Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Laura Marling

I really can't get enough of her.



Rambling Man

Oh naïve little me
Asking what things you have seen
And you're vulnerable in your head
You'll scream and you'll wail till you're dead

Creatures veiled by night
Following things that aren't right
And they're tired and they need to be lead
You'll scream and you'll wail till they're dead

But give me to a rambling man
Let it always be known that I was who I am

Beaten, battered, and cold
My children will live just to grow old
But if i sit here and weep
I'll be blown over by the slightest of breeze

And the weak need to be lead
And the tender I'll carry to their bed
And its a pale and cold affair
I'll be damned if I'll be found there

Oh give me to a rambling man
Let it always be known that I was who I am

It’s funny how the first chords that you come to
Are the minor notes that come to serenade you
It’s hard to accept yourself as someone... you don’t desire
As someone you don't want to be

But give me to a rambling man
Let it always be known that I was who I am

Oh give me to a rambling man
Let it always be known that I was who I am

Friday, March 26, 2010

Jane Austen Adaptations

These are my favorites so far.

Emma (2009) BBC


Sense and Sensibility (2008) BBC


Pride and Prejudice (2005) Focus Features


Persuasion (2007) ITV--although her hair is sooo tight!! it makes me hurt :)


Mansfield Park (1999) Miramax--not an exact adaptation, but this is my least favorite book so it's an exciting version


I need a good Northanger Abbey now... any suggestions?

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

New Start

I think I'm just going to use this now to share things I like or love. Why would I share something I hate?

Here's something I stumbled across when searching for a different poem.

Up by Margaret Atwood

You wake up filled with dread.
There seems no reason for it.
Morning light sifts through the window,
there is birdsong,
you can't get out of bed.

It's something about the crumpled sheets
hanging over the edge like jungle
foliage, the terry slippers gaping
their dark pink mouths for your feet,
the unseen breakfast---some of it
in the refrigerator you do not dare
to open---you will not dare to eat.

What prevents you? The future. The future tense,
immense as outer space.
You could get lost there.
No. Nothing so simple. The past, its density
and drowned events pressing you down,
like sea water, like gelatin
filling your lungs instead of air.

Forget all that and let's get up.
Try moving your arm.
Try moving your head.
Pretend the house is on fire
and you must run or burn.
No, that one's useless.
It's never worked before.

Where is it coming from, this echo,
this huge No that surrounds you,
silent as the folds of the yellow
curtains, mute as the cheerful

Mexican bowl with its cargo
of mummified flowers?
(You chose the colours of the sun,
not the dried neutrals of shadow.
God knows you've tried.)

Now here's a good one:
you're lying on your deathbed.
You have one hour to live.
Who is it, exactly, you have needed
all these years to forgive?

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Free Time



Let's pretend that this is what I've been doing that has kept me away.