It might as well be Spring. Equal light and dark today. The old Carnal Equinox. Winter's breathed its final gasp.
Spring broke grey here. Clouds and wind. Ruined my photo desires for the day. I will stay home and do practical things, I guess. Clean the fridge. Develop that b&w film I shot. Maybe put together some more pages of the book. Yoga. Grocery shopping.
Last night, I had dinner with c.c. Virtually, anyway. He sent me a text of his sushi dinner with his lovely bride. I texted back my own.
It was not, however, as though I ate alone.
Such is my life. After dinner, I had a cheroot and some whiskey, then Q called to berate me, to explain to me why his life is superior to mine and why I am alone.
I considered an Asian Massage Parlor up the street, but I was afraid I might be shot--either by a hidden camera or a religious nut.
And so the night ended with an episode of reality t.v.
And that was my Winter Celebration.
And this is my Spring.
"I feel so gay, in a melancholy way. . . " (link).
All that is left are endless hours of t.v. and. . . .
I really have a love hate relationship with the Spring, or as you so aptly call it the Carnal Equinox.
ReplyDeleteThe weather is cool and pleasant and I did enjoy my outdoor sake, miso soup, bluefin tuna sashimi, and grilled octopus.
The colors of spring though hurt. The edges of the leaves in the trees shave off bit of my scalp and feet are cut to ribbons by the sharpness of the blades of grass. The greens of spring are needles in my eye.
Yes, the sap is rising, but I remember never going to May dances, ice cream socials, and the like. Spring is etched as a depressive outsider scar in my psyche and even though both youth and vigor have passed, I can still not escape the melancholy that descends on me when the light and dark are equal.
So I offer you one of my favorite jazz renditions of one of my favorite Rodgers and Hart songs about the Spring by the exquisite June Christy. From 1963 “Spring is Here”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLEKxn-GZEQ
Oh yeah, YOU would definitely be shot on sight. So would I.
ReplyDeleteGosh. I've been listening to that intro on New York Serenade for days. Well the whole song but that intro.
They say that Bruce let David Sancious pretty much do whatever he wanted musically as long as "it fit."
Well.
Yes, c.c. It is the promise of the resurrection - death ousted by those new nipple-like tree buds - rosy enough to want to bite as you walk by. Soon - it will be the scent - the nose rooting - first into the humblest of brown dirt - flavored with rotted leaves for nutrients - that smell now - of sex - with the slightest petite mort leftover. The sound of the vernal season birdsongs.
I see some green spears - about an inch up now - of the daffodils. How they have multiplied magically under the snow covered ground for the last 20 years since I first put them in. More blooming along the road each year. And how long they will rise up - years and years after I have gone.
For sure, Friday was a bit hurty. I found myself weeping - from the way out of the work door - into the evening.
Alas, it is the way of this beautiful Life.
Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight
Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
All of it can bring about a melancholy. Or at times, a sense of wearing your nerves on the outside of your body - indeed.
x
I'll let you two duke it out.
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