National Poetry Month
I like that shabet is offering poems for National Poetry Month. I didn't even know it was national poetry month... but I guess between Chaucer and Eliot, it would pretty much have to be April, wouldn't it?
April here so far is grey and chill. It'd be doing its best to pierce the drought of March with a series of not-all-that-sweet showers, actually, only there wasn't much drought to March this year either. And I haven't seen a single bird sleeping open-eyed all night. Overall, better go with Eliot.
Thus, in a sheer copycat move, I offer the opening of "The Waste Land," together with its epigraph:
"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: [Sibulla ti theleis]; respondebat illa: [apothauein thelo]." [Sorry I can't figure out how to type Greek letters.*
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers....
*As a side note, you may be interested to know that I used to take an odd delight in carving or doodling [apothauein thelo] onto things in my high school. This, I think, expressed a deep resentment of my school's policy of monitoring all our essays and exams for suicidal tendencies. Of course, what with being trapped in high school and all, I also probably meant it.
April here so far is grey and chill. It'd be doing its best to pierce the drought of March with a series of not-all-that-sweet showers, actually, only there wasn't much drought to March this year either. And I haven't seen a single bird sleeping open-eyed all night. Overall, better go with Eliot.
Thus, in a sheer copycat move, I offer the opening of "The Waste Land," together with its epigraph:
"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: [Sibulla ti theleis]; respondebat illa: [apothauein thelo]." [Sorry I can't figure out how to type Greek letters.*
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers....
*As a side note, you may be interested to know that I used to take an odd delight in carving or doodling [apothauein thelo] onto things in my high school. This, I think, expressed a deep resentment of my school's policy of monitoring all our essays and exams for suicidal tendencies. Of course, what with being trapped in high school and all, I also probably meant it.