November 22: St Cecilia's Day
A mingled bunch of anniversaries: John Kennedy shot dead;
America reaches space; the Melbourne Olympics start.
In a triumph of humanity over technology, I seem to have
succeeded in getting some pictures uploaded to the "blogger"
site. Check out "In a small dark room". Nothing too exciting yet,
but have put up some of photos from
Christmas 2001, when Sydney was ringed by bushfires & smoke
covered us like the Land of Mordor (where the shadows lie). Will
experiment to try & improve style & form.

Warning! Medical/Personal Griping next 2 pars- you might
prefer to skip this bit
Have been pushing myself physically - just a bit - but the doctor
(oncologist - supervising chemotherapy) says not to do too much
& concentrate one healing. It's hard to judge what level to go to.
I want to not drop back too far in physical fitness (not in a heavily
athletic form, but just the ability to walk up all the stairs to the
place I'm staying, or walk to the shops up the hill & carry the shopping
back without having to sleep for several hours). Eventually
want to build up to being able to do what I used to, but that's quite
a few months away. Travelling across town to hospital daily,
preparing for Christmas & starting to go back to work for some
hours/week is plenty of exercise.

Spent a lot of time resting, soaking in oatmeal & oil-infused baths to
help restore the damage done to the dividing skin-cells by the cytotoxins,
putting lots of conditioner on what's left of my hair & working
out what to eat that is nourishing but not overloading the poor abused gut.
Everyone is saying how well I look.
Bit of mixed feeling about that.
I do feel considerably better than during the radiotherapy,
and far, far better than I was for quite some weeks after the operation;
am even improved on how rotten I was before being diagnosed.
During first few weeks, used taxis a number of times when the bus trip
&/or waiting in the hot sun for the bus was too much to face.
(BTW: What idiot approved putting glass roofs on bus shelters
sitting out in Sydney's hot sun? Doesn't anyone remember what the
original "greenhouse effect" was? Sometimes one inclines towards
the conspiracy theory that they're in the pay of
petrol/car/tollway companies & are actually trying to drive people
away from public transport.)
Despite the death & sickness in these last months, compared to:
people in other countries;people in less easy circumstances;
some of the exceedingly sick people indeed I've seen around
hospital, the time I've had has not been comparably awful. But still
not feeling all that terrifically wonderful. Still want a bit of
sympathy, the occasional helping hand, &c.
And grief.
Grief pounces out of invisible shadows at any unexpected time like
the paralysing attack of the tiger: a phrase; a thought; seeing
things in shopping, hearing or seeing stuff on the radio & television,
in the papers.

Expressions of sympathy will be gratefully received. If you think I'm
a self-indulgent self-pitying bore, remember that old saying:
"If you can't say something nice, don't say anything."

Blake's "The Tyger"
Tyger, Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, or what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

see also at:
www.rc.umd.edu; and www.poets.org; or
www.geocities.com/Athens/6181; or stellar-one.com/poems

Labels: poetry

[permalink][comment] - posted by Mez @ 11/23/2002 04:03:00 am