♕ |[42]| Methought I heard one calling, Child! And I replied, My Lord.

[had_not_lived]

[VOICE;]

[No preamble, just a deep breath, and then...]

Father, father, where are you going?
O do not walk so fast.
Speak, father, speak to your little boy
Or else I shall be lost.

The night was dark, no father was there,
The child was wet with dew.
The mire was deep, & the child did weep,
And away the vapor flew.

[Long pause, the faint flutter of pages turning.]

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you cam,
And don't have any kids yourself.

[Another pause, and he clears his throat quietly, a little embarrassed at using that kind of language on the Network, but, well. This is poetry and he has a point. Softer, now;]

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

[There's another moment's pause, as though he's going to say something else, before Neil thinks the better of it and cuts off the recording with a click.]

Comments

Voice;

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

[And lo, the question becomes: does she comment on the safe topic, or the potentially touchy one?]

...Poetry, Neil?

[Yup. Safe one.]

Voice;

[had_not_lived]

Poetry. I've been reading tons since I could again.

[A pause.]

I'm all right. I promise.

Voice;

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

No, er...visitors today, then?

Voice;

[had_not_lived]

He isn't here. I thought he might come, but...

I almost wish he had, to tell you the truth, but it's all right either way.

[Action: sort of]

[inmyothertights]

[There's a copy of Taming of the Shrew in the DVD player and a note on the TV with clear instructions on how to work it for optimal movie enjoyment]

[chosered.livejournal.com]

William Blake. The first one, but I guess you know that. It's a nice poem.

[had_not_lived]

Mmhmm. The counterpart might've been happier, but it isn't as relevant to the others.

I thought it made a good introduction.

[chosered.livejournal.com]

Not a fan of Fathers Day or not a fan of fathers?

[had_not_lived]

My father and I aren't exactly on good terms.

But he's not a bad person. I thought he was, for a while, but he's not.

Voice;

[mumbled_truth]

I don't think my imaginary curse-father likes you.

Voice;

[had_not_lived]

Well I don't much like him either.

Voice;

[mumbled_truth]

Neither do I.

So really, I approve entirely.

Voice;

[had_not_lived]

Is he giving you any trouble?

Voice; | sup threadjack

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

Your father is here today, Todd?

Voice; | hooray threadjack <3 though... i am going to crash T_T

[mumbled_truth]

...yes. He is.

Voice; | <3

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

Well, if he's giving you any trouble, I'd be happy to give him a piece of my mind on your behalf.

[absinthe-eyed.livejournal.com]

The last three stanzas are exceptionally powerful.

[had_not_lived]

I thought so, too. It's Robert Hayden, if you're curious.

[absinthe-eyed.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

Any visitors today?

[Voice]

[sitaronthewater.livejournal.com]

What was all that? [he can recognize the sound of pages turning] Sounded like you were reading from a book.

[Voice]

[had_not_lived]

Poetry.

[Voice]

[sitaronthewater.livejournal.com]

I usually don't understand that stuff too well. They're about fathers? But- those first two, especially the first one. They were sorta interesting.

audio;

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

What is that?

audio;

[had_not_lived]

Three poems. William Blake, Philip Larkin, and Robert Hayden.

audio;

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

I have never heard of either but that should not surprise you.