This is what happens at 2 a.m. after ten plus hours of doing french/history/poli sci homework. Creative break-taking I call it.
O noble platform standing there,
resting lightly, as if made of air.
What long nights have we endured?
To each other's ways we are inured.
You support me as I read of war,
or the Global South and the poor,
or when I conjugate le subjonctif,
getting a hundred is our objectif.
As I research and the works I cite,
I rest upon your wooden might.
Though I love to read of History,
when I'll next sleep is a mystery.
I have no bed, just an oaken friend,
who endures with me, start to end.
In the lib. friends, they do not stay,
they've places to go, games to play.
To work or dinner, Mckenna goes.
and Nathan watches Dexter shows.
My friends prefer to read at home,
and then fall asleep at an open tome.
Today I read how the crusaders won
and those atrocities that were done,
of israelite tribes which ten are lost,
and the UN's annual budgetary cost.
je parle, tu est, je pense donc je suis.
I need to write papers about Mallory.
Semesters come, and semesters go,
and through the homework I do know
that it is at this table, where I should be
tired, learning and also very happy.
6 comments:
I wish there was a like button on blogs.
fabulous. just fabulous.
brought me back to some late night college memories as well....much romanticized, of course, because I'm missing them. oh, and feel free to call around 2am...i'm usually working them myself...no table though, just formula...sometimes in its original form in a bottle and sometimes partially digested all over me, the baby, the blanket...
I'm so happy to know that you're in good hands when it comes to the table department. It sounds as though you two are very happy together.
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;/Or surely you'll grow double:/Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;/Why all this toil and trouble?
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:/Come, hear the woodland linnet,/How sweet his music! on my life,/There's more of wisdom in it.
One impulse from a vernal wood/May teach you more of man,/Of moral evil and of good,/Than all the sages can.
From "The Tables Turned" by William Wordsworth
However, your father would say:
Stick to your library table just as long as you are able, for Wordsworth, with his natural perception, took a Cambridge degree but one without distinction.
I love this poem. You wrote it late at night in the library, no doubt.
That is intense. Goodness.
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