The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Wednesday

By Kabir
Translated by Robert Bly

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such
We sense that there is some sort of spirit that loves
   birds and animals and the ants --
perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in
   your mother's womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely
   orphaned now?
The truth is you turned away yourself,
and decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten
   what you once knew,
and that's why everything you do has some weird
   failure in it.


Oh what a day. I think I blew it yesterday and didn't call to cancel a dentist appointment for my kids that I had been sure I moved to another date because my older son has chess club after school on Tuesdays (and was originally scheduled for Hebrew school, before we switched Hebrew to the Thursday class so he could do chess club). The late bus was very late due to the weather and my son did not get home till after six. Today I am supposed to spend half the day with gblvr but my younger son seems to have yanked a wire loose in his braces, meaning that I may have to take him to the orthodontist (who is in the same offices as the dentist). I am rather frazzled and unfocused and this makes things generally suck.

In good news, though, I had lunch with the lovely beeej after weeks of delay, and I finished the first draft of chapter eleven of "Tea and Chocolate" that's been giving me fits for weeks. And Washington is getting a baseball team. Must be the full moon. Speaking of lunacy, Boromir (the gerbil) has decided that instead of crawling into his little hidey-house through the well-gnawed front door, he would rather keep turning it over and using it as a nest (until he gnaws through it, at least). Here, look:


  • Greetings from the Canal

    It rained early in the morning on Friday and again in the afternoon -- the first thunderstorm of the season, which displeased the kittens so much…

  • Poem for Friday and Canal Thursday

    Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz By Matthew Olzmann You whom I could not save, Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar backpacks…

  • Poem for Thursday and McCrillis Flowers

    A Violin at Dusk By Lizette Woodworth Reese Stumble to silence, all you uneasy things, That pack the day with bluster and with fret. For here…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded