I have a King, who does not speak —
So — wondering — thro’ the hours meek
I trudge the day away —
Half glad when it is night, and sleep,
If, haply, thro’ a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day.
And if I do — when morning comes —
It is as if a hundred drums
Did round my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my Childish sky,
And Bells keep saying ‘Victory’
From steeples in my soul!
And if I don’t — the little Bird
Within the Orchard, is not heard,
And I omit to pray
‘Father, thy will be done’ today
For my will goes the other way,
And it were perjury!
Joan of Arc (1992) (Jennifer Warnes)
What Hemingway wanted—both as he-man and as androgyne—was a lasting intimate connection that did not require him to be a separate individual person—something no one can have. Virginia Woolf, in a review that infuriated him, perceived the price he paid for his wish. Hemingway’s characters, she said, are like people overheard in a restaurant talking in rapid slang, ‘because slang is the speech of the herd.’ Those who speak it are ‘seemingly much at their ease, and yet if we look at them a little from the shadow not at their ease at all, and, indeed, terribly afraid of being themselves.’
~Edward Mendelson [source]
Sylvie (1990) (Sweet Honey in the Rock)
On October 5, 2007, two days after being released from New Hampshire Hospital, in Concord, Linda Bishop discarded all her belongings except for mascara, tweezers, and a pen. For nearly a year, she had complained about the restrictions of the psychiatric unit, but her only plan for her release was to remain invisible. She spent two nights in a field she called Hoboville, where homeless people slept, and then began wandering around Concord, avoiding the main streets. Wary of spies, she cut through the underbrush behind buildings, walked through gullies beside the roads, and, when she needed to rest, huddled in the bushes. Her life was saved along the way, she later wrote, by two warblers and an owl.