Keeping One’s Place II

Hey there, I’m up to my eyes in essays at the moment that might be why I’m a little quiet. Anyway, ever since I wrote my Keeping one’s place post about bookmarks, I found a few new ones lurking around the house and I’ve noticed some other things about them. (As is always the way in my Murphy’s Law tainted life!)

More bookmarks!

On the left is a bookmark calendar for 2012 that I bought in Dublin just the other week. For my birthday month – June, (Does anyone else do this with calendars?)  I get Jonathan Swift and the quote ” When a true genius appears in this world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him.” There you go.

I picked up the strange little hand bookmarks in The Works yesterday. I like that little shop. It’s new in my town.

My Mum is a bit of a Simon and Garfunkel fan, so I have a few of their albums on my computer. Recently I actually listened to the words of a little song called ‘The Dangling Conversation’ (isn’t that a gorgeous name for a song/ thought in general?)  which is on the 1966 album ‘Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme’ album. It contains the lines:

And you read your Emily Dickinson/And I my Robert Frost/And we note our place with bookmarkers/That measure what we’ve lost.

In the context of the song it is very sad, but on its own it could just mean that once you’ve read something there is no way to get back the newness and excitement of reading it for the first time? I’m glad I came across this little song. Here are the lyrics (from here) if anyone is interested:

It’s a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
The borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theater really dead?”
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

Author: Fiona @ lifelyricslemoncake

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