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| Cooder on the ironing board out of harm's way. |
Chained to my desk, refining resume, thinking of search terms, trying to redefine meself. Is that like retrofitting? Yikes. Okay, but I did go out for my 20-minute or so walk. I think I have a loop in mind and perhaps that will help with the habit for the time being.
Cooder has been friendlier for some reason. Today's poem quite knocked off my socks. I'm no particular Eliot fan, but this was good and apprehendable. (The rest is at the end of the post.) Mind you, I was more of a bummerness this morning than now. Then again, I am not the first person to be affected by this poem:
Journey of the Magi
T.S. Eliot
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
It was the first stanza that felt so apropos of the times as well as of my own "cold coming/worst time of the year" situation. One wonders if all is folly and the voices heard were sung by others and not by moi-meme.
I like what the wikipedia says about it:
It picks up Eliot's consistent theme of alienation and a feeling of powerlessness in a world that has changed. In this regard, with a speaker who laments outliving his world, the poem recalls Arnold's Dover Beach, as well as a number of Eliot's own works. Instead of a celebration of the wonders of the journey, the poem is largely a complaint about a journey that was painful and tedious. The speaker says that a voice was always whispering in their ears as they went that "this was all folly".
Yeah that about describes my current situation. Well, I am trying to think about the wonders and not be all about complaints. So, I am going to stretch and go back to work. Almost bed time anyway.
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
I've begun to think that I need to simplify my life. To get rid of more of the things I have so carefully and lovingly created. I think some of these possessions just pressure me. Or I am hanging on to for a rainy day or something more significant to change. I think I am "salting" in with my ideas and dreams and not getting on with ... what? reality?
