Monday Morning Musings:
“So fair and foul a day I have not seen.”
–William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act I, Scene 3
“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
–William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5
“A library is infinity under a roof.”
—Gail Carson Levine
I lust for language–
a thousand symphonies play in my head
like light on water, ripples tripling
sending words, like spindrift into the sky
but truth amplified.
I see the storms of summer spring
and hear the mockingbird sing
in night and day
wanting love and standing guard
his tiny body working hard.
the ghosts around me sighing
and do they fear
from year to year
what was and what will be?
The circling of time
and life beating
but renewed again and again.
We walk through galleries
and by the river
flowing through a city that has grown
built with wood, and bricks, and stone,
a nation conceived, and ideas flown
(now people find them on their phones).
But still—here they are gathered
scattered on grass
or rowing, sun-glimmered,
forward and back
(the Muse says)–
they’re in their prime
in this clime
the moment frozen in a thought
or captured in a rhyme
but before long
they will be gone.
Museums and libraries
spread my books out on a table
enabling those who pass to see them better
to read the letters and titles
though mine don’t sell
people stop by to wish me well
and support the work I do—
telling the truth
when some others seldom do.
We go out later to drink some wine
and dine in the open air
the day turns fair, then foul, then fair
where birds flutter and fly
and children cry
running in fields in the fading light.
We see the Scottish play
on a cooler day–
then again it moves from foul to fair
threatening skies to a more spring-like air.
But inside this grand library
something wicked this way comes
though there are only two witches instead of three
(something in this version that bothered me).
Yet the acting is good, and the Macbeths
both powerful and vulnerable
that they help to make.
As the drum beats. and the swords fly
time in the theater passes by,
and tales from another age verify
the universals truths of humankind
(though this production streamlined),
all the tomorrows,
and the yesterdays,
the sound and the fury,
our vision often blurry
during our brief stay—
and yet we find a way
with stories and art
to share our hearts.
Once we had leaders who valued art
understood the yearning to know
truth and beauty.
It is our duty
then to spread such ideas,
no matter what he says
and they believe
the false faces and words
that constantly deceive.
Yes, the storm is coming
and let it blow
away the discordant tunes
and the starless nights
for bright humming moons
and radiant light.