Budapest bohemians,old fashioned ways,midnight kisses
Well I was feeling sort of better,I'm having problems still but I move beyond them and try not to become weary.I walked and am going to walk for a good hour everyday.I looked at Budapest Cafes like Gerbeaud and art nouveau buildings there,also a rare and antique bookstore and then I pretended for a little while that I was a bohemian in Budapest with Red (my redheaded soulmate).There I was dressed in velvet and ecru lace and green bead earrings,with green eyes and black as crow hair talking in one of the literary cafes with our pals and riding off to go to our studio nest with all our books of poetry.It was a pleasant thought but I commit that I am more countryside,more at home in some cabin on a hill surrounded by trees, home and hearth,going out little,nested with tea.I am not at all urban and all the menace of civilisation that implies, though in this imaginary Budapest life it would be nice to have the option of going to the opera one night in our finery.
I read the Paris review it was dull and dead,I hope never to be a high brow literary poet making juried intellectual exercises out of poems.Its nice how they try to riddle the mind but what I want most in poems is spirit,passion,imbas,and feeling not thinking, like Thomas does in 'do not go gentle into that good night' rage,rage! he says and the gift of awen blesses him too.Theres just not enough feeling or spirit anywhere.I dreamt last night I was dancing about and singing infront everyone,just very free and lost in the sounds.Gosh I wish I could write poetry the whole evening through, but its a true fight and endeavour now to do so.I spent the last six months in a very cosy mode wanting only scones,aprons,nurseries,sweet wife,a housewifery happiness.I felt entirely at ease with those thoughts and sometimes I would drift off into my novels but I stayed close to myself as an old fashioned gal.
Now I still linger after it,I'd still give anything for such a life truly,but I'm imagining all these bohemian lives and poetry before everything and run amok,and certainly no babies.I really would give anything sometimes to be a person who is consistent,but as they say the only completely consistent people are dead! I made a new friend on okcupid he is a poet,a working class boy - surprise surprise who is moving to Prague to possibly work in his friends tea house.He suggested I move to Europe and teach English, I thought Oh that might be fun in the middle of Russia teaching Byron or something.It would be so great to be immersed in a culture you have a deep love for,to be surrounded by Cyrillic! Gosh I'd weep.I have no affection for Australia I find its history rag tag and rough,not very becoming,but I respect it.I don't think I'll ever understand it,I try too, I try to find its spirit but it's a lot like being married to someone you're not really in love with living here.Oh I miss my manic flights really,I miss my flights of fancy,what a dull world people drive through,I missed him (snow) yesterday,snug as he is.I want a whole nother world! As the Belgians say "Life is not an ice cream truck".What I'd give for French toast in the morning and midnight kisses,say it will come one day.
I read the Paris review it was dull and dead,I hope never to be a high brow literary poet making juried intellectual exercises out of poems.Its nice how they try to riddle the mind but what I want most in poems is spirit,passion,imbas,and feeling not thinking, like Thomas does in 'do not go gentle into that good night' rage,rage! he says and the gift of awen blesses him too.Theres just not enough feeling or spirit anywhere.I dreamt last night I was dancing about and singing infront everyone,just very free and lost in the sounds.Gosh I wish I could write poetry the whole evening through, but its a true fight and endeavour now to do so.I spent the last six months in a very cosy mode wanting only scones,aprons,nurseries,sweet wife,a housewifery happiness.I felt entirely at ease with those thoughts and sometimes I would drift off into my novels but I stayed close to myself as an old fashioned gal.
Now I still linger after it,I'd still give anything for such a life truly,but I'm imagining all these bohemian lives and poetry before everything and run amok,and certainly no babies.I really would give anything sometimes to be a person who is consistent,but as they say the only completely consistent people are dead! I made a new friend on okcupid he is a poet,a working class boy - surprise surprise who is moving to Prague to possibly work in his friends tea house.He suggested I move to Europe and teach English, I thought Oh that might be fun in the middle of Russia teaching Byron or something.It would be so great to be immersed in a culture you have a deep love for,to be surrounded by Cyrillic! Gosh I'd weep.I have no affection for Australia I find its history rag tag and rough,not very becoming,but I respect it.I don't think I'll ever understand it,I try too, I try to find its spirit but it's a lot like being married to someone you're not really in love with living here.Oh I miss my manic flights really,I miss my flights of fancy,what a dull world people drive through,I missed him (snow) yesterday,snug as he is.I want a whole nother world! As the Belgians say "Life is not an ice cream truck".What I'd give for French toast in the morning and midnight kisses,say it will come one day.
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