Tags: summer/fall 2007

degas

Art blog and Emily ...


So, I write about art and my projects and the like here: 

http://ceaselessrosemary.blogspot.com

It's something I can give out to people, a public/private blend, but the real dirt is still here. 

Just in case you feel like reading about my opinions on theater in New York or dance or being a young, female producer. haha. 

 
I've been reading endless amounts of Emily, so here's where the new name came from:

[675]

Essential Oils --- are wrung ----
The Attar from the Rose
Be not expressed by Suns --- along ---
It is the gift of Screws---

The General Rose --- decay ---
But this --- in Lady's Drawer
Make Summer --- When the Lady lie
In ceaseless Rosemary ---

[Emily Dickinson] 

It struck me for a couple of reasons. It's an under-read, under-anthologized poem of hers, as far as I'm aware of, so finding it in a lovely anthology my friend Andrew gave me was a lovely surprise ... It's so full of intent, her famous dashes are so incredibly purposeful here, the pauses, the isolation they suggest and those second lines of the stanzas where she lets them run through enjambment without the dash - ah! She captures a nostalgia, almost meditative tone with her imagery, particularly the sense imagery - yet, her punctuation, the proper noun-ing (yes, I just made the word noun a verb) of her imagery/subject(s) focuses this mediatation ... And I love the General Rose pun. 



I'm a little restless and disappointed in my current academic situation, so you will have to forgive me if I post random anlaysis of poems and ramble on about the cultural context of works .... my brain's just racing lately and apparently few people are even in the game with me ... 

A parting word from Miss Emily, and then I should try to focus this ceaseless wandering into some ceaseless reading and writing ... 

[352]
Perhaps I asked too large ---
I take --- no less than skies ---
For Earths, grow thick as
Berries, in my native town ---

My Basket holds---just---Firmaments
Those---dangle easy---on my arm,
But smaller bundles---Cram.

[Emily Dickinson].