||[May. 10th, 2010|08:15 pm]
I didn't feel like doing anything yesterday or today. Yesterday might have been the fault of the pollen, but today was cold and rainy so there probably isn't much pollen in the air. I'm still sore and achy all over, though, and plagued with sneezing fits. Not even a vigorous thunderstorm that passed an hour ago could rouse me from my torpor. At least I'm using the computer today, though. Tomorrow, who knows? |
Belated Sunday Verse
Dream Song 14
by John Berryman
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) 'Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
my mother used to say that about inner resources! wonder what the origin of the phrase was.