I think of this as a cover of a kind of handbook, guidebook, or instruction manual. If anyone would like to write a passage for Sorrow for Beginners, feel free. (writing in comment section)
all things newly done are done not well.
but in matters of the heart, one must proceed as a novice
unawares.
the wounds of previously lost battles will be licked by the reward of experience, persistence, fearlessness and hope.
onward to new battles and new wounds.
adminsays
(from MG)
Beast, settled in ocean
[The futility mark]
Your futility grows,
fed gray pills on motorbikes,
my espadrilles are overtaken.
Your father forestalled such sad life
as could tilt his divining rod
toward the trundle bed’s bite, its five smudges.
Clear-eyed dog, go blind! And solve
in that den your translucent father,
far comet. Men in sightless lists
bedsitted, entombed.
You are the tomb’s dancing girl.
Your debt I cannot count as I nod before the abacus.
It gets better. It gets worse. A body younger and less jaded than yours can survive the sight of the old cowboy she loved, smaller and fading, her tears might erase him completely so she must run away into the freezing Christmas air to cry. A body older and wearier than yours can survive the sound of the cello that she won't play any more, the waiting (the weighting) for the plane, the 90 minutes that stretches to fill all space and time, breath held, heart tick tick ticking. Sorrow isn't a river, it's a tunnel. Sometimes there is light. Sometimes there is not.
Frankie says
Sorrow for Beginners
In the bliss fire of agony you wail_
it's the-end-of-everything!
Let me take your hand, dear.
Let me kiss your head and silk your hair back.
I have awful news for you_
this burning is not the end of anything at all.
dan fortner says
all things newly done are done not well.
but in matters of the heart, one must proceed as a novice
unawares.
the wounds of previously lost battles will be licked by the reward of experience, persistence, fearlessness and hope.
onward to new battles and new wounds.
admin says
(from MG)
Beast, settled in ocean
[The futility mark]
Your futility grows,
fed gray pills on motorbikes,
my espadrilles are overtaken.
Your father forestalled such sad life
as could tilt his divining rod
toward the trundle bed’s bite, its five smudges.
Clear-eyed dog, go blind! And solve
in that den your translucent father,
far comet. Men in sightless lists
bedsitted, entombed.
You are the tomb’s dancing girl.
Your debt I cannot count as I nod before the abacus.
And men in my living room stunt-act
down the blood length of my body, men
in a world of dodgeball meditation, not growth,
the sad, stalled life of the father
eaten until his rod of tears
has altered your escape route, dug anew.
Cheryl says
It gets better. It gets worse. A body younger and less jaded than yours can survive the sight of the old cowboy she loved, smaller and fading, her tears might erase him completely so she must run away into the freezing Christmas air to cry. A body older and wearier than yours can survive the sound of the cello that she won't play any more, the waiting (the weighting) for the plane, the 90 minutes that stretches to fill all space and time, breath held, heart tick tick ticking. Sorrow isn't a river, it's a tunnel. Sometimes there is light. Sometimes there is not.
one f Jef says
in this land of strangers
there are dangers
there are sorrows
i can't see this lady
it is shady
i am leaving tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
even there's a reason
it's silver
it's gone
in this land of strangers
there are dangers
there are sorrows
sorrows
sorrows
sorrows
Kristen says
still beating