"Routines of the Heart"

I've acquired, seemingly by accretion, a number of large projects that have been drawing my time and attention away from some of what I love best: reading, of all things (fiction particularly, but even a diminishment in poetry) and writing for this blog. One directly affects the other; the less I do outside reading, the less grist for posting. What I may do is scale back to 2 posts a week for awhile: the regular Wednesday archive post and Issa's Sunday Service (and the clever among you will know that really is scaling it back to one post a week or, say, 1½). I will continue to post as I get material that needs to be shared. Just thought I'd give you a head's up.

Two of the projects I'm caught up in are, I think, pretty exciting. They certainly are for me and, so, I'll be sharing info on them in a future post (see, I'm already thinking future posts).

Today, I ran across this fine little number via the Poem-A-Day project and thought its clarity, subtly, and resonance might just grab a reader or two. So here you go:

Mercury Dressing

To steal a glance and, anxious, see
Him slipping into transparency—
The feathered helmet already in place,
Its shadow fallen across his face
(His hooded sex its counterpart)—
Unsteadies the routines of the heart.
If I reach out and touch his wing,
What harm, what help might he then bring?

But suddenly he disappears,
As so much else has down the years...
Until I feel him deep inside
The emptiness, preoccupied.
His nerve electrifies the air.
His message is his being there.

J. D. McClatchy

This Sunday is the anniversary of the birth of W. B. Yeats. Perhaps I'll have more about that later. For now, I'll keep it brief (see above). Meantime, Sunday is also the anniversary of the birth AND death of Sidney Bechet. So, here's "St. Louis Blues" for a toe-tapping Friday afternoon.

the perfect thing
for an old-time evening...
thatch of irises

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best,
Don