2012/04/13

I Used to Lie with an Ear to the Line for That Way, They Said, There Should Come a Sound Escaping Ahead, and Iron Tune of Flange and Piston Pitched Along the Ground, but I Never Heard That

I just tweeted about the shitstorm while waiting for you, I said as we were sitting down to Thursday Night Pints and the shitstorm was quickly mentioned. I tweeted, I continued, I'm curious, I wonder how much immediate and long-term money and influence Hilary Rosen, in the penthouse boardrooms of Corporate - Dem Division, just flushed in that thirty-second soundbite. This is the stupidest shitstorm yet, said K. Till tomorrow, said L. I said, I have to imagine Rosen will be muzzled and dog-housed once her Ozzie Guillen self-flaying is complete, at least two weeks or six more shitstorms, whichever comes first. Imagine, said K, think how pissed-off Obama's camp must be, how pissed off he is, she fucked-up Obama's winning game-plan now no matter how inconsequential and temporary it probably turns out to be. L said, I'd guess Rosen loses the time and money it takes Obama's camp to gain back the advantage they had before Rosen opened her mouth, time and money permanently lost. My guess, I said, is she'll still be more wildly wealthy and influential than she is right now after opening her mouth last night but she'll never be as wealthy and influential as she might have been before opening her mouth last night. Has anyone responded to your tweet, K asked. It took me two minutes to set the new iPhone up for wifi in the bar, everyone's told me, always use wifi instead of 3G whenever possible (or is it always use 3G before wifi?), I had to go up to the bartender to get the password, was told on my way to the bar to get the password that I might as well buy a round while I was up there anyway, so when I looked at twitter five minutes after the question and more than an hour after the tweet the answer was no.









GLANMORE SONNETS IV

Seamus Heaney

I used to lie with an ear to the line
For that way, they said, there should come a sound
Escaping ahead, an iron tune
Of flange and piston pitched along the ground,
But I never heard that. Always, instead,
Struck couplings and shuntings two miles away
Lifted over the woods. The head
Of a horse swirled back from a gate, a grey
Turnover of haunch and mane, and I’d look
Up to the cutting where she’d soon appear.
Two fields back, in the house, small ripples shook
Silently across our drinking water
(As they are shaking now across my heart)
And vanished into where they seemed to start.