All afternoon the crows and acorn woodpeckers have been active, caws and chuckles resounding, as though they'd decided to stage an avian American Idol competition. Between the two, the woodpeckers win, as far as I'm concerned. I'd be pleased if both groups would shut up and give the more melodious species a chance to perform, though. But then it wouldn't be so much like American Idol, I guess.
While the poppies are now blooming abundantly, and the rose bushes are producing their first big crop of the season, the last of the azaleas have withered and dropped to the ground. But I see lots of tiny buds on the jasmine hedge which will soon open to perfume the nights. Spring is not being too odd this year. There've been odder springs, at least. Now, if only we could have another nice thunderstorm.
Entertainment! At Booze Movies, garv reviews one of my favorite W.C. Fields shorts, The Fatal Glass of Beer. He recommends (wisely) that, if you have not seen the movie, you should watch it before reading his piece. But where, you may wonder, might a person who is not familiar with this classic find a copy of it on short notice? Easy, thanks to the Internet Archive. They have free streaming and downloadable versions of it from tiny 64kbs versions to massive 594 MB MPEG2 versions, all available at this Intartube page conveniently located near you!
Further entertainment! Today's YouTube "Happy Feets" discovery is a 1929 recording by Teddy Kline's Orchestra, a Berlin dance band led by an expat American clarinetist. The song I'm Doing what I'm Doing for Love features vocals by a male duo called "Two Jazzers" who sing the song in English, with Hungarian accents. Truly priceless! And, as a bonus, the accompanying video (not entirely safe for work due to bare breasts, by the way, but they're tiny and might be missed by the non-eagle-eyed) features, beginning at about 1:50 in, a period ad for... well, go see for yourself!
Without further ado,
The Poet's Corner
by Laura Riding
Here where the end of bone is no end of song
And the earth is bedecked with immortality
In what was poetry
And now is pride beside
Here is a battle with no bravery
But if the coward's tongue has gone
Swording his own lusty lung.
Listen if there is victory
Written into a library
Waving the books in banners
Soldierly at last, for the lines
Go marching on, delivered of the soul.
And happily may they rest beyond
Suspicion now, the incomprehensibles
Traitorous in such talking
As chattered over their countries' boundaries.
The graves are gardened and the whispering
Stops at the hedges, there is singing
Of it in the ranks, there is a hush
Where the ground has limits
And the rest is loveliness.
Death has an understanding of it
Loyal to many flags
And is a silent ally of any country
Beset in its mortal heart
With immortal poetry.