#the poetry of everyday things

[jomiddlemarch]

The Philosophy Inherent in Buttered Toast

Within a week of Shirley’s departure, Susan found that she could not fall asleep, no matter how much she exhausted herself; the windowpanes had never sparkled brilliantly so in the morning sunlight. She’d dare Miss Cornelia Bryant herself to find the smallest speck on the kitchen floor. She concocted impossible delicacies to try and tempt Mrs. Doctor, muttering under her breath about the various culinary restrictions and how she’d like to see anyone make a decent pie with the miserly amount of lard she was allotted, and she starched the Doctor’s collars so thoroughly he’d begged her to stop as he couldn’t turn his head when he drove out to see his patients, especially not that sharp curve onto the road over to the Lower Glen. Work, hard work that left her with a sore back and aching knees and hands too rough to get a pair of gloves onto for Sunday service, had always been a panacea, just as Mrs. Doctor had her garden and Mrs. Reverend had her needlework. 

Once Shirley left, after a brief kiss on her cheek and a little squeeze of her hand as she gave him a neatly tied up box lunch for the train, the week’s sugar ration used up in his favorite sweets, she turned her hand to the plow as it were and expected to find some respite. Instead she found herself lying in her narrow bed, a stripe of moonlight across the foot, her eyes burning, wide open. Her body longed for rest but her mind, her heart, her very soul itself would not allow it, as un-Christian a thought as that might be. She’d drift off in snatches in the early morning, wake with the fog of dreams, a confusion dispelled by the splash of water in the basin and the cold cloth scrubbed across her face. She felt every one of her years like a millstone and if she hadn’t already been plain Susan Baker since she’d outgrown the very little prettiness she’d had a child, someone, likely that outspoken Mary Vance, would have remarked that old Susan Baker looked quite poorly.

She began by reciting psalms to herself and then all her favorite hymns but it made no difference. Unlike Mrs. Doctor, she took no delight in watching the moon wax and wane and thought only a man could have come up with the constellations, the greatest waste of time she could think of and nothing but a lot of foolish nonsense. She took to drinking her tea as strong as she could steep it, nearly black. Coffee was too dear to waste and had to be saved for the Doctor. If he nodded off over his surgery, Susan Baker would be the one responsible for the poor soul under his knife’s untimely passing. She was comforted when Shirley enclosed a brief note addressed to Mother Susan in the letter he’d sent to his parents and sisters, but the relief of knowing him safe didn’t see her dozing in her rocking chair, let alone tucked up snug in her bed.

She remembered something Walter had once said, that there was poetry in the most ordinary things, how he’d gone on and on about a perfectly buttered piece of her toast, sliced just the right thickness, the butter spread smooth and even to the brown crust. She was known for her bread, that was common knowledge in Glen St. Mary, whether it was a white loaf or wholemeal, but she’d thought if she hadn’t loved Walter since he was a tot, she would have given a mighty sniff at his folderol. Now, though, she thought perhaps making a list of all the ordinary things that could be what Walter had called the marvelous quotidian before explaining his fancy words, perhaps making a list might take the place of counting the sheep that would never be sheared nor help her nod off.

To begin with, there was Walter’s buttered toast.

The hiss the iron made as she flicked a drop of water on it to test its heat.

The first even row of knots she threw on her needles beginning another sock in the ugly drab worsted that was military standard.

The last swipe of the cloth when she was polishing the good silver.

The greedy sound the Doctor made as he ate his slice of pie, one she would have scolded the children for making.

Winding the clocks.

Rilla’s little frown as she tried to feed her war-baby and got mashed peas all over the front of her clean white shirtwaist, a dab on her cheek.

Slipping on galoshes when it was a rainy morning.

The crinkle of the pages as she read her Bible chapter before bed.

Beans, bobbing about in the pot.

Una Meredith asking for help with her darning, her blue eyes round as buttons as she said Please, Miss Baker, the only one of the Meredith children to use a title for her.

Throwing out slops when the bucket was full.

Spools of thread lined up in her sewing basket.

Spoons, nestled tight against each other in their drawer.

The milk folding around itself in her chipped teacup like the sheets on the line in the wind.

Shirley’s way of writing the letter S, the same in her name as his own.

Fat blueberries in a bowl, waiting to be made into jam.

