Sunday Afternoon Jukebox, Poem & Open Thread – Summer Wedding Edition

It’s not everyday that one of our regular readers decides to take the plunge and sashay on down the aisle.  (Or at least I don’t think it is.  Perhaps it happens all the time, but nobody bothers to tell me.)

In any case, our very own Anne – everyone’s favorite alpaca/Charlie-In-The-Box/Thunder logo – is tying the knot this week.  It would probably be more appropriate to wait until Friday or Saturday to do this, but I figure by then there’s no shot in Hades she ever sees this so I decided to do it today.  Above is perhaps my favorite standard to hear at a wedding reception, along with My One and Only Love and Our Love Is Here to Stay.  Call me an old softy.

My taste in poetry runs a bit more modern, however, and so since I will not be in OKC this week to toast Anne and her fine, strapping new hubby in person I will pass along this poem by Billy Collins in their honor.  And this evening I will raise a glass to them and their bright future, my cats in witness.

**Lytany**

“You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine…”
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman’s tea cup.
But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and–somehow–the wine.

Consider this an open thread, to discuss what you will.  (Though it wouldn’t kill everyone that’s married to let me know what the first song at your wedding was.)

Mozel tov, Anne!