#a valediction forbidding morning
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I Know You
Note - I haven’t written a fic in a looooong time so I’m very rusty. But wanted to do a little something about Makkari visiting Druig. I couldn’t stop thinking about how they just do their own thing, on their own schedules. I imagined that they would just float in and out of each others lives as naturally as breathing, knowing each other on an intrinsic level. I was inspired by Donne’s A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning and the imagine of two people expanding and then contracting back to one another
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The presence snuck up on him, he’d almost missed it completely. It was so familiar that it was more a return to equilibrium than something new or unwelcome. Druig knew this mind, he’d known it for thousands of years. He could pick it out from a throng of hundreds, over the din of any city or chaotic battle. He had a visitor. A small smile crept over his face as he raised his eyes to scan the tree line. “Hello, beautiful” he whispered to himself.
Her body had made the decision to go to him before her brain had. A pulling sensation she couldn’t ignore. Her pace had slowed and suddenly there she was, back in the lush growth of the Amazon. She felt the vibrations of the small settlement, the hum of activity and life. And in its heart she could feel him. She knew him, his gait and his movements when he concentrated on work. Makkari felt him shift and move closer. She broke out into a smile as she approached the edge and saw him looking for her.
“My beautiful Makkari, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Druig called to her.
Was in the neighbourhoodshe signed, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.
“Really?” he smirked “Well I’d better be locking down the china then. Goodness knows the trouble you’ll be bringin’”
She wrinkled her nose and playfully swatted at him. He caught her hand and began to close the distance between them. “I’m thankful you’re here” he said. She smiled softly and nodded her head holding his gaze. They stood like that for seconds and an eternity, hands clasped together tightly breathing each other in. Contracting, centering back together. It was the giggles of the curious children that broke the spell. Druig chuckled softly “You’ll be staying for dinner then?”
She was gone by the morning, he knew she would be. “Until next time, beautiful” he sighed happily.
Makkari ran and ran, beaming, feeling lighter than she had in decades. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew where she’d eventually end up.
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Gertie (a Holt x Kevin fic)
AN ~ ironically, the idea i named my entire holt x kevin drabble collection after has blossomed into almost 2000 words of fluff and pining so i decided to post it separately after all . enjoy!
Fluff (with a little bit of angst in the form of romantic pining), Rated T. Canon compliant, but set pre-show.
Read on AO3 (~1800wd)
-
Gertie
“I love you.”
“I love you as well.”
Kevin waited until the phone clicked back to the dial tone, then he sighed a heavy, weary sigh. He rested the earpiece against his forehead in a limp attempt to conjure strength, as his heart seemed to sink deeper into his gut. He sighed once more, but it did little to relieve the lonely ache.
Of course, it was not the first time he and Raymond had had to cancel their weekend plans since he had moved out of the city, and of course, he had known that things would be a little more difficult this way, but each time a deadline shifted or a roster changed, the faint absence of Raymond grew stronger. It made itself known in the lone teacup that Kevin prepared in the mornings and the toaster beside it that he let rest cold. It made itself heard in the comments he wasted to the air remarking upon his novel or the news of the day, where Raymond should have been listening, regarding, and no doubt adding a dramatic retelling or two of his own. Kevin had never minded his own company, so at first it had surprised him to find that his bed, his lounge, his kitchen felt empty without Raymond. But it was not the first time - nor the second, nor the third - and the surprise had waned. In its wake there was nothing but a terrible, nigh unbearable pining.
Kevin took a deep breath, and reminded himself that, as much as he would like to while away the hours waxing lyrical about his aching heart, he had a day to get on with. There was work to be done, and the fact that Raymond would no longer be coming over to sample his experimental use of goats’ cheese in tonight’s meal should bear no relevance to it.
And yet, Kevin found himself preoccupied. He was taking a few undergraduate courses in Romantic poetry and today’s piece of choice was the very fitting A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning.
(Perhaps, Kevin mused, he had been preoccupied with Raymond’s absence even longer than he had thought, if this was the material he’d been selecting.)
