Thursday, April 26, 2012

p'tit poeme

"Patience is the poor girl
who waits.

Free is in my boots.

I have streets to articulate."

I am finishing up memorizing a large chunk of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot for my Realism-Modernism class, which I finish up today, having just written an extra credit little paper on Donald Kartiganer and form in Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. Twenty-six lines down, a few more to go. Fortunately the rhythm of "Love Song" is great, which I have found is much more easy to remember than the fewer-word but rhythm-less free form poetry.

"And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time,
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet."

I was off at a wedding shower last night for my friend Ellie, which was lovely although the poor thing had her appendix out Monday and wasn't feeling as darling as she looked.

Gray and rainy again today.

poem image from modernhepburn.tumblr

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