The CP and I are off to the countryside for the weekend; enjoy a little taste of Coleridge’s “Monody on the Death of Chatterton” (second version).
O what a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,
Babes, Children, Youths, and Men,
Night following night for threescore years and ten!
But doubly strange, where life is but a breath
To sigh and pant with, up Want’s rugged steep.
I am liking this stuff. And I’ll be back in time for Sunday Salon!
I had a great time with my visitor but without my usual reading wind-down time I was pretty cranky by yesterday afternoon. Poor CP had to put up with outrageous demands in re: Batman—but who can blame me for wanting to go see it a second time when there are so damn many attractive people and such an awesome storyline?
So I am slowly spending Sunday bringing myself back into the world of the literate. I’ve been reading some of the Coleridge, which is enjoyable but just so far outside what I usually read. That’s not a bad thing, I just feel like I have to get more deeply into it. I feel like I want a thunderstorm for better ambience too. This is not so much a beautiful summer weather book.
I have some freelance work to take care of this week but that shouldn’t stop me from getting some reading done. I plan to finish up the Coleridge (at least as much as I ever will for the Blog a Penguin Classic business), finish up Mythologies after putting it on hold last week, and possibly get back into my book of Moby-Dick criticism. Oh, and Alison requested comments on another one of the Canongate Myths series, hopefully I will get a chance to think about that as well. And I’m debating getting/reading The Gargoyle. Everyone’s writing about it, and I can’t decide whether I think I will enjoy it or not. The Times gave it a favorable review that actually makes it sound unappealing to me, but all the positive reviews I’ve read from bloggers make it sound fun. But I have to say the negative Entertainment Weekly review linked in The Book Lady’s Blog did quote some pretty bad sentences. Guess it’s not at the top of the pile!
Update: Silly me, I meant to leave you all with a little bit of a weekend poem and forgot. From “Quae Nocent Docent”:
Oh! might my ill-passed hours return again!
No more, as then, should Sloth around me throw
Her soul-enslaving, leaden chain!
No more the precious time would I employ
In giddy revels, or in thoughtless joy,
A present joy producing future woe.
Now get reading!