posting a lot with little actual content right now, hrm. skip if bored!
am in a weird place right now where i want to read fic (and would really like to actually try and write something but appear to be blocked on all fronts. please come back, crack?) but can't seem to settle to it. and when i do, it seems my feedback is broken. *eyes the open tabs now open on multiple lines* only tabmix gives me hope that i will get to it eventually...
instead, since i missed the meme thing recently i will bore people with one handy download:
this is from jackie leven's cd "oh what a blow that phantom dealt me", johnny dowd reading "the skaters" (a prose poem by kenneth patchen). i bought the cd after i heard this late at night on some radio station or other in february, and had to scrabble for a pen to make sure i could get hold of it for myself. is really good. honest. go on. download it. please?
hxxp://download.yousendit.com/E9384915762F97F4
and one not-download. picked up a copy of the penguin book of american verse last week, and eee! i love this -
The Author to her Book
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad, expos'd to publick view;
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge)
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find.
In this array, 'mongst vulgars mayst thou roam
In critics hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.
on googling her to try and reduce my ignorance, i was amused to find the first page listed is suggestive of historical m-preg: "Anne Bradstreet was born in 1612 to a nonconformist former soldier of Queen Elizabeth, Thomas Dudley". shouldn't that be "to the wife of..."?
okay. off to whiteabbey on bike now. hopefully it won't rain. much.
instead, since i missed the meme thing recently i will bore people with one handy download:
this is from jackie leven's cd "oh what a blow that phantom dealt me", johnny dowd reading "the skaters" (a prose poem by kenneth patchen). i bought the cd after i heard this late at night on some radio station or other in february, and had to scrabble for a pen to make sure i could get hold of it for myself. is really good. honest. go on. download it. please?
hxxp://download.yousendit.com/E9384915762F97F4
and one not-download. picked up a copy of the penguin book of american verse last week, and eee! i love this -
The Author to her Book
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad, expos'd to publick view;
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge)
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find.
In this array, 'mongst vulgars mayst thou roam
In critics hands, beware thou dost not come;
And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.
on googling her to try and reduce my ignorance, i was amused to find the first page listed is suggestive of historical m-preg: "Anne Bradstreet was born in 1612 to a nonconformist former soldier of Queen Elizabeth, Thomas Dudley". shouldn't that be "to the wife of..."?
okay. off to whiteabbey on bike now. hopefully it won't rain. much.