Books along the fallow way.
Jan. 15th, 2003 11:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ambitious_wenchReynardo offered a list of 5 books that changed her. So at the risk of being a copy cat, here's mine in no particular order. NOTE: This list is subject to change.
1."The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle
This book taught me that literature does't have to be stuffy to be good.
You know, for curses, you can't get much more poeticly crueler than that.
2."Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and other modern verse".
This little gem of a book taught me that poetry doesn't have to rhyme to be poetry. And it taught me to turn a graceful phrase or two myself. Unfortuantely, I seem to have mislaid my copy, but a quick trip to Google provided me with this:
3. "Stranger in a Strange Land" by Robert Heinlein
Yes. "Thou art God". Namaste.
4."How to Survive the Loss of a Love"
The ONLY self help book I have bought for other people. And periodicly re-buy for myself.
5. Webster's Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language
Not only did this prodigious tome serve as a booster seat for numberous Thanksgiving dinners, (it was steatopygious) I actually spent time just sitting and reading it. It gave me my love of language. It taught me to look at the roots of words for meaning, and to this day I rely on etymology as much as definition.
In the bleak midwinter...
I received the first seed and plant catalog of the year yesterday. With the temps dipping close to the single digits, I walked to the mail box and pulled out the daily blues. There it was, Burgess. They are the ones that sell impossible fruit trees--"Grow 5 kinds of fruit on one tree!" Yes, I know, it's grafting. I'll admit to a desire to try my hand at brugmansia in the greenhouse.
Later I went out to check on my greenhouse, and noted that the condensation had frozen to the translucent fabric inside. And yet is was comfortably warm in there. The moon, past first quarter, and bulging toward full was incredibly bright. I stood by my garden, mostly fallow since Sept 11 2001. It's covered with snow, the occasional stalk of a volunteer sunflower standing at an oddly oblique angle. Shadows were crisp, and yes, the snow glinted.
How odd to unzip the door to the greenhouse, step inside and feel the warmth of spring envelope me. Greenhouses are magical places. That pot of pansies is now in almost full bloom, yellow intermixed with the purple-black. In one pot is a dandelion. Nested at the center of the saw-toothed leaf rosette is a bud, and I look forward to seeing the first brilliant yellow flower bursting forth. And yet, outside, it's 11ยบ. The hibiscus is sending out new shoots, and the forsythia that I cut and put in one of the many buckets of water is begining to show signs of blooming.
Thank heavens February is only 28 days, that it contains LOTS of chocolate, and is when the seed catalogs really start showing up in force. Otherwise, it's the most desperate month of the year.
1."The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle
This book taught me that literature does't have to be stuffy to be good.
"You pile of stones, you waste, you desolation, I'll stuff you with misery till it comes out of your eyes. I'll change your heart into a green grass, and all you love into a sheep. I'll turn you into a bad poet with dreams. I'll set all your toenails growing inwrard. You mess with me."
You know, for curses, you can't get much more poeticly crueler than that.
2."Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle and other modern verse".
This little gem of a book taught me that poetry doesn't have to rhyme to be poetry. And it taught me to turn a graceful phrase or two myself. Unfortuantely, I seem to have mislaid my copy, but a quick trip to Google provided me with this:
Overheard on a Salt Marsh
Harold Monro
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
No.
Give them me. Give them me.
No.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds. Lie in the mud and howl for them.
Goblin, why do you love them so?
They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads. I desire them.
No.
I will howl in a deep lagoon for your green glass beads, I love them so. Give them me. Give them me.
No.
3. "Stranger in a Strange Land" by Robert Heinlein
Yes. "Thou art God". Namaste.
4."How to Survive the Loss of a Love"
The ONLY self help book I have bought for other people. And periodicly re-buy for myself.
5. Webster's Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language
Not only did this prodigious tome serve as a booster seat for numberous Thanksgiving dinners, (it was steatopygious) I actually spent time just sitting and reading it. It gave me my love of language. It taught me to look at the roots of words for meaning, and to this day I rely on etymology as much as definition.
In the bleak midwinter...
I received the first seed and plant catalog of the year yesterday. With the temps dipping close to the single digits, I walked to the mail box and pulled out the daily blues. There it was, Burgess. They are the ones that sell impossible fruit trees--"Grow 5 kinds of fruit on one tree!" Yes, I know, it's grafting. I'll admit to a desire to try my hand at brugmansia in the greenhouse.
Later I went out to check on my greenhouse, and noted that the condensation had frozen to the translucent fabric inside. And yet is was comfortably warm in there. The moon, past first quarter, and bulging toward full was incredibly bright. I stood by my garden, mostly fallow since Sept 11 2001. It's covered with snow, the occasional stalk of a volunteer sunflower standing at an oddly oblique angle. Shadows were crisp, and yes, the snow glinted.
How odd to unzip the door to the greenhouse, step inside and feel the warmth of spring envelope me. Greenhouses are magical places. That pot of pansies is now in almost full bloom, yellow intermixed with the purple-black. In one pot is a dandelion. Nested at the center of the saw-toothed leaf rosette is a bud, and I look forward to seeing the first brilliant yellow flower bursting forth. And yet, outside, it's 11ยบ. The hibiscus is sending out new shoots, and the forsythia that I cut and put in one of the many buckets of water is begining to show signs of blooming.
Thank heavens February is only 28 days, that it contains LOTS of chocolate, and is when the seed catalogs really start showing up in force. Otherwise, it's the most desperate month of the year.
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Date: 2008-01-05 02:07 pm (UTC)