I'm soaking in
The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje, currently. It has been a long, long while since I've been so absorbed in a book - the last time was K
eturah and Lord Death, I think. Ondaatje's sentences are weighty with meaning and poetry. I feel that if I could read this book for all my life, I would still gather some kind of new image, a new understanding.
Today a guy from my childhood asked me, again, a question pertaining to my age. What to think, I wonder.
Papa bought a new camera and it takes beautiful pictures. My brother and I walked out to the woods behind our apartments where there is a gathering of wheat, always swaying now that winter is forcing its full breath upon us. We've been going there just as the sun is making its slow way down to sleep, shimmering out above the rocking heads apocalyptically. It's hard to catch them in their swaying, but the new camera does it. I have yet to name it; it's chunky. Perhaps Marcus.
Last night we watched a movie called Joyeux Noelle, and there was a German officer whose name I can't remember.. talking to my sister later, I told her I would have married him immediately if it was possible. I told her we would have met in front of a coffee shop; he would have made a comment and I would have laughed and he would have asked me if I would like some coffee. We would meet a year later, overseas, and would fall in love; be married in France, honeymoon in Belgium and Austria, settle down in Denmark, perhaps Sweden; our son would run with him every morning in the misty hills, dew forming on their collarbones as they ran.
My sister said, Wow - you just told me your whole life story! And I mumbled, Not at all.
If that is all a life is, then how sad. Life is so full: a fig with countless little seeds juicing up and out with every bite, millions more in each fibrous crevice. A pomegranet both sweet and rich and bitter; a cup of bergamot tea. Food-related analogies are always the best ones.
As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts
Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms
Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?
For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt
And my head told my heart
"Let love grow"
But my heart told my head,
"This time no,
This time no."
We'll be washed and buried one day my girl
And the time we were given will be left for the world
The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague
So let the memories be good for those that stay
And my head told my heart,
"Let love grow"
But my heart told my head,
"This time no";
Yes my heart told my head,
"This time no,
This time no."
Oh the shame that sent me off from the God that I once loved
Was the same that sent me into your arms
Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone
And no hope, no hope will overcome
And if your strife strikes at your sleep
Remember spring swaps snow for leaves
You'll be happy and wholesome again
When the city clears and the sun ascends
My head told my heart,
"Let love grow,"
But my heart told my head,
"This time no -
This time no."