“… If they be two,” he murmured the recitation to himself as he tucked his papers under his arm and his scarf into his jacket, “they are two so as stiff twin compasses are two…”
He tucked his head against the autumn chill and strode off across the campus, turning the words over in his mind, marvelling at how this ode to parted lovers had crossed so many years to speak to his heart here today. Caught up as he was in exploring the thought of which of them was the compass needle and which the post, it was a wonder that he happened to stop when he did. Were he the type of person who believed in divine intervention, he might have said, upon reflection, that was what inspired him to look up at this particular moment in time. More likely, it was a bird or a passing cyclist or the glint of the sun on the windshield of the Chevvy that got his attention. Either way, she had it. She and the sign in her window that read:
FOR SALE
CALL GERTIE, with a phone number underneath.
All of a sudden, Kevin felt that long road between himself and Raymond shortening.
All of a sudden, he knew what he had to do.
Springing into action like a rabbit on a hunt, he sprinted back across campus the way he had come. He burst into the associate teachers’ lounge with none of his usual dignity or aplomb, barely taking a moment to brush off his feet let alone remove his jacket and scarf before he made a bee-line for the phone and dialled the number he had read. Remembering at the last second to try not to sound too out of breath, he swallowed and managed in a somewhat civilised tone;
“Good morning, this is Associate Professor Kevin Cozner. I’m looking for a Miss Gertie, if she is available? Excellent. I apologise for the morning intrusion, but I’m just calling about the car…”
-
Raymond sighed to himself, as his eyes wandered back to the clock on the wall for what he was sure was the hundredth time that day. His conversation with Kevin that morning had left a proverbial cloud over his head and it was hard to keep his mind on the task at hand, and not on the long and lonely hours stretching out before him. Even longer and lonelier, now that he’d been called in on the Saturday night shift and had to cancel his weekend with Kevin.
He missed that man. More than he cared to admit. He missed him so much, it was almost worth keeping a photograph of him somewhere in the office.
(Almost).
Fortunately for Raymond, he had an excellent memory. He remembered Kevin’s face, his voice, his mannerisms very well, even after they’d had to cancel so many outings in a row.
Unfortunately for Raymond, it was not the same.
A memory could not recite poetry with the same grace as a living being.
A memory could not press out his suit and adjust his buttons in the morning, or comfort him after a long day, or kiss him or brush his hand or smile at him in a quiet moment. He did so love making Kevin smile.
(He did so love…)
Raymond swallowed the thought. If he lingered much longer on it, he might just decide it was worth taking the train out and back in again for those few hours in the early morning when they might just cross each other’s path. Madness, that would be. Utter nonsense, and far too bold. What would Kevin even say to such a thing?
(My, Raymond, he would no doubt scold, with his eyebrows raised, and that devilish smile on his face.)
BRRRRING BRRRING
The phone was a rude awakening, but Raymond leapt to answer it, at the same time as he checked to recall which case he had in front of him, and mentally prepare for questions about his other open files. Hopefully it was the laboratory with an update, but it could just as easily be a lawyer or a family member with some much more involved concern…
He discovered a moment later, however, that it was neither.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Raymond Holt,” Kevin greeted. “It’s Associate Professor Kevin Cozner.”
“Afternoon, Professor,” Raymond greeted, for it was not a ‘good’ one in the slightest (and he could hardly call the man Kevin at work now, could he?) “It’s a pleasure to hear from you again. How can I help?”
“Look out the window.”
Raymond’s heart seemed to stutter. Had he misheard? Surely not, he had excellent hearing, and recall. He must have simply made an incorrect assumption, then, about the reason for the request. Kevin could not possibly be here by now; it had only been two hours, and the train didn’t even leave for another four.
“I’m sorry?”
“Trust me, Raymond,” Kevin promised. “The window.”
And despite the impossibility of it all, Raymond found himself lowering the phone and gravitating to the window. Hoping against hope, he parted the blinds and peered down at the street below, and there was Kevin, looking up at him from the payphone on the sidewalk. He waved, and all of a sudden Raymond knew what he had to do.
“Where are you going, Sergeant?”
“Investigating, Detective.”
It was not exactly a lie, and besides, he didn’t have time to be irritated by Detective Richards speaking out of turn again. He had much more important things to think about, like the sight of Kevin hovering by the bonnet of a small, unfamiliar, wine-red motor vehicle at the bottom of the stairs. He paced up and down the length of it, trying not to clutch too desperately at his rose shearing hat as if the weight of the grandness of this gesture was just starting to hit him.
