I don't like poetry. No offense, poetry. You're just not my style. I love reading but never once have I thought to myself, "Hey, I'd like to read a whole book of poetry tonight."
€10,- deposited into savings account dd March 22nd 2013
Cheating, because I kinda already knew which one that would be ->
Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 1516–47
41. The Means to attain Happy Life
MARTIAL, the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I find:—
The richesse left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind;
The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; 5
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fare;
True wisdom join'd with simpleness; 10
The night dischargèd of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress.
The faithful wife, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night:
Contented with thine own estate 15
Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.
May I go now?
Do you think the time is right?
May I say goodbye to pain filled days, and endless lonely nights?
I've lived my life and done my best, and example I tried to be
So can I take that step beyond and set my spirit free?
I didn't want to go at first, I fought with all my might
But something seems to draw me now to a warm and living light
I want to go, I really do, it's difficult to stay
But I will try as best I can, to live just one more day
To give you time to care for me and share your love and fears
I know you're sad and afraid, because I can see your tears
I won't be far, I promise that, and I hope you'll always know
That my spirit will be close to you, wherever you may go
Thank you so for loving me, you know I love you too
That's why it's so hard to say goodbye, and end this life with you
So hold me now just one more time, and let me hear you say;
"Because I care so much for you, I'll let you go today."
Dedicated to my precious little girl, Brigitta
e.e. cummings (i carry your heart)
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
just what this play's all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can't take back,
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run ?
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).
You'd be wrong to think that it's just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've done.
~ Wislawa Szymborska ~