John’s related banter…
Good morning, Hank.
It’s Tuesday, March 26th, 2013, also known as spring. You know, spring…(quotes William Shakespeare, from Love’s Labour’s Lost)
Spring, (quotes William Blake, To Spring)
Spring, which is like a woman who says, (quotes Carl Sandburg, Three Spring Notations on Bipeds)
Spring, when (quotes A. E. Housman, Spring Morning)
(Quotes Emily Dickinson, A Light exists in Spring) Where is this light, Emily Dickinson? Is it down there with the snow? Is it up there in the grey sky of doom? Because that looks exactly like the winter light!
Hank, when the Yeti [John’s in-video nickname for his wife, Sarah Urist Green] and I first moved to Indianapolis, we dropped off the moving van at the U-Haul place, and the guy was like, “Welcome to Indianapolis!”
And I said, “How long have you lived here?” And he said, “Oh, about 30 years.” And I said, “Well, what do you think of it?” And after a second, he said, “Well, you gotta live somewhere.” I think that’s probably how a lot of people feel about their hometowns, but I’ve really come to love Indianapolis, even in… the spring snow.
It’s an unpretentious city of hidden beauty, which is by far my favorite kind of beauty, and it’s lovely, even in winter. But I am ready, Hank, I am ready for spring. Hank, the calendar has made me a promise that outside has failed to keep, stupid outside, always ruining everything.
So Hank, I don’t actually believe that magical thinking works or anything, but I thought for today’s video I would share my favorite poem about spring in the hopes that like spring will like happen.
I also love this poem because it reminds us that poetry is partly in the business of getting us to try to pay attention. It’s by e. e. cummings.
You gotta live somewhere, Hank, but you also get to live to somewhere. So brace yourself, my friends, spring is coming.
Hank, I’ll you on Friday.
vlogbrothers | A Poem for Spring
O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning,
(Unquoted remainder)
turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.
John Green Reads Poetry 