Two Things In One

EDNA st. vincent millay - Her poem is what is in my little "two in one" book.
I had all this colorful paper and had folded it into pages, but I wanted to mix these colors up a little bit more. After sewing them together I found the poem I wanted to write down - Moritorus, by Edna St. Vincent Millay - and trusting there would be enough pages I began transferring the lines to my tiny, sawed-in-half book.
One line of the verse on the top left, the next on the top right, the third on the bottom left and the fourth line on the bottom right. While I was doing this a thought occurred to me that when I got done I was going to be able to mix 'n match. Scramble up the poem as it were. I created whole new lines that either made me laugh or really appealed to me.
The lines fit perfectly within the book ... until I. turned. the. poetry. book. page. Wow! Another whole page! Those lines will have to be in another book! I am too tired right now to even contemplate doing it and must finish dinner (Cheerios) and get to bed. I've been working hard (at work) and coming home drained and unable to take on the chores I should be doing. Well, better to have too much to do than not enough, that's my motto.
These little packets are fun and they are going together totally at random. There is no rhyme or reason, but most of the poems so far seem to have either spring or love in them - femminismo

Today Is A New Day.

WELL, actually, today is almost over. Only a few more hours here and it will be tomorrow.
But it was a new day today and somehow it finally worked out OK. Some more gloominess today and trying to figure out what is going on. A good cry, some talking, some work in the yard, took some pictures, had a hot shower, then painted some paper.
April is National Poetry Month and I have not honored it here yet - so let's get on with it!

THE RETURN
Earth does not understand her child,
Who from the loud gregarious town
Returns, depleted and defiled,
To the still woods, to fling him down.

Earth can not count the sons she bore:
The wounded lynx, the wounded man
Come trailing blood unto her door;
She shelters both as best she can.

But she is early up and out,
To trim the year or strip its bones;
She has no time to stand about
Talking of him in undertones

Who has no aim but to forget,
Be left in peace, be lying thus
For days, for years, for centuries yet,
Unshaven and anonymous;

Who, marked for failure, dulled by grief,
Has traded in his wife and friend
For this warm ledge, this alder leaf:
Comfort that does not comprehend.

- EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

I WANT to show you the little book (up above) I made of my papers I painted (last post). There is a special punch and some plastic binders the receptionist at work uses, and she showed me how to operate this and the papers got put together. My friend, JoAnn, said maybe instead of the plastic, use ribbon, yarn or wire. That sounds good, too. Next time.
Tonight I started painting more paper - greens on one side, purple and pink on the other. Does the transfer of the eye detail look familiar? It was on Seth's blog, a detail from an exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I believe.
I also took pictures of my Disintegration Project this afternoon as I worked in the garden. I decided to turn over the book pages and allow the back side to get some of the sunshine due in the next few days. AND I couldn't stand giving the slugs refuge for much longer, so they are now g.o.n.e. Pictures of the pages coming soon. May 1 is the day to figure out what to do with them.
And Judy Wise, who attended, taught and learned at Artfest, is doing some self portraits on her blog, and since I like to steal her ideas, I did my own self portrait tonight. I'll leave you with that - femminismo