Sunday, April 11, 2010
Zzzzzzzzzzz.........
I have a poem to post but I don't care to wrestle with it at this point. It will have to wait till tomorrow. It's my poem for NaPoWriMo.
I was able to catch the very last part of the Giants game. Their fifth win in six games. Wahoo!!
I read an interesting essay about Plath's poem Sheep in Fog and I'm too tired to go into it here, but perhaps I will in the next few days. Monday is coming way too quickly for my liking and I just heard the washer click off so I'm going to make the transfer to the dryer and maybe read for 15-20 minutes and conk out for the night.
Book Party for Nathalie Handal's - "Love and Strange Horses"
I would so go to this if I were there. Handal is a uniquely talented poet who has a very universal voice. I loved her book Neverfield.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Sleepless Nights
Sleepless Nights
Under light of the moon
the crackened earth moves
to modest gasps from below—
Dante’s hell whispering hello
unseen by human eyes
the souls like gas rise
their presence felt about
by
haunting
chilling
shout
that tosses and turns us out
of bed
Friday, April 09, 2010
Portrait in a Morning Mirror
[For today's prompt, write a self-portrait poem. Other artists study themselves to create compositions (not all of them exactly flattering either), so it is only natural that poets, who are word artists, write self-portrait poems from time to time. In fact, some poets make self-portrait poetry "their main thing." For at least today, make it yours..]
Peering into the mirror
I see a man in the bottom
of the fifth— two outs.
Brows raised
in seriousness,
intensity— offset
occasionally with a smile
even laughter
often mystifying.
There is a busy energy
about his head…
part bewilderment
part an ordering,
compartmentalizing
blocking off thoughts
in stanzas—
juxtaposing the many
incongruencies
that converge therein.
His eyes Capricorn blown,
earthy—
His hair transformed and still
a work of process.
He sees things as they are
and wonders why – and asks
why not, as to others.
Somewhere deep within
there is a pilot light that burns
the fumes of rage off. Sometimes,
sometimes when the stench
from injustice is too thick,
when things cannot just be burnt off
and the pressure cooker builds
he will not be silent. He will not be.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Rolling Pin
[For today's prompt, pick a tool, make that the title of your poem, and write your poem. There are the more obvious tools, of course: hammer, screwdriver, wrench, etc. But there also less obvious tools and/or specialized tools available as well. Before attacking this poem, you may want to just think about the various possibilities first. Or just write.]
With the flick of a wrist
the checkered cloth came off
the table exposed like a magic trick
down came the muslin cloth
dusted with flour
a lump of dough
and the strong arms of granny
against the handles
of a rolling pin.
With the legs of a runner
transformed to granny’s arms
she would slam the pin
against the dough
and roll forward
a mighty force laid flat
against the putty
flattened like new asphalt
repeated
over
and
over.
Each stroke an advancing army
flattening the territory,
advancing— resistance weakening.
That’s how I remember granny.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Until The Geese Return
The dogs will bark
at people passing by—
and grass will grow
lush & green in the field
where they would rest
and strut—
the songs of lesser birds
will fill the morning air—
clouds will come and go
without their meticulous V—
the only honking
will be from cars—
and I will anxiously await
the reassurance
their familiarity brings.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
After the Rain / Based upon an Art Print by Harold Silverman
Based upon an Art Print by Harold Silverman
click above to see print
Cold naked bark
shivers in the fog
fingers wipe the glass air
heavy with raindrop
balled windshields
and glass puddles
reflect a higher profiled
reach of the out stretched hands
of oak and maple
Good News
Hi Michael,
I am pleased to tell you that your poems 'The Face of Mount Rushmore' and 'She's Acryllic' have been selected to appear in the next issue of 'Cats with Thumbs'This is the kind of e-mail I like... More please! More often!!!
This should appear in Mid-May.
Confession Tuesday
Dear reader, it has been a week. Yes seven days and it seems like only yesterday I was doing this. Where it is that time goes? I confess that sometimes I feel there is a hole somewhere that I am losing time out of. A hole in a pocket, a crack in an hour glass… it just keeps flowing like a sieve – sometimes I think I feel it trickle down my pant leg and leave this trail behind me.
