I've come down with the virus that Rachel's been fighting for the last week or so and the frogs from the bog in Madeira Park have taken up residence on a lily pad in my larynx. Not good timing as I'm supposed to work tomorrow and calling in sick means losing two weeks' pay in my line of work. But the train is also a lousy place to be when one's feeling lousy and six days of lousy lousiness might not be worth two weeks' pay, so I might just have to "book off" tomorrow, as I think this thing's gonna get worse ere it gets better.
I was reading some Edna St. Vincent Millay t'other day. She has apparently fallen out of fashion and is rarely talked about or taught by academics (although there's an interesting, albeit deeply flawed, recent biography in print), but I like her best work an awful lot. Hear me croak her lovely, simple "Tavern" if you like.
Text of "Tavern" HERE.
Hear Millay herself read her poetry HERE.