(My) Photo of the day, Or "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," —that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know

The view of Tranmere from Elizabeth Street Pier. This was taken the same morning as the picture posted on Saturday. The fellow in charge should have a fresh batch by this evening. I expect that they'll be back by then.

I bet they won't have bought me anything.

They never do.

I will post one of Mr McCracken's favourite poems. He wishes to dedicate it to his lovely wife, and the mother of his 1.8 children. It is not one of his (he wishes). It is by the splendid ee cummings. I have not stuffed up the retelling, ee just likes them this way.

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere
with such a silence and such a darkness
noone can quite begin to guess

(except my life)the true time of year-

and if what calls itself a world should have
the luck to hear such singing(or glimpse such
sunlight as will leap higher than high
through gayer than gayest someone's heart at your each

nearness)everyone certainly would(my
most beautiful darling)believe in nothing but love

Comments

Anonymous said…

This has been an interesting post for me. I enjoyed reading it.

9 June 2008 at 20:51

Dina said…

You're doing a great job, Robot.

9 June 2008 at 22:09

Kris McCracken said…

ee cummings is probably, maybe, sort of my all time favourite poet. However, I may answer differently if asked tomorrow.

Definately top five, anyway.

Such certainty!

10 June 2008 at 11:07

Uma por Dia said…

Beautiful and very romantic!

11 June 2008 at 04:01

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

Search This Blog