“Kevin?” Raymond asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Raymond.” He stopped pacing, at least, and swallowed hard. Here goes nothing. “Raymond, I hope you don’t think I’m too forward but I- I’m afraid I’ve found myself quite taken with you. I know it’s been difficult with my living upstate these last few months and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the effort you’ve gone to, to come out and see me on the train and all, but I’m sure you’ll agree the travel time is excessive so I’ve- well, I’ve- “
To get up the courage to admit it, he had to clear his throat again, but finally he spat it out;
“I’ve made an investment.”
And suddenly, Raymond understood why Kevin had been pacing in front of this unfamiliar car. It was his – dare Raymond say, theirs.
“She’s beautiful,” he declared, and it was not an accident that he stepped up to Kevin’s side as he said it. He let their shoulders brush, and the contact lingered even as the blush crept into his cheeks.
“I love you,” he said. Kevin turned his head, enough for Raymond to see that he was also blushing, but smiling too.
“I love you, as well,” Kevin replied.
He did not drop his eyes from Raymond’s, and nor did Raymond from his, and his heart beat loud in his ears because he could swear that Raymond was thinking about kissing him. He glanced up at the window Raymond had come down from, and he hated himself for thinking about it in a moment like this, but he couldn’t help it.
“Raymond, your colleagues-“
“What are they going to do about it?”
And perhaps his bold deed had gone to his head, because Kevin found he did not have an argument for that. Raymond swept him into a kiss that was as brief and discreet as something like that had to be, but to Kevin, it was like New Years’ Day. He felt the tingle of it down to his toes, and a little breathless to boot.
Then there was a firm rapping of a knuckle on the glass upstairs. Raymond pressed his lips together, but his eyes couldn’t stop smiling. No regrets.
“I’d best be going,” he said. “But I would be honoured if you would join me for dinner tonight.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Kevin agreed.
“Excellent. Then I shall see you at home.”
Raymond watched him, with those smiling eyes, for as long as he could until he had to turn to disappear back inside the building. Only once he was gone, did Kevin get back in the car, and even then, he clung to the steering wheel grinning about what had just happened, and replayed it over in his head a few times before the giddiness wore off well enough for him to drive away.
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Poets List their Top 10 Poems (for now...)
Poets List their Top 10 Poems (for now…)
The South Poetry Poetry Journal asked poet contributors to SoFloPoJo to list their favorite ten poems–for all times, or for the moment. You can find the poets’ lists here.
I submitted these:
Sonnet 49 by William ShakespeareA Valediction: Forbidding Mourning by John DonneSpring and Fall: to a Young Child by Gerard Manley HopkinsThe Oven Bird or Design or Birches by Robert FrostSunday Morning by…
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New Short in “More Than Kin”
A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
“As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No”
John Donne
Dr. Henry Vane stood in the northern wing of the library, hands behind his back, awaiting his new pupil. It was a quiet early fall morning, the sky stretching away over the woods in a pure, unblemished blue, the air crisp and cool. A good day for riding, and it wouldn't have surprised Vane at all to learn that Prince Adam had gone out with his horse. Not that he'd blame the boy. Vane smiled to himself.
He had arrived two days previously, late at night, after a long trip out of Oxford. It had been raining; he had been tired, and had gone to bed rather than meet his royal employer, who had, anyway, long retired to bed with his mistress. Vane was a doctor of philosophy from Oxford; he had no particular fear of the legendary snobbery of the Prince de Courcy. Better to rest and recuperate. Mr. Cogsworth had shown Vane to his small suite of rooms near the library, and a young black woman who introduced herself as Plumette had brought him dinner on a tray. Vane had slept well, breakfasted with the servants, and spent the intervening hours unpacking his belongings and organizing his books. The Prince did not summon him until the evening, but Vane had been given to understand that he was an arrogant man who preferred to let people await his pleasure, and did not worry.
“He's not prone to kindness,” Lord Tristan Streatfield, father of a former pupil who facilitated Vane's appointment, had said. “Not to his son, not to his servants.”
