to know and feel too much within


Emily and Jeremy left the Hatch cabin yesterday and drove to Traverse City. Jeremy bought a book on Florence with Venus’s head on it from this painting. I used to have a poster of this painting on my wall in my late teens and early twenties.

Wow. The hits to this blog zoomed up to 60 yesterday. Hard to tell what that means. I woke up this morning and listened to the rain on the roof of the Hatch cabin. I got up and wrote in my journal. Listened to this song:

I couldn’t find the Dylan version on YouTube, but Krall captures it well. This is my mood this morning.

Simple Twist Of Fate

They sat together in the park
As the evening sky grew dark
She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones
’Twas then he felt alone and wished that he’d gone straight
And watched out for a simple twist of fate

They walked along by the old canal
A little confused, I remember well
And stopped into a strange hotel with a neon burnin’ bright
He felt the heat of the night hit him like a freight train
Moving with a simple twist of fate

A saxophone someplace far off played
As she was walkin’ by the arcade
As the light bust through a beat-up shade where he was wakin’ up,
She dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate
And forgot about a simple twist of fate

He woke up, the room was bare
He didn’t see her anywhere
He told himself he didn’t care, pushed the window open wide
Felt an emptiness inside to which he just could not relate
Brought on by a simple twist of fate

He hears the ticking of the clocks
And walks along with a parrot that talks
Hunts her down by the waterfront docks where the sailors all come in
Maybe she’ll pick him out again, how long must he wait
Once more for a simple twist of fate

People tell me it’s a sin
To know and feel too much within
I still believe she was my twin, but I lost the ring
She was born in spring, but I was born too late
Blame it on a simple twist of fate

Yesterday I looked for and found William Carlos Williams’ poem online,

Asphodel, That Greeny Flower.

 I like the whole poem, but especially this section towards the end:

Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
I come, my sweet,
to sing to you!
My heart rouses
thinking to bring you news
of something
that concerns you
and concerns many men. Look at
what passes for the new.
You will not find it there but in
despised poems.
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.

Both of these pieces, the song and the poem, are on my radar after having read about them recently. The first in Listen to This by Ross, the second in The News: A Users Handbook by Botton.


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