04 May 2007
...for now we are young let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see
I've been too busy grading papers and painting the house I moved into to get around to writing the landscape essay I promised, so I'm just going to post some shots I took while walking around West Radford last week. I've been neglecting the blog a bit lately, so I'm posting twice today--the first shots continue my ongoing laundromat series and the second shots are from the same section of West Radford. At some point, I plan on pulling together my best laundromat shots and making a book, so let me know which of these you like/dislike.
I made light of my own poem in the previous post, but Hughes' Birthday Letters is a moving meditation on his relationship with Plath, as the following poem testifies:
from "The Rag Rug"
Somebody had made one. You admired it.
So you began to make your rag rug.
You needed to do it. Played on by lightnings
You needed an earth. Maybe. Or needed
To pull something out of yourself-
Some tapeworm of the psyche. I was simply
Happy to watch your scissors being fearless
Whenever you worked at your carpet I felt happy.
Then I could read Conrad's novels to you.
I could cradle your freed mind in my voice,
Chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence,
Word by word: "Heart of Darkness,"
I dreamed of our house
Before we ever found it. A great snake
Lifted its head from a well in the middle of the house
Exactly where the well is, beneath its slab,
In the middle of the house.
A golden serpent, thick as a child's body,
Eased from the opened well. And poured out
Through the back door, a length that seemed unending