Today the weather in New York is mild and pleasant and redolent with the first stirrings of spring. I've opened some windows in my apartment (mostly for the sake of my pretty pet orchid, Jozefine-Hippolyta) and put on a new opera cd, one of several a good friend recently surprised me with much to my delight, and all is quite productive and charmant, as another good friend might say. Of cultural interest at the mo', there's an intriguing discussion of music, writing, art and the creative process at MetaxuCafé, and also, today is the centennial of W.H. Auden's birth. Not only is he one of my favorite poets but he was blessed with the dreamily obscure first name of Wystan. How divine.
THE MORE LOVING ONE
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
-- W.H. Auden (1957)
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