Notes and photos

I'm reading an interview on Jack Kerouac and I smile when I get to the part where I discover he's a Pisces. My mind drifts to James Merrill (he's a Pisces, too) and the James Merrill phase I went through after discovering him in my Contemporary American Literature class in college. I feel a pang of sadness as I think about the thick James Merrill book I found at a book sale (I don't remember where). It's one of the books I've lost in the turbulence of '11. I remember the Irish Setter in one of his poems, "The Broken Home". I can still recall, quite vividly, the smile James Merrill was wearing in the picture on the book's jacket. His smile was shy and sad, a faraway look in his eyes. He didn't seem to be where he was. Very similar to this one, though he was a little younger in the other:

Something in me grows heavy, silvery, pliable.

- from "The Broken Home"

But yes, Jack Kerouac reminded me a little of you.

photo from www.brainpickings.org

And that's probably why I started jotting down these notes.

Notes and flowers

Living things don't all require 

light in the same degree. Some of us

make our own light:

- from "Lamium" by Louise Gluck

This poet's obsession with flowers has single-handedly strewn your mind with blooms. Never mind the uncertainty that lives there, or the sadness that comes for occasional visits. You can count on them not to mind.

The poet has a book filled with flowers. Roses, zinnias, irises, daisies, asters, buttercups, lilies. The pages whisper pinks and lavenders, burst into yellows and oranges, spew out reds and violets, echo blues and incidental blacks. They speak of living, and pain, and sorrow, and death, and hope. So much loveliness lining the hedges, colors brightening the pathways.

But you have zero interest in gardening. Once, you planted lavender Milflores (scientific name: Hydrangea Macrophylla, the internet says) in some grassy front yard from your past. They died, all four of them. Did they know you were going away?

photo from houseonahill.net

Your shopping list has only once included "flowers" (you can picture Mrs. Dalloway shaking her elegant head in disapproval) and the ones you bought were plastic. Tulips, they were, and white. Or were they purple? You wonder.

Are there even purple tulips?

You must remember to buy a vase, next time you go out. Write that down. Now.