Score of the day, spelled S-Q-U-E-E: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nineweaving has lent me David Jones' The Anathémata (1952). I have been looking for this poem for years. She found it two days ago—a first edition in near pristine condition, jacket only a little air-browned and nicked—left out for all comers by someone with the evident literary sensibilities of a beer-stunned head of cabbage, and I am probably insulting cabbage. What kind of person abandons a book as rare and good as that? And why don't they live next door to me? Anyway, I opened the book and got this post's subject header. I am taking it as a good sign.
The old padrone
the ancient staggerer
the vine-juice skipper.
What little's left
in the heel of his calix
asperging the free-board
to mingle the dead of the wake.
Pious, eld, bright-eyed
marinus.
Diocesan of us.
In the deeps of the drink
his precious dregs
laid up to the gods.
Libation darks her sea.
He would berth us
to schedule.
The anti-score is that last night my computer crashed and lost all of my e-mail. The battery has been failing lately; when it woke back up, it thought it was December 31, 1969. I wouldn't have minded if this meant I got free Serge Gainsbourg. Instead the folders appear to be gone from the hard drive; the application doesn't even want to open; I am sure this is some kind of karmic balance for a healing weekend, but I am unamused. So if you have e-mailed me recently and received no response, it's not the cut direct; I am going to be sporadically responsive (webmail, other people's computers) until I can figure out what can be reconstructed from backups in March and what is just gone.
When I get home, I should post about FairyTale: A True Story (1997), which aside from some sticky music, a slight decompression in the third act, and one of the most forgettable titles since the invention of the cinematograph, I was very surprised and pleased by. In the meantime, Readercon stuff.
nineweaving has lent me David Jones' The Anathémata (1952). I have been looking for this poem for years. She found it two days ago—a first edition in near pristine condition, jacket only a little air-browned and nicked—left out for all comers by someone with the evident literary sensibilities of a beer-stunned head of cabbage, and I am probably insulting cabbage. What kind of person abandons a book as rare and good as that? And why don't they live next door to me? Anyway, I opened the book and got this post's subject header. I am taking it as a good sign.The old padrone
the ancient staggerer
the vine-juice skipper.
What little's left
in the heel of his calix
asperging the free-board
to mingle the dead of the wake.
Pious, eld, bright-eyed
marinus.
Diocesan of us.
In the deeps of the drink
his precious dregs
laid up to the gods.
Libation darks her sea.
He would berth us
to schedule.
The anti-score is that last night my computer crashed and lost all of my e-mail. The battery has been failing lately; when it woke back up, it thought it was December 31, 1969. I wouldn't have minded if this meant I got free Serge Gainsbourg. Instead the folders appear to be gone from the hard drive; the application doesn't even want to open; I am sure this is some kind of karmic balance for a healing weekend, but I am unamused. So if you have e-mailed me recently and received no response, it's not the cut direct; I am going to be sporadically responsive (webmail, other people's computers) until I can figure out what can be reconstructed from backups in March and what is just gone.
When I get home, I should post about FairyTale: A True Story (1997), which aside from some sticky music, a slight decompression in the third act, and one of the most forgettable titles since the invention of the cinematograph, I was very surprised and pleased by. In the meantime, Readercon stuff.
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