yet you read on because even the alphabet is precious
So last night I read what is possibly the greatest page ever produced in a comic (yes, even better than that time Steph slapped Bruce, or the time Wonder Woman stepped on Batman's neck). For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, Peter, MJ, and Aunt May move into Avengers Tower. The morning after their first night there, Aunt May finds Jarvis in the kitchen and tells him he deserves a rest and she'll make breakfast. And then she goes on to PWN Logan like a boss and send him slinking off with his tail between his legs. IT IS AMAZING.
(She is also adorably flustered and charmed when she meets Steve, because who wouldn't be? Steve, you sly charmer, you.)
And then, I kept reading because I was downloading Lion and it took forever, so it was, like, 3 am and there was a surprise PUNCH TO THE BUCKY FEELS. Oh, Steve. (Spoiler: Spider-man does not die. Or get turned into a brainwashed Russian assassin with a robot arm. Whew.)
A few months back, I read a really fascinating essay about Steve's PTSD, especially how it was manifested in the 60s and 70s when Marvel first brought him back, but I haven't been able to find it again (I read it on Google books but can't remember where I originally found the link to it), so if you know what I'm talking about and have a link, I'd like to read it again.
Anyway, all of which is to say I have been enjoying Amazing Spider-man, though I know I'm close to it all going to shit one way or another, and I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to read those parts.
Meanwhile, I did in fact install Lion last night. It took a long time to download and install, but it seems to be working just fine. I also updated the OS on my iPad, which I had been putting off, and now allegedly I have iCloud access but for some reason, I can't seem to move the comics I bought on my iPad onto my hard drive for backing up. What even is that? I bought and paid for them! I should be able to move them around. iTunes has been no help. Allegedly I'm supposed to be able to download them onto other devices after purchase, but that hasn't worked either. Ugh.
In other news, it's April, which means National Poetry Month here in the US, which means a poem every day!
Dedications
I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet
long after rush hour. I know you are reading this poem
standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean
on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven
across the plains' enormous spaces around you.
I know you are reading this poem
in a room where too much has happened for you to bear
where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed
and the open valise speaks of flight
but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem
as the underground train loses its momentum and before running up the stairs
toward a new kind of love
your life has never allowed.
I know you are reading this poem by the light
of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide
where you wait for the newscast from the intifada.
I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room
of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.
I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light
in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,
count themselves out, at too early an age. I know
you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick
lenses enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on
because even the alphabet is precious.
I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove
warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your hand
because life is short and you too are thirsty.
I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language
guessing at some words while others keep you reading
and I want to know which words they are.
I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn between bitterness and hope
turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.
I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.
~Adrienne Rich
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/450473.html.
people have commented there.
(She is also adorably flustered and charmed when she meets Steve, because who wouldn't be? Steve, you sly charmer, you.)
And then, I kept reading because I was downloading Lion and it took forever, so it was, like, 3 am and there was a surprise PUNCH TO THE BUCKY FEELS. Oh, Steve. (Spoiler: Spider-man does not die. Or get turned into a brainwashed Russian assassin with a robot arm. Whew.)
A few months back, I read a really fascinating essay about Steve's PTSD, especially how it was manifested in the 60s and 70s when Marvel first brought him back, but I haven't been able to find it again (I read it on Google books but can't remember where I originally found the link to it), so if you know what I'm talking about and have a link, I'd like to read it again.
Anyway, all of which is to say I have been enjoying Amazing Spider-man, though I know I'm close to it all going to shit one way or another, and I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to read those parts.
Meanwhile, I did in fact install Lion last night. It took a long time to download and install, but it seems to be working just fine. I also updated the OS on my iPad, which I had been putting off, and now allegedly I have iCloud access but for some reason, I can't seem to move the comics I bought on my iPad onto my hard drive for backing up. What even is that? I bought and paid for them! I should be able to move them around. iTunes has been no help. Allegedly I'm supposed to be able to download them onto other devices after purchase, but that hasn't worked either. Ugh.
In other news, it's April, which means National Poetry Month here in the US, which means a poem every day!
Dedications
I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet
long after rush hour. I know you are reading this poem
standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean
on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven
across the plains' enormous spaces around you.
I know you are reading this poem
in a room where too much has happened for you to bear
where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed
and the open valise speaks of flight
but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem
as the underground train loses its momentum and before running up the stairs
toward a new kind of love
your life has never allowed.
I know you are reading this poem by the light
of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide
where you wait for the newscast from the intifada.
I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room
of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.
I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light
in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,
count themselves out, at too early an age. I know
you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick
lenses enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on
because even the alphabet is precious.
I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove
warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your hand
because life is short and you too are thirsty.
I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language
guessing at some words while others keep you reading
and I want to know which words they are.
I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn between bitterness and hope
turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.
I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.
~Adrienne Rich
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/450473.html.
people have commented there.