Someone whose opinion I value suggested I pay some attention to poetry and flowers on my blog. Well, I can do the latter thanks to a recent birthday and the generosity of friends (see below).
As for the verses, I can’t stop thinking about Meghan O’Rourke’s poem “Apartment Living,” published recently in the fashion issue of the New Yorker.
So those despotic loves have become known to you,
rubbing cold hands up your thighs, leaving oily trails,
whispering, Just how you like it, right?
Upstairs the sorority girls are playing charades
again, smoking cigarettes, wearing shifts, burning
pain into their synapses.
Life is a needle. And now it pricks you:
the silver light in which you realize
your attempts at decadence
tire the earth and tire you. The etymology
of “flag” as in “to signal to stop”
is unknown. It is time to sit and watch. Don’t
call that one again, he’s pitiless in his self-certainty.
You used to be so.
You laid your black dress on the bed.
You stepped in your heels over sidewalk cracks.
You licked mint and sugar from the cocktail mixer,
singing nonsense songs,
and the strangers, they sang along.
And finally, something totally unsolicited: this amazing image taken by Ed van der Elsken in Amsterdam and published in his iconic photography book of the same name. It could be a scene captured anywhere in the South, the US, the world even, during the 1950s/60s, and its universality is sort of poetry in itself, don’t you think?