falcongrrl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
falcongrrl) wrote2006-09-19 05:43 pm
falcongrrl) wrote2006-09-19 05:43 pm
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Well, me hardies, it be long since I writ a word er two in this accursed log. Too much grog an' too little time fer thinkin' makes fer a happy pirate, aye. Seas be calm fer now, and that be all ye can say, seein' as how the weather's apt t'change afore ye know it. Aye, that be both metaphor and not, as Adrienne Rich be fond o' sayin' in her pirate poem, "Storm Warnings." Aye, weather abroad 'n' weather in th' heart alike come on, regardless o' what ye be fond o' predictin'.
Still, there be booty in th' hold an grog in me glass; me beard be gray but me arm an' me plank be as hard/y as ever. I be content, 'cept when not. Months pass, and sometimes th' breeze be blowin' o'er the bow and ye look an' there be th' sun, gold like a piece o'eight and ringed perfect. When it happens, ye best be yellin', "Land ho!" Not 'cause there be land in sight--nay, just 'cause it be fun wreakin' havoc with the crew fer a saltysun sea dog like me'self. 'Specially after a mite o' good rum.
So, leave th' tilt o' the deck under me feet and the spray in me beard and th' glass in me hand - for I be a pirate now and alway, an' ne'er you mind th' scamps an' scalawags an' thieves about. That be what make it all worth doin', fer any pirate worth his salt.
Pretty pictures in me head? Aye. Still there, mate. Dreams be alive...but it be work keepin' this boat afloat.
Still, there be booty in th' hold an grog in me glass; me beard be gray but me arm an' me plank be as hard/y as ever. I be content, 'cept when not. Months pass, and sometimes th' breeze be blowin' o'er the bow and ye look an' there be th' sun, gold like a piece o'eight and ringed perfect. When it happens, ye best be yellin', "Land ho!" Not 'cause there be land in sight--nay, just 'cause it be fun wreakin' havoc with the crew fer a salty
So, leave th' tilt o' the deck under me feet and the spray in me beard and th' glass in me hand - for I be a pirate now and alway, an' ne'er you mind th' scamps an' scalawags an' thieves about. That be what make it all worth doin', fer any pirate worth his salt.
Pretty pictures in me head? Aye. Still there, mate. Dreams be alive...but it be work keepin' this boat afloat.
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The glass has been falling all the afternoon,
And knowing better than the instrument
What winds are walking overhead, what zone
Of grey unrest is moving across the land,
I leave the book upon a pillowed chair
And walk from window to closed window, watching
Boughs strain against the sky
And think again, as often when the air
Moves inward toward a silent core of waiting,
How with a single purpose time has traveled
By secret currents of the undiscerned
Into this polar realm. Weather abroad
And weather in the heart alike come on
Regardless of prediction.
Between foreseeing and averting change
Lies all the mastery of elements
Which clocks and weatherglasses cannot alter.
Time in the hand is not control of time,
Nor shattered fragments of an instrument
A proof against the wind; the wind will rise,
We can only close the shutters.
I draw the curtains as the sky goes black
And set a match to candles sheathed in glass
Against the keyhole draught, the insistent whine
Of weather through the unsealed aperture.
This is our sole defense against the season;
These are the things we have learned to do
Who live in troubled regions.
-Adrienne Rich
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(Note that he even talks about it in that profile.)