Long day and a tired evening. The moon’s out and bright without a cloud in the sky tonight. I’m reading poetry, putting off writing a letter to my brother, listening to Karajan conducting the Berlin Philharmonic playing Sibelius. I had an idea for something new and original I was going to work on tonight, something goofy and high-concept, like an office comedy about temping for lobbying organizations in D.C. (yes, based on some of my own experiences) filtered through Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos (I said it was goofy, OK, and it’s been a long week and I’ve been feeling like my brain needs some candy), but I don’t have the energy. Put in on the shelf and save it for another time, I suppose.
Here’s some Mark Strand instead. I’ve got maples out back, too, and I think it’s a fine goodnight poem for tonight’s sort of night.
Sleeping with One Eye Open
Unmoved by what the wind does,
Are not rattled, nor do the various
Of the house make their usual racket —
The joints, trusses and studs.
They are still. And the maples,
At times to raise havoc,
Not a sound from their branches
It’s my night to be rattled,
With spooks. Even the half-moon
Half dark), on the horizon,
Its side casting a fishy light
On my floor, lavishly lording
Look over me. Oh, I feel dead,
Away in my blankets for good, and
My room is clammy and cold,
And weird. The shivers
Me, shaking my bones, my loose ends
And I lie sleeping with one eye open,
That nothing, nothing will happen.
(Selected Poems. Knopf, 1996.)