May 2: Sleep More Easily, Poetry Assignments, No Cartoons

It was in fact a blessing.  An ability to sleep more easily and deeply had come to him during the past few years.  Where he used to toss and turn and drive his wife crazy at night, no sooner would he now lay his head upon the pillow than he would fall asleep.  But not into that sleep of old age, but into the sleep of a child, an infinitude of possibilities swaddling him.

I love that description of the sleep of a child, full of "an infinitude of possibilities."  Ives, in his old age, has rediscovered hope.  That's what possibility is all about.  Instead of focusing on the heartaches of the past, Ives is now looking forward, even in times of rest and rejuvenation.

I look forward to that kind of sleep tonight.  This morning, I graded a pile of poem explications from my poetry class.  This evening, I graded a stack of book reviews from my poetry class.  All of the hard work is done now.  All that's left are the poetry portfolios.  I've seen the poems before.  I've helped them with revisions on several occasions.  It will not take me long to grade them.

Therefore, I have no burdens weighing on my mind tonight.  Tomorrow, I will watch my daughter dance again.  (She received an Outstanding Award for the dance she did this afternoon.  That's like a Gold Medal.)  Then we're going to do shopping.  I plan on buying a few shirts for work.  Maybe some vintage tee shirts.  After the shopping, it's the Outback Steakhouse for dinner (my daughter's choice--she's a little carnivore). 

In short, the rest of the weekend, for the most part, is pleasure.  Even grading the portfolios--pleasure.

There will be no new cartoons this weekend.  I have no energy to be funny.  The only thing I have energy to do right now is eat some M&Ms, maybe watch a little SNL, and go to sleep.

An infinitude of possibilities swaddling Saint Marty.

I see a martini and rack of lamb in my infinitude of possibilities

April 29: Grading All Weekend, Molly Peacock, "The Fare"

I have been, once again, grading all day.  I will be grading all weekend, as well.  Poetry portfolios.  Book reviews.  I'm just hoping to carve out a little time for pleasure.  A steak dinner.  A little shopping.  Some pleasure reading.

Speaking of pleasure reading, how about another poem by the Poet of the Week?

Saint Marty needs a poetic pick-me-up.

The Fare

by:  Molly Peacock

Bury me in my pink pantsuit you said--and I did.
But I'd never dressed you before!  I saw the glint
of gold in your jewelry drawer and popped
the earrings in a plastic bag along with pearls,
a pink-and-gold pin, and your perfume.  (What's this?"
the mortician said . . . "Oh well, we'll spray some on.")
Now your words from the coffin:  "Take my earrings off!
I've had them on all day, for God's sake!"
You've had them on five days.  The lid's closed,
and the sharp stab of a femininity
you couldn't stand for more than two hours in life
is eternal--you'll never relax.  I'm four hundred miles away.
Should I call up the funeral home and have them removed?
You're not buried yet--stored till the ground thaws--
where, I didn't ask.  Probably the mortician's garage.
I should have buried you in slippers and a bathrobe.
Instead, I gave them your shoes.  Oh, please
do it for me.  I can't stand the thought of you
pained by vanity forever.  Reach your cold hand
up to your ear and pull and hear the click
of the clasp hinge unclasping, then reach
across your face and get the other one
and--this effort could take you days, I know,
since you're dead.  Let it be your last effort:
to change my mistake and be dead in comfort.
Lower your hands in their places
on your low mound of stomach and rest, rest,
You can let go of the earrings.  They'll fall
to the bottom of the casket like tokens,
return fare fallen to the pit
of a coat's satin pocket.

Haven't failed anybody yet this semester