She began each night with Walter’s toast. Most nights, she fell asleep between the bean pottage and the slops arcing out onto the dirt. When it had been several days since they’d heard from Shirley or the papers were black with battles and casualty lists, the milk in the tea took the shape of Shirley’s cursive S. When there were letters from all three Blythe boys and the Meredith ones as well, the knitting needles fell from her hands, stitches most certainly dropped.

The night they’d learned about Courcelette, she’d counted each one of the blueberries in the bowl and wept.

And slept.

With many thanks to @batrachised who posted this summary of fake fic with this same title: Susan and Walter have a conversation about the poetry of everyday things. Susan still can't quite understand that poetry nonsense, but after Walter waxes eloquent about her perfectly ensembled toast that has just the right amount of butter scraped on top, she decides that surely a little of it is harmless enough - walter is Mrs. Doctor Dear's son, after all.

I hope my "borrowing" did the initial post justice! @gogandmagog I would have shared this today anyway, but I did love your encouragement post.

#anne of green gables #angst #susan baker #walter blythe #insomnia #the poetry of everyday things #domestic #canon compliant #shirley blythe #miss cornelia bryant #gilbert's love of pie #I hope everyone who wanted to see this is satisfied! #aogg

[jessthinksthingssometimes]

Some bird-themed pages from my book of beautiful things from everyday life.

There are so many moments of beauty around us every day. It's easy to stop noticing or appreciating them.

#beautiful things #everyday life #poetry #taking a moment to appreciate the small things #journaling #birds #birblr

[woahpip]

LEAH'S APRON / Liza's Monday and Other Poems by Bettie Sellers

(alt text as image description)

#im so obsessed with this poem right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #the way it shows yearning and loneliness and just. things not working out. #she thinks ofhim EVERYDAY before turning to face her family and the life ahead #insane #poetry #bettie sellers #appalachian poetry #southern poetry

[home-ward]

And so the season of fairies begins. The blooms outside are becoming abundant.

My imagination is waking up.

Some days are so sweet that they feel like sunlight on my skin, the relief after monotonous rainy days.

#cottagecore aesthetic #poetry of simple things #all I see is pretty #seek inspire create #live more magic #of whimsical moments #embracing a slower life #dreaming in pictures #dark academia #folk green #coffee lover #coffee gram #mine #book obsessed #hold the moment #book aesthetic #a little beauty everyday #book community #pretty cover #seek simplicity #beauty of still moments #books forever

[anonymousdandelion]

finding magic

If you ever find yourself feeling sad about living in a world without magic, or miracles, or whatever word/concept you prefer, just remember:

There exist winged, living creatures that glow in the dark.

Berries that were unripe yesterday, inedible last week, nonexistent last month, turn sweet and delicious of their own accord overnight. And after you pluck them to eat or to share, new ones spontaneously appear and ripen to take their place.

Merely by breathing on liquid elixir or waving a wand that has been dipped into the potion, one can create streams of iridescent, translucent, ephemeral jewels that float in the breeze and then vanish in the blink of an eye.

And here I am sitting here in one little corner of the world, and you are off in your own corner, perhaps thousands upon thousands of miles apart, and my words and thoughts have reached you without either of us needing to speak, to meet, to travel, or even to know each other by name.

#positivity #magic #miracles #fantasy #real life #everyday magic #fireflies #berries #soap bubbles #technology #mindfulness #poetry #prose poetry #sort of but not really #idk how to tag this kind of thing #but the world sure is magical if you look at it the right way #dandelion says #dandelion rambles #feel free to add on other irl magics if you want

[hauntedwoman]

i genuinely dont think i care that much abt physically aging bc ppl think im like 18 at 24 years old but im gonna be so real i do not see myself doing this for another twenty or so years lol i maybe have three left in me

#like i cant keep living through all of these terrible things and waking up everyday and watching all of the color and joy #of the world getting slowly drained away by a handful of super rich ppl that are killing the planet lol #when im gone publish my shitty notes app poetry #maybe i can be this generation's slyvia plath

[badolmen]

Soldiers kill sheep in the streets and I see bison skulls piled high, the bullets are made in the United States.

Trees are set ablaze by tanks and I see Moses kneeling in fear and reverence, God does not speak from these flames.

The people starve and I see seaweed gathered in baskets on Irish shores, Dutch tulip bulbs boiled with rabbit bones.

When they said ‘never again’ it was never for love of the hundreds of millions murdered, nor fear of the systems that allowed such evil to rise. They said ‘never again’ to shipping lane inconveniences, to stock market woes, and to being seen for cowards.