Lady Efra, Lord Tristan's mother and the mother-in-law of the aforementioned prince, had been more frank. “Francois is the nastiest man I've ever had the misfortune to meet, and I fear what he has done to the boy since my Maria-Eleanor died. I beg you, my dear doctor, not to let his arrogance prevent you from looking after my grandson.”
For young Prince Adam's well-being was at the heart of his English relatives' placement of Vane at the castle.
So Vane waited until the footman, Lumiere, brought a summons from Monsieur le Prince. They met just before dinner, in the great drawing room that the Prince used when he wanted to convey an impression of intimate grandeur. Vane was armored in full academicals- scarlet gown lined with blue silk and his doctors' square cap over a a finely tailored black wool suit-in the view that princes tended to think that their wealth and power outranked his own as a doctor of philosophy. Vane, after two decades in academia, did not consider himself anyone's subordinate, especially not the Prince de Courcy's.
Read more at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12517592/chapters/30658179
@sweetfayetanner @hathor-frozen @morgaine2005 @fadedelegance
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Sweet Creature reminds me of the John Donne poem "A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning" and thinking about the song and that poem at the same time makes me.. emotional.
Hi love, Thank you so much for sending this ask. Here is the Donne poem. A Valediction: Forbidding MourningBy John DonneAs virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say The breath goes now, and some say, No: So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did, and meant; But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined, That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do. And though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun. Donne is one of my favorite poets of all time. I could go on and on, and his other poems that come to mind wrt Sweet Creature are "Batter my heart, three person'd God," and "The Sun Rising." Sacred, profane, and lascivious all in a single poem, in a single turn of phrase. I love him so much! But I think the sweetness in Sweet Creature reminds me of another great English poem, especially the last two lines. I hope you love this poem as much as I do. To His Coy MistressBy Andrew MarvellHad we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love’s day. Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust; The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.-Andrew Marvell
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Grammar Quirks: Michael Donkor on the Word 'Authenticity'
Grammar Girl: What’s your favorite word and why?
Michael Donkor: "Mumpsimus." It's a person who stubbornly clings to beliefs or ideas even when those beliefs or ideas are shown to be flawed. It’s such a fun word to say!
GG: What’s a word you dislike (either because it’s overused or misused) and why?
MD: "Authenticity." This word is bandied around so much at the moment, often in quite lazy and unthinking ways. What does "authenticity" actually mean? Convincing? Realistic? Relatable? Recognizable? Positive? All of the above?
Equally, I find the ubiquity of this word in literary criticism quite troubling. Particularly for fiction writers dealing with identity politics, the demand that the portrayal of marginalized peoples is, first and foremost, "authentic" runs the risk of limiting writers’ creative freedom.
GG: What word will you always misspell?
MD: "Parsley" and "curiosity."
GG: What word (or semblance of a word) would you like to see added to the dictionary? Why?
MD: A term that succinctly encapsulates the feeling when you wake up in the morning and momentarily think it's the weekend then realize that, in fact, a difficult working day lies ahead!
GG: Any grammar pet peeves we should know about?
MD: Is this a peeve? I constantly chastise myself for not maintaining a constant view on the Oxford/serial comma.
GG: To what extent does grammar play a role in character development and voice?
MD: In my debut novel, "Hold," I’ve tried hard to explore and engagingly stylize the features of urban British slang and Ghanaian English, and so in lots of instances, I had to defy the rules of conventional or standard grammar, which felt simultaneously risky and liberating!
GG: Do you have a favorite quote or passage from an author you’d like to share?
MD: "Thy firmness makes my circle just, / And makes me end, where I begun."
"A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne.
I love the immediacy and vibrancy of Donne’s poetry, and this line is a wonderful example of the startling emotional honesty that characterizes the best of his work.
GG: What grammar, wording, or punctuation problem did you struggle with this week?
MD: Keeping my sentences precise and purposeful, and not overloading them with distracting adjectives and adverbs, is always a challenge!
Keep reading on Quick and Dirty Tips
from Grammar Girl RSS https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/grammar-quirks-michael-donkor-on-the-word-authenticity
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Grammar Quirks: Michael Donkor on the Word 'Authenticity'
Grammar Girl: What’s your favorite word and why?
Michael Donkor: "Mumpsimus." It's a person who stubbornly clings to beliefs or ideas even when those beliefs or ideas are shown to be flawed. It’s such a fun word to say!