I confess that time is my enemy. Or so I convinced myself many years ago. Time = life. I believe that, and yet I am not the best appropriator of time. There is absolutely no logic to it, but if life and time are interchangeable, I should value time all the more, but I seem to fear it. ~0~
I confess to enjoying the ball game yesterday. I confess I would have enjoyed it better if my wife were there. I confess too I am well aware she would not have enjoyed it very much. After the game, I came home and spent time sharing about the afternoon with her and hope that she was not bored by the talk. ~0~
I confess that Easter Sunday I ate too much before church. I not only ate too much but ate way too many carbs. I was hard to stay awake for Mass, in fact I physically felt horrible well into the afternoon. ~0~
I’ve been writing each day keeping up with NaPWriMo but I’ve not been especially happy with the draft/poems I’ve written. I can admit this, but I confess I am not particularly bothered by it. Normally this would bug me to no end. I’ve so far managed to not allow myself to beat myself up over them; figuring time will solve this problem. I confess I’m pretty happy keeping a positive spin on it. ~0~
This seems a good place to stop… on an upbeat note.
Thanks for indulging me.
Monday, April 05, 2010
I'm Reading - 3:00 PM Tomorrow as the Longest Poetry Reading Continues
Prospero's Books
1800 West 39th Street - Kansas City, MO 64111-4402
if you can't be there... you can watch on the live internet feed at
http://www.ustream.tv/channel/metaphormedia
Opening Day Crazy
So much to do,
to remember,
the winter months
away from the game
numb the mind--
The peanut bag, in shells of course,
ball cap; more then ascetics, got to
protect the face from sun--
score pad… and number two pencil.
Two in fact, check for sharpness
those tiny boxes require thin points
to surgically deliver the precision markings
that can be read when referenced
come September.
Cash, $10 for parking, $5 for program,
three draft bears $21 round up to $25 for tips,
hit dogs $7 for two- that's $47 - from the ATM
make it $50.
Game starts at 3:05,
it's 1:30-- a stop at the bank
and parking… should have left
10 minutes ago.
Oh… the tickets!
11 Ways to Celebrate National Poetry Month With The New York Times
Sunday, April 04, 2010
A Brief History Poetic Conception
A parasite in the mind-
sucking off our memory
and replacing it
with the scary
the romantic
the perverted
the beauty of
hallucinogenic
mushrooms
growing in the
bowels of a dirty
mind.
This tequila worm
wiggles its way
into our day or night
or fermenting
over several days
squirming
worming
churning
and learning to be
a figment
a filament
a fantasia
uncontainable
groping for paper
to postulate upon
Easter Mo & Journal Bits
The brisk breeze this afternoon is a nice feeling. I'm concerned about tomorrow though as I have the baseball opener in the afternoon. We may have morning showers... long as they are out of here by noon time, I'm cool with that.
Now for some Journal bits for the past week... March 29 - April 3
- March 29 - (rough notes from a podcast A Conversation with Andrew Mitchell - at Stanford University on poetic language / Martin Heidegger philosophies) Paraphrasing - Describes poetic language as ambiguous ambiguity - language that is not frozen. The origin of the work of art does not exhaust itself. Poetry as a way to expose unknowns... we become mortals through our encounters with poetry -Language is relationally defined by poets. Poetry gives name to the gods.
- March 31 - I'm thinking about the fact that I'm sweating and its the last day of March. It's hot and I'm in a shitty mood tonight.
- April 1 - National Poetry Month begins today and with it, my poem-a day- challenge. This is where it gets all crazy.
- April 3 - "Under the crush of an August sun / in the baptism of sultry shifting about / I opened my shirt for air-- / the two sides hung / like dead flags on polls / and there was no relief in this."
- "they walked the path to the creek abreast / as the woods crowed them, he took the lead, / his hand lingering behind in hers."
- "If Kipling were here / I'd offer him a piece of mind. / Myopic, crumpled one--"
- March 4 - quote by Martin Heidegger "Every man is born as many men and dies as a single one."
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Partly Naked
His flesh is flush
with innuendo
a part clothed
a part exposed
leaving onlookers
stripped of what
to know
Prospero’s Books stages a 120-hour poetry marathon - KansasCity.com
By TIM ENGLE ~ The Kansas City Star
GARVEY SCOTT (photo credit)
“Sometimes for poetry to be noticed, it has to be noticed in a big way,” said Connie Dover, who helped launch a marathon reading."
