Deja vu

Dear Red Sox,

Rage against the dying of the light!

Bronson, baby, do well today or the engagement's off.

(no subject)

From silmaril to dglenn to azurelunatic to mamadeb to thornsilver to musesfool to me:

When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.

This is one of my favorite poems. A friend from college posted it long ago, and I've kept a copy ever since. It's haunting and lovely. I wish I spoke Gaelic so I could read the original.

***

You Are at the Bottom of My Mind

Without my knowing it you are at the bottom of my mind
like a visitor to the bottom of the sea
with his helmet and his two large eyes
and I do not rightly know your appearance or your manner
after five years of showers
of time pouring between me and you:

nameless mountains of water pouring
between me hauling you on board
and your appearance and manner in my weak hands.
You went astray
among the mysterious plants of the sea-bed
in the green half-light without love

and you will never rise to the surface
though my hands are hauling ceaselessly
and I do not know your way at all,
you in the half-light without sleep
haunting the bed of the sea without ceasing
and I hauling and hauling on the surface.

--Iain Crichton Smith