tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.comments2012-03-14T00:28:48.317-04:00IdiosyncrateAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-47896508256525182462012-03-14T00:28:48.317-04:002012-03-14T00:28:48.317-04:00Thanks. That's very kind of you to say.Thanks. That's very kind of you to say.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-87349007300544065582012-03-14T00:18:48.849-04:002012-03-14T00:18:48.849-04:00I came upon your blog while looking for something ...I came upon your blog while looking for something else entirely. I have a fondness for poetry, so I read and became enthralled with your writing. You write beautifully. The emotion leaks out of the words subtly - you don't know you're affected until you are, if that makes sense. I look forward to reading more.<br /><br />PS. The Road Not Taken is a personal favorite.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-42743884436734254492011-11-15T16:02:36.552-05:002011-11-15T16:02:36.552-05:00I hadn't really thought about it in terms of s...I hadn't really thought about it in terms of sin and salvation, to be honest. I suppose I can see some ways in which those themes develop. I'd be curious, to be sure, to hear more about that...Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-2009247112506662522011-11-15T15:43:43.342-05:002011-11-15T15:43:43.342-05:00Funny coincidence, i met a colleague today who tea...Funny coincidence, i met a colleague today who teaches this poem in her class. She explained the religious symbolism in it (as well as the sexy bits)all about forbidden fruit, sin and salvation.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-86720347990129129222011-03-30T11:07:41.551-04:002011-03-30T11:07:41.551-04:00I should mention that more of Edna St. Vincent Mil...I should mention that more of Edna St. Vincent Millay's works can be found in the anonymous comment on my post "On Trains...", left there by a reader. I think.<br /><br />http://idiosyncrate.blogspot.com/2011/03/on-trains.htmlAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-46318320706228393632011-03-29T10:30:06.151-04:002011-03-29T10:30:06.151-04:00I am happy, at least, to know that I am not the on...I am happy, at least, to know that I am not the only one who feels this way about the trains. I had been reading up a tiny bit about St. Vincent Millay, and another blogger somewhere (I fear I do not remember where) mentioned how unapologetically bleak some of her stuff is. This last one reminded me of this comment. And yet, bleak as it may be, she really manages some beauty. You are of course, anonymous, and yet, somehow, in my mind, I imagined I heard your voice as I read the poems. It is so nice to have poems read to one.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-32120458062749826332011-03-29T10:20:17.378-04:002011-03-29T10:20:17.378-04:00TRAVEL
The railroad track is miles away,
And the ...TRAVEL<br /><br />The railroad track is miles away,<br />And the day is loud with voices speaking,<br />Yet there isn't a train goes by all day<br />But I hear its whistle shrieking.<br /><br />All night there isn't a train goes by,<br />Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,<br />But I see its cinders red on the sky,<br />And hear its engine steaming.<br /><br />My heart is warm with the friends I make,<br />And better friends I'll not be knowing;<br />Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,<br />No matter where it's going.<br /><br /><br />DEPARTURE<br /><br />It's little I care what path I take,<br />And where it leads it's little I care;<br />But out of this house, lest my heart break,<br />I must go, and off somewhere.<br /><br />It's little I know what's in my heart,<br />What's in my mind it's little I know,<br />But there's that in me must up and start,<br />And it's little I care where my feet go.<br /><br />I wish I could walk for a day and a night,<br />And find me at dawn in a desolate place<br />With never the rut of a road in sight,<br />Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.<br /><br />I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,<br />And drop me, never to stir again,<br />On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,<br />And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.<br /><br />But dump or dock, where the path I take<br />Brings up, it's little enough I care;<br />And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,<br />Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.<br /><br />"Is something the matter, dear," she said,<br />"That you sit at your work so silently?"<br />"No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.<br />There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea."<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent MillayAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-20729719492335284462010-11-29T19:49:34.737-05:002010-11-29T19:49:34.737-05:00These are relavant observations, of course. There...These are relavant observations, of course. There is no threshold in continuum. My reading on death these days has led me to the life as liminal between pre- post- existence, which I found to be useful, and interesting as a thought experiment. But, honestly, my use of liminal as a descriptor for autumn is really about a personal point of view concerning the passage of time and the role of the 4 seasons as symbolic. It is clearly an artificial framework, but so is the very concept of seasons anyway, especially in Montreal, with almost no good sweater weather at all.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04629003132928598888noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2236475489476631501.post-22613249068721604752010-11-29T13:14:57.378-05:002010-11-29T13:14:57.378-05:00Are birth and death liminal states because they bo...Are birth and death liminal states because they bookend life, or is life the liminal phase between pre-existence and post-existence, which seem, the both, to be very much the same? This, I present for argument's sake, but in terms of the seasons, I find it hard to see threshold in continuum. Spring fades into Summer and Summer into Fall. One is each a threshold for the passing into the other.Jeffnoreply@blogger.com