Five straight days and nights of poetry reading sounds like a colossal undertaking, but it all started Friday morning with one little boy and an even littler poem.
“Day by day the ghosts go past,” recited almost-5-year-old Riley Werner-Leathem, hoisted up to the microphone by his dad, Prospero’s Books co-owner Will Leathem. Riley dressed up for the occasion, wearing a paisley tie over his Prospero’s T-shirt.
Minutes earlier it wasn’t ghosts but an ill-tempered thunderstorm that passed by. Former Kansas poet laureate Denise Low of Lawrence acknowledged it with her work “The Bear Emerges,” part of which goes:
In bed we hear the rumble,
distant, as we find again
under blankets and skins,
the deep-set thud of heartbeats.
All through the hard winter
we forgot about rain and lightning.
Prospero’s, 1800 W. 39th St., is spending all weekend and part of next week celebrating National Poetry Month — and trying to beat a record for longest poetry reading. The round-the-clock marathon will feature 200-plus regional and national poets, most reading in 20-minute chunks and most performing their own work.
It got under way at 10 a.m. Friday with about two dozen spectators and will wrap up at 10 a.m. Wednesday. The actual record-breaking moment, however, should occur around 7 p.m. Sunday — that’d be the 57-hour mark. Organizers are hoping to wallop a record set in Cincinnati in 1978, when a poetry marathon lasted 56 hours, 25 minutes.
If all goes well, the local effort will rack up 120 continuous hours of poetry, more than double what those disco-era dudes did.
Complete Story
Read more: http://www.kansascity.com/2010/04/02/1853420/prosperos-books-stages-a-120-hour.html#ixzz0k4a3uMVP
Friday, April 02, 2010
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Shades of Blue
Will anyone care to read me…
I mean really hear
what I’m saying?
Place their ear to the page
and listen for the sighs
or the tone in my voice
with its highs and lows.
Will they think
I’m just another
silly poem—
or figure
I’m too complicated;
too much like their last
relationship…
the one no one gets.
The one coded
with meaning
they never understood
and would not wish
upon another—
like I would want you
to feel my pain.
Like you could
know the quiet
that squeezes me
till I’m suffocating
and my biggest fear
is no one is there
to see—
and anyone
that would will not
until the Powder
turn Periwinkle
turn Maya
turn Iris
then Indigo.
Until it is just
too late.
National Poetry Month Has Arrived
Yes, I'm doing the poem-a-day challenge again this year. I'm still debating if I will post the drafts here or not. Stay tuned for my decision, but at a minimum, I will report the daily exploits in this journey. You can count on that.
Last year I completed the challenge and had maybe five decent poems that survived drafts that I had written during the 30 day period. I won't lie to you, this gets to be painful about 20 days in. I think it's more to aspect of writing to a set prompt then the writing part itself. Some days you just want to tell the prompt where it can go. But for now, the challenge is met with fresh enthueasam.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
120 hours of non-stop poetry!
In celebration of National Poetry month, over 200 regional and national poets will gather in Kansas City to establish a world’s record for the longest poetry reading. The previously established record in 1978 as reported by the Associated Press and NPR’s All Things Considered, was in Cincinnati, Ohio where 50 poets performed 56 hours and 25 minutes of poetry.
The Kansas City event will be vidio taped and a live internet feed of the event is planned.
Some highlighted participants
Friday-
- Ron Jaffe: world renowned jazz-poet
- Connie Dover: winner of the Loft’s Speakeasy prize for poetry
- Denise Low: imediate past Poet Laureate of Kansas
- Jo McDougall: Pulitzer nominated poet and memoirist
- William Trowbridge: former editor of The Laurel Review, author of 5 books of poetry including the The Book of Kong and the Complete Book of Kong.
- Maryfrances Wagner: past President of Kansas City’s The Writers Place and author of 5 books of poetry.
- Wayne Miller: award-winning poet of 2 collections of poetry and editor of Pleiades: A Journal of New Writing.
