My first college experience was at the University of Denver and the library there was a vast, modern building sided with mirror tiles that reflected the mountains and I so wanted to love that library, loving libraries as I did and as I do but it was just too new and they had these horrible chairs you could read in that were like half-wombs. I don't know. I was so very unhappy in those days. It was all mostly sadness.
Although I love to read and read everyday, I can't read for more than an hour without getting up and wandering around, doing something. I'm not much of a sitter.
Our experiences of University are so different. I had a four month old when I started nursing school and he was three when I started at University. I can't believe I ever had the energy to go to school and raise a child. And now he brings tears to my eyes when I think of him. His son asked my husband last night if he could be his dad. Fuck the world is hard sometimes.
This brought back such memories of college (Rutgers). I started around 1982 I think. And ended my time there protesting apartheid by sleeping on the front lawn for five weeks until the college divested. And I studied those same French writers! So all of your pieces felt so resonant. I loved the detail of the older man on the stairs, ringing the huge bell.
What does it say about me that I’ve never been drawn to reading poetry? I’ve learned to appreciate it, and do occasionally read it, but I’m not drawn to it. I’ve read Neruda, Lorde, Oliver and others... oh and Sarton ... I’m not an ignorant heathen. I woke up almost two hours ago and have not yet gone back to sleep. I took up one of the books I’m reading, Martha teichner’s When Harry met Minnie and I’ve been engrossed in the story of how she adopted a dying friends bill terrier. I’ve also recently read and reread Notes on Grief by Adichie, the cancer journals by Lorde, man’s search for meaning by Frankl, and Plant dreaming deep by sarton. I’ve also recently become fascinated by the modern love stories in the New York Times. Lordy Lordy. Reading day indeed. Oh... I also read the Marginalian as much as I can. There is a story behind all this, of course.
You are still that dreaming brown-eyed girl, all that poetry still inside you, your own art and longing spilling out here. I am glad to be here in your reading room.
My first college experience was at the University of Denver and the library there was a vast, modern building sided with mirror tiles that reflected the mountains and I so wanted to love that library, loving libraries as I did and as I do but it was just too new and they had these horrible chairs you could read in that were like half-wombs. I don't know. I was so very unhappy in those days. It was all mostly sadness.
Although I love to read and read everyday, I can't read for more than an hour without getting up and wandering around, doing something. I'm not much of a sitter.
Our experiences of University are so different. I had a four month old when I started nursing school and he was three when I started at University. I can't believe I ever had the energy to go to school and raise a child. And now he brings tears to my eyes when I think of him. His son asked my husband last night if he could be his dad. Fuck the world is hard sometimes.
A reading day ... I cannot ... even ... the memory of those days is like another lifetime. How I've loved all those libraries.
This brought back such memories of college (Rutgers). I started around 1982 I think. And ended my time there protesting apartheid by sleeping on the front lawn for five weeks until the college divested. And I studied those same French writers! So all of your pieces felt so resonant. I loved the detail of the older man on the stairs, ringing the huge bell.
What does it say about me that I’ve never been drawn to reading poetry? I’ve learned to appreciate it, and do occasionally read it, but I’m not drawn to it. I’ve read Neruda, Lorde, Oliver and others... oh and Sarton ... I’m not an ignorant heathen. I woke up almost two hours ago and have not yet gone back to sleep. I took up one of the books I’m reading, Martha teichner’s When Harry met Minnie and I’ve been engrossed in the story of how she adopted a dying friends bill terrier. I’ve also recently read and reread Notes on Grief by Adichie, the cancer journals by Lorde, man’s search for meaning by Frankl, and Plant dreaming deep by sarton. I’ve also recently become fascinated by the modern love stories in the New York Times. Lordy Lordy. Reading day indeed. Oh... I also read the Marginalian as much as I can. There is a story behind all this, of course.
You are still that dreaming brown-eyed girl, all that poetry still inside you, your own art and longing spilling out here. I am glad to be here in your reading room.