Snow

"32. Feels like 24." So says the morning paper. Nowhere near as much snow as predicted, which is good, but even still, there's something about an accumulation of snow that makes the body feel trapped. And so when I opend the porch blinds at 4:30 to have a look-see, I thought of this poem by Rilke, translated here by Edward Snow:

The Panther

His gaze has from the pasing of the bars
grown so tired, that it holds nothing anymore.
It seems to him there are a thousand bars
and behind a thousand bars no world.

The supple pace of powerful soft strides,
turning in the very smallest circle,
is like a dance of strength around a center
in which a great will stands numbed.

Only sometimes the curtain of the pupils
soundlessly slides up --. Then an image enters,
glides through the limbs' taut stillness,
dives into the heart and dies.

Today should be a good one for what feels like what is becoming more and more a life between shifts: the poems. I think that's a good thing...I think.

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Kevin Phillips' new book comes out today: American Theocracy: The Peril and Politics of Radical Religion, Oil, and Borrowed Money in the 21st Century. Yesterday afternoon, I started in on the middle section about the rise of Evangelicalism, the far right, and the American Taliban. So far, I feel like Phillips does a great job of just presenting the facts and shows the steps marginalized religious fanatics have made to take power in this country. Read the New York Times review here.

If you can't access the review because you need a log-in identification and you don't want to go through the process, send me an e-mail to joshrobbins@yahoo.com and I'll try to forward you a copy.