Thoughts on the Journey

Brave, brave were the soldiers (high named to-day) who lived
through the fight;
But the bravest press'd to the front and fell, unnamed, unknown.


To my two grandfathers that I never met and generations before, thank you, rest well.

Eyes
By Rae Armantrout

After John Milton
Our light is never spent.
Is spent.

Thus have we scooped out
maceration reservoirs.

We will blaze forth
what remains
as pixels.

Great angels
fly at our behest
between towers,

along axons and dendrites,

so that things stand
as they stand

in the recruited present.

Source: Poetry (June 2009).

from Poetry Foundation.

I have other things on my mind to do with work as I keep putting myself out there, but for now I'm just going to add my next right on the nose horoscope from Uncle Rob.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): Ray LaMontagne sings these lyrics in his tune
"Empty": "I looked my demons in the eyes. Laid bare my chest and said,
'Do your best to destroy me. I've been to hell and back so many times, I
must admit you kind of bore me.'" I wouldn't be opposed to you
delivering a message like that to your own demons, Gemini -- with one
caveat: Leave out the "Do your best to destroy me" part. Simply peer
into the glazed gaze of those shabby demons and say, "You bore me and
I'm done with you. Bye-bye." And then walk away from them for good.

I found this on seananmcguire's tumblr and it felt right on this day full of moments of connections. I told one of my regulars who was asking about getting headphone splitters for the computers that I wouldn't be at the school next year, he whined and leaned his head on my shoulder, seventh grader for context. It just about broke my heart, I want to spend my life working with kids and teachers making connections.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

To Sleep

I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.

A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.

There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:

Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.

So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.

And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.

by C.S. Lewis

I love the sentiment of this poem, because sleep needs tending to.

Thank you everyone for all your kind words. I have an end and now can start looking for my next beginning. I thought I'd post a song that's been pushing me forward this year, the entire album has reminded me that this is one chapter in my story.

My Story Is Not Done

I was born into a fairy tale,
Cinderella's dust-bin daughter.
Seemed like I was meant to fail,
Turning wine back into water,

Mama's slippers shattered when
She turned around to run,
But I never thought that mattered and
My story is not done.

So I told her, mama, make my bed,
Make it up both long and narrow,
Tell the cynics that I'm dead,
Let me hitchhike through the yarrow,

Ghost-girl on the median,
With a thumb cocked to the sun,
But I'd rather be the banshee and
My story is not done.

It's not done until it's told,
It's not told until it's written,
If I'm brave and if I'm bold,
I can challenge what's forbidden,
For nobody gets to tell me
That I'll never be the one.
When they ask you what befell me,
Say my story is not done.

Left my family in a storybook;
Tell my sisters that I'm sorry.
I never dared a backwards look,
On the path to purgatory,

And I can't say that I'm sorry for
The things I've left undone.
I've been on the road to glory, for
My story is not done.

I have wandered through the carnival,
Seen the secret shadows dancing,
Counted feathers where they'd fall,
Taken chances not worth chancing,

I have counted out my jackdaws and
My magpies one by one,
I have always been an outlaw, and
My story is not done.

It's not done until it's told,
It's not told until it's written,
If I'm brave and if I'm bold,
I can challenge what's forbidden,
For nobody gets to tell me
That I'll never be the one.
When they ask you what befell me,
Say my story is not done.

So come on all you fox-girls and you ghost-girls
And you pretty pirates,
Come on all you wild girls and you lost girls
And you shrinking violets,
Come and pay the piper, say you'll leave their war unwon.
It's only words on paper, and your story is not done.

I was born into a fairy tale,
Never tried to find Prince Charming.
Had a different ship to sail,
Didn't find the waves alarming,

For nobody gets to tell me
If I've lost of if I've won.
When they ask you what befell me,
Say my story is not done.

by Seanan McGuire from Wicked Girls and I need to get myself one of the Wicked Girls' posters.

I have a plan for tomorrow and will face it. For now have a poem found at a comm here on dreamwidth, poetry, Ashie pointed me to it. This poem clicked for me today.

Clearing
by Martha Postlethwaite

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is yours alone to sing
falls into your open cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world,
so worthy of rescue.

