knittingknots (knittingknots) wrote,
knittingknots
knittingknots

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Procol Harum....

Wrote the quote from yesterday. Don't know if anybody cares, but that album was kind of important to my young self's poetic sensibilities....Along with exposure to T.S. Elliot and Christina Rossetti and Jim Morrison all about the same time. With a healthy dose of Shakespeare and Poe.

What a hodgepodge of influences over my young brain!

From the Shine on Brightly album (words by Keith Reid):

At a time like this, which exists maybe only for me, but is nonetheless real, if I can communicate, and in the telling and the bearing of my soul anything is gained, even though the words which I use are pretentious and make you cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama.
He was told he must first spend five years in contemplation. After the five years, he was ushered into the Dalai Lama's presence, who said, 'Well, my son, what do you wish to know?' So the pilgrim said, 'I wish to know the meaning of life, father.'
And the Dalai Lama smiled and said, 'Well my son, life is like a beanstalk, isn't it?'

And from Elliot:
(from the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, probably my favorite 20th century poem)


Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


Maybe because it's almost my birthday, I am feeling retrospective, and thinking about who I am, how I got here, where to now....

Hubby's back from the fires with many photographs of the Sawmill complex fire in Montana...a few were pics of him taken by coworkers....he looks honestly happy doing this work...which is why, even when I get lonely, I would never tell him, no don't go back out..  Glad he's home, though.  And to be honest, I can get more writing done when he's away.

I grow old, I grow old...I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

And wear purple.

And be content.  The grandmother summer before my winter.  With gratitude.
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