{"id":720,"date":"2011-09-25T12:00:23","date_gmt":"2011-09-25T16:00:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/?p=720"},"modified":"2011-09-24T15:14:37","modified_gmt":"2011-09-24T19:14:37","slug":"moonhandled-and-weird","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/2011\/09\/25\/moonhandled-and-weird\/","title":{"rendered":"Moonhandled and Weird"},"content":{"rendered":"

\nUnmoved by what the wind does,
\nThe windows
\nAre not rattled, nor do the various
\nAreas
\nOf the house make their usual racket—
\nCreak at
\nThe joints, trusses and studs.
\nInstead,
\nThey are still. And the maples,
\nAble
\nAt times to raise havoc,
\nEvoke
\nNot a sound from their branches’
\nClutches.
\nIt’s my night to be rattled,
\nSaddled
\nWith spooks. Even the half-moon
\n(Half man,
\nHalf dark), on the horizon,
\nLies on
\nIts side casting a fishy light
\nWhich alights
\nOn my floor, lavishly lording
\nIts morbid
\nLook over me. Oh, I feel dead,
\nFolded
\nAway in my blankets for good, and
\nForgotten.
\nMy room is clammy and cold,
\nMoonhandled
\nAnd weird. The shivers
\nWash over
\nMe, shaking my bones, my loose ends
\nLoosen,
\nAnd I lie sleeping with one eye open,
\nHoping
\nThat nothing, nothing will happen.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

—Mark Strand, Sleeping With One Eye Open<\/em><\/p>\n

My favorite bit is:<\/p>\n

Oh, I feel dead,
\nFolded
\nAway in my blankets for good, and
\nForgotten.
\nMy room is clammy and cold,
\nMoonhandled
\nAnd weird.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

The rhymes here are aces. “Feel dead” to “Folded,” and “for good, and” to “Forgotten.” Ah, me.
\nAlso, “weird” in this context connotes more of the Weird Sisters than the overused adolescent epithet of lazy confusion. A good example of the elevation of language Stevenson was on about, which Borges referenced in his lecture,<\/a> Thought and Poetry.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Unmoved by what the wind does, The windows Are not rattled, nor do the various Areas Of the house make their usual racket— Creak at The joints, trusses and studs. Instead, They are still. And the maples, Able At times to raise havoc, Evoke Not a sound from their branches’ Clutches. It’s my night to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[2558,2549,592,593],"class_list":["post-720","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","tag-borges","tag-poetry","tag-rhyme","tag-sound-effects"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/720","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=720"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/720\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=720"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=720"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.paulboccaccio.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=720"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}