Summer Reading

One thing I like to do once summer starts up is get reading on some stuff that I wouldn't have time or the mental stamina for during classes. This summer I've got a few things on the table. First I've various poetry books that I'm leafing through (it's a bit hard to sit down and try to absorb a lot of poetry at once, each poem really usually deserves at least half an hour's thought or so) and I'm trying also to get through Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom! The first time I tried reading it I was in high school and though I could digest The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying, for some reason I couldn't make it one hundred pages in this book. But last semester in my American lit 1914-45 class I read and wrote an essay on his short story Barn Burning which completely reminded me why I loved Faulkner in the first place so I think I'm going to give another go. It's already going much better than last time, I think. It helps that I have more education to put it in more context, in particular the Bible as Lit class I took sophomore year. I'm also reading Victoria Finlay's book on color, Color. It's basically a history of color pigments and all the scraps humanity has gotten itself into on account of ochre and lapis lazuli and such. It's pretty interesting so far. Right now I'm reading about the graphite mines in england. Apparently in the '60's America spent millions trying to find a writing utensil that would work in zero gravity for space missions. They asked the Russians, "What do you use?" The stared at them blankly for moment and then replied, "A pencil." Hohoho, how stupid are we?

I walked to Allerton park yesterday morning as dawn was breaking again. I've decided to steer clear of campus because campus is kind of gross. Plus Allerton park is a really nice big park.




Photos! It turns out that walking towards downtown Champaign has a much better view of the sunrise, as well. Dawn and dusk are my favorite times of the day. They have the most beautiful light.

Finally, a poem:

Scheherazade

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.

--Richard Siken