I am limping along here in heaven and Mr. Moon is about to cook some grouper he caught and I have a fistfull of green beans from the garden and the Big Chickens are making a lot of noise in the iron plant outside the back yard and one of the bantys escaped when I filled their feeder this afternoon and he can fly like a damn eagle already but we caught him and put him back.
I think it was the baby from next door. Banty chickens are not regular chickens and I can tell you that with certainty.
I don't know. I don't know.
I donated to Public Radio today, finally, during the last hours of the pledge drive and that should make me feel good.
Jesus. The GUILT, OH THE GUILT!
It's always the guilt.
Should we have grits with our fish and should we have stewed tomatoes and will I dare to eat a peach?
The mermaids call each to each.
I do not think they call for me.
There's a poem you can put in your pocket and I remember tripping my ASS off on LSD and my friend David reciting The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufock by heart, by memory in a car and we rolled the windows up so that none of it would escape.
Ah-yah. That was a long time ago.
Grits. I need to cook grits. And cook some tomatoes.
I am limping along in heaven.
Better than struttin' in hell anyway.
ReplyDeleteLOL! "I am limping along here in heaven..."
ReplyDeletesometimes i am in the middle of a perfect moment. all the family is here. everybody is having a good time, laughing, good food, healthy and i feel like ... distanced? present but not fully there? aware that it's good, able to describe it so others feel the goodness, but somehow i'm not really inside of it. something. and i get the feeling you are feeling sort of like that?
ReplyDeleteSweet Jesus, I am quoting the Bible: This is what will happen in heaven: "the eyes of the blind will be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped. And the lame will leap like a deer, and the mute tongue will shout for joy" ...
ReplyDeleteEnd Times, anyone?
Prufrock is divine forever. Typed. On my stupid kindle. So I'd. Better stop.
ReplyDeletelove.
In heaven - if it exists - there is no guilt, otherwise it can't be heaven.
ReplyDeleteKristin- Sometimes I don't believe there is a damn difference.
ReplyDeleteMaybe. Maybe there is.
It's called dissociation. It's (sigh) part of a mental (sigh) illness.
SJ- You know.
Denise- We can only hope. What a beautiful verse.
Madame King- I got your comment via email. Yeah. It's a good damn poem, ain't it? Peaches and mermaids. Can't argue with that.
Elisabeth- I think that if I didn't experience guilt I would already live in heaven.
ReplyDeleteI like the story of rolling up the windows to keep the Prufrock in!
ReplyDelete...and you are oh, so funny and great! :-)
ReplyDeleteIt's like taking a little trip with you every time I stop by :)
ReplyDeleteRolling up the windows to keep it all in, oh my. Funny isn't it, that out of our minds, all those years ago, such incredible, indelible memories were made. Those were some of the best of times...
We had one batch of banty chicks when I was young, speaking of indelible memories. It seems all we ever did was run around with crab nets trying to catch them.
Thanks for the memories.
xo
I have never heard of this poem until 2 days ago. High School son brings home an assignment to read this same poem. as they have learned about modernism and Picasso (this is Language Arts class). He is supposed to draw a picture with his interpretation of the poem. Son is Mr. Literal. He has no clue what poem is about or what to do.
ReplyDeleteAnd then I read your post and this is 2nd time now in my life I have heard of the poem. Maybe he should get high to understand the poem or how to interpret it....
I just taught this poem to 27 unsuspecting Humanities students. I love Prufrock, and by the end of class about a third of them did, too.
ReplyDeleteThe others were more impressed that an anagram for T.S. Eliot is TOILETS. (I used that, though, when I was teaching about art feeding literature. We looked at Duchamp's Fountain and saw Modernism at work, then looked at TSE and saw how it redefines literature, too).
A- It was a true thing.
ReplyDeletenicol- Well, funny. Maybe.
Mel- I just told Mr. Moon what you said about the crab nets and he laughed. We can see how this would be true.
Michele R- Couldn't hurt. Maybe.
Pamela- It's an old person poem, in a way and yet, it has that ennui that appeals to the young. I don't know. I'm not a poet or a teacher but I've always really liked that poem.
I love the escaping poetry :)
ReplyDeleteI grow old, I grow old
ReplyDeleteI shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled
Thomas Sterns Eliot was quite the poet. And Prufrock is one of my favorites.