Tuesday, July 15, 2008


I've been really busy with a teaching conference lately, so here's just a quick poetry non-Friday for you. (btw, I realize it's summer, not spring, but I still thought the sentiment apropos) (also, found this via bookshelves of doom) (and also, be warned about bookshelves of doom: my to-be-read pile has jumped up by about fifteen books since I started reading her!) (and that's it with the parentheses, I promise!)

by: Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

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