October 27: Halloween Poetry Reading, Thomas Lovell Beddoes, "Dirge"

Let me apologize for my absence yesterday.  I was giving a Halloween poetry reading at my local library.  Then I was drinking beer at a local microbrewery.  By the time I got home, I was in no shape to compose anything.  I barely made it past ten o'clock without falling asleep on the couch.

The reading went well.  There were many people--family, friends, and a few strangers.  Those strangers became friends after a few drinks.

Busy weekend ahead.  Writing.  Reading at a Halloween show.  Working on a teaching narrative (yes, that is as awful as it sounds).  Tonight, however, I plan to relax and watch a couple episodes of the second season of Stranger Things.

Saint Marty has a nice Halloween poem about ghosts and graves for tonight . . .

Dirge

by:  Thomas Lovell Beddoes

We do lie beneath the grass
          In the moonlight, in the shade
     Of the yew-tree.  They that pass
          Hear us not.  We are afraid
               They would envy our delight,
               In our graves by glow-worm night.
Come follow us, and smile as we;
          We sail to the rock in the ancient waves,
Where the snow falls by thousands in the sea,
          And the drown'd and the shipwreck'd have happy graves.

May 6: Air of Menace, Going on a Date, PBS

Still, the day had an air of menace.  A broken whiskey bottle by the log, the brown tip of a snake's tail disappearing between two rocks on the hill at my back, the rabbit and the dog nearly caught, the rabies I knew was in the county, the bees who kept unaccountably fumbling at my forehead with the furred feet . . .

Dillard is on another walk through the woods by Tinker Creek.  She describes the air as being "steamy" and full of "menace."  There's something about the day that unsettles her.  Shards of whiskey bottles.  Snakes.  Rabid rabbits.  Errant bees.  The world is full of some kind of danger that she can't quite define.

It is warm today in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  Eighty-degrees warm.  I wouldn't be surprised if, when I watch the news tonight, weather records were broken today.  Now, the sky is turning a little dark.  A menace of rain in the air, as Dillard might say.  Before I left work this evening, it rained a little bit.  Enough to create some humidity.

Don't get me wrong.  I do not mind the warm temperatures, humidity, or rain.  I have been waiting for summer to arrive.  Or at least spring.  When I was younger, I used to be a winter person.  I loved the short days, long nights, and slate-gray skies.  They appealed to my poetic sensibilities, I think.  Now, I find inspiration in warmth and light.  I'm not sure that means that I'm getting old and soft, or that I have mellowed and matured.

Tonight, my wife and I are going on a date.  Drinks at a nearby microbrewery.  Maybe something deep-fried and unhealthy to nibble on.  There's a part of me that simply wants to put on a pair of pajamas and watch PBS this evening (maybe I am old).  However, the promise of a Tanqueray and tonic is a little irresistible.  So, since the kids are spending the night at grandma's house, I plan to get slightly inebriated before I go to bed.  It's Friday, after all.  And warm. 

If Saint Marty plays his cards right, he may get drunk and watch PBS.  A perfect night.