At least a coward would sit in quiet fear, content in inaction. Now they sign over billions, condemning millions to the total destruction. Where is the shame? Where is the apathy? At least in that I can call them mere cowards. What else am I to call them but the evil they so long taught me to revile?

God have mercy on their souls. God have mercy on ours. For the body is doomed - the bombs will still fall, the blood will still spill, the graves of thousands will fill.

(How long is the queue to the pearly gates? Is St. Peter agrieved to see so many young faces? Are wives rejoicing or grieving the reunion with their husbands? Does the brother laugh or cry when he finds his sister among the crowd?)

From Carthage to Auschwitz we were warned. From Roman roads to shipping lanes we watched the weapons trade hands. And when we cry out to the powers that be, they turn away - unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling. Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts.

But the horror is in knowing they are not machines. This is not their nature. They are men. Born with a love for humanity in their hearts, a desire for community and companionship and art. How did they lose such a fundamental part of their being? Was it beaten out of them by bitter men before them or did they discard it themselves, as though it were a cancer to be excised? Does it matter when they so zealously jump knee deep in blood and bone among bomb shattered homes?

And while it is troubling to consider that, being human, we too can have our hearts hardened, it is far more uncomfortable to consider that, being human, they may one day revert to natural compassion. And what does one do when the machine becomes man again? When he proves it was a choice all along? A choice he refused and snubbed until the bodies cooled and the graves grew grassy with age?

God forgive what I cannot.

#ra speaks #personal #okay to reblog #just be normal #beans is being religious on main avert thine eyes #idk I’m just. I’m not fatigued or surprised or done fighting tooth and nail for Palestine. #but my brothers and I were reading poetry yesterday and one of my brothers poems reminded me of patrick kavenaugh’s writing #honestly all of our poetry has been about war. loss of innocence. fear of being unseen and unheard. we’re all feeling it. #it’s not despair per se but it’s certainly a heaviness to everyday life that we may never live without. #I’ve just been morbidly reflective lately #the people responsible aren’t monsters. they’re just people. what could drive me to do things like that? #what world could shape me to have such disdain for human life and prosperity? what could open their hearts to the horrors they inflict? #idk man. Lent is going to be rough.

[e-m-p-error]

MULTIMUSE QUESTIONAIRE

Tagging: @infernalight, @infernal-feminae, @heartsofhell, @questionablemuses, @because-i-simp, @frostworkxfiction, @deepspacevivarium, @hotelbitches, @voxiiferous

RULES: Answer the questions with the Muses that would best fit the answers. Bonus if you give details why. If tagged, copy and paste into a new post – DO NOT REBLOG!

1) Rank your softest Muse and your toughest Muse. (Personality-wise)

My softest muse is definitely Vick. He's a 0 on the toughness scale, he's a big teddy bear and he will choose kindness over anything else at any point.

My toughest muse is probably Barbie. Girl is tough as nails and will not be stopped if she puts her mind to something. She doesn't take pain as a reason to stop and will go harder when it hurts.

2) Which Muse would blow through $1000 quickly?

Valentino, hands down. He spends $1,000 every day easily on things he doesn't even need. He loves to buy expensive things and will do so at all hours. He especially loves spending Vox's money. $1,000 is a drop in the bucket for him and he doesn't even notice spending it.

3) Do any of them have nicknames? Is there a meaning behind them?

Quite a few of them do!

Valentino answers to Bunny from his lovers, it's a subspace trigger word for him. I assigned him Bunny because he's Cute And Horny, aka a rabbit, and a bunny sub is fairly common.

4) Are any of them up-to-speed on the latest trends? Anyone more old school?

Velvette, Vox, and Valentino are obsessed with always being on top of the next new thing.

Alastor hates new things and will fight them as much as he can.

5) Who has the best relationship with their siblings?

Valentino had a fairly good relationship with his siblings when he was alive. He had seven of them, plus three live-in cousins that were like his siblings.

6) Karaoke night! Who is likely to grab the mic first and bust out a tune?

Beelzebub, Ozzie, Valentino, and Ostello! They all love to sing and party, and they're all pretty good at it. Ostello was a pop-jazz singer when he was alive and before he died in Hell, too!

7) Who is least likely to enter a beauty pageant/model?

Gretchen. She doesn't think that she's very pretty, and would just feel embarrassed even going to watch.

