Thursday, August 13, 2015

A thoroughly inexcusable piece of doggerel

Sing, O Muse, and in me tell the story
Of that girl skilled in all ways of pretending...


The above was the first thing that came to my mind when I opened this blank 'new post' page. I think it's talking about me, or a similar human, who is very good at daydreaming about every sort of situation from the mundane to the supernatural, usually at times when she should be studying or paying attention to Mass. She's skilled in pretending she's somewhere else, and pretending that it's ok to pretend rather than paying attention. É una brava ragazza... non.*

Today's written thingy should be a poem, because today is a poetic day. The weather was delightfully cool this morning as I waked to Mass, although it's a sunny day in August in the South. I found bits of Wordsworth's "Daffodils" floating through my head, and knew it was a poetry kind of day. I do like to wander lonely as a cloud, and I love daffodils, so I'm generally reminded of that poem anytime I walk through my neighborhood alone on a nice day. However, what I did this morning can hardly be called wandering proper, since I had a goal in mind, and I don't really consider myself lonely so much as having some peace and solitude, and I didn't see any daffodils because it's August (see above), and so, here's an version of "Daffodils", which better suits what I was actually doing this morning than the original. (Pardon the partly-free-verse format and numerous grammar contortions.)

Daft near Wheels

I walked purposefully toward my destination as a human
Who walks on low o'er asphalt streets
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of multicolored automobiles;
Across the street, in the intersection,
Driving and vrooming in the breeze.

Continuous as the lights that shine
And glimmer in the city rains,
They stretched in eventually-ending line
Along the margin of the lanes.
About four saw I at a glance,
With drivers' heads in perfect stance.

The houses near them stood quite still,
Did not outdo their noiseful glee:
A poet could not but be thrilled
By such a fearsome company:
I gazed--and gazed--and wondered when
I could start to walk again:

For oft, when I do cross the road
And do not wait for cars to cease,
They crash into my soul's abode...
Or would, if my pace not increased!
And then, with painful, dying sigh,
Upon a hospital couch I'd lie.

*I'm trying to learn Italian for a study-abroad program. This means, "She is a good girl... not,"; literally accurate, though perhaps not idiomatically.

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