- Jason Ryberg
- Jeanette Powers
- Marion S. Taylor
- David Morrissey
- Patrick Lamb
- Annie Rasmussen
- James Kneece Joseph Davis
- Valorie Engholm
- Eve Brackenbury
- Oshome
- Trudie Homan
- Trish Reeves
- Steven Proski
- Tony Plocido
- Greg Field
Saturday-
- Marc Smith: host of the Green Mill poetry series in Chicago, Ill.. PBS identified Marc as the founder of slam poetry in America. Smith will come off sabbatical to perform for the longest poetry reading record attempt.
- Mark Tom Hennessy: former front man for the Lawrence, KS grunge and PAW.
- Marc Zorn
- Mike Bannen + 7year old
- Carl Bettis
- Noon Jan Kroll
- Stan Banks
- Janet Banks
- Alarie Tennille
- John Peterson
- Stacey Donovan
- Lindsey Martin Bowen
- Carl Rowden
- Robert Stewart
- Michelle Boisseau
- Jeanie Wilson
- Pat Danneman
- Phyllis Becker
- Pat Lawson
- William Peck
- TJ Jude
- Marc Smith
- Ed Tato
- Mark Hennessy
- Jason Ryberg
- Margueritte Rappold
- Iris Appelquist
- Aaron Fuhr
- Thad Havercamp
- Ron Worley
- Jason Harding
- Vic Swan
- Joshua Upsha
- Creed Shepherd
- Michelle Nimmo
- Tommy Mason
- Jacob Johansen
- Steve Goldberg
- John Dorsey
- Brent Kinder
- Holly Stewart
- The Recipe: founding members of the Black Poets Collective, Pries and 337 define the word “LIVE” in poetry performance.
- David Smith: author of White Time joins us from Las Angeles, CA.
- Dennis Weiser
- Kale Baldock
- Kathy Hughes
- Gary Lechtliter
- Sean Erixon
- Dean Fessenden
- Thomas Fessenden
- Kevin Rabas
- Josh Barker
- Jeff Tigchelaar
- Aaron Froelich
- Alyson Fuller
- Saira Jehangir Khan
- Faith Bemiss
- Britt Whitehead
- Blair Johnson
- Mickey Cesar
- Laura Kitzmiller
- Katie Longofono
- Jas Abromowitz
- Jeremy O'eal
- Lance & Rachel Asbury
- David Smith
- John Dorsey
- Abigail Beaudell
- Jacob Johansen
- Katie Kaboom
- Steve Goldberg (Jacob)
- Gretta Wilkinson
- Becky Barrera
- Lola Nation
- Duke Smith
- Diane Mora
- TJ Jude
- Janie Harris
- Evanne Miller
- James Canty
- Chris Beard
- Steve Bridgens
Monday-
- Connie Dover: winner of the Loft’s coveted Speakeasy Prize for Poetry.
- Nairba Sirrah: Book II of Paradise Lost: Satan Breaks Out Of Hell – 9 characters; 1005 lines; 59 minutes word for word memorized recital.
- Eric Gandara
- Megan Louise
- Larry Welling
- Mel Neet
- Paul Goldman
- Eve Brackenburry
- Lee Eliot
- Ken Buch
- Maggie Ammerman
- Dennis Weiser
- Dez
- Marion Dean McIrvin
- Kevin Hiatt
- Patrick Sumner
- Norma Marshall
- Jeremey Colson
- Patrick Dobson
- Stephen Karuska
- Connie dover
- Brian Harris
- Silvia Kofler
- Jose Faus
- Maria Vasquez Boyd
- Brandon Whitehead
- Steve Wolfe
- Megan Louise
- Mikal Shapiro
- Tracy Rockwell
- Jon Bidwell
- Arrika Brazil
- Duke Smith
- Rhiannon Ross
- Abigail Henderson
- Kara Werner
- Robert Moore
- Janie Harris
- Jon Bidwell
- Bob Chrisman
- Brent Kinder
- Lon Swearingen
- Philip Miller: the godfather of Kansas City poetry, founder of the Riverfront Readings series and author of 6 books of verse, joins us from Mount Union, PA.
- Dr. Patricia Cleary Miller: Rockhurst University Humanities Chair, four-term poet laureate of the Harvard Alumni Association.
