Tonight I have and Evening with David Whyte. Tomorrow night - poetry reading at Barnes & Noble - Independence, MO.
Coming up on the 3rd and 4th - Maple Woods Writing Confrence.
Crystallyn is teasing us...
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Tuesday Blues....
I'm not talking music here...
I suppose it's all because yesterday was a really busy day and I feel like the week should be more than half over (big sigh) but it isn't. It's ONLY t-u-e-s-d-a-y grrrr...
Alas, there are I suppose things to look forward to. The President will address the UN today. Oh how I'd like to be a mouse setting on Kofi Annan desktop eating popcorn. You know (popcorn) it's "smartfood." When "W" is finished, if I had any left, I'd share some with him. Think it would help?
If the day gets a wee bit slow, you can always check and see if you are a metrosexual. The link silly, not the mirror.
I just adore Michaela's discourse on ABC Gum. It makes complete sense. Especially her remark:
"I love his (Bakhtin) notion of language as this thing that lies "on the borderline between oneself and the other" and as something we don't take fresh from the dictionary but rather from others' usage..."
Lime Tree gets two points for coming up with a "Stick Poet" graphic on their site. Damn, I've been trying to get one out of my kids for weeks now.
Every poem is a genre in itself
Ron Silliman gets two points deducted (anyone keeping score?) for keeping me awake last night thinking about his blog topic yesterday. My head hurts like a hangover.
I suppose it's all because yesterday was a really busy day and I feel like the week should be more than half over (big sigh) but it isn't. It's ONLY t-u-e-s-d-a-y grrrr...
Alas, there are I suppose things to look forward to. The President will address the UN today. Oh how I'd like to be a mouse setting on Kofi Annan desktop eating popcorn. You know (popcorn) it's "smartfood." When "W" is finished, if I had any left, I'd share some with him. Think it would help?
If the day gets a wee bit slow, you can always check and see if you are a metrosexual. The link silly, not the mirror.
I just adore Michaela's discourse on ABC Gum. It makes complete sense. Especially her remark:
"I love his (Bakhtin) notion of language as this thing that lies "on the borderline between oneself and the other" and as something we don't take fresh from the dictionary but rather from others' usage..."
Lime Tree gets two points for coming up with a "Stick Poet" graphic on their site. Damn, I've been trying to get one out of my kids for weeks now.
Every poem is a genre in itself
Ron Silliman gets two points deducted (anyone keeping score?) for keeping me awake last night thinking about his blog topic yesterday. My head hurts like a hangover.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Power Up!
In a strange twist of fate, I actually came off sleep mode this morning. Wow, Sunday is a day too!
I made my own breakfast - proving self sufficiency of man.
I read for about an hour. (there were no pictures)
Made "strong" coffee and took the dogs (Klaus and Barry) out on the deck and did some writing. I experienced what I am sure must be a significant sign of the impending conclusion of summer... a wonderfully nice morning. It rained earlier, it was neither hot nor cold. The breeze gently kissed my cheeks (not those ones - gawd! I was outside...) with a soft pleasing sensation while the leaves sang in choirs perhaps one of their last few songs before they drop.
My mind actually functions on Sunday...
afterwards, I went inside and did some cleaning in my home office. Ah-ha! I do have a desk. The experience was about what I envision an archeological dig to be like.
Did my own lunch, which around here on Sunday is called "snatch & grab" because only one formal meal is cooked on Sunday. Occasionally I will refer to this as "grab your snatch" - hey, it's revisionist!
So by now you can tell my body has been functioning. What is more unique, my mind appears to be working in unison with the rest of me.
I've actually considered a great many things today. Acknowledging the depth of my thought, I have considered several things. Not the least of which are:
1. Why Catherine expects a stadium like the old Oakland coliseum to be worthy of anything but a terrible name. It was never a great ballpark and once retrofitted for football, they had to move home plate further out from the vortex because people up high behind home could not even see a batter bat. You want a "real ballpark" - go to Pacific Bell Ballpark! As for the restoration of faith in the east bay, do the A's really do that. East bay is gorgeous (south of Oakland) and the A's have nothing to do with that. I love the San Ramon area - at the foot of Mt. Diablo.
2. And why, Emily Dickinson became such a prominent American poetic figure of the 19th century. Or more adeptly I suppose, how she came to such prominence. She was such an introvert and while her poetic style powerful, especially in the reflection of personal feelings, she was barely published in her time. True, she wrote ferociously; penning by some accounts 1,800+ poems in her lifetime. She did not have the exposure of say Walt Whitman. Of course this causes me to wonder additionally how many prolific writers today, with limited publication, would be viewed as having the impact on the 21st century that she represents to her time.
3. And once again Michaela causes me to stop and think. How is it that I can lose my keys in the house and yet scientists can find the genitals -- belonging to 400 million-year-old insects -- in ancient rocks in Scotland?