Travis. He is constantly told he's very ugly, and he doesn't have a very high opinion of his looks.

8) If your Muses visited a haunted house where actors scare you, who would panic and who would be unfazed? 

Chazz, Gretchen, Charlie, Anya, Magpie, Summer, Travis, and Vick would be the easiest to scare!

Valore, Dimas, Cash, Glitz, Stu, Paimon, Alastor, Darío, Niffty, and Vox would be the hardest to phase.

9) Are any of your Muses particular about taking certain modes of transportation?

Vox prefers to be driven around and doesn't like driving himself.

Valentino only likes to drive occasionally and prefers pretty sports cars when he does.

Anya and Darío are motorcycle people.

Emily enjoys bicycles!

10) Share a little-known fact about any Muse.

Adam is actually a very good father and he loves kids and babies. He is very tender with children even if he can be harder on them once they have grown into adults.

#HEADCANONS ➽➽➽ #Reciting Violence Like Poetry (α∂αм) #I’ve Found A Rainbow A Rainbow Baby Trust Me I Know Life Is Scary (ємιℓу) #I’m Standing In The Face Of All That My Story Holds In Its Wake (ναℓσяє) #What We Loved Today We’ll Lose Tomorrow But I Won’t Need To Wait For My Share Of Sorrow Because I Always Kill The Things I Love (∂ιмαѕ) #Who Needs Pepsi Juice Or Sprite? If You Do You’re Weak That’s Right (вαявιє) #I’m Gonna Take Their Hearts For Ransom ‘Cause Everybody’s Always Askin’ When You Gonna Show Us Magnum? (¢нαzz) #Money Can’t Buy Happiness But It Can Rent You Paradise (gℓιтz) #We Put Her Down In A Shallow Grave She Wears A Dress Like A Body Bag Everyday (gяєт¢нєи) #Everyone’s A Winner We’re Makin’ Our Fame Bona Fide Hustler Making My Name (ѕтυ) #Try Not To Move So Fast You Know Dessert Comes Last! (вєєℓzєвυв) #You Can Fool Yourself I Promise It Will Help Every Single Day I Just Wanna Hear You Say I’m So Lucky Lucky I’m So Lovely Lovely (¢нαяℓιє) #Define Your Meaning Of War To Me It’s What We Do When We’re Bored (ραιмσи) #If You End Up On My Table Then It Serves You Right (αℓαѕтσя) #Know I’m All Bite No Bark Like To Catch You Way Off Guard (αиуα) #Take Just One Last Dare Pretend That You Don’t Care (ℓєgισи∂αяισ) #Your Magic White Rabbit Your White Room Straight Jacket (мαgριє) #He Ran Into My Knife He Ran Into My Knife Ten Times (иιfту) #I Love You Oh So Madly But I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You (σѕтєℓℓσ) #Come Come Kitty Kitty You’re So Silly Silly Don’t Go Kitty Kitty Play With Me (ѕυммєя) #Don’t Be Goofy Bring Some Passion To The Table (тяανιѕ) #And If You Get In My Face Then You’ll Get A Taste Even God Would Run Son (ναℓєитιиσ) #Hollywood Made A Killing Machine She’s Like A Teenage Slaughter Movie Scene A Serial Killer Celebrity (νєℓνєттє) #Red Eyes In The Digital Paradise (νι¢к) #Let’s Stop Saying “Don’t Quote Me” Because If No One Quotes You You Probably Haven’t Said A Thing Worth Saying (νσχ)

[03minyard]

I think deleting all my social media besides tumblr will be good for me actually

#at least this way I can just focus on the things I like #like art and poetry and only have one point of distraction everyday instead of like six different apps

[ozlices]

finished the emotion/kanna route and im so upset bc i rly spent the whole thing just. missing shin. i actually truly do hate it here like against my will he is. probably right after gin is my favorite. i tried to fight it the entire time, but i immediately had to start on a route w him where everyone i can keep around still lives bc my heart was just. yearning for him.

like no actually i found this stupid little bitch ass mother fucker in a wet cardboard box on the street in the middle of a downpour and said 'oh my god. look at this pathetic wet sock for a person. oh my god i'm gonna cradle him and fix him' and he turned out to be even more fucked up then i thought and so i said 'oh. well we can be samesies then teehee <3' agony

