Saturday, October 19

Listen to this poem by Robert Bly:



The quivering wings of the winter ant
wait for lean winter to end
I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,
hardly speaking, one or two words only.

What caused us each to live hidden?
A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.
Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,
awkwardly, not whole and not healed.

When we hid the wound, we fell back
from a human to a shelled life.
Now we feel the ant's hard chest,
the carapace, the silent tongue.

This must be the way of the ant,
the winter ant, the way of those
who are wounded and want to live:
to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.


G'dday, y'all :)
Posted by hKath at 4:01 PM ()


I have a new poem that I'm really proud of. It's probably the only damn good thing I've written since school started. The rest of my stuff has been all "blah blah crap blah" but this one actually means something to me. I don't know how that works. How have I been writing poetry that means nothing to me?

Oh, well. Anyway. It's good. I'm glad I scrapped my original plan to drink Scotch until I passed out and wrote this instead. It helped cheer me up a lot more than the Scotch would have. Although they both kind of have that woodsy taste.

Sestinas are my default function. I plan on publishing a book of them one day. I'm crazy about them. Like, I could read them all day and just feel calm and lulled by them. It's the repetition. I'm fascinated with repetition these days. Anyway, all of you, read more sestinas. They're wonderful for the soul. Or better yet, write them.
Posted by hKath at 2:02 AM ()


Wednesday, October 16

My fucking boss, man. Kill.

Today is the same as last Wednesday. I can hardly move, I'm so fucking exhausted from the weekend. I could feel it coming a mile away yesterday. My favourite class is on Wednesday, but have I felt alive enough to leave the house the past two Wednesdays? No. Will I be going to work later today? Probably. Since when are priorities this fucked up? Since that bastard at work gets personally pissed off at anyone who calls in sick or has a good reason for being late, as if the rest of us never have to work extra to cover for his lazy hairy ass. He wrote up Carly because she was sick and told her parents to call in for her, and they forgot. He called her ten minutes after her shift started (at noon, thanks - keep in mind that Fucktard has scheduled me many times alone until five on a Saturday) at which point her mother remembered that she was supposed to call in sick for her. Her mother. As in, Carly was asleep, her mother picked up the phone and apologized. So of course, Asswipe was fully justified in writing her up, and in bitching to me about it for an entire fucking week. Oh, he had to work alone! Oh, boo hoo! If I had to count the number of times I've had to work alone (including the terrific half hour I had on Thanksgiving Sunday when Carly left early and Elizabeth arrived late) the number of hours would probably be quite superior to Dicklick's IQ.

Luckily, today's class won't be a very crucial one. Well it is in terms of theory, but not in terms of the works we're discussing. It's an intro to the urban novel. I should just get a headstart on Bonheur D'Occasion. That way... *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*
Posted by hKath at 10:47 AM ()


(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1989 Special Rider Music

Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs,
Stay right with it when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon.
I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time.

Most of the time
It's well understood,
Most of the time
I wouldn't change it if I could,
I can't make it all match up, I can hold my own,
I can deal with the situation right down to the bone,
I can survive, I can endure
And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time
My head is on straight,
Most of the time
I'm strong enough not to hate.
I don't build up illusion 'til it makes me sick,
I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick.
I can smile in the face of mankind.
Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time
She ain't even in my mind,
I wouldn't know her if I saw her,
She's that far behind.
Most of the time
I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was with her.

Most of the time
I'm halfway content,
Most of the time
I know exactly where it went,
I don't cheat on myself, I don't run and hide,
Hide from the feelings that are buried inside.
I don't compromised and I don't pretend,
I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.

Posted by hKath at 12:15 AM ()