I made my own breakfast - proving self sufficiency of man.
I read for about an hour. (there were no pictures)
Made "strong" coffee and took the dogs (Klaus and Barry) out on the deck and did some writing. I experienced what I am sure must be a significant sign of the impending conclusion of summer... a wonderfully nice morning. It rained earlier, it was neither hot nor cold. The breeze gently kissed my cheeks (not those ones - gawd! I was outside...) with a soft pleasing sensation while the leaves sang in choirs perhaps one of their last few songs before they drop.
My mind actually functions on Sunday...
afterwards, I went inside and did some cleaning in my home office. Ah-ha! I do have a desk. The experience was about what I envision an archeological dig to be like.
Did my own lunch, which around here on Sunday is called "snatch & grab" because only one formal meal is cooked on Sunday. Occasionally I will refer to this as "grab your snatch" - hey, it's revisionist!
So by now you can tell my body has been functioning. What is more unique, my mind appears to be working in unison with the rest of me.
I've actually considered a great many things today. Acknowledging the depth of my thought, I have considered several things. Not the least of which are:
1. Why Catherine expects a stadium like the old Oakland coliseum to be worthy of anything but a terrible name. It was never a great ballpark and once retrofitted for football, they had to move home plate further out from the vortex because people up high behind home could not even see a batter bat. You want a "real ballpark" - go to Pacific Bell Ballpark! As for the restoration of faith in the east bay, do the A's really do that. East bay is gorgeous (south of Oakland) and the A's have nothing to do with that. I love the San Ramon area - at the foot of Mt. Diablo.
2. And why, Emily Dickinson became such a prominent American poetic figure of the 19th century. Or more adeptly I suppose, how she came to such prominence. She was such an introvert and while her poetic style powerful, especially in the reflection of personal feelings, she was barely published in her time. True, she wrote ferociously; penning by some accounts 1,800+ poems in her lifetime. She did not have the exposure of say Walt Whitman. Of course this causes me to wonder additionally how many prolific writers today, with limited publication, would be viewed as having the impact on the 21st century that she represents to her time.
3. And once again Michaela causes me to stop and think. How is it that I can lose my keys in the house and yet scientists can find the genitals -- belonging to 400 million-year-old insects -- in ancient rocks in Scotland?
Friday, September 19, 2003
Thoughts on closure
Crag Hill's poetry scorecard takes a look at the end of poems. When I saw this, I was immediately drawn into it, because I once had a poem critiqued by someone who told me that poems should end in single syllable words. Of course there may be legitimate reasons for this, but the rebellious person inside directing my life really isn't found of being told things in absolutes. Particularly when it comes to art and other expressive things. That is so limiting.
In Crag Hill's blog, he expresses a liking to ends of poems that assert. This certainly has it's place and I'm with Crag totally when he talks about an ending that leaves him with "one chunk of thought or image." This can be quite effective, but not always desirable.
I've written poems that contrastingly end abruptly. Intentionally so. One such poem was Cerebral Cobwebs. The final stanza of this poem I wrote sometime back reads...
Has my mind become fragmented...
Is my memory obsolete?
Are there cobwebs in this mind of mine...
What was I thinking?
The poem ends as if I totally lost my train of thought. Crag Hill supports this idea too.
Hill points out that our lives are absent of closure and so it is befitting that our poetry should often reflect this. I'm all for flexibility in how we end our poems. Meaty thoughts are at time warranted. Something we can sink our teeth into and feel or see. Sometimes that one syllable work is perfect. Sometimes not. The expressive nature this art dictates that we flow with the message and not rigidly adhere to some stock ending.
In Crag Hill's blog, he expresses a liking to ends of poems that assert. This certainly has it's place and I'm with Crag totally when he talks about an ending that leaves him with "one chunk of thought or image." This can be quite effective, but not always desirable.
I've written poems that contrastingly end abruptly. Intentionally so. One such poem was Cerebral Cobwebs. The final stanza of this poem I wrote sometime back reads...
Has my mind become fragmented...
Is my memory obsolete?
Are there cobwebs in this mind of mine...
What was I thinking?
The poem ends as if I totally lost my train of thought. Crag Hill supports this idea too.
Hill points out that our lives are absent of closure and so it is befitting that our poetry should often reflect this. I'm all for flexibility in how we end our poems. Meaty thoughts are at time warranted. Something we can sink our teeth into and feel or see. Sometimes that one syllable work is perfect. Sometimes not. The expressive nature this art dictates that we flow with the message and not rigidly adhere to some stock ending.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Choose your weapon... but write
On occasion
so moved by the spirit within
poetry becomes my devise
and complexities
sometimes
are rendered simple
while the simple become at times
more burdensome than ought.
