Woke with these rhythms in my head:
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That the dear She might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain;
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite--
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."
Took me a bit to recognize them as Astrophel and Stella. Why? I don't know why. I memorized it at one point. It was there this morning wordlessly banging on the drum.
***
Drums, incidentally, are what Glenda plans to get Sage for Christmas. Because Sage loves music. Because apparently she loves the drums. Of course she does, I said. She's three.
***
Finished the UA Poetry Center Summer Residency application, but that's the least onerous one. Onward with Casa Libre en la Solana, the MacDowell Colony, and then Sewanee, if I can sustain the energy. Know where I wilt? In asking for letters of recommendation. I wish that work on no one I love and who loves me back. And I need one recommender to apply to McDowell, two for Sewanee. So it may not happen.
***
pa rum pum pum pum
***
"The monster's going to make us all into one Santa Claus and we won't be able to watch t.v. anymore." --Sage, hands thrown up in despair
***
