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rejectomorph

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These Sudden Ends [Dec. 31st, 2018|12:09 am]
rejectomorph
This computer is misbehaving quite badly tonight. There was just a browser crash, and the post I was writing was lost because LJ's restore draft function failed again. Such things are happening to often lately. Who keeps breaking the Internets?

Anyway, as I was saying, lately I've felt like I'm hitting a wall in slow motion. Each day a little more crushing happens, and I have a little less energy to resist it. Still, the winter sunsets, brought on by ice crystals in the persistent thin evening clouds, have been nice of late, though I have to walk down the block and then look back to get a decent view of them. There aren't a lot of trees along this block, and the vivid pinks and mauves of the sky crowd down against the rooftops of the low buildings like mounds of colorful frosting piled atop the dullest of cakes.

I've not been sleeping very well, and have several times awoken with lingering images of dream sin which I have been walking aimlessly through empty rooms. The dream toms are numerous and large, unlike the rooms of this apartment, but I suspect that the lack of furniture in here has something to do with these dreams. The absence of cats probably has something to do with them, too, since I wake with the feeling that I've been looking for something and not finding it.

This apartment is quiet for the most part, though the dog who lives across the trail behind it is still barking at passersby all day, and my bedroom window opens on the parking area so that the early risers on their way to work disturb my sleep with their rumbling engines. That, and the passage of numerous aircraft every day and the sound of the diesel trains on the other side of town at night frequently disrupt the quiet. I'm sure I can live with these annoyances, but I'd rather not have to.

The landlords, who are actually flippers, have this complex up for sale and tomorrow morning there will be a walkthrough by a prospective buyer at 9:30. A bit early for me, but I'm sure the guy with the enormous SUV who lets it idle for five or so minutes every morning will make sure i wake in plenty of time. I just have to remember not to let myself go back to sleep after he leaves.

Dammit, it's midnight already. I'd have had this posted ten minutes ago if not for the crappy computer's misbehavior. Just have to post the verse. Among the books that burned one I will miss very much is the collected poems of Richard Wilbur. Luckily the peom I'm posting tonight is on the Internet so I can copy and paste it. It's one I've posted a few times before, once fairly recently if I recall, but it is suited to the time of year and seems quite apposite to me this year in particular. Enjoy? (If that's the right word.)




Sunday Verse



Year's End


by Richard Wilbur


Now winter downs the dying of the year,
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show,
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.

I've known the wind by water banks to shake
The late leaves down, which frozen where they fell
And held in ice as dancers in a spell
Fluttered all winter long into a lake;
Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They seemed their own most perfect monument.

There was perfection in the death of ferns
Which laid their fragile cheeks against the stone
A million years. Great mammoths overthrown
Composedly have made their long sojourns,
Like palaces of patience, in the gray
And changeless lands of ice. And at Pompeii

The little dog lay curled and did not rise
But slept the deeper as the ashes rose
And found the people incomplete, and froze
The random hands, the loose unready eyes
Of men expecting yet another sun
To do the shapely thing they had not done.

These sudden ends of time must give us pause.
We fray into the future, rarely wrought
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.
More time, more time. Barrages of applause
Come muffled from a buried radio.
The New-year bells are wrangling with the snow.

linkReply

Comments:
[User Picture]From: zyzyly
2018-12-31 04:20 pm (UTC)
I forgot it was Sunday yesterday, until I saw your Sunday verse. A beautiful poem for the end of the year.

May the coming year bring you healing and renewal.

end of the year
A landscape for the year's end.

Edited at 2018-12-31 04:22 pm (UTC)
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[User Picture]From: annina_writes
2018-12-31 05:15 pm (UTC)

A voice from the past...

I'm not active here, but missed you and your Sunday Verse. Thought for sure you must have been affected by the fire, and I was right. We lost the family home of three generations on Myers Lane that my brother in law was living in. We still had stuff stored in the basement...books and my wedding gown, but mourning the town took a lot out of me, even here in Pensacola, FL. So sorry you lost it all. And old Sluggo, who always had issues with heat, had such an ironic death. So sorry about your kitties too. I hope at least one turns up in a shelter somewhere. Are you on Facebook at all? You can touch base with me there and friend me...Lorna Jahrling Anton. The dog in the poem made me think of the plaster cast of a dog from Pompei we saw in an exhibit in Mobile some time ago. An entire city destroyed in fire...I got the connection immediately. Sending zen hugs and wishes for a new year filled with hope, recovery, and unexpected surprises and kindnesses.
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[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2019-01-01 08:37 am (UTC)

Re: A voice from the past...

I wasn't familiar with Meyers Lane, though it was only a couple of blocks from my sister's house on Bille Road, which also burned. One of my nephews lost his house on Elliot Road, and a niece was burned out of her house off of Neal Road. The nephew was only renting, but had lots of tools and equipment and some old cars in various stages of restoration, all gone. I think most people knew that the town would go up in smoke some day, but we didn't really expect it would happen so fast, or with so little warning. I'm just glad it didn't happen while my parents were still living, as we'd never have been able to get them out of that house soon enough in their frail condition.

I hadn't thought of the irony of Sluggo's demise, but you're right. I wonder if he was trying to warn me all those years? Thanks for the good wishes. I'll look you up on Facebook. At least half the people I follow there are from LJ.
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