Nocturne Blues

It's night, the rain is hitting hard against my window, not been feeling well for a couple of days. Tonight I'am drinking red wine and listening to blues and Charlie Haden. I must confess that there are nights when a blues is the best kind of music. Remebering the old bar, half crowded with dusty figures of a forgotten time, cold beer, a timeless world forgotten by all but those who happened to be there when it all was washed away by fleeting time. I can still smell the sweet whiskey and the mellow pipe tobacco they used to smoke, though it is slowly fading away into shadow of the past, with half-forgotten childhood dreams and summer evenings. How do you make time slow down?

Nocturne
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her ocans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And th'Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.

Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers like in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:

While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie, then gently wake.

W.H, Auden

The final curtain

I am dreadfully sorry for not writing in too long a time. This night however I felt like reading yet another upbeat poem by one of my most beloved poets. I am entering the end of a holiday crowded with meddelsome northerners and troublesome days with rain and endless complaints, though all this is nearing the end. It is soon time for the final curtain call and I will be back at my books and to my rather somber thirst for even more books.

Whilst sitting in my bedroom, listenting to Charlie Haden's Nocturne, which I find suitable at this time of night, can't help thinking, with a somewhat melancholy mind that yet another summer has passed and autumn will unavoidably be following soon behind. I do, though, look forward to a few weeks of renewed friendship and merry laughter, the odd klinking of glasses and the oh so familiar songs of youth and spirit, even i


the final curtain on one of the longest running
musicals ever, some people claim to have
seen it over one hundred times.
I saw it on the tv news, that final curtain:
flowers, cheers, tears, a thunderous
accolade.
I have not seen this particular musical
but I know if I had that I wouldn't have
been able to bear it, it would have
sickened me.
trust me on this, the world and its
peoples and its artful entertainment has
done very little for me, only to me.
still, let them enjoy one another, it will
keep them from my door
and for this, my own thunderous
accolade.

C. Bukowski