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Omar Khayyam

May18

Today is also the birthday of Omar Khayyam. In addition to being a poet, Khayyam was also a mathemetician and an astronomer. My engineer husband would like this:
Khayyam measured the length of the year as 365.24219858156 days. Two comments on this result. Firstly it shows an incredible confidence to attempt to give the result to this degree of accuracy. We know now that the length of the year is changing in the sixth decimal place over a person’s lifetime. Secondly it is outstandingly accurate. For comparison the length of the year at the end of the 19th century was 365.242196 days, while today it is 365.242190 day
He was born in 1048 in Nishapur, Persia. Omar Khayyam’s full name was Ghiyath al-Din Abu’l-Fath Umar ibn Ibrahim Al-Nisaburi al-Khayyami. (That great long name reminds me of the picture book Tikki Tikki Tembo. Lots of things remind me of picture books.)

Unborn Tomorrow and dead Yesterday
Why fret about them if Today be sweet?

Perhaps we fret because if yesterday was disastrous and if tomorrow hath a foreboding look, today is unlikely to be very sweet.

Poems in my Pocket

Apr30

I already posted my all time favorite poem here. The other two poems I’m carrying in my pocket today are just for fun–one to make you laugh and one to explain where the name for this day came from, I think.

Pepper by Shel Silverstein

Always sprinkle pepper in your hair,
Always sprinkle pepper in your hair.
For then if you are kidnapped by a Wild Barbazzoop,
Who sells you to a Ragged Hag
Who wants you for her soup,
She’ll pick you up and sniff you,
And then she’ll sneeze “Achooo,”
And say, “My tot, you’re much too hot,
I fear you’ll never do.”
And with a shout she’ll throw you out,
And you’ll run away from there,
And soon you will be safe at home a-sittin’ in your chair,
If you always, always, always,
Always, always, always, always,
Always, always sprinkle pepper in your hair.

Keep A Poem In Your Pocket
By Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

Keep a poem in your pocket
And a picture in your head
And you’ll never feel lonely
At night when you’re in bed.

The little poem will sing to you
The little picture bring to you
A dozen dreams to dance to you
At night when you’re in bed.

So – –
Keep a picture in your pocket
And a poem in your head
And you’ll never feel lonely
At night when you’re in bed

William Morris and FlyLady

Mar24

William Morris (born March 24, 1834) was a prominent and vocal socialist in his day, and I suspect FlyLady of psychobabble tendencies, but they have something in common.
FlyLady says, “If you don’t use it and it doesn’t make you smile, fling it!”
Morris said, “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.” Same sentiment, good advice even from a socialist.
Morris was multi-faceted–interested in textile designs, stained glass, poetry, crafts, furniture design, and home decoration in general.

Birthday of Edgar Allan Poe

Jan20

Today is the birthday of the man who wrote my favorite poem. Note that he’s not necessarily my favorite poet, but he did write Annabel Lee, my favorite poem. I’m not sure why it’s my favorite poem; I just like the sadness and the romanticism and sound of the words.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;–
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love–
I and my Annabel Lee–
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:–
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we–
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:–

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea–
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

From Pooh to Poe–what DOES this say about my tastes in literature?