apropos of anything

I’m not certain “quiet” is the right word, actually. Tumultuous, maybe. Tentative, definitely. Or, possibly, withdrawn. At the moment, withdrawn is an exceptional fit.

Withdrawn is not conducive to blogging. (Hence the drought from last Monday, and even that was a throw-away kind of post designed to fill space.)

In lieu of a real post, then, I’m offering up an excerpt of poetry that’s somewhat reflective of the goings-on in my brain despite having nothing to do with the goings-on in my brain. Cookies to the first person who can recognize it, without the help of Professor Google. It’s a pretty popular piece, so that shouldn’t be too difficult, which means I’m going to remove some trademark lines:

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

…

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

Title and author necessary to win.

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