SwampLand

springfog1

springfog2

I am relatively recovered; that happened in time to teach my final Saturday afternoon class, and then to begin to catch up with my regular classes yesterday. I am still coughing like mad, like a consumptive in an old Irish novel.  While I was in the Lost Days of the sickness, the snows melted and the temperature went up, there was a day of sun and then  it began to rain rain rain and we headed into the soggy foggy gray days on the other side of winter. Things are growing through the detritus in my messy gardens that were never cleaned up and put to bed last fall; I have a second or two to glance at them when I come out the door,  before I rush to the el  for yet another series of current and delayed tasks.

I am insanely busy, swamped, trying to catch up with the lost week; my studio work is consequently on hold, and though I haven’t a moment that isn’t occupied, I am at the same time, supremely, utterly bored. I am so looking forward to going to Virginia next week; though I’ll be working there, it’ll at least not be here, not the same old same old, old, old. And when I return, it’ll be spring break; that is a week for me. I need to find that person I enjoy being again.

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2 thoughts on “SwampLand

  1. The Waste Land

    T. S. Eliot, 1st verse

    I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

    APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
    Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
    Memory and desire, stirring
    Dull roots with spring rain.
    Winter kept us warm, covering 5
    Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
    A little life with dried tubers.
    Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
    With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
    And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10
    And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
    Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
    And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
    My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
    And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15
    Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
    In the mountains, there you feel free.
    I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

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