GG: What’s a word you dislike (either because it’s overused or misused) and why?
MD: "Authenticity." This word is bandied around so much at the moment, often in quite lazy and unthinking ways. What does "authenticity" actually mean? Convincing? Realistic? Relatable? Recognizable? Positive? All of the above?
Equally, I find the ubiquity of this word in literary criticism quite troubling. Particularly for fiction writers dealing with identity politics, the demand that the portrayal of marginalized peoples is, first and foremost, "authentic" runs the risk of limiting writers’ creative freedom.
GG: What word will you always misspell?
MD: "Parsley" and "curiosity."
GG: What word (or semblance of a word) would you like to see added to the dictionary? Why?
MD: A term that succinctly encapsulates the feeling when you wake up in the morning and momentarily think it's the weekend then realize that, in fact, a difficult working day lies ahead!
GG: Any grammar pet peeves we should know about?
MD: Is this a peeve? I constantly chastise myself for not maintaining a constant view on the Oxford/serial comma.
GG: To what extent does grammar play a role in character development and voice?
MD: In my debut novel, "Hold," I’ve tried hard to explore and engagingly stylize the features of urban British slang and Ghanaian English, and so in lots of instances, I had to defy the rules of conventional or standard grammar, which felt simultaneously risky and liberating!
GG: Do you have a favorite quote or passage from an author you’d like to share?
MD: "Thy firmness makes my circle just, / And makes me end, where I begun."
"A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne.
I love the immediacy and vibrancy of Donne’s poetry, and this line is a wonderful example of the startling emotional honesty that characterizes the best of his work.
GG: What grammar, wording, or punctuation problem did you struggle with this week?
MD: Keeping my sentences precise and purposeful, and not overloading them with distracting adjectives and adverbs, is always a challenge!
Keep reading on Quick and Dirty Tips
from Grammar Girl RSS https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/grammar-quirks-michael-donkor-on-the-word-authenticity
0 notes
Text
Grammar Quirks: Michael Donkor on the Word 'Authenticity'
Grammar Girl: What’s your favorite word and why?
Michael Donkor: "Mumpsimus." It's a person who stubbornly clings to beliefs or ideas even when those beliefs or ideas are shown to be flawed. It’s such a fun word to say!
GG: What’s a word you dislike (either because it’s overused or misused) and why?
MD: "Authenticity." This word is bandied around so much at the moment, often in quite lazy and unthinking ways. What does "authenticity" actually mean? Convincing? Realistic? Relatable? Recognizable? Positive? All of the above?
Equally, I find the ubiquity of this word in literary criticism quite troubling. Particularly for fiction writers dealing with identity politics, the demand that the portrayal of marginalized peoples is, first and foremost, "authentic" runs the risk of limiting writers’ creative freedom.
GG: What word will you always misspell?
MD: "Parsley" and "curiosity."
GG: What word (or semblance of a word) would you like to see added to the dictionary? Why?
MD: A term that succinctly encapsulates the feeling when you wake up in the morning and momentarily think it's the weekend then realize that, in fact, a difficult working day lies ahead!
GG: Any grammar pet peeves we should know about?
MD: Is this a peeve? I constantly chastise myself for not maintaining a constant view on the Oxford/serial comma.
GG: To what extent does grammar play a role in character development and voice?
MD: In my debut novel, "Hold," I’ve tried hard to explore and engagingly stylize the features of urban British slang and Ghanaian English, and so in lots of instances, I had to defy the rules of conventional or standard grammar, which felt simultaneously risky and liberating!
GG: Do you have a favorite quote or passage from an author you’d like to share?
MD: "Thy firmness makes my circle just, / And makes me end, where I begun."
"A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne.
I love the immediacy and vibrancy of Donne’s poetry, and this line is a wonderful example of the startling emotional honesty that characterizes the best of his work.
GG: What grammar, wording, or punctuation problem did you struggle with this week?
MD: Keeping my sentences precise and purposeful, and not overloading them with distracting adjectives and adverbs, is always a challenge!
Keep reading on Quick and Dirty Tips
from Grammar Girl RSS https://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/grammar-quirks-michael-donkor-on-the-word-authenticity
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