THE MARGIN FADES
A fragment of Tennyson’s poem “Ulysses” has been circling in my head, the same three lines, over and over:
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
I have a headache and can’t sleep. Tomorrow Austin, my own four walls and my own pillow. The daily grind, swaddled in creature comforts.
I cannot quite understand how I am returning to a place that has never felt completely solid beneath my feet. There’s a lot of writing to be done, and a suitcase stand to purchase. Beyond that I am at a loss. When I moved from Brooklyn to Austin for graduate school, I didn’t expect to stay long — two years and then shuffle off someplace else. Yet here I am, coming back after roaming 3000 miles. Typically when I travel that far, coming back isn’t part of the plan. But I do, again and again. Three times, actually. Moving (in the relocation sense) is a tiring sport; I’m a bit sick of playing.
So what now? Clearly rhetorical.
Another poem springs to mind: Eliot’s “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” A favorite of mine in high school. I tried to memorize the entire thing just for kicks but I either gave up or got distracted, because I only know bits and pieces by heart now. I think it’s unfortunate that children are no longer made to memorize classic works. My father knows a whole battery of verses, he can zip them off on command. I think poetry makes for a better man — “man” here used in the inclusive human sense. Perhaps on my to-do list, underneath the suitcase stand, goes “re-learn Love Song.”
Here are the lines that just replaced Tennyson:
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
I know right? Such a downer.
Hopefully breakfast at Waffle House and those last 200 miles will clear out the headache.
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