These are the things that I know are true

In the dregs of the year, all steam and rain,
In the timid time of the heart again,
When indecision is bold and thorough,
And action dreams of a dawn in vain,

I saw high up over Bloxham vale
The ploughshare tilt to the next long trail,
And, spying a larder in every furrow,
The wagtails crowd like a dancing hail!

A second wonder there on the hill:
Beneath the hedge, I saw with a thrill
The budding primroses laugh good-morrow
From a deep cradle rocked by a rill!

Wagtail smart in his belted blue,
Primrose paying her gold ere due,—
(Out upon Winter! Down with Sorrow!)
These are the things that I know are true.

Firstlings (January 7, 1915), by Louise Imogen Guiney

It was 35 years ago today — January 7, 1972 — that John Berryman flung himself from the Washington Avenue bridge; Minnesota winters will do that to sensitive souls. I had planned to read some of The Dream Songs this weekend, but the poetry shelf at the Merriam Park Library had a gaping hole where Berryman should have been, even though the catalog said they should be there. Perhaps the ghost whose footsteps are sometimes heard on the bridge hides these books once a year. I had to schlep over to the Highland Park Library with Jack and Peter for the collected poems, which doesn’t include The Dream Songs (and for some Curious George stories, also sans Dream Songs).

But I did stumble across a Berryman poem about a little corner of my neighborhood, near Cedar on Lake Street, which has given me some ideas for a project. The only question now is which camera? Will the Holga’s rough edges, the Hawkeye’s eerie blur, or the Nomad’s simple purity best capture Berryman’s Minneapolis?

Two cullings for today:

• Keep Out from serial photographer
• flowers from catherine buca photography