I get off at the Barbican stop, walk past Nagshead Court and up Golden lane to my office. It's an a quieter part of the city, out east of everything. My office has a baby blue door and green carpeting. When 3.00 rolls around it's tea time - milk and sugar please. And occasionally there are chocolate biscuits. There is also quiet - the Methodist Recorder doesn't have the same frenzy as a daily paper.
Last week I saw Hamlet performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company - from the time the first person came on stage till Horatio's "Good night sweet prince, and angels sing thee to thy rest," I had tears in my eyes. To see it staged, see the intricacies of the plot - Hamlet's transformation from grieving son to young leader, Ophelia's descent to madness, Queen Gertrude's repentance, the King's villiany and Horatio's truest friendship. It was like hearing music for the first time - that same wonder and astonishment.
I know that the four months I'm planning to spend here will be far too short.
But London's not going anywhere - right?
9.18.2004
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5 comments:
If Mom and Dad had known you were going to expatriate yourself to London long-term, I doubt they would have gone to the expense of braces.
Maggie loves when you send her cards.
Any luck on my Che shirt?
I miss you, Miss Sara, and I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself. This place just isn't the same without you.
While I am happy that you are having a wonderful time in England, if you are not on a plane over here in January, so help me god I will kidnap you and bring you back in a burlap bag. Say hello to Elizabeth for me... from one queen to another.
Sara:
Good to hear that you're soaking in a country so wonderfully non-American for a while.
In regards to the ghost writer up above, it is just his common way to turn someone else's account of life into a commentary on his own wishes. Don't worry though, I've been slipping him a daily pill with which the outcome yeilds interest in other beings besides himself...most of the time he passes out after the terrifyingly accurate concoction sets in to his cells. He likes it when I put on Cher, or Joni Mitchell...it makes the shivers stop.
I regret to say I am dead-set upon leaving the precious "J" as a hobby for now, and gaining the english department as the bearer of my Major. I just feel as of late that I am required to salute Gannett and Neff halls, Nazi stlye, in passing through the quad...not my bag.
Sharing a room with the aforementioned poster is nothing short of amazing, in the sense that I don't attempt murder each day...thank God for my Morals.
I gazed upon the same ferociously full moon as you that sultry summer night, on taking the trash down the drive, and wondered about various situations.
But all I could think was poetry.
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket --
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming -- mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath --
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
To the above commenter:
1) The poem was wonderful - you should submit to Purple.
2) People should use the word "Sultry" more - particularly in London which is cold now.
3) I'm impressed you haven't killed you're roommate yet - is his side of the room incredibly messy? I bet so.
4) I support your English decision - seems to be a lot more time for pretty things there. I almost did it... but you know - the "J" works for me - not for everyone, for me. Besides English majors are hot as are redheads.
5)Drop me an e-mail sometime, yo.
Loooove,
sara
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