Eight Lives Left

Staples was supposed to deliver my desk yesterday. Around 10:30 I peeked outside my front door and discovered a delivery notice stuck to it, saying they’d come by at 9:15am and I didn’t answer the door so no delivery. All I can think is that either they didn’t really knock, or I didn’t hear the door when I was in the back cleaning the cat box. Gah. I called Staples and asked them to have the delivery man call me before he delivered so I’d be sure to be in the right spot when he comes by today. I’m hovering by the front door like a freak now, really nervous that I’ll miss them again. I just want my damned desk!

I took today off from work because, well, because I wanted to, but also there’s the desk stuff going on and I’m meeting my sister at 3:30pm or so to shop for futons for the spare room. If the desk does show up today then I might be tempted to try and put it together myself, but really I shouldn’t because it’s large and heavy and probably requires two people. I’ll try to be patient and just call the subcontractor who does the assembly to make an appointment. I really really want my office set up, though. This is ridiculous. I’ve been here a month now - all of these boxes should be empty!

Amazon has the song from the Where the Hell is Matt video that’s making the Internet rounds right now. I bought it because it’s lovely, and I like the English translation of the lyrics. It’s from a poem by Rabindranth Tagore called Gitanjali.

Stream of Life

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

And just for the hell of it, here’s the video:

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,–but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, –
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I had thought the title of the book and movie were from something that I recognized, but I didn’t figure it out until I came across this snippet of poetry:

That is no country for old men. The young
in one another’s arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
– W. B. Yeats, Byzantium

I just finished a book that overall I found incredibly annoying to read. It did have a couple of high points, though, one of which was this poem in the appendix. I’m going to put it here for future reference. This comes from House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski.

You Shall Be My Roots

You shall be my roots and
I will be your shade,
though the sun burns my leaves.

You shall quench my thirst and
I will feed you fruit,
though time takes my seed.

And when I’m lost and can tell nothing of this earth
you will give me hope.

And my voice you will always hear.
And my hand you will always have.

For I will shelter you.
And I will comfort you.
And even when we are nothing left,
not even in death,
I will remember you.

Oh, and here’s another one I had marked:

Untitled Fragment

Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves

moments before the wind.