When you think you're being stupid, you're probably right

Nothing truly remarkable today, except that in the wee hours of this morning before the sun came up i suddenly awoke wondering if I had put my cordless demolition saw away (which I was using to chop up the soon to be mulched bits into more managable pieces. Sure enough, when I got up and braved the morning chill there it was outside under a layer of frost. I defrosted it and sat it on the still warm gas heater to dry out. I tested it when I got home tonight and it is fine. This little story is of course completely banal. However, there is a little lesson to be had here. I was standing at the mulcher trying to decide where precisely to put down the saw where it wouldn't be in the way or get covered in mulch. I spied the springy looking bush and thought "I could easily just balance it there and I wouldn't even have to bend over to pick it up again". No sooner had I thought this than I thought "that's stupid because you'll forget its in there when you pack up". So the lesson is...if you think something's stupid, it probably is.

No pics tonight. Work was primarily concerned with an afternoon full of meetings and a morning spent preparing for an afternoon of meetings. Given this uninspiring line up of personal experiences with which to entertain you, I will resort to sharing another poem I read for the first time on the weekend.

Richard Corey (Edwin Arlington Robinson)

WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

I really like the way it hits you right between the eyes in the last line. In that way it reminds me of the Robert Browning poem Porphyria's Lover. This is a bit of a longer read but its so worth it. Stick it out, you wont regret it. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but the best way to read poetry is out loud. Go on...no-one is listening. In fact, go back and read Richard Corey again only out loud this time and you'll understand why its better that way.

My mate Andrew tells me that Simon and Garfunkel did a very good version of Richard Cory at some stage too.

Here is Porphyria's Lover (go on..out loud)

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last l knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string l wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And l untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said aword!

One annoying thing about this blogging business is that it won't allow me to indent lines (I can use the bloke quote to indent the whole poem but within that I cannot indent individual lines). This means that you don't get to see the way the poems should really look on the page and don't get the benefit of seeing the indenting to aide in reading it. You can't see the groupings of lines that the poets intended. I guess you can't have everything.