What could be better than a three-day weekend? A three-day weekend entirely devoted to books, of course, and mine is not—not quite. February might not be spring but cabin fever has gotten the better of me and I oscillate between hours spent paralyzed in my “reading chair” with Russians and Roberto Bolaño and frenzies of cleaning, purging, and reorganizing. I fantasize in equal parts about Orlando‘s swirling sixteenth- and seventeenth-century debauchery and his wonderful, magical, enormous house, and about how if I owned my own home I’d be able to install a real, fully customized closet organization system (perhaps even a walk-in!)—not to mention, of course, built-in bookshelves (we are starting to overflow).
This morning I’ve gotten some of that energy out by going for a run, the first after a sad period of hibernation, and it’s left me feeling more energized for my reading. I’m hoping to finish up my Russian mini-project this week. I’m looking forward to the last of Woolf in Winter, The Waves, and I’m also looking forward to getting back to some Melville. The CP has indicated he just might read along, and if not for Moby-Dick then for The Confidence Man. I can hardly stand the excitement!
We’ll see. For now, an Emily Dickinson valentine:
Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!
What a stunner of a Dickinson poem. I had never encountered it before, somehow, and now I am smitten. I instantly sent a copy off to my (absent) beloved, and now am running off to scribble it down in my reading journal. Thanks for bringing it to my attention!
I’m so glad I could share it with you! I am done with the compass and chart—at least for now—but I certainly sympathize.