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Time:09:37 pm
16 weeks

I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements and an angelic sprite. . .
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Time:07:53 pm
I have always thought that one of our goals as parents is to fill our children's
memory bank with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pleasant scenes.

Dr. Sears

"It's a blind," her father said.
"What's a blind?" Alessandro asked.
"Memory of things like days at the sea, or thunderstorms."
"I love those things," Alessandro said. "You can't imagine
how much I love them."
"Alessandro, in memory, things, objects, and sensations
merely stand in for the people you love." He had to rest and
breathe before he continued. After awhile, he said, "If I long
for a thunderstorm in Rome sixty years ago, or seventy, for
the heavy rain and the disheveled lightning, for the wet trees
that were completely free and abandoned, it's not
because of the rain, or the quiet, or the ticking of the clock in
in the hall way - all of which I remember - but because of my
mother and my father, who held me at the window as we
watched the storm."

Mark Helprin, Soldier of the Great War
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Subject:Zulu Girl - Roy Campbell
Time:10:16 pm
When in the sun the hot red acres smoulder,
Down where the sweating gang its labour plies,
A girl flings down her hoe, and from her shoulder
Unslings her child tormented by the flies.

She takes him to a ring of shadow pooled
By thorn-trees: purpled with the blood of ticks,
While her sharp nails, in slow caresses ruled,
Prowl through his hair with sharp electric clicks,

His sleepy mouth plugged by the heavy nipple,
Tugs like a puppy, grunting as he feeds:
Through his frail nerves her own deep languors ripple
Like a broad river sighing through its reeds.

Yet in that drowsy stream his flesh imbibes
An old unquenched unsmotherable heat —
The curbed ferocity of beaten tribes,
The sullen dignity of their defeat.

Her body looms above him like a hill
Within whose shade a village lies at rest,
Or the first cloud so terrible and still
That bears the coming harvest in its breast.
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Subject:Night Feeding - Muriel Rukeyser
Time:08:23 pm
Deeper than sleep but not so deep as death
I lay there sleeping and my magic head
remembered and forgot. On first cry I
remembered and forgot and did believe.
I knew love and I knew evil:
woke to the burning song and the tree burning blind,
despair of our days and the calm milk-giver who
knows sleep, knows growth, the sex of fire and grass,
and the black snake with gold bones.

Black sleeps, gold burns; on second cry I woke
fully and gave to feed and fed on feeding.
Gold seed, green pain, my wizards in the earth
walked through the house, black in the morning dark.
Shadows grew in my veins, my bright belief,
my head of dreams deeper than night and sleep.
Voices of all birth arise, simple as we,
found in the leaves, in clouds and dark, in dream,
deep as this hour, ready again to sleep.
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Subject:and since I recently read the collected poems of Dickinson
Time:09:29 pm
these beauties

516

Beauty - be not caused - It Is -
Chase it, and it ceases -
Chase it not, and it abides -

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow - when the Wind
Runs his fingers thro' it -
Deity will see to it
That You never do it -


543

I fear a Man of frugal Speech -
I fear a Silent Man -
Haranguer - I can overtake -
Or Babbler - entertain -

But He who weigheth - While the Rest -
Expend their furthest pound -
Of this Man - I am wary -
I fear that He is Grand -


1383

Long Years apart - can make no
Breach a second cannot fill -
The absence of the Witch does not
Invalidate the spell -

The embers of a Thousand Years
Uncovered by the Hand
That fondled them when they were Fire
Will stir and understand -
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[icon] one-eyed seller of garlic and onions
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