One of those cram-every-chore-possible-into-as-little-time-as-possible days. Shopping, errands, odds and ends.
I ran over to Century Liquor and bought a case of wine, and I've just found out that they have been bought by Wegmans. Well that's not good news for the budget wine shopper, but it is good news for the quality wine shopper (I suppose the news has been known for quite a while... but I don't keep up on local events.). While at Wegmans, later, I bought a tea kettle. So once I got back, feeling much like a barbarian who has hurriedly pillaged and then run home, I made a quick espresso and a long cup of tea. Caffeinated bliss...
I pulled out the guitar for the first time in a few months and practiced, played a few songs, did a few finger exercises. Its a passion I lost a while ago, but I was sad to realize that I've forgotten how to play Greensleeves. Something to work on, perhaps.
But I did read a few poems by William Carlos Williams, wondering when and how I will pick up the muse again. The Last Words of My English Grandmother was one I read... it struck a chord. Williams, especially with his picture poems, had a tendancy to pornographize life and say "look! there's something profound there!"... but then I always was an ee cummings lad. Sometimes however, to Williams' credit, there really was something profound there.
I couldn't help myself, putting the book of Williams' poems back on the shelf and thinking once again about poetry... I pulled out Larkin and reread High Windows, an angular poem at once hungry and sublime. I suppose my thoughts are a bit messy... but Larkin had moments of sublime clarity that I still aspire to.
Well, just catching up on news before heading over to the gym.
Follow-up: just reread my "about" phrase (A Cafeteria of Words...) and realized that one of the Williams' poems I had read today had much the same thought, but a different metaphor. The poem was A Sort of Song.