I have been seized by the unholy urge to purge my house of everything, as william morris said, that is not useful or beautiful. I know that this is poetry week, but I am having a dickens of a time generating poetic notions.
Last night, I was setting up our old imac for Dave, while trying to network between two computers, untangling dusty ethernet cables, and looking for a software cd, I had a moment of clarity. I was suddenly able to see the incredible disrarray of my surroundings. Boxes of university papers. Heaps of clothes to give away. Chewed gum wrapped in subway transfers. A pile of personal papers to be shredded. It all filled me with such despair I wanted to stick pencils in my eyes. Figuratively.
It was 1am, and my mess filled me with such self-loathing, I was ready to cry. Chris looked at me from bed, where he was reading/watching me be a spazz: "what's wrong?" "I am a slob. A horrible slob." "Yes. You are." he said, without any emotion or judgement.
Ezra Pound, said "Make it new", which I always took to mean: "make it wee" or cut down on the excess. I think I will follow the minimalist/modernist poet's mandate and spend some time doing the proverbial spring clean.
And maybe, to make myslef feel a bit better about it all, I will post a Robert Herrick poem called Sweet Disorder (which, to the non-fans of poetry can be summarized as: "messy chicks are hot"):
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility;-- Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.