- John Mark Eberhart
- Paul Goldman
- Susan Peters
- Jim Fox
- Maril Crabtree
- Jan Duncan-O'Neal
- Karin Frank
- Anne Baber
- Bob Chrisman
- Joseph Davis
- Missi Rassmussen
- Michael Wells
- David Morrissey
- Shawn Pavey
- Timothy Pettet
- Tom Wayne
- Philip Miller
- Patricia Miller
- David Arnold Hughes
- Jason Vaughn
- Steve Brisindine
- Sara glass
- Duke Smith
- Rhiannon Ross
- Tom Wayne
- Will Leathem
- Jason Ryberg
Wednesday-
- Victor Smith Memorial Reading: One of KC’s great ‘street’ voices, a poet’s poet, Smith published 5 chapbooks of poetry. A selection of poets will read Victor’s poems in honor of his untimely passing.
- 7-9pm VICTORY PARTY at The Conspiracy (at the Uptown Theatre). Live Music and much back slapping. $3 cover for the Kansas City literary arts nonprofit: Write the Future
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Poetry Reviews: What's The Point?
Publishers Weekly:
But in almost any conversation on the topic of poetry reviews, one question comes up: what's the point? This question isn't always asked with the flippant air that actually means "who cares?" Often, people really want to know: what is accomplished by poetry reviews? Do they help sell books? Do they keep the art form in line? Do they spur writers into creating better poetry or kick bad writers out of the halls of Parnassus? Do poetry reviews help readers?
Poetry Reviews: What's The Point?
Confession Tuesday
What to I have to confess this week? [Long pause]
My mind is in a cloud. I confess that there are many times this week that this has occurred. They usually are times when I’m feeling like I’m in a vacuum. No, not the Hoover, but more like when you have an experiment and you put something in a sealed jar and then you suck the air out of it. Only my mind is the jar and my thoughts have been suffocated. So here I am trying to assess my week in review and my mind is blank.
Oh, there is my self doubt. Yes, I recall having self doubt that creped into my writing during this past week... It was there like a lead weight in my wrist when I lifted my pen. In my fingers as I typed. It was the weight of the low pressure zone preventing the clouds in my head from moving on eastward. Do you ever have these irrational periods of doubt? They didn’t seem irrational at the time, but I know they are because there was something external that triggered a clearing of the doubts from my head. ~0~
I had a number of objectives going into last weekend and I confess I perhaps put too much emphasis on what I hoped to achieve. So much so, that I felt early on that I was not going to have a good weekend. In the end, I confess that I turned that around and used it too my advantage. Deciding not to throw in the towel, but try to salvage as much as I could. I didn’t get as much accomplished as I planned, but surprisingly more than I feared I would, and I still was able to take in a movie with my family. I confess that sometimes I surprise myself and things turn out better. ~0~
I confess that I surprise myself sometimes that in spite of liking language, I can be a pretty visual person. I enjoy seeing and taking pictures. Maybe that is why poetry in particular is the way I like my language; because of the emphasis of imagery. The relational connection between one thing and another and how that all fits together. Yes, when you peel back the layers of me, I confess that image and emotion comprise a good deal of what I am about. ~0~
When people call me and leave me a message to call them back, I confess I do not understand why they think I want to listen to 2 to 3 minutes of music on their voice mail. I’m not with a record company; I’m not going to discover them or anyone they are featuring. It is ALMOST always the most hideous (and I use the term loosely) music. ~0~
Wow- I can't believe I flushed all that out. :)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
The Pit Live on the Internet - from Kansas City
Subject: The Pit live on the Internet
We are now broadcasting live. Check out Kansas City's poets here:
Journal Bits March 22 – March 28
March 22 - read Barefoot by Anne Sexton… this poem is on the erotic side, pretty interesting given the period in which it was written.
March 24 - “the front never advances / no land changes hands / no prisoners are captured / death keeps percolating / hot black death.”
March 25 – “Corduroy slacks don’t hold / creases well, in fact they turn / cheap quickly— warn down / like a smooth bald head.”
March 28 - “A Sunday afternoon cocoon / the time held tightly / a pattern of jealous squeaks in the hallway floor / my hunger to be refreshed / warm within the pit / I hear the ticking of the clock not / in the present latitude / not in the passage from light into dark / or even back again.”
“Molten sweet sonnet / sings my eyes into shadows / of the present.”
