dear friends

Ah, the magic of an email chain…

this outfit makes me feel the part of the artist who reads poetry — part newsboy, part 1970’s exuberance. please note: pictures taken from Beforetimes

If you missed it (how could you not, it was only a day ago), yesterday I posted about an email chain that’s been making the rounds, particularly through my inbox.

Per usual, I felt the slightest flash of annoyance.

But in these times, I’m game for more connection. (Although, I confess: I did alter the text in the email copy, making it self-aware that it’s both an email chain and totally voluntary. I refuse to feel guilty about this.) Anyway, once again, I opened up my poetry books, and found a poem that resonated with me.

I found this in the anthology of “American Sonnets,” curated by David Bromwich.

Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue. 
And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger than your own; the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through. 
And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores;
So friends (dear friends), remember, if you will, 
The shame I win for singing is all mine, 
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours. 

-Edwin Arlington Robinson

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