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  • Tag: Sara Teasdale

    • writing on the wall

      Posted at 1:55 am by jasminedesirees, on December 10, 2013

      A few weeks ago I was struck by inspiration, and as usual, a burning need to get started at that exact moment. I decided my house was boring and needed something really special, and that I would like to be surrounded by beautiful words at all times. I decided to pick my favourite piece of writing and transcribe it and paint it onto the awkward stair wall in my kitchen.

      This was a bit of a predicament because I wanted to get started as soon as I had the idea, but also I couldn’t decide which quote or poem to use. I thought about just choosing one quote, but then I pictured myself writing that out over and over 400 times and decided against it.

      After flipping through a few of my favourite books and bugging some friends for inspiration, I decided on one of my favourite poems, I Have Loved Hours at Sea by Sara Teasdale, and set to work. Coincidentally (or completely on purpose, if it’s not him reading this) the boy was at work so I was determined to finish it before he got home so I could surprise him. And so that he wouldn’t be able to stop me from doing it. But mostly so I could surprise him.

      I realized quickly that one poem wasn’t going to be enough, since I was less than half way down the skinniest part of the wall and was almost finished, so I picked another poem to add.

      It quickly became apparent that that wasn’t going to be enough either, so I added in my favourite Neruda Sonnet, one that was read at our wedding. In the end, I also added in my favourite Alice in Wonderland quote, and finally made it to the end.

      It only took me about 2 hours to get all of the writing on the wall, so I figured I was well on track to finish before the boy got home from work. It turns out, painting takes a lot more time than just scribbling with pencil, who knew?

      I finally finished painting almost a month later, although after the first weekend of almost 6 hours of working on it, I took about two weeks off to regain my will to live.

      Derek walked in on that first day and found me on the floor tired, stiff and covered in pencil lead and paint.He took one look at the wall, one look at my bedraggled, exhausted face and proclaimed “I love it! And I love you! Let’s go take a nap.” He is nice, I like him.

      It was definitely worth all of the work it took to finish, it makes me happy every time I look at it, and makes me feel like this is really my house. I am basically Harold and the Purple Crayon, but older and a girl.

      It’s definitely not perfect, I generally have serial killer handwriting at the best of times, but nobody will ever be able to think it is a stencil, or that I didn’t put my own blood, sweat and tears into it. It’s kind of amazing to be able to just randomly draw all over the walls whenever you feel like it without worrying about getting in trouble with anyone. Sometimes being a grown up is a pretty great.

      Posted in art, life, poetry | 0 Comments | Tagged Alice in Wonderland, art, life, Pablo Neruda, painting, poetry, Sara Teasdale
    • poems of sara teasdale

      Posted at 9:50 pm by jasminedesirees, on January 16, 2013

      I have loved the poetry of Sara Teasdale for years. Here are a few of my favourites.

      Jewels

      If I should see your eyes again,
      I know how far their look would go —
      Back to a morning in the park
      With sapphire shadows on the snow.

      Or back to oak trees in the spring
      When you unloosed my hair and kissed
      The head that lay against your knees
      In the leaf shadow’s amethyst.

      And still another shining place
      We would remember — how the dun
      Wild mountain held us on its crest
      One diamond morning white with sun.

      But I will turn my eyes from you
      As women turn to put away
      The jewels they have worn at night
      And cannot wear in sober day.

      Doubt

      My soul lives in my body’s house,
      And you have both the house and her —
      But sometimes she is less your own
      Than a wild, gay adventurer;

      A restless and an eager wraith,
      How can I tell what she will do —
      Oh, I am sure of my body’s faith,
      But what if my soul broke faith with you?

      Debt

      What do I owe to you
      Who loved me deep and long?
      You never gave my spirit wings
      Nor gave my heart a song.

      But oh, to him I loved,
      Who loved me not at all,
      I owe the little open gate
      That led through heaven’s wall.

      I Have Loved Hours at Sea

      I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
      The fragile secret of a flower,
      Music, the making of a poem
      That gave me heaven for an hour;

      First stars above a snowy hill,
      Voices of people kindly and wise,
      And the great look of love, long hidden,
      Found at last in meeting eyes.

      I have loved much and been loved deeply —
      Oh when my spirit’s fire burns low,
      Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
      I shall be tired and glad to go.

      Posted in inspiration, loveliness, poetry | 0 Comments | Tagged art, love poems, poetry, Sara Teasdale, writing
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