Sunday, October 5, 2014

On Abandon, Uncalled for but Called Forth

Napoleon is outside. He wanted to go outside. It worked for seven years before the six month quarantine, he wanted outside, the only reason to keep him inside was my and Earthgirl's selfishness.


Lucie Brock-Broido

On abandon, uncalled for but called forth.
                                                                              The hydrangea
Of   her crushed each year a little more into the attar of   herself.
Pallid. Injured, wildly capable.
A throat to come home to, tupelo.
                                                Lemurs in parlors, inconsolable.
Parlors of burgundy and sleigh. Unseverable fear.
Wistful, woke most every afternoon
                                In the green rooms of the Abandonarium.
                                                Beautiful cage, asylum in.
Reckless urges to climb celestial trellises that may or may not
                                 Have been there.
So few wild raspberries, they were countable,
                                 Triaged out by hand.
Ten-thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Intimacy with others,
                                 Sateen. Extreme hyacinth as evidence.
Her single subject the idea that every single thing she loves
                                 Will (perhaps tomorrow) die.
High editorial illusion of   “Control.” Early childhood: measles,
                                                                              Scarlet fevers;
Cleopatra for most masquerades, gold sandals, broken home.
Convinced Gould’s late last recording of the Goldberg Variations
Was put down just for her. Unusual coalition of early deaths.
Early middle deaths as well. Believed, despite all evidence,
In afterlife, looked hopelessly for corroborating evidence of   such.
                                                                                          Wisteria, extreme.
There was always the murmur, you remember, about going home.


  1. Free at last, free at last...

    Oh, and 18 innings!!! And another Nats choke?! Some Saturday night!

  2. a good-looking cat

  3. Mr. Bebe the Cat is an indoor cat now, has been for about five years. I don't think it's selfish, Bebe seems just fine, and in fact does not seem to even want to go out anymore. I take him out on the porch when he wants to which he enjoys. Cats tend to live much longer when kept inside away from disease and accident. Also song birds are on the wane and one of the reasons is cats. But I guess everybody needs to decide for themselves as to what's right for their cat. And of course I live between two main drags with heavy traffic so that's a big consideration for me.

    Enjoyed the Coltrane article, I prefer Coltrane's earlier music, Giant Steps and that era of his music though I have listened to his later stuff as well. Who knows where Coltrane would have gone musically, it's too bad he and Parker died so young. Louis Armstrong lived a long life and he didn't care for Parker, called it Chinese jazz, which was a pretty silly thing to say.

    1. Your concerns are all valid. We did have the vet past Thursday make sure Napoleon is up-to-date on all vaccinations, and as long as all goes as hoped (that is, as good as it went before the quarantine) and this time we make sure he gets his future vaccines. And yes, I understand birders' concerns. But we made a deal with Napoleon he could come and go as he pleased, one he remembered immediately upon release from quarantine and immediately tested us.

    2. Yeah, sometimes I think I'm overprotective, but I love the little guy, and having his company greatly improves the quality of my life. Cats are a true force of nature with minds of their own. They will test you, that's for sure. When I played the video of Fleabus Bebe reacted strongly to Fleabus's yowling, cats are very wise.