life soundtrack

i was really, really busy at work today. so much so that i couldn’t resist putting my ipod on shuffle, writing down the first nineteen songs it played, and then assigning them to the list of events that collectively make up my ‘life soundtrack’.

it will amaze and astound you. well, probably not. but it kept me occupied for a bit of my day, and, that’s enough to earn a mention here…

—
opening credits – spies, coldplay

waking up – carbon, tori amos

first day of school – together, the fray

falling in love – rebel prince, rufus wainwright

losing virginity – ride, cary brothers (what a ride)

fight song – keep me in your pocket, charlotte martin

breaking up – what’s left of me, nick lachey (hehe-perfect!)

prom – it’s been awhile, staind (yes, it has)

life – simple kind of life, no doubt (i kid you not)

mental breakdown – vienna, the fray (i love this song right now, should that worry me?)

driving – seaside, tori amos

flashback – we never change, coldplay

get back together – you’re beautiful, james blunt (awwww)

wedding – everybody wants to rule the world, tears for fears

birth – chocolate, snow patrol

final battle – personal jesus, depeche mode (interesting…)

funeral – lovesong, the cure (hands down, one of the best songs ever)

end credits – indian summer, tori amos
—

so there you have it, folks. the soundtrack to my life as determined by my shuffling pod. go ahead, try it out for yourself. you know you want to

scars

the time around scars (michael ondaatje)

a girl whom i’ve not spoken to
or shared coffee with for several years
writes of an old scar.
on her wrist it sleeps, smooth and white,
the size of a leech.
i gave it to her
brandishing a new italian penknife.
look, i said turning,
and blood spat onto her shirt.

my wife has scars like spread raindrops
on knees and ankles,
she talks of broken greenhouse panes
and yet, apart from imagining red feet,
(a nymph out of chagall)
i bring little to that scene.
we remember the time around scars,
they freeze irrelevant emotions
and divide us from present friends.
i remember this girl’s face,
the widening rise of surprise.

and would she
moving with lover or husband
conceal or flaunt it,
or keep it at her wrist
a mysterious watch.
and this scar i then remember
is a medallion of no emotion.

i would meet you now
and i would wish this scar
to have been given with
all the love
that never occurred between us.

i don’t know what it is about poems this week, but this is another gem that found me while i was organizing some books.

i have such a scar that rests on my knee. it came to be on a cold december night in 1989 when i slipped on a patch of ice. my boyfriend failed to catch me and so i tumbled awkwardly onto the ground. my knee still tells the story.

little did i know, it was a sign that i failed to recognize.

never fall for someone who is unable to catch you.

the second coming

the second coming (w.b. yeats, 1919)

turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer;
things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned;
the best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity.

surely some revelation is at hand;
surely the second coming is at hand.
the second coming! hardly are those words out
when a vast image out of spiritus mundi
troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
a shape with lion body and the head of a man,
a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
the darkness drops again; but now i know
that twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
and what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
slouches towards bethlehem to be born?

i rediscovered this poem today, written on a piece of white paper, folded, and tucked neatly inside a book on my bookshelf.

if you have read nick bantock’s griffin and sabine collection, i don’t need to say any more. if you have not, get thee to a bookstore and prepare to be enveloped in a world that you will never quite understand but that you will never want to leave.

pure genius.