HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Friday, April 27, 2007 The Wish If the silence that settles between our bodies is not necessarily the texture of snow, I will stay at home tonight, stay at home tonight, waiting by the windchime, waiting for the wind’s transposition of movement into sound, to tell you the windchimes stir. The windchimes stir, I will say with the patience and persistence of the wind, till in your afternoon, my windchimes begin to stir. posted by dawn # 9:42 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] as i threw down the trash down the chute today, i ... notes from the city i woke up this morning feeling ok, the sunlight wa... APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding facebook patience 快快乐乐，高高兴兴，点点滴滴自由 i flew in and out of la guardia airport in less th... haroun and the sea of stories ! [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Friday, April 27, 2007

The Wish

If the silence that settles between our bodies
is not necessarily the texture of snow,
I will stay at home tonight, stay
at home tonight, waiting by the windchime, waiting
for the wind’s transposition of movement
into sound, to tell you
the windchimes stir.
The windchimes stir, I will say
with the patience and persistence of the wind,
till in your afternoon,
my windchimes
begin to stir.

posted by dawn # 9:42 PM

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