And the rain that was to have arrived Tuesday is going to arrive tomorrow instead, and might even start before midnight tonight. I must remember to put the bucket that catches the drips from the back porch skylight back on the counter under it. It's going to be a fairly warm rain for the time of year, too, so though it will be cooler tomorrow than it was today, tonight will be warmer than last night. It should save a little furnace gas, anyway.
The gladiolus plants in the small planter— it's more like an oblong plastic flower pot, really— are sprouting up. I don't expect them to actually bloom, as they haven't for several years. But I do enjoy looking at the spiky leaves. Perhaps if I had replanted them outside the box they'd bloom, as the few I once had in the circle that once held a lilac bush usually got a few blossoms, but then those plants all died. They don't like being potted, and they die elsewhere. Too fussy to deal with.
We're gaining several more minutes of evening daylight every week now. It must be happening in the morning, too, but I haven't been awake at that time of day to see it. It's evidence that the earth is a big ball that is tilted and rotating on its axis while revolving around the sun, but I don't like to think about things like that. Very distressing that the world is not simply flat, so we and all our works don't just fall off. Falling asleep I once in a while still get the sensation I got sometimes when I was a kid that centrifugal force is going to fling me off into space. Gravity is so hard to believe in on the edge of sleep, except when one falls out of bed.
Speak, You Also
by Paul Celan
Speak, you also,
speak as the last,
have your say.
But keep yes and no unsplit.
And give your say this meaning:
give it the shade.
Give it shade enough,
give it as much
as you know has been dealt out between
midnight and midday and midnight.
look how it all leaps alive –
where death is! Alive!
He speaks truly who speaks the shade.
But now shrinks the place where you stand:
Where now, stripped by shade, will you go?
Upward. Grope your way up.
Thinner you grow, less knowable, finer.
Finer: a thread by which
it wants to be lowered, the star:
to float farther down, down below
where it sees itself gleam: in the swell
of wandering words.