#mine #oz vessalius did this to me as soon as i found out his true nature was being extremely self-sacrificial it was over #i love oz too much to ever elaborate on how agonizing him rotting me like this is. HE IS WORTH IT EVERYDAY BUT FUCKING!!! GODDAMMIT!!!!!!! #unfortunately.................. he is just a wittle guy. :(((((((((((((((( #and i am not immune. to just a wittle guy. :( #yttd #yttd spoilers #the way i relate to him so much too. and they rly gave him an abusive ex. #this is. a personal attack. ik i just got here BUT IT'S A PERSONAL ATTACK ALRIGHT. #'they did not date they were just friends' yes #so true. because my friends also. wrote poetry abt me. in code. for their ai analysis of me. #just bestie things

[betheal]

to steal a line

may i perhaps assume

no genuine thought of mine is my own

that I may do nothing,

that in itself is a stolen line.

so I shall twist two or three

my meaning is my originality.

"what's in a name that which we call rose"

never truer lines spoken

no matter rhyme,

eloquence

grasped straws,

they're all vanity.

for a rose is the beauty of nature

the bane of the forest

envy is its best friend

cynicism her daily mana

to which we put our adornments

"true love" "passion" "seduction"

we display the words of heart

yet shy behind the concept of truth

to tell me you love me

even with the crusade between us

#valentines day #poetry #new guy this time #I'll call him Seuss cus he has two cats #we talk every day #he's the first one I say hi too #and the last I say goodnight to #AND WE SIT IN CHEMISTRY TOGETHER #WE STUDY TOGETHER IN THE LIBRARY EVERYDAY #WE TALK BOOKS AND EXCHANGE NOTES #he's so sweet and kind and thoughtful #and I think he likes me and I don't know if I like him #our school is selling roses for valentines and I was so close to buying one for him but I didn't #they get DELIVERED BY STUDENTS TO THE CLASSES #but he was talking about them and he was like 'imagine getting roses ' #AND I'M LIKE '...I THINK IT'S THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD' #btw crusades is allegory for him being Muslim and me being Christian #cus those situations barely work out without one person converting

[peaceandlovemotherfuckers]

That lovely feeling of having something brand new that you love and use it over and over and over and suddenly in a few months you stop and see how much everyday and routine changed it. It's beautiful.

It's daily art. It's when something is affected, molded and marked by how much it has lived.

Sometimes I see the exact same beauty in the wrinkles of someone's smile, and it makes me think maybe living it's worthy.

#personal #poetry #poem #writer things #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #woman writers #barbie coded? #age is beautiful #everyday poetry

[passi0np1t]

i am

SOOOO

fucking in love w my partner omg

#they’re such a beautiful person inside and out #i feel so grateful everyday to have them in my life #in this global masc shortage too??? #they’re so fucking romantic #the poetry they write me is literally enough to make me fall to my knees #and the flower they draw me are so beautiful everytime i love at them i just melt #and the way they look at me and hold me #and their voice and their hands and their laughs and how they look and sound when they talk about their favourite things #just them #them them them

[jahannp]

a year ago today i began an addiction. i hurt for her, i heal for her and all the hers before and after her. i love her despite. I LOVE MYSELF DESPITE!!!!! i'm grateful to her for keeping me alive despite the hell i was living in. this is a love letter to you, the girl who felt so alone and tired. i see you, i love you despite

#i love you despite #hurting #healing #are they the same thing? hurting and healing #if that's the case i've been healing for a very long time #it took a long time to feel like this (carti reference im so sorry) #im not sorry it's who i am #i try everyday to be unapologetically myself #i love her despite #i see you in all of your misery and still love you #i hope you're feeling better #i know you can hear me #that made me smile #poetry or something

[tojisun]

!! female reader; dirty talking; breeding kink; slight overstim play; unrealistic sex x’>

thinking about how simon’s the type to keep saying filth to you when he’s balls deep. how, in the throes of his pleasure, so pussy-drunk, simon begins to wax poetry about the way you make him feel.

he’s got you folded in a mating press, his lips ghosting wet kisses along your trembling legs. “god, baby,” simon murmurs, his voice a drunken slur. “i need t’wife you up, i swear.” he punctuates this with a thrust, before his fingers pinch your clit.

you choke at the feeling, your legs kicking from where they’re slung over simon’s shoulders. your head thrashes against the pillow, not knowing how else to tether yourself from the stinging pleasure, your mouth falling open uselessly as garbled moans spill out.

