Somewhere in there all the Unitarians stopped singing vespers songs and turned to the morning songs: “ morning has broken,” “the morning hangs a signal,” “morning so fair to see,” “the morning, noiseless, flings its gold.” Did that mean a turn to optimism? Or a call for renewal? My big discovery my sophomore year of high school was metaphor, trope, letting one thing stand for another, all roads and rivers are about the journey of life, all dawns are about awakenings, all days lead to partings. (Wait! Go back! Those peaches - flesh?) This aubade is timely for SoCal, but written in 1937 might also be about war. The last line becomes a refrain, alternating at the end of each stanza with “The heart of standing is you cannot fly.” Double-meanings, ambiguity, maybe even oxymoronic contradiction.
It seemed the best thing to be up and go.” Then the long pause and then the bigger shake. The thing could takeīookloads off shelves, break bottles in a row. “Hours before dawn we were woken by the quake. Two others are mentioned in the Wikipedia article, one by Carl Phillips about peaches knocked off the trees by a storm in the night and one by William Empson in 1937 that claims In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring “Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring Till then I see what’s really always there: In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. “I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Some resourceful poets slipped the meaning from the romantic to the metaphysical: I knew you’d recognize it! The Zefferelli version, surely!
That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear!” It was the nightingale, and not the lark, “Will thou be gone? It is not yet near day What a great name for a blog! Here’s a famous aubade in a play: Surprise! “ Aubade” is the formal name for a particular kind of poem or song when lovers must separate at dawn but don’t want to. This time of year the sun comes up red between my back garage and my neighbor’s tree, the sky stained red with faraway fires. But I settle at the computer to see what the English and the East Coasters have to say. When the cats are fed, the night cat goes out to check the perimeter and the day cat goes back to bed for another hour, hoping I’ll come back, too, and bring my body heat. Was the name of her estate “Aubade?” Might it be an old family name? Or the name of the maid? “Aubade, where’s my tea?” Where does it go from there? It’s Edith Sitwell.
#Save tonight eagle eye cherry meaning full
When I got up this morning, my head was full of one of the first poems I read in the modern poetry unit as a high school student: “Jane, Jane, tall as a crane.” The title was “Aubade.” I open one eye to check the alarm clock but if I turn my head, the day cat will also be up and both cats will wreath my feet, asking for breakfast while I scratch my head. I try to stay loose, stay warm, stay with the dreams. The day cat, who spends her nights stretched along my back, tenses slightly to see if I woke up. The night cat, who sleeps in the window by my computer so as to monitor moon traffic through the yard, thumps down to the floor. Dreams, ardent silver, linger in shadows, wanting time to finish just one more chapter - memory and storylines still wreathing pillows. Now the night doesn’t want to leave the cooling land, even when day’s long red incense-smoky fingers thread through the leafy boudoirs of the robins and feel along the eaves of houses, then down into tangled grass.
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