Quote by Elizabeth Jennings….”For me, poetry is always a search for order.” I so agree!
j
Unconscious Mutterings Week 374
- Bow out :: withdraw
- Relationships :: personal
- Facebook :: slow
- Items :: sundry
- Ours :: communal
- Sting :: bee
- Hangover :: wasted
- Contacts :: eyes
- Lonely :: forlorn
- Seven days :: week
Get you own list here
Saturday, March 27, 2010
~ Book of Kells: NaPoWriMo: 30 New Poetry Prompts for National Poetry Month
Getting ready for NaPoWriMo????
Or if you are just looking for a poetry prompt or two to get you started on a new poem here is a great list.
Kelli constantly has helpful insights to writing and publishing poetry so her blog is an excellent read anyway. Check it out.
You Go Chester Stranczek!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Under Construction
Will your grandchildren be asking what a library is?
How many of us take libraries for granted? Honestly, I think a good deal of the time they are not occupying a significant front and center portion of my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped to consider what would happen if they were not there.
Students of course are highly dependent upon them. And I saw a figure that suggests that one third of Americans go online at libraries. Is that their only internet access? I suppose for many it is. Again, I probably take for granted that most have easy access in their own homes.
Could we see the day of privatized libraries with memberships? Or a time when the library we used had no walls, no visible librarians in the dark framed glasses? We entered our membership numbers online and uploaded reading and research material. That kind of change is probably not lurking just around the corner yet, but like many of the services that we’ve come to take for granted, the access we have to libraries is at risk of some change due to the monetary constraints of municipalities. A nation that at times seams loath to read if it isn’t required of them, stands much to lose from loss of public library access. How queer it seems that with all the modern marvels taking place around the world, keeping a library door open for the public may just too challenging for cities.
Friday Stuff
ABBA fans (of which I’m one) could take some joy in their induction into the Rock’s Hall of Fame recently but as to rumors the group might reunite for a one show performance, well it seems highly unlikely. Off the cuff remarks by former band member Benny Andersson have been dismissed by the bands manager. The band when their separate ways in 1982 and in 2000 turned down a $1 billion offer to do a 100 concert world tour.
I would have been shocked to see this happen. I think half of the group would welcome the idea but the other two I don’t see coming around to the idea. ~0~
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Protesting in verse: A Saudi woman criticizes Muslim clerics' in a TV poetry contest - latimes.com
DUBAI, United Arab Emirates (AP) — It was a startling voice of protest at a startling venue. Covered head-to-toe in black, a Saudi woman lashed out at hard-line Muslim clerics' harsh religious edicts in verse on live TV at a popular Arabic version of "American Idol."
Well, not quite "American Idol": Contestants compete not in singing but in traditional Arabic poetry. Over the past episodes, poets sitting on an elaborate stage before a live audience have recited odes to the beauty of Bedouin life and the glories of their rulers or mourning the gap between rich and poor.
Then last week, Hissa Hilal, only her eyes visible through her black veil, delivered a blistering poem against Muslim preachers "who sit in the position of power" but are "frightening" people with their fatwas, or religious edicts, and "preying like a wolf" on those seeking peace.
Her poem got loud cheers from the audience and won her a place in the competition's finals, to be aired on Wednesday.
It also brought her death threats, posted on several Islamic militant Web sites
Full Story: Protesting in verse: A Saudi woman criticizes Muslim clerics' in a TV poetry contest - latimes.com
American Patriots And Civic Minded People? I think not! These are Criminal Acts of Low Lifes.
The FBI is working with local officials to investigate the incident.
Conservative activists* in Virginia posted the home address of Perriello's older brother — believing it to be the congressman's address — when suggesting in Web postings that those who disagreed with the Democratic lawmaker's vote should "drop by" to make their opposition clear.
The kind of people who would do this are criminal. Those who encourage this are accessories and just as bad. Grow up people. You seriously risk the life of other people and you show the rest of the world what a buffoon you are. What a way to shape American opinion. *Replace activists above with anarchists and it pretty much explains who these people are.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Confession Tuesday
I confess dear reader that this confession may not be so revealing. I’m actually coming to confession this morning without any deeply reflective items to unearth and this is going to be a little more spontaneous then usual.