“oh this,” he says, distracted by your reaction. “cute little thing, isn’t it?” he looks at your pussy almost with a starry-eyed gaze.

jesus-

“shu-ut up, si!” your voice breaks, weakened from the moans, but simon’s already looking too far gone, his eyes blown wide and his face flushed because of his pleasure.

“y’just squeezed me tighter, baby.” simon rips his eyes from your cunt to look at you with a sort of giddy trance. “y’like it when i play with–” he circles his thumb on your clit, making you squeal. “this? yeah? oh, lovie, you’re gushing.”

he pulls out, torturously slow, teasing, then he’s slamming back in. your ears ring at the resounding wet slide, his pelvis meeting your own with a goddamn squelch, and you scream, clawing at his back at the sharp pleasure that razes through you.

“going t’stuff you w’my cum everyday, baby.” simon giggles. “going t’make you so full.”

he nuzzles his nose on the side of your tear-soaked cheek. “y’want that, yeah? want t’feel sore because of how much cum’s stored in you? want t’be fucked until it takes?”

what-

“si! si!” you cry, mushy mind trying to understand what he’s insinuating. “wha- wh-…?”

“oh but you’d be so gorgeous, baby,” simon groans, his hand leaving your oversensitive clit to hike up along your body, dancing past your groin to plant just below your belly button. simon nuzzles close again, tracing the shell of your ear with his lips, then, “you’d be so pretty carrying my kids.”

those words make your body lock up, something in your mind just shifting right, and then you’re cumming, squirting all over simon’s cock and spraying on his legs.

simon outright moans, pulling back just enough to slot his lips against yours. you couldn’t even kiss him back, still so busy cumming, all cross-eyed at the intensity of your orgasm. it doesn’t matter to him, anyway, not when simon begins pistoning harder. faster. rougher.

every drag of his cock back in your pussy pushes more gushing squirt from you, and simon rumbles with a pleased groan, looking so blissed out as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. you dig your nails at his back but simon doesn’t even register the prickling pain, too busy chasing his own orgasm through your cunt.

“s’right,” he coos. “nothin’ else could make me cum, baby. nothin’ else but y’r pretty pussy. y’r tight pussy. god, it’s such a delicious pussy, baby, how am i so lucky to have you, huh?” his words mingle with the thwap-thwap-thwap sounds of his body slamming against your own. it makes you dizzy with pleasure, ragged rasps of breath is all that is passing through your parted lips.

simon croons. “how’d i chance luck and end up w’such a delight?” another wet sound from your pussy rings amidst his words. “mmm, hear that baby?”

you nod, you think. or you moan a reply. honestly, you don’t even know, not with how dizzy you are at the peaking pleasure because there’s no way you’re cumming again–

“that’s the sounds that a happy wife makes,” simon purrs, replying to his own question, and the weight of his words washes over you like the pleasure that’s racing across your synapses. “that’s the sound that someone makes when they want to be bred.”

“simo-nnnnn!” you scream, the sound guttural and ragged, and your eyes can no longer see anything, and your ears are ringing, and- and–

simon laughs, the sound curling into something so, so fond. “y’r so pretty when y’cum, baby.” he kisses your wet cheek. “one more? f’r me?”

fuck-

#suns #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley smut #female reader #IM CRYING BETWEEN MY LEGS WHEW

[louderfade]

were it only for the mask with which you gratified us. We affirm you, method! We don’t forget that yesterday you glorified each one of our ages. We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole lives every day.

quand ce ne serait que pour le masque dont tu as gratifié. Nous t'affirmons, méthode ! Nous n'oublions pas que tu as glorifié hier chacun de nos âges. Nous avons foi au poison. Nous savons donner notre vie tout entière tous les jours.

#beautiful bit of rimbaud #i like the english just as much as the original french #translating poetry is such a crazy job #i need to watch the film about translating tarjei vesaas but i keep putting it off bc i know it's going to leave a weight on my heart #i kinda want to learn norewegian so i can read the ice palace in its original language #i wouldn't consider this except norwegian is supposed to be so easy to learn for english speakers #and then i could read that novel of his that has never been translated instead of constantly complaining that it lives out of my reach #i refuse to get some current year program to teach me though i've gotta find an oldschool textbook #and just start from the beginning of the manual and do the homework exercises #i feel any online learning thing will not only cost money but will focus on functional everyday speaking in the current year #and i want to read literature i want the language to grow up throughout me i want to know the poetry of its bones #rimbaud #yes