Splendid serene,one day lives,red and tragic poets
Still in a mood and not very serene,I'm tired of feeling very little.I am by nature very romantic and impassioned,to be so low wattage due to the damage is just stifling my soul.I think of one day loves and lives were I can write poetry by evening and discuss it with my beloved,where I'll live in Britain in some nestled little village,cook hearty traditional meals and walk country houses again.I miss everything so much.I look at country houses now and just nothing happens,nothing evokes.I have learnt to find new paths or have new paths found me.Life is not entirely joyless now.But I listen to songs trying to get their height and I can't and resolve that death must be better than this.I don't know how passionless people live truly! having experienced this now.Everything was always up and away for me.Its not because I am melancholy, it's purely due to the damage.
I read "the art of enchantment",Sharon blackies blog I usually find it a little too intellectual and too much in the head,but there was a good entry on the Irish myth "The only jealousy of Emer" which is one of my favourites.I love Fand the otherworldly woman in this story in love with the married Cu Chulainn,who returns him to his wife.Ive been thinking of him,only a little.I try at times to get back into my old world of fortnums and frilly things.I still love girlish things like pale velvet shoes with pretty diamanté jewels, but it's faded,both due to the damage and because I've come to a new phase.The more I think of red and things of the spirit instead,the more this time unfolds for me.When I think of red,I think of tragic poets carousing the countryside,I always wanted a life like that.I do now.Ill wait for it.For imbas to work its magic and mythos through me.But over the last two years I found such perfect happiness in the thought of a nested housewifery too.I don't know which world I want more.Many people live a domesticated life that is still wild and deep.Oh I long for musicians,poets,artists all around,I use to be such a creative spirit,I was kindred.Artists and poets really suffer their wayward spirits that both give them their brilliance,that throw them here and there,then drag them down into death.Your life is bound to be tragic if you are ruled by spirit and emotion.
I looked at pictures of baby animals my gosh I couldn't handle it,I kept talking to them in such a baby way,little otters with their hands almost in prayer,baby lambs that look like their smiling,mama bears with their babies...oh it was too much.I also added the images below to my me and my house board on Pinterest (katiewistow) to signify red and my love of Celtic studies.I use to conjure so much by gathering these images,now I must try hard to conjure even the tiniest spark.Right now I love maroons,rich colours,sage and deep dark greens,blacks,bruins,mustard.I don't want light colours.If I could describe my character or soul in one sentence it would be - fussy Edwardian girl who lives in her library and eats Bon Bons.
I read e.e Cummings yesterday afternoon who said yes is pleasant country.I read his advice to poets and various poems.I joined some poetry groups,better poets than I,but of the academe variety that I can't stand,talking of grammar and sticking by structures all day.I really can't bear them,they have as much passion as a court judge.Thank god for Cummings who was such a brave outlaw of grammar.
Really, since this damage its not so much poetry I'm writing as digging up anything one can find,it's archaeology not poetry.Bringing up relics from the ruins.Well I'm off to look at reddish things,to moon over death and drink my peppermint tea.
I read "the art of enchantment",Sharon blackies blog I usually find it a little too intellectual and too much in the head,but there was a good entry on the Irish myth "The only jealousy of Emer" which is one of my favourites.I love Fand the otherworldly woman in this story in love with the married Cu Chulainn,who returns him to his wife.Ive been thinking of him,only a little.I try at times to get back into my old world of fortnums and frilly things.I still love girlish things like pale velvet shoes with pretty diamanté jewels, but it's faded,both due to the damage and because I've come to a new phase.The more I think of red and things of the spirit instead,the more this time unfolds for me.When I think of red,I think of tragic poets carousing the countryside,I always wanted a life like that.I do now.Ill wait for it.For imbas to work its magic and mythos through me.But over the last two years I found such perfect happiness in the thought of a nested housewifery too.I don't know which world I want more.Many people live a domesticated life that is still wild and deep.Oh I long for musicians,poets,artists all around,I use to be such a creative spirit,I was kindred.Artists and poets really suffer their wayward spirits that both give them their brilliance,that throw them here and there,then drag them down into death.Your life is bound to be tragic if you are ruled by spirit and emotion.
I looked at pictures of baby animals my gosh I couldn't handle it,I kept talking to them in such a baby way,little otters with their hands almost in prayer,baby lambs that look like their smiling,mama bears with their babies...oh it was too much.I also added the images below to my me and my house board on Pinterest (katiewistow) to signify red and my love of Celtic studies.I use to conjure so much by gathering these images,now I must try hard to conjure even the tiniest spark.Right now I love maroons,rich colours,sage and deep dark greens,blacks,bruins,mustard.I don't want light colours.If I could describe my character or soul in one sentence it would be - fussy Edwardian girl who lives in her library and eats Bon Bons.
I read e.e Cummings yesterday afternoon who said yes is pleasant country.I read his advice to poets and various poems.I joined some poetry groups,better poets than I,but of the academe variety that I can't stand,talking of grammar and sticking by structures all day.I really can't bear them,they have as much passion as a court judge.Thank god for Cummings who was such a brave outlaw of grammar.
Really, since this damage its not so much poetry I'm writing as digging up anything one can find,it's archaeology not poetry.Bringing up relics from the ruins.Well I'm off to look at reddish things,to moon over death and drink my peppermint tea.
Total Comments 0
