Poem for Monday

My Galley Chargèd with Forgetfulness
By Thomas Wyatt

My galley chargèd with forgetfulness
Through sharp seas in winter nights doth pass
'Twene rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,
That is my lord, steereth with cruelness.
And every oar a thought in readiness
As though that death were light in such a case;
An endless wind doth tear the sail apace
Of forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness.
A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain
Hath done the wearied cords great hindrance,
Wreathèd with error and eke with ignorance.
The stars be hid that led me to this pain,
Drownèd is reason that should me comfort,
And I remain despairing of the port.

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This week's Washington Post Book World is the poetry issue but I barely even read it. Will get to posting from it tomorrow.

Had a miserable fever last night that had me alternately shaking cold and sweating hot, and have been coughing up my lungs today. Paul took younger son to Ikea and picked up his new bunk bed, which they then put together (upper bunk is now entirely filled with stuffed animals, mostly penguins). So that older son would not feel left out, he got a trip to Best Buy to pick up the new Pokemon: Mystery Dungeon DS game. Both kids are therefore very happy, and right now husband is putting together his new desk chair, so if only I could stop coughing, things would be good all around. Have some National Aquarium dolphins.

















Went to my parents' for Passover leftovers -- for the second Seder we did the traditional "They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat" -- and watched the last episode of John Adams and the latest of The Tudors. The Adams miniseries ended as well as it began, terrific acting, terrific dialogue, but still, so depressing! The Tudors was more entertaining in a guilty pleasure sort of way -- I love that they let More be sanctimonious and full of himself and positively garrulous compared to the More of A Man For All Seasons, yet he's still sympathetic, and Henry is still such a petty selfish tyrant. Though it's interesting how Anne Boleyn's father is so often the real bad guy in retellings of her story -- the literal patriarch more than the patriarchy. He's repulsive!