52/410-411: Reference

[rejectomorph]

The Saturday nap lasted until after midnight, when I wandered sleep-dazed through my constrained space, not sure of what to do or not do with my constrained mind. On the Idernet I stumbled upon some old songs that evoked the faintest ghost of nostalgia, but that soon succumbed to forgetfulness. Perhaps the monotony of the mild days has brought doldrum. If so, it should end soon enough. Today will be balmy, but Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are to be cool and at least partly rainy. Maybe I will find alertness falling into my mind with the rain and freshened air. Or maybe not. It's nearing dawn and I'm getting sleepy again. I think maybe I don't care about much other than that right now.




Sunday Verse

Reference Back

by Philip Larkin


That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.

Oliver's Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique Negroes blew
Out of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
To my unsatisfactory prime.

Truly, though our element is time,
We're not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.