Our Library (Part 6)

I like this library, it needs more night-time, fireplaces and comfier looking couches, but in general...

Somewhere Out There

Want a fight?

Cashmere

Because you're soft and beautiful. You always look luxurious. You go with sweater vests as much as coats. You're expensive but lon lasting if treated appropriately and hand washed. ANd I LOVE YOU.

- Text to N about why she's like cashmere.

16 things for you...

There are countless things that remind me of you. Unfortunately I don't know all of them, in fact I likely don't know most of them. This inevitably means that I end up being taken wholly by surprise memories on idle days far away from you. Anyway, I do know some and the 16th will always be one of them. Well played on that, by the way; a day a month for you, forever.

Below are 16 pictures. They remind me of things which remind me of you. There is no particular order...

1. Shakespeare and Company.


This is obviously so much more than just the shop; Paris, bohemian artists, good poetry, early 20th century books -- all of these things remind me of you.

2. Bob Dylan
'Just Like a Woman' and this album cover in particular.

3. Trains. Really.

Yep. Every time I see real trains I think of our amazing sleeping carriage heaven.

4. Mrs. Dalloway.
Both the person and the book.


5. Penguins.D'uh (but don't you love how independent and tough this one is?)


6. Leonard Cohen


I love his poem 'The Song' and that more than any other (with the possible exception of Famous Blue Raincoat) is the work I associate with you most.

7. The work of Arthur Rackham


It's all so beautifully drawn. It reminds me of when I was a kid and everything was magical and impressive. You have an astounding capacity to make me feel like anything is possible. Anything at all.

8. Anything remotely sexy (or related to reading, I s'pose)

(this one is a little self-explanatory)

9. So many movies...
10. Dubliners.This was the very first present that I ever bought for you. Not this one exactly, you understand.

11. Almost all Helmut Newton photographs.

12. The two women having a laugh.If this isn't us already, if better be us in the future! You mark my words, Beckett.

13. xkcd (only the nice ones though)Like this one.

14. GladiolaFor reasons I have mentioned before. It's a memory I love.

15. Giles Norman photography
Again, I will always keep my Norman photograph close to hand.

16. The Long LibraryIt's one of my very favourite places now. Thank you for bringing me there on my last day. It meant a lot.

I will remember these things for the rest of my life. And you, naturally. Happy 16th.

Yours, etc.


K

Valentine...

I meant to put this up yesterday, your post reminded me to look for it. It's upsettingly true...

Yours, etc.

If you REALLY want to run away from it all...

Let me know if you plan on heading there. I'll get a plane and train and rowing boat and meet you on the east of the island at 10:00a.m. GMT this Saturday!

Yours, etc.

K

A post re-posted.

(This was my post to you in July 2009)

Love,

Even after all the times we've parted it's still tough as nails. We'll get by, of course, but I'm going to miss you like crazy. I thought you should know, know (sic) that I don't know what this'll be like. I do know that it'll be alright in the end. We can think about Paris and London, or remember Co. C. I'll spend time in B&Coco. thinking only of you. I'll love you, madly, all day, everyday as I have grown accustomed to doing. Beyond that it's the next adventure. I found a quote I thought you might like:

I have come to the conclusion, after many years of sometimes sad experience, that you cannot come to any conclusion at all.

— Vita Sackville-West

So I won't come to any conclusions I'll simply say: enjoy; I love you; I always will.

Yours, etc.

*That* day.

I didn't know what to put here, so I have simply returned your love in kind. As it will be, always.

Yours etc,

K

Autumn Journal, Louis MacNeice

September has come and I wake
And I think with joy how whatever, now or in future,
the system
Nothing whatever can take
The people away, there will always be people
For friends or for lovers though perhaps
The conditions of love will be changed and its vices
diminished
And affection not lapse
To narrow possessiveness, jealousy founded on vanity.
September has come, it is hers
Whose vitality leaps in the autumn,
Whose nature prefers
Trees without leaves and a fire in the fire-place;
So I give her this month and the next
Though the whole of my year should be hers who has
rendered already
So many of its days intolerable or perplexed
But so many more so happy;
Who has left a scent on my life and left my walls
Dancing over and over with her shadow,
Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls
And all of London littered with remembered kisses.
So I am glad
That life contains her with her moods and moments
More shifting and more transient than I had
Yet thought of as being integral to beauty;
Whose mind is like the wind on a sea of wheat,
Whose eyes are candour,
And assurance in her feet
Like a homing pigeon never by doubt diverted.
To whom I send my thanks
That the air has become shot silk, the streets are music,
And that the ranks
Of men are ranks of men, no more of cyphers.
So that if now alone
I must pursue this life, it will not be only
A drag from numbered stone to numbered stone
But a ladder of angels, river turning tidal.
Off-hand, at times hysterical, abrupt,
You are one I shall always remember,
Whom cant can never corrupt
Nor argument disinherit.
Frivolous, always in a hurry, forgetting the address,
Frowning too often, taking enormous notice
Of hats and backchat - how could I assess
The thing that makes you different?
You whom I remember glad or tired,
Smiling in drink or scintillating anger,
Inoppurtunely desired
On boats, on trains, on roads when walking.
Sometimes untidy, often elegant,
So easily hurt, so readily responsive,
To whom a trifle could be an irritant
Or could be balm and manna.
Whose words would tumble over each other and pelt
From pure excitement,
Whose fingers curl and melt
When you were friendly.
I shall remember you in bed with bright
Eyes or in a cafe stirring coffee
Abstractedly and on your plate the white
Smoking stub your lips had touched with crimson.
And I shall remember how your words could hurt
Because they were so honest
And even your lies were able to assert
Integrity of purpose.
And it is on the strength of knowing you
I reckon generous feeling more important
Than the mere deliberating what to do
When neither the pros nor cons affect the pulses.
And though I have suffered from your special strength
Who never flatter for points not fake responses,
I should be proud if I could evolve at length
An equal thrust and pattern.

XVII (I do not love you...) by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.