Bits and Pieces

None of this has anything to do with Egypt, except that it has something to do with me and I have something to do with Egypt.

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Trippers and askers surround me, 

   People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and 

      city I live in, or the nation, 

   The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old 

      and new, 

   My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, 

   The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, 

   The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss 

      or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, 

   Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, 

      the fitful events; 

   These come to me days and nights and go from me again, 

   But they are not the Me myself. 

   

   Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, 

   Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, 

   Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, 

   Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, 

   Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. 

   

   Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with  linguists and contenders, 

   I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. 

                   

                          - Walt Whitman, "Leaves of Grass"

Belated Promise Ring - Iron & Wine

When I thought life had some purpose Then I thought I had some choice I was running blind And I made some value judgments In a self-important voice I was out of line But then absurdity came over me And I longed to lose control into no mind Oh all I ever wanted Was just to come in from the cold

Tonight I'll sing my songs again

I'll play the game and pretend

But all my words come back to me 

In shades of mediocrity

Like emptiness in harmony

I need someone to comfort me

Rousseau, "Femme se promenant dans un foret fantastique"

He said, "I see you now, and you are so very young

But I've seen more battles lost than I have battles won

And I've got this intuition, says it's all for your fun

And now will you tell me why?"

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye

She said, "You won't understand, and you may as well not try"

But her face was a child's, and he thought she would cry

But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, "I've swallowed a secret burning thread

It cuts me inside, and often I've bled"

He laid his hand then on top of her head

And he bowed her down to the ground.

"Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel

As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed

But I won't march again on your battlefield"

And he took her to the window to see.

- Suzanne Vega, "The Queen and the Soldier"