Today has been a good and quiet day. I wrote a post on my librarian blog over here. Also I've almost finished my personal statement for my private school jobs and feeling productive.

One thing I adore about April is getting lost in reading poetry as I try to pick what to post. My trip plans to see my family are moving forward and I'm realizing how much good a break will do me.

In terms of good reading, I've almost finished an amazing book that everyone interested in badass crossdressing women needs to read. Its called They Fought like Demons: Women Soldiers in the Civil War., I've been reading it every chance I can get and its fascinating.

The poetry for today is more Greek just this time Sappho who is one of my favorites, I'm going to post a few I adore. All of these were translated by Willis Barnstone.

World
I could not hope
to touch the sky
with my two arms.

Dream
O dream from the blackness,
come when I was sleeping.

Sweet is the god but still I am
in agony and far from my strength,

for I had hopes to share
something of the happy ones,

nor was I so foolish
as to scorn pleasant toys.

Now my I have
all these things.

In Time of Storm
Brightness. I ask for good fortune
to reach the harbor, the earth
for our black ships.

We are sailors under great gales,
hoping for dry reefs,
to sail in with our cargo.

The sky is flowing.
Awash in the storm we have many
duties. O dry land!

After the Night Festival
Peace is simply havoc
and my heart is worn out.
[The night] sits down,
but come, my friends.
Soon it will be dawn.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): "I can't tell if I'm dealing well with life these days or if I just don't give a sh-- any more." I stumbled upon that comment at someecards.com, and I decided to pass it along for your consideration. You may be pondering the same riddle: feeling suspicious about why you seem more relaxed and tolerant than usual in the face of plain old everyday chaos. I'm here to tell you my opinion, which is that your recent equanimity is *not* rooted in jaded numbness. Rather, it's the result of some hard work you did on yourself during the last six months. Congrats and enjoy!

Uncle Rob, I've been pondering this all day, because today's had a fair bit to wade through. Yet I did it and compared to how I felt the past two days, I'm good. I ended up doing some of the writing I meant to and applying for three jobs, I sorted the banking stuff, so maybe I've dealt with some things without realizing it. I've been feeling like I've spent the months since my graduation not doing enough and then rushing to do many things. Perhaps though I've been figuring out more of what I do want so when its in reach, I can get it. I'm going to keep reaching and working.

Today it seems like I have advocates, I have plans and things will happen. Last summer I was in knots about my lease and I know that if I need to negotiate with my landlord I can. I hope that I won't have to and that I'll be sure of where I'm going soon but I don't want to hold anything too much. Instead I'll just say, thank you, Uncle Rob.

I'm also going to share one of my favorite Shel Silverstein poems that I recently used over in Milliways.

Listen to the Mustn'ts

Listen to Mustn'ts, child, listen to the Don'ts.
Listen to the Shouldn'ts, the Impossibles, the Won'ts.
Listen to the Never Haves, then listen close to me.
Anything can happen, child, Anything can be.

I'm feeling productive as I've been getting some words out there. Yesterday I wrote a gift fic for thebattycakes, it's a William Evans and Bill Pardy fic and might end up being a part one. Today I also posted a poem on my librarian blog called Recipe for a Librarian.

This little meme was just posted on wanderlustlover's journal and I think it's wonderful.

Tell me about a story I haven't written.
And I'll give you between one and three sentences from that story.

Now I'm going to do two more rounds of the five words' meme, which keeps getting me writing about things dear to my heart.

From saphyria( Michigan, librarianship, James McAvoy, mythology, books )

From wanderlustlover( Robin Hood, education, travel, kindness, gaming )

Ten years ago, I was in Greek Literature in Translation and we were about to watch a film about the Trojan War. As the video was being adjusted, we moved through the channels and there were the planes. The rest of the day was spent peering at televisions, calling those I love, and being with my friends. It was the day I was so thankful for the community of Randolph-Macon Woman's College where everyone was there for each other as we tried to make sense of what had happened.

Continuities
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form—no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space—ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold—the embers left from earlier
fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons
continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

Walt Whitman