I confess that I didn’t get around to celebrating Valentines Day till last night. Yes, that is right. Least you think that I am a totally callous unromantic sort of person; this delay was by mutual consent. Cathy was out of town until late in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day and then having been on the road, we agreed to celebrate it at a later date. We got tickets for the first game of the Missouri Maverick’s Playoffs. They are our new hockey team. We had tried to get tickets earlier but they were sold out. When they made the playoffs, I was able to nab some tickets on the day they went on sell. If this sounds totally like a guy thing, the hockey game was actually Cath’s suggestion. We went out to dinner beforehand. Years ago, we had enjoyed going to hockey games when we had a team locally. This area has been without a team for a while.
I’m tired of snow. We’ve had one of the heaviest total snowfalls this winter – I heard 4th largest on record. This last one came and went fast, which I confess was kind of nice. We had one day of some awesome sights of snow covered tree branches but that was sufficient. I’m ready for baseball.
Dancing with the Stars has started again. I've watched this in the past but it has become less and less appealing to me. I confess that I am so tired of there ALWAYS being an NFL player on it. Why does this bother me? I confess I don’t know.
I confess that the older I get the more fragile the earth seems to me. I suppose it stands to reason given we are aging together. I suspect I’m more deeply into my life timeline, though sometimes the earth doesn’t seem quite as invincible as it did when I was an eight or ten year-old.
The climate changes, earthquakes, tsunamis all seem to encourage this feeling of frailty. That and of course the shrinking universe as we explore deeper into the far reaches of our galaxy. I know these things don’t necessarily point to doomsday but they do shape our view of earth. I confess this seem to make for good poetry.
The things we value most in life (besides monetary riches) the things that honestly are of the utmost value are those things we risk losing. Why does it a rose take our breath away? Its beauty is found in the fact that it doesn’t last forever. The same reason our love of another can be almost unfathomable. Some day, your lifeline or theirs will reach it’s conclusion on earth. Such is the world we are born into and we have no say in the matter otherwise. I confess like relationships all the power and savageness of nature makes a good basis for poetry. As we near National Poetry Month, I’ll try to keep this in focus as I write.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Journal Bits March 15 -21
March 16 - There could be an IED / somewhere on this desk / who would know / till it were too late / till the florescent crackled / overhead the air crisp / with carbon / ashen paper particles
March 17 - and there among all other / was a single green rose / the bud still grasping itself
March 20 - where would we be without the moon / the moon that placates vampires / that romances our literature / that hangs in the trees / night after night until gone / its presence then in the conspicuous absence / until reappearing as a sliver resting against the night
March 20 - noted that late night I read "For the Year of the Insane" by Anne Sexton
March 21 - Time to kill / on a messy morning / Sunday, graystone sky Sunday / silent cold / the air having scraped her teeth on snow that fell / these past two days / crispy chattering
Unconscious Mutterings Week 373
- 1.Burrito :: bandito
- 2.Spike :: railroad
- 3.Tougher :: love
- 4.Mock :: trial
- 5.Slurp :: drink
- 6.Knock :: out
- 7.Conference :: call
- 8.Madness :: March
- 9.Minds :: inquiring
- 10.Connection :: internet
Friday, March 19, 2010
It's Not All Academic in Tehran
Behbahani has written poetry in Iran for decades…through the reign of Iran’s Shah, during the Islamic Revolution, and the reign of the ayatollahs. She has been twice nominated for the Nobel Prize in literature. She’s been outspoken for women’s rights. It has not however been easy for her to publish work in the past few years. The government has become more repressive in years towards writers in general. Her last work of poetry published required the removal of 40 poems or fragments thereof once the government censors finished with it.
After the disputed presidential election last summer and hundreds of thousands hit the streets in protest, prompting government crackdown and violence, Behbahani wrote a poem, “Stop Throwing My Country to the Wind.” People who have followed her for many years now have considered her as untouchable. There will be a lot of eyes on Tehran watching how she is treated from here on.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Update on Mary Oliver Visit to KU
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Confession Tuesday
Tuesday has arrived a little faster this week due to daylight savings time, so lets move to the confessional.
I must confess that I do not appreciate the alleged finer points of daylight savings time. I never have. It messes up my internal clock which in turn makes me grouchy about not only the subject but other things as well. If someone wanted to be my hero, they could lead a campaign to repeal it.
I confess that I’m not the greatest house husband. My wife works long hours and I’m not the greatest at picking up slack at home. I can find any number of reasons why things are frustrating in relation to the chores around the house, but I need to stop focusing on reasons. They are like running an obstacle course, the fact that they are there may make the journey a little harder, but they are not a reason not to reach the other end of the course. I can do better.
