At this point in my packing, I can only assume one thing: books are, somehow, in some way, genetically related to rabbits. Or, at least, my books are. This much is clear. What else can explain the fact that I have filled fifteen boxes to the very brim with books, and still there are more books to be packed? Only that my books are somehow reproducing. That, and only that.
I spent the weekend in Georgetown, looking for a place to live, and had halfway hoped that the remaining books would find their way into boxes before I returned: if books can reproduce, surely there’s some way that they can also grow legs? Sadly, however, this evolutionary step has not yet occurred. I did, at least, find somewhere to live, though I am, at the moment, wondering if perhaps I should rent an entire apartment just for said books. I fell even more in love with Georgetown, though, and can’t wait to live there. I mean, just look at this:
Perfect!
In the meantime, my World Literature I class is drawing to a close. We’ve reached the point of the semester where I fall head-over-heels in love with language again, first with Heaney’s amazing translation of Beowulf. I’m particularly impressed with Heaney’s treatment of the kenning — he goes beyond the “whale-road” and “swan-road” to having a speech-giver “unlock his word-hoard,” and having others speak of the body as a “bone-house.” The class closes with one of my great loves: Macbeth, which I’m pretty sure that I’ve read far past fifty times, and loved more with each reading. I have to catch myself so often while reading this, as I tend to get lost in the rhythm of the language. I’ve heard a billion times that the iamb is like the human heartbeat, but never really realize the full effect of this until reading Shakespeare, in whose hands the iamb moves swiftly from a gentle lullaby to heart-pounding nightmare. I must admit that each reading also brings to mind Tammy Wynette, as a particularly brilliant Sarah Lawrence production of Macbeth, directed by the particularly brilliant Kevin Confoy, featured Lady Macbeth lip-synching to “Stand by Your Man” while gathering the daggers after convincing (though whether or not he needed much in terms of convincing is a matter of debate) Macbeth to murder Duncan. Brilliant. So brilliant that I saw it three times.
In other news, I learned this weekend of the existence of the Guard Llama — a llama whose job is to guard livestock, apparently, from single-dog attacks. I think it is clear that I must have one of these, even if I don’t actually have livestock. The Guard Llama could guard the feline Gertrude Stein and myself, I suppose.
Emma Bolden is the author of How To Recognize A Lady, a chapbook of poems published as part of Edge by Edge, the third in Toadlily Press' Quartet Series, and The Mariner's Wife, a chapbook published by Finishing Line Press. Her third chapbook, The Sad Epistles, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. She was the recipient of a Tennessee Williams Scholarship to the Sewanee Writers' Conference and was named a Finalist for a Ruth Lilly Fellowship by the Poetry Foundation/Poetry magazine. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in such journals as Prairie Schooner, the Indiana Review, Feminist Studies, The Journal, Redivider, The Greensboro Review, and Verse. Her manuscript was a semi-finalist for the Perugia Press Prize. She is a Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Georgetown College, where she also serves as the poetry editor of the Georgetown Review.
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June 24, 2008 at 1:19 am
mariegauthier
Ho ho, yes! We were driving around the hill towns here, and above a herd of sheep a tall dark head hovered. Due to a few llama farms in the area, I recognized it as such, but didn’t Lance then correct me — “Not just any llama, that’s a Guard LLama!” Who knew??
Georgetown looks much like Amherst — Wunderbar!
June 24, 2008 at 1:27 am
emmabolden
NO WAY! You have seen a Guard Llama? You have actually seen this wonder and glory? Marie, Marie, I must demand a photograph! I wonder, though, do they deter predators by spitting at them?
June 24, 2008 at 2:46 pm
Jessie Carty
How cute that little downtown is! Reminds me of the small town where I grew up, but we didn’t have any coll-e-ge’s
June 24, 2008 at 3:10 pm
wlr
Nothing says “FASHION” like a llama. Paris Hilton, after reading this post and seeing that picture, will soon be strutting down the red carpet with a llama in tow. Do they spit? That would be the deal-breaker for me.
PS: No more talk about Georgetown. I am in denial. You are not helping me remain wrapped in my thick, furry, llama blanket of denial. It’s warm here, but I miss you. Let’s hang out soon and eat Fashionable things with our Fashionable pinky’s raised as we Fashionably clink our glasses of Fashion in Fashionable cheers of Fashion.
June 24, 2008 at 11:19 pm
mariegauthier
According to Lance, llamas are not afraid of coyotes — they run right up and stomp the bejeezus out of ‘em!
July 8, 2008 at 2:25 am
emmabolden
Jessie — it is TOO CUTE, isn’t it? So nice. I’m so excited.
BIG WHIT — Yes, the llamas do spit, but in a fashionable way, you know? Like, spitting might become the new trend once the lllamas hit the runway. Maybe this is what makes them so successful as guards. The power of saliva. Oh, yeah.
Marie — Lance is a font of wisdom! And amazing wisdom at that! My goodness! I am now happily picturing a llama stomping at a coyote. This may, in fact, become my new mantra. When I go to my happy place, it will be populated by a stomping llama.