Yes my brother I know,
The rest might not, but I have treasur’d every note,
For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding,
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights
after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,
Listen’d long and long.
Listen’d to keep, to sing, now translating the notes,
Following you my brother.
No matter how well others may do it, or how much they may save thereby, I should never paint, stain, or dye anything in a house. Whenever I do, even if I do it right, I make an error that cannot be repaired by me and that will cost more to have repaired than it would have done simply to hire out the job I was attempting to save by doing myself.
This has just happened, again.
Filed under Poetry, Songs
This is a really good performance. I have seen Frederica von Stade in this role, but later.
Yes, when the stars glisten’d,
All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake,
Down almost amid the slapping waves,
Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.
He call’d on his mate,
He pour’d forth the meanings which I of all men know.
I am always looking for brilliant new versions of Voi che sapete.
Voi che sapete
che cosa è amor,
s’io l’ho nel cuor;
s’io l’ho nel cor.
it always does amaze
or perhaps i should say hurriedly knowing
winking sighing but knowing oh knowing we ought to know
yet it always does amaze
it always amazes me when faculty
running and jumping breathlessly ask
why we might need freedom or
it always does
—z. z. cummings
Filed under Movement, News