Having been in a leadership role in the Democratic Party at one time, I have a critical view of how my party is governing presently. I confess there are people I’d like to shake. I know you should never shake children. Is it a bad thing to shake you Congressman or Senator?
Right now, I confess I’m a frustrated writer. There are days I even think of stopping, but I realize I’ve been there before and I would be frustrated in another way altogether were I to stop writing. I confess I’m not especially excited about Poetry Month this year. I’m sort of forcing myself to do the daily poem challenge and not especially looking forward to it. I confess when things are not really going right with my writing I take a harsh view of my own efforts. I can have a hard time with self-esteem. The negative spiral that follows only makes for more stress. Realizing this, I have decided to put more emphasis on reading these next few days and hope that the upside will be a better frame of mind when I set down to write.
I confess I had to laugh this morning when I read if you fiddle with all the letters in Jennifer Aniston's name you can come up with ‘Fine in Torn Jeans.’
Monday, March 15, 2010
An Evening with Poet Mary Oliver March 23 -
Location: The Lied Center of Kansas
Humanities Lecture Series - Kansas University
The author of 18 collections of poetry, most notably the Pulitzer Prize-winning American Primitive (1983) and New and Selected Poems, Volume One (1992), which garnered a National Book Award, Mary Oliver will share her work and take questions from the audience. Her most recent collections are The Truro Bear and Other Adventures (2008), new poems and beloved classics about creatures of all sorts, and Evidence (2009). Red Bird (2008) was an immediate national bestseller. Oliver is a past recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship.
For additional information contact Hall Center for the Humanities 785/864-4798
Nathalie Handal - "Lost Poet Of Nightly Dreams"
The Neverfield is an energetically lyrical work by Nathalie Handal. She begins this book length poem, “Riding through the skies wearing different costumes.” An apparent parallel to her own life, for Nathalie Handal is a poet of the world who embraces her universal ties while still searching for the meaning of her roots.
In truth, The Neverfield could be any Palestinian or other person longing for meaning in their existence. There is such passion in these words.
“I felt you browsing through my mind… / and warned you that / the republic inside of you / might / tumble / down / your / chest… / warned you / not to go near the notebooks / piled up by the cup of tea / and the half-moon… / instead to go beside the clay sculpture / by the pinewood… / I heard the march of the patriots / you read the notebooks…/ stood in the middle / of dying and death”
Handal uses her craft well, spacing in the book accentuates her words, and she is a wordsmith of incredible gift or at minimum very learned ability.
Nathalie mimics the spirit of another Palestinian poet. The poet referred to as entering the world on the 13th day of March is Mahmoud Darwish. There is a real sense Darwish’s presence in her words which so beautifully seek to establish The Neverfield as both a place in one’s mind and a geographical place that can be found for real in a poet’s words.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Unconscious Mutterings Week 372
- Children :: kids
- Saddlebags :: horse
- Restraint :: control
- Awake :: alert
- Blood :: sugar
- Shutter :: camera
- Posted :: mailed
- Corn cob :: roasting ear
- Flagrant :: blatant
- Fart :: gas
get your own list
Journal Bits March 8 - 14
- March 8 - After assessing the potential of what I have so far towards my working manuscript, I'm about five off my time lines. Counld be worse.
- I guess I'm going to do the 30 days- 30 poems challenge for April again. I'm an idiot. I like to think of them as 30 drafts. Last year I had about five keepers out of the work.
- March 9 - After reading Susan Rich's poem What to Make of Such Beauty from her upcoming book The Alchemist's Kitchen my book want list just grew.
- When you are young / before death has any real grip on you / leaving an empty no-deposit-no-return
- March 11 - there is a phantom disorder / hiding within the order of us all... there is a dark side to out toast / it is not what is buttered with sunshine
- The shelf has bowed under the its weight / heavy in insignifance
- March 12 - Is it time again for daylight savings? / A bouquet of bunk. Show me / the savings. Like all capatalism it's just shifting ledger columns / hocus pocus
- March 13 - After the minute and hour hands collide at midnight / after the house listens to itself for groans and settlements in the walls















