.two poems for poetry month: "Prism" (selections) and 'Paradise Lost'

Today is kind of a weird day. On one hand, I'm making significant progress on stuff, which is a really good thing, considering the Plan is to have four chapters of Rodney the Dissertation (which is turning into Uriel "I'll Fucking Smite Your Ass" the Dissertation) done by early fall. As it turns out, this is even better because I will most likely not be getting summer funding this year, due to what I now strongly suspect is my own fuck-up.

It's times like this I wish fanfic/fanart paid a lot better than it did. Or that graduate students had an easier time finding financial patrons who were okay with the thought of spending money so someone could spend a summer writing about old literature about 200 people in the world care about, or that everything in my mind, soul, and body did not rebel against the idea of sugar daddies. This is going to be one perilous few months, balancing the job I hope to acquire with writing as fast as I can. *sigh*

Another good thing is, hey, it's National Poetry Month! I bring you a selection of Louise Glück's "Prism," from her collection Averno (2006). The entirety of the collection resonates with me because of my interest in problems of mind and the world of the human body, the restraints of society and the expectation it places upon women, what happens when women are tired of having hands and want to grow wings to fly to the sun. Her poetry looks back to the long tradition of meditation and divine ascent in Western writing, but in a way that subtly suggests there is not much divinity waiting for us at the end of the road: all there is, as "Blue Rotunda" suggests, is scorched.

( list the implications of 'crossroads' )

A few days ago, I tracked down and sent to unamaga an excerpt from Milton's Paradise Lost. I fondly refer to it as the Part with the Angel Sex0rs, and those of you who like themselves some Castiel might appreciate this, if only for the mental image of Castiel trying to explain angel sex to Dean, who snickers like a five-year-old the entire time.

Context (because it's nice to have): God knows Satan's on the prowl, looking to mess things up in Eden. He sends the archangel Raphael to speak to Adam, and tell him that things will be great so long as he doesn't do anything stupid like disobey. Adam then asks Raphael about various things, and Raphael tells him about the creation of the world, the fall of Satan, and then, upon request, angel sex.

( Total they mix, union of pure with pure / Desiring )

.a poem for Earth Day: "The Plum Tree at My Mountain Hut"

Things are calmer today. I think the summer is starting to work itself out, logistics-wise, and my fuck-up, while still embarrassing, has been resolved as best it can. (Hopefully, this is actually the case.) What helps is that the sun has come back, and everyone's gardens are blooming. So, for poetry month and Earth Day, a poem by the twelfth-century Japanese poet Saigyō, translated by Burton Watson (from the Sankashū, translated as Poems of a Mountain Home, 1991).

Take note:
the plum tree by my rustic hedge
halted in his tracks
a total stranger
who happened by

[Kokoro sen shizu ga kakine no mume wa aya na
yoshi naku suguru hito todomekeri]

I haven't been as diligent in my poetry reading lately. For some reason, writing is easier after reading poetry; the thinking is more direct, more concentrated on the words and image together instead of piling word on word into something I hope is a picture. Need to remember to do this more often.

For now though, outside with the dogs \o/