Lunàtic memories. (And it's almost a full moon too! How bizarre.)

(Forgive these enigmatic indulgences.)

It's been a while since I listened to Ani Difranco. In the car this morning I found myself smiling at memories as she sang to me. It took a while to realise that time had brought me, yet again, near to Soul-mates' Day. That sudden realisation was quite a shock. How does the subconscious manage it!?!? Thirteen years, and a single song brings a warm surge of scents and sounds and memories. Bizarre.

Of course, worlds have altered, and my "Paddington ghost" and I have long since left the What If dimension. No sadness. Though significances change, the moon and music remain...

"...and through the open window
I think the singing went outside
and floated up to tell
all the stars not to hide
and by the time the church let out
the sky was much clearer
and the moon was so beautiful
that the ocean held up a mirror


as we walked home we spoke slowly
we spoke slow
and we spoke lowly
like it was taking more time
than usual to choose
...like time is not a thing
that's ours to lose"

______________________________________


In other news, I just read a description of Frost's Road Not Taken as - "this ingenious, sly poem". This surprised me, but I think I like it. I always enjoyed the ambiguity of the last few lines.

Occasionally, Walt Whitman's poetry washes around my feet like turn-of-tide wavelets at the water's edge. They often make me a bit uncomfortable, but now and then they tickle me enough to cause momentary delight. A few nights ago, reading Carol Ann Duffy's Big Sue poem, I found the words "Now, Voyager". I don't know why they struck a chord, but I wandered around until I discovered the quote, from Whitman. It sounds suitable to be added to the list of poems and songs with which I will regale the three or four guests at my retirement dinner.

No, really, I have such a list.

And no, you're right, I probably won't do any regaling. But I often day-dream of doing so.

Now, finalé to the shore,
Now land and life finalé and farewell,
Now Voyager depart, (much, much for thee is yet in store,)
Often enough has thou adventur'd o'er the seas,
Cautiously cruising, studying the charts,
Duly again to port and hawser's tie returning;
But now obey thy cherish'd secret wish,
Embrace thy friends, leave all in order,
To port and hawser's tie no more returning,
Depart upon thy endless cruise old Sailor.

Or perhaps this one, which I mutter more frequently each morning just after roll call. It's by Yeats, who has a close connection with my Paddington ghost, thereby gyring this entry to a neat close. I've actually heard Yeats reciting it. (The internet is wond'rous awsome.) A haunting sound.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.