Saturday Verse: "Here In the Spring" - Dylan Thomas

HERE IN THE SPRING

Here in this spring, stars float along the void;
Here in this ornamental winter
Down pelts the naked weather;
This summer buries a spring bird.

Symbols are selected from the years'
Slow rounding of four seasons' coasts,
In autumn teach three seasons' fires
And four birds' notes.

I should tell summer from the trees, the worms
Tell, if at all, the winter's storms
Or the funeral of the sun;
I should learn spring by the cuckooing,
And the slug should teach me destruction.

A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug's a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away?


                                                      - Dylan Thomas

Music for your Midweek: Paolo Nutini

Favorite ol' favorite Paolo Nutini coming out of nowhere to make me cry with this cover:

Saturday Verse: "White Cotten T-Shirt" - Margaret Atwood

WHITE COTTEN T-SHIRT

White cotton T-shirt: an innocent garment then.
It made its way to us from the ward, but we didn't know that.
For us it was the vestment of summer,
whiter than white, shining with whiteness
because it had been washed in blood, but we didn't know that,
and in the cropped sleeve, rolled up tightly
into a cuff, were tucked the cigarettes
also white within their packet, also innocent,
as were white panties, white convertibles,
white-blond brush-cuts
and the white, white teeth of the lilting smiles
of the young men. 

Ignorance makes all things clean.
Our knowledge weighs us down.
We want it gone 

so we can put on our white T-shirts
and drive once more through the early dawn
streets with the names we never could
pronounce, but it didn't matter,
over the broken glass and bricks, passing
the wary impoverished faces,
the grins filled with blackening teeth,
the starving dogs and stick children
and the slackened bundles of clothing
that once held men
enjoying the rush of morning air
on our clean, tanned skins,
and the white, white flowers we held out in our fists,
believing — still —that they are flowers of peace.

                                                           - Margaret Atwood 

March Mix: hide under here

A mix that jumps from a dance party to a punk party to a sweet party to a sad party. Everything for everyone. Just trying to keep you satisfied.

1. You Keep Me Hangin' On - Vanilla Fudge



2. Drinkee - Sofi Tukker



3. Vyzee - SOPHIE



4. Actually - Rozi Plain



5. Victoria - Beverly



6. My Me - T. Hardy Morris



7. They / Them / Theirs - Worriers



8. Human Sadness - Julian Casablancas + The Voidz



9. Days Of Candy - Beach House



10. Die Fun - Kacey Musgraves



11. Chinatown  - Shakey Graves



12. You Never Asked Me - Patty Griffin



13. If I Were Queen - My Brightest Diamond



14. Sing, Sparrow, Sing - The Milk Carton Kids

NOTES: 

1. Found them thanks to an episode of This American Life and this trippy song. Required listening, all of it.

2. Yes.

3. My mom couldn't make it more than 10 seconds listening to this track without making a fart joke. How long did you last?

6. yeah yeah yeah! Sad I missed this contest. I could have used cash. 

7. Everyone's favorite topic.

8. If I owned a yoga studio, this would be the track I would have on repeat. NO JOKE.

9. And we would listen to this during savasana.

13. An artist talking about art.

Music for your Midweek: Noura Mint Seymali - "Tzenni"

Found this song by listening through NPR 100 best SXSW songs. What a treat:

Saturday Verse: "Ice Palace" - Margaret Atwood

ICE PALACE

Another ice palace, Another demi-
paradise where all desires
are named and thus created,
and then almost satisfied. Hotel
might be an accurate label. 

Not made of glass and marzipan
and steel, and jewel-toned water,
and opal gelatin that glows
like phosphorescent deep-sea fish, as
you might think at first. But no, 

it's only dreams, it's only
clouds of breath formed into
words: the heavenly bed, the all-
you-can-eat breakfast. Invisible hands
bring food, smooth down 

the sheets, turn on the lights,
cause violins to lullaby
the sugared air, clean out the wad of hair
you left in the porcelain shower,
and place a rose on your pillow 

when you're not there. Where
is the fearful beast who runs the show
and longs for kisses?
Where are the bodies that were once
attached to all those hands? 

Backstage it's always carnage.
Red petals on the floor.
You hope they're petals. Don't unlock
the one forbidden door,
the one inscribed 

Staff Only. Do not look
in the last and smallest room, oh
dearest, do not look.

                                             - Margaret Atwood

Filling the Silent Spaces

A beautiful call to speaking up. I know I definitely needed it:

I'm in the thick of Lent, so this is perfect timing. I love that religion can both encourage us to sacrifice, and also to live up to our privileges.