Friday, February 1, 2008

All I Want is You (Barry Louis Polisar)

Date Night - Take Two! The plans my husband and I made last Friday went by the wayside as he ended up having to work late - tonight found us finally following through, to see the movie Juno and then going out for a bite to eat afterwards.

Love love loved the film - Ellen Page in the title role was stupendous, walking that fine line of bravado and vulnerability, delivering the snappy dialogue as if it were self-generated. There was no black-and-white, no morality tale, no perfect characters - everyone was flawed, dichotomous, real. The soundtrack weaving throughout was adorable - the plotline covered hysterical to poignant and everything in between. Two thumbs up - highly recommended... :-)

After the movie, attempting all the regular restaurants in the area (I just wanted an appetizer and a drink), we struck out at Chili's, Friday's, Applebee's and Bahama Breeze, which had people waiting to be seated (at 10 p.m.!) - we happily settled on a local Italian place, where I ordered an extra-dirty martini (my libation of choice) and calamari (yum) and Robert had a meat-lover's pizza. It was grand to chat, uninterrupted, and spend some time together - mission accomplished... <3

POEM: Why Regret? by Galway Kinnell

Didn't you like the way the ants help
the peony globes open by eating the glue off?
Weren't you cheered to see the ironworkers
sitting on an I-beam dangling from a cable,
in a row, like starlings, eating lunch, maybe
baloney on white with fluorescent mustard?

Wasn't it a revelation to waggle
from the estuary all the way up the river,
the kill, the pirle, the run, the rent, the beck,
the sike barely trickling, to the shock of a spring?
Didn't you almost shiver, hearing book lice
clicking their sexual dissonance inside an old
Webster's New International, perhaps having just
eaten of it izle, xyster, and thalassacon?
Forget about becoming emaciated. Think of the wren
and how little flesh is needed to make a song.

Didn't it seem somehow familiar when the nymph
split open and the mayfly struggled free
and flew and perched and then its own back
broke open and the imago, the true adult,
somersaulted out and took flight, seeking
the swarm, mouth-parts vestigial,
alimentary canal come to a stop,
a day or hour left to find the desired one?

Or when Casanova took up the platter
of linguine in squid's ink and slid the stuff
out the window, telling his startled companion,
"The perfected lover does not eat."
Didn't you glimpse in the monarchs
what seemed your own inner blazonry
flapping and gliding, in desire, in the middle air?

Weren't you reassured to think these flimsy
hinged beings, and then their offspring,
and then their offspring's offspring, could
navigate, working in shifts, all the way to Mexico,
to the exact plot, perhaps the very tree,
by tracing the flair of the bodies of ancestors
who fell in this same migration a year ago?

Doesn't it outdo the pleasure of the brilliant concert
to wake in the night and find ourselves
holding hands in our sleep?

QUOTE: "Love and pregnancy and riding on a camel cannot be hid." ~ Arabic Proverb

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