Skip to main content

and then W.S. Merwin came along and I was inspired once again.




I'm reading W.S. Merwin, or trying to. I don't know, but I gather, he was educated in a rather classical tradition, which is sort of uncommon among the common folks especially these days. Not a lot of Greek and Latin scholaring going on if you know what I mean, which I think you do. 

I need a translator and an historian to walk me through Merwin, with his references to Greek history and Latin phrases. 

It's beautiful stuff though. The most accessible the poem  for me so far is, The Dance of Death
A king, a huntsman, a scholar, a monk, a farmer, and a woman (because at the time, a woman would not be anything else but a woman) address the reader in verse, what it is to be alive, but then each stanza ends the same, "Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio"  which I looked up and it's a quote from the Bible, Job 7:21 "For now shall I sleep in the dust, and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be." Bible words in Latin. Wowz. Beautiful stuff. 

I feel smarter already but I can't really riff on it. It's too stately for me to rob from, too serious and too stately. 

Or can I riff on it?

First of all, Spellcheck wants me to change my misspelled huntsman (I originally spelled "huntman") to "stuntman" which would shake things up considerably. 


The Stuntman

pretending to be slew
in front of the assembled film crew
through a fake window threw
the stage blood a scarlet hue---
waiting for my next cue
so for now I shall slumber 
in the Styrofoam rubble 
for I, I'm just the body double
Sempi ubi sub ubi

oohhh, ouch. Yeah, no. Or maybe all kinds of yes.
Step aside W.S. Merwin with all your fancy learnin'. I've got this shit DOWN.

Merwin by the way was educated at Princeton, is a linguist, poet, and editor, is 90 years old and still very much alive. No Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio for him. He's totally not dormio in the pulvere. (the Latin is intentionally bad, just FYI)



















Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just don't call me Late to Dinner

A friend recently asked if I was ever called Maggie or if I'd always been a Margaret. That got me thinking about my name. I hate my name.  Hate it. I have never liked my name. It seems fine to call other people Margaret. It sounds agreeable enough when I say hello to another Margaret. "Hello, Margaret!" I might say. And the name doesn't offend me. It doesn't make me recoil or wretch. It's just a name. And a fine name at that. But it's not for me. I don't feel like a Margaret. It doesn't fit me well.  Hangs off me all funny and weird. Can't ever seem to wear it comfortably. I don't like to be called by name. Frankly, it makes me feel sort of sick.  When I was a chubby 3rd grader I decided I wanted to go by a nickname.   Peggy. I wrote it in my clumsy curly cursive on the front inside cover of my books.   I said it out loud to myself in the mirror. Peggy. Peggy! I liked it. First of all Peg...

possible blog material

possible blog posts for blogtober: 15 things you don't know about my left nut: 1. I don't have a left nut 2.  I do not even have a right nut As I can only get to #2, this idea needs fleshing out before I commit to it. Hahaha...fleshing out.  some things you don't know about my cat 1. I have a cat 2. she's a cat  3. she does cat things 4. she shits in a box   15 things I want to change about myself 1. fuck this shit 2. seriously 3. back off 4. you do not want to go down this path 5. really One billion (maybe this is too ambitious) observations made while sitting on the toilet  1. someone should really mop the floor  2. I need to get some new reading material in here,   3. I think the new Oprah magazine was in yesterday's mail  4. there are only so many times you can read about living your best life while sitting on the shitter  5. reading recipes while using the bathroom is sort of we...

We're in a horrible mess and I feel like I owe folks an explanation

Hey there friends. In the past, I haven't been shy about talking about my bipolar II, my near constant depression, and anxiety. Writing about my experiences has been a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel I am reveling too much and that I'm embarrassing myself.  Then there are times when people reach out and thank me for being honest about my mental health struggles. Some folks find comfort or solidarity in the stuff I write and that's good, because that's my hope and intention.  I've been mostly silent though about this most recent episode. It's been so dire I felt foolish discussing it much. It just felt too big to be real. I worried that people would think I was being overly dramatic. I have been tempted to dump it all out there like a bag of old garbage, but I though, who needs that. And frankly, at a certain point it felt like who cares, why bother, it's all a load of shit and in the long run, who gives a fuck. At this point though, I feel like I owe...