Those feet are in here somewhere
with a bag of vegetable tailings
Cucumber and zucchini starts. I could almost plant these out today...
Rob made jalapeño corn muffins one night to go with chili from the freezer.
He also made Ina's mustard fish
(Probably the best fish recipe ever. Recipe here.)
Tomato and pepper seedlings
(a bit behind schedule because, uh, pandemic)
Poem
Of Modern Poetry
The
poem of the mind in the act of finding
What
will suffice. It has not always had
To
find: the scene was set; it repeated what
Was
in the script.
Then the theatre was changed
To
something else. Its past was a souvenir.
It
has to be living, to learn the speech of the place.
It
has to face the men of the time and to meet
The
women of the time. It has to think about war
And
it has to find what will suffice. It has
To
construct a new stage. It has to be on that stage
And,
like an insatiable actor, slowly and
With
meditation, speak words that in the ear,
In
the delicatest ear of the mind, repeat,
Exactly,
that which it wants to hear, at the sound
Of
which, an invisible audience listens,
Not
to the play, but to itself, expressed
In
an emotion as of two people, as of two
Emotions
becoming one. The actor is
A
metaphysician in the dark, twanging
An
instrument, twanging a wiry string that gives
Sounds
passing through sudden rightnesses, wholly
Containing
the mind, below which it cannot descend,
Beyond
which it has no will to rise.
It must
Be
the finding of a satisfaction, and may
Be
of a man skating, a woman dancing, a woman
Combing.
The poem of the act of the mind.
Cow butter, goat butter
Music
By request...
Saturday In The Park
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