Much the same
a pen and journal page is fine at times
but the pc seems a vehicle preferred
at others.
So much alike
are the life within
and the life of this world that
poetry so fittingly defines.
Lunar forces
and sweeping tides connect
to pull our senses in vast
mood swings that defy even a modern day
Freud.
Ha!
strangely it seems all folly.
What difference matters the blood type
of the penned poem
anyway. Equally is the ink of pens and
printers that gives flight to the ideas
of it's originator. Otherwise,
no one knows and the poet
may not recall tomorrow
the simplest
or the most complex. Lost,
and to others
never was.
so moved by the spirit within
poetry becomes my devise
and complexities
sometimes
are rendered simple
while the simple become at times
more burdensome than ought.
Much the same
a pen and journal page is fine at times
but the pc seems a vehicle preferred
at others.
So much alike
are the life within
and the life of this world that
poetry so fittingly defines.
Lunar forces
and sweeping tides connect
to pull our senses in vast
mood swings that defy even a modern day
Freud.
Ha!
strangely it seems all folly.
What difference matters the blood type
of the penned poem
anyway. Equally is the ink of pens and
printers that gives flight to the ideas
of it's originator. Otherwise,
no one knows and the poet
may not recall tomorrow
the simplest
or the most complex. Lost,
and to others
never was.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Expectations
Expectations abound in life... yours, mine.
All kinds of expectations based on things ranging from taking the garbage out to never letting someone down. I toyed with this. The word seems such an absolute. There is really no wiggle room, which I suppose gives rise to the difficulty that can be posed by keeping one's promise.
This is how it played out....
Promises
I will.
I do.
I did.
Will I?
Do I?
Did I?
Intent – indent
Shifting a little
gives a lot.
Think life one victory
after another?
Don’t bet these odds.
I'll try,
I Promise.
* i am not happy with the formatting here - the third stanza should indent with line two and even more with line three. (get the picture) The final product won't cooperarate with me. (I was just certain it promised to)
All kinds of expectations based on things ranging from taking the garbage out to never letting someone down. I toyed with this. The word seems such an absolute. There is really no wiggle room, which I suppose gives rise to the difficulty that can be posed by keeping one's promise.
This is how it played out....
Promises
I will.
I do.
I did.
Will I?
Do I?
Did I?
Intent – indent
Shifting a little
gives a lot.
Think life one victory
after another?
Don’t bet these odds.
I'll try,
I Promise.
* i am not happy with the formatting here - the third stanza should indent with line two and even more with line three. (get the picture) The final product won't cooperarate with me. (I was just certain it promised to)
Wednesday Wisdombits
Ah-ha! Take that John Burbank! Like some NRA - gun nut I pound my chest and bellow... "you can tax my espresso when you can pry the cup from my cold dead hands!" Ok, I don't live in Seattle or anywhere near... but when you want to add a ten cent lug on a cup of espresso or latte you are hitting very close to home.
Still I tip my caffeine loaded drink to those hearty souls who went to the polls yesterday in Seattle and resoundingly said "bite me - John Burbank!" Yeah! All 68% of ya!
So John had a cause... better funding for early childhood education. Laudable, no doubt. However, I have a pet peeve and that is taxes for legitimate needs and services that target a narrow segment of society. If the need is there, stop being weenies and F'n fund it with traditional sources of funding that spreads the burden out.
Where I come from (not literally) the state makes a big point about the money casinos bring in for education. They have come to totally rely on it. If the gaming laws were changes tomorrow - they would see the funds for education evaporate overnight. We used to fund it with general revenue. Now, much of those funds have gone elsewhere. I'm not opposed to gambling. But I think it is stupid. What is even more stupid is wagering the future education of our children on it.
On another note... You must check out Michaela's piece on Mason Williams' Classical Gas. Reading her words arouses the same vibrant feeling that hearing the song did. Wow! Wow to both!
Still I tip my caffeine loaded drink to those hearty souls who went to the polls yesterday in Seattle and resoundingly said "bite me - John Burbank!" Yeah! All 68% of ya!
So John had a cause... better funding for early childhood education. Laudable, no doubt. However, I have a pet peeve and that is taxes for legitimate needs and services that target a narrow segment of society. If the need is there, stop being weenies and F'n fund it with traditional sources of funding that spreads the burden out.
Where I come from (not literally) the state makes a big point about the money casinos bring in for education. They have come to totally rely on it. If the gaming laws were changes tomorrow - they would see the funds for education evaporate overnight. We used to fund it with general revenue. Now, much of those funds have gone elsewhere. I'm not opposed to gambling. But I think it is stupid. What is even more stupid is wagering the future education of our children on it.
On another note... You must check out Michaela's piece on Mason Williams' Classical Gas. Reading her words arouses the same vibrant feeling that hearing the song did. Wow! Wow to both!
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