landscape with the fall of icarus, william carlos williams

The painting is by Bruegel. If anyone needs a memory jolt from Greek mythology of who Icarus is, he is the boy who strapped on a pair of wings, flew too close to the sun, the wax melted, and he plunged to his death.

It's a great painting--an event that for Icarus, his father (who was also flying but didn't get too close to the sun), and anyone else who loved Icarus changed that day. But Icarus is just a little pair of legs in a splash of water. It's all about perspective--life goes on, the farmer and his horse need to get going, the sheep need to be herded...but there is Icarus, dying...Death in the midst of life, and the daily motions of life at that. Turn that on the cogs in your head.

And...here's William Carlos Williams' poem on the event/painting, just to round out National Poetry Month nicely.

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned 
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

eveningtime

Okay, I concede--this photo is highly unflattering (wasn't sure if the the picture would take and then it flashed and caught me unawares) and my Polaroid film is spotty (not my fault--The Impossible Project film is temperamental).

It was one of those moments that the world seems to reverberate very deeply and closely to your soul. It was eveningtime in Berkeley. I was home alone in my apartment and...it was nice. I had hiked earlier that day with some friends to Mt. Tam, and had come home tired and sticky. So I had showered, did laundry, made a bean and lentil soup, and puttered around the apartment. And there was this moment where something distinctly divine and something very much the essence of God trickled into my soul as I was circling my domestic rounds. My bedroom window was thrown open and the day was cooling off and some neighbor was playing the saxophone and the jazzy strains seemed to be yearning for something.

There was something very profound in the air.

I just felt compelled to try to preserve the moment--the moment when God folded me whole into His presence, plunged me deep into His love for life, and made me yearn anew for greater things. There are days when I think I could sink myself quite happily into domesticity. Live in the city in a quaint apartment and spend my evenings to myself--reading, cooking, watching good movies. Spend the days roaming parks, museums, and cafes (don't know where a job fits into all that). A quiet, trim life. But then there are moments like this where the outside world cries and seems to reach out its arms to me and I remember that I love a God who is greater than my pinings for quiet evenings alone.

les verbes pronominaux et l'imparfait

From French today (we are learning reflexive verbs and the imperfect tense):

Une fille et un garçon se rencontrent…ils se voient, ils se regardent, il se parlent, ils s’entendent bien. Le lendemain ils se retrouvent parce qu’ils s’amusent bien ensemble…alors ils se marient.

Which means: A girl and a boy meet. They see each other, they look at each other, they talk with each other, they get along well. The next day they meet again because they have fun together...then they get married.

It made me laugh. If only it were that simple...or is it?

have a succulent week

Mine has been suckulent thus far. Hope you're faring better than yours truly.

after love, sara teasdale

There is no magic any more,
      We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
      Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—
      There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
      Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
      And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
      For all its peace.

Everyone's been talking about this song for some time...and I thing Sara Teasdale's poem is its cousin or something. Made me think about how much there is to regret about certain relationships. At the time I didn't realize what damage I was doing to perfectly good relationships, but it's funny how kinship/friendship and feelings of affiliation can evaporate so quickly.

Humans suck at relationships.

That's my profound thought of the day.

more of the gang

Dear readers, I am appalled by how many views my Easter post has garnered. My stats are going off the charts--I had no idea how appealing my friends are...sort of gratifying to them but insulting that my thoughts about the future or poetry posts (I mean, come on--it's National Poetry Month!!) are not as enticing.

And, as Josiah texted me after that Easter post, "your blog post makes us all look so cute HahahHahHaha how deceiving." So keep that in mind as I give in to what the masses apparently want...more of theGang (that's what we love to hate/hate to love to call ourselves). I present to you...photos from our Christmas dinner.

Pictures by self-timer. Knits by Daniel.

  

the way we were made, marcus wicker

But you made every

delicate, elegant wrist

& glistening ankle.

But you made them

beautiful

in braided rope

& dime store gold.

But you made every

necklace clasp.

But you made them

caress the nape

like an errant wind

after a shower.

But you made every

eyelash erotic. Every

single strand of hair

soft.

But you made them

from dust & bone.

Made every glorious

singing thigh. Every

button nose.

But you made them

with holes—

wide open

to the faintest hints

of salt

in a sea breeze, salt

in the sweaty mouth

of a navel, salt

in the blood, sweet

in every wrong way.

taking the day for myself

Yes, again.

I don't know...just want to be selfish about my time. That's alright, right? I'm skipping all my afternoon classes, had a latte and the requisite accompanying scone, and might buy myself some honey roasted almonds later.

I've been turning--what else?--the future over in my mind. I fret. I worry. What am I to do? I'm only twenty-one, if that's supposed to give some fresh perspective on things. It feels like a world of possibilities is unfurling at my feet--but very few options are presenting themselves. I feel so keenly and painfully aware that there is yet so much of life to live. And how all the more acutely sensible I am to my own inadequacies and trembling fears. I had a slight/major anxiety attack the other night--it was very much spiritual. So I prayed out loud--well, I pretty much was yelling. Told Satan not to tempt me to despair, reprimanded him for even thinking to touch that which has been redeemed by God. Then I told God that I trust Him and that I want to be wherever He is, whatever that means for me specifically. There is so much of life I have yet to taste, to feel--and it is only by Your grace that I am even able to do so.

easter

I have really good friends. Well, a few days ago I was feeling uncared for by them and wanted to gather them together, sit them all down, and then scream "I HATE YOU ALL!!!"

Today, though, I was completely caught off guard by their love for me. Chenz and I met up in the afternoon and we went to Daniel's apartment under pretense of returning a Tupperware to him (which I didn't know at the time--I figured he was being his usual anal self) and when we get there, he and Josiah both pop out and yell "Surprise!" They then shoved a paper bag over my head, shepherded me into the car, and after a pit stop at Trader Joe's for ice cream and bread (my favorites), we wound up at the cemetery. Which is really sort of perfect. I really love the cemetery near here--and I haven't been in ages. Can't believe I forgot about it. Anyway we set up camp there and  had a picnic (no disrespect meant to any of the dead).

And ultimately, it was all God's love, poured over me through my friends. I can be a volatile sort of person, and I have trouble trusting people's intentions in a relationship, but God has been prodding me, showing me that there are people who do care. That's what Easter is all about, right? Love and true relationship and healing and making all things new, even in the midst of death.

i love you, sara teasdale

When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the winds that blow. Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the little sparrow Beside his window-pane. O sparrow, little sparrow, When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secret That I have died to keep.

April is when lovers doth (supposedly) meet. So go and get yourself a lover. Don't make it a secret. Heck, don't keep any secrets at all (unless they're not you're own). Happy April.