423b2e
423b2e

8.15.2011

i miss our lazy mornings ...


Morning
~by Billy Collins

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,

then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?

This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—

maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins—
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,

dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,

and, if necessary, the windows—
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.


RDG: I miss buzzing on Assam tea, porridge with lots of sugar and then heading back to bed ...
xxx

9 comments:

gz said...

morning here definitely wasn't worth getting up for- steady rain and nothing to see above the treetops.
At least I can see the bottom of the sgraggly clouds now, about a hundred foot up

goatman said...

I have to admit: I am a night person.
You early risers clanking about while I sleep deserve to live by yourselves, together of course.

I'll take the silent ease of three in the morning, sneaking into the pool to swim, walking the city streets in the chill and wondering why that light way above the street is still on, who is there -- a spook like me maybe -- drafting versions of a poem inspired by the easy quiet of the night.

soubriquet said...

Goatman's on my wavelength, a nocturnal enjoyer of the sleeping world.
He's mistaken, though, to think of us as early risers.

We're the walkers beneath the moon, we're the quiet footsteps in the darkened street, we're the sitters upon rocks, the watchers of the dawn, heading toward our slumber as the first lights click on in morning bathrooms, as milkmen clatter, as postmen yawn and stretch, that's the time we reluctantly slip away, spin, glide, into sleep.

soubriquet said...

And I have noted that you've published a poem by Billy Collins, a poet whose work you weren't so keen on...

red dirt girl said...

gz~

Rainy mornings are for staying in bed, with a good book, a cup of tea or coffee as suits, and a delightful companion if we are to be so blessed! I have regular pajama days!

xxx

red dirt girl said...

goatman~

I wasn't always a morning person. I'm what you'd call a reluctant riser. 18 years of raising children and now dogs who demand to be let out at the crack of dawn ...I grumble and groan and then stumble back to bed to try and catch a couple more hours of sleep. It rarely works. I once was a late night lover: reading til 3 in the morning or drawing or writing poetry. But illness and medicines have turned my inner clock upside down. I need sleep to function. Though I do love the moon and the stars.

xxx

red dirt girl said...

Soubry ~

I've spent many a night past my bedtime with you and have enjoyed every minute of it. Though truth be told, I fade before you do - can't make it to dawn. Though I AM slow to move the next day whilst you bounce up, fresh and frisky ready for tea, porridge and a shower. You make me laugh and motivate me to move and spend time in the world. Wish you were here...

xxx

red dirt girl said...

Ahh, I wondered if you'd notice the Billy Collins poem .... I'm trying to become less dogmatic as I age and more forgiving of poets I used to dislike. Billy has a lovely way of describing the everyday to us. I don't necessarily go to him for depth but more for comfort. Plus, I know you like him :). Even old mules can learn new tricks!

xxx

goatman said...

Soubry,

You have milkmen?!
What a treat . . .