Married now with nesting syndrome, this is my blogging equivalent of redecorating a closet. I'll share the things I love, be it a vacuum or a nail polish color, and you can nod along with me. It will be grand.
The blog title comes from a Wallace Stevens poem, entitled "The Well Dressed Man." I'm not positive I know what it's really about, but it's a fine poem.
The Well Dressed Man
After the final no there comes a yes
And on that yes the future world depends.
No was the night. Yes is this present sun.
If the rejected things, the things denied,
Slid over the western cataract, yet one,
One only, one thing that was firm, even
No greater than a cricket's horn, no more
Than a thought to be rehearsed all day, a speech
Of the self that must sustain itself on speech,
One thing remaining, infallible, would be
Enough. Ah! douce campagna of that thing!
Ah! douce campagna, honey in the heart,
Green in the body, out of a petty phrase,
Out of a thing believed, a thing affirmed:
The form on the pillow humming while one sleeps,
The aureole above the humming house...
It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.
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