I Think I'm Medusa

You are Form 1, Goddess: The Creator.

"And The Goddess planted the acorn of life.
She cried a single tear and shed a single drop
of blood upon the earth where she buried it.
From her blood and tear, the acorn grew into
the world."

Some examples of the Goddess Form are Gaia (Greek),
Jehova (Christian), and Brahma (Indian).
The Goddess is associated with the concept of
creation, the number 1, and the element of
earth.
Her sign is the dawn sun.

As a member of Form 1, you are a charismatic
individual and people are drawn to you.
Although sometimes you may seem emotionally
distant, you are deeply in tune with other
people's feelings and have tremendous empathy.
Sometimes you have a tendency to neglect your
own self. Goddesses are the best friends to
have because they're always willing to help.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
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I DID IT! I DID IT! I DID IT!!!!!

50,179 words.

Birthday Trivia

Mark Twain: He was cynical and irreverent, but he had a tender spot for cats. There were always kittens in the house, and he gave them names like "Sin" and "Sour Mash." "Mamma has morals," said his daughter Suzy, "and Papa has cats."

Jonathan Swift: He once said, about a book he admired, "That is as well said as if I had said it myself."

Stein and the Lyric

A. Poetry is I say essentially a vocabulary just as prose is essentially not. And what is the vocabulary of which poetry absolutely is. It is a vocabulary based on the noun as prose is essentially and determinately and vigorously not based on the noun. Poetry is concerned with using with abusing, with losing with wanting with denying with avoiding with adoring with replacing the noun. It is doing that always doing that, doing that doing nothing but that. Poetry is doing nothing but using losing refusing and pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns. That is what poetry does, that is what poetry has to do no matter what kind of poetry it is. And there are a great many kinds of poetry. So that is poetry really loving the name of anything and that is not prose.

B. When I said. "A rose is a rose is a rose." And then later made that into a ring I made poetry and what did I do? I caressed completely caressed and addressed a noun.

(from "Poetry and Grammar" on Wikiquotes)

Above photo--Wallpaper:
Bill and coo, billet-doux.

Christmas is Coming, Ready or Not!

My husband's getting ready for Christmas. He's making elves. They are everywhere-- dining room, kitchen, sweater rack in the utility room--in various states of glue and wire and papier mache. (My favorite has silver shoes and a stocking cap made from a teal glove I thought I'd lost). The staircase banister is garlanded in greenery and fruit. The cards are out, ready to be addressed. The living room has been destroyed and rearranged to accommodate one (yes, that is one) of his Christmas trees. He's put up as many as five before, and none of them is a tabletop size. (And we don't have a gigantic house to accommodate his thousands of ornaments). This year I bet he'll put up the aluminum tree, to match the elf's footwear. Underfoot are boxes and plastic bins of all his ornaments. Correction, some of his ornaments. There are 18 more ornament boxes upstairs.

I think we're divided this year on Christmas spirit (see the book image above). I know I'm being Scrooge, but really I'm just not in the mood for Christmas. There are still Thanksgiving turkeys and pumpkins and cornucopiae (? spelling) to put away. Between this holiday clutter, the paper-revision-frenzy that is my study, and having to go to Wal-Mart on Friday the Death-Star day of shopping (for catfood and gloves--see above), I am just exhausted. I think I'll order the book above from Barnes/Noble and find a corner to hide from the 39 plastic Santas that will soon be descending from the attic.

At least I can console myself that I'm not in the toy department, as I was the year of Star Wars.

I got me a car, and it's as big as a whale....

Watch Video:

LOVE SHACK (The B-52's)

Video Code provided by VideoCodeZone.Com

Noted at Church

In the same pew: Horace, Virgil, Euclid.

And behind them Ovid.

Ten-Minute Agony Aunt Column (with apologies to R. Frost)

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag,
Was once the student Pamel-ag

Or would-be student--emphasis would.
She thought her worksheets great and good.
You should doubt that likelihood.

Revise early and avoid her fate.
Or if destined to rewrite late,
Roll up your sleeves--write something great.

Revise ten poems of your own!
(She's Mother Hubbard sent for a bone,
And all in class can call her crone).

Some have relied on whom they knew;
Others on Ariel 12-fonts in blue.
What worked for them won't work for you.

No memory of having "seen"
Atones for all this bile and spleen,
Or makes ten poems scalpel-lean.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten sonnets at your side
Than Pamela's portfolio. Revise, revise!

________
I am sick of all my poems. I don't want to work on them any longer. (We have to take out 50% of the lines of each poem, rewrite them, and add to them, to make the poems each twice as long! I am not exaggerating).

I have 35,766 words in NaNoWriMo, though. I might make 50,000. Harvey keeps reminding me of that scene from The Shining when Jack is pounding away at the keys...(I guess I really need to work on my eyebrows). In the Italian version of The Shining Jack types, "Il mattino ha l'oro in bocca", which literally translates as "The morning keeps gold in its mouth." This is much less Typing-Man than the original "All work..." and I may use it somewhere. (How to credit the FAQ page from the S. King website)?

On the plus side, my pies were great.

Leftovers

"The Excellency of the English Tongue," by Sir Richard Carew.

On Exclamations!

Againe, for expressing our passions, our interiections
are very apt and forcible: as findeinge ourselues some-
what agreeued, wee cry Ah ; yf more deeply, Oh ; when we
pittie, alas; when wee bemone, Alacke; neither of them
soe effeminate as the Italyane Deh or the French hélas.
In detestation wee saye Phy, as if there withall wee should
spitt ; in attention, Haa ; i[n] calling, whowp ; in hallow-
inge, wahahowe: all which (in my eare) seeme to be deriued
from the very natures of those seuerall affections.

__________
This is a blog post somehow saved as a past draft. I love "alas; when we bemone, alacke."

Turkey Sandwich

Whole wheat bread
Crisp lettuce
Leftover turkey slices
cranberry sauce
cream cheese (soft)
mustard
(Mayo only if desired--I don't)

Assemble (bottom up) bread, cream cheese, cranberry sauce, turkey, mustard/mayo, lettuce, bread. Enjoy. This is scrumptious--I have saved it to my recipe file but have no idea where I found it. If you are the creator of this sublime sandwich, please send recipes now.

Pride and Prejudice--Jane Austen Powers?

Do we really need two endings for this movie? It's not The French Lieutenant's Woman, where the author intended separate endings. Or maybe it is, considering what the screenplay did to Fowles' original...

Say it ain't so, Jane...

My Bite Is Worse than My Bark...

What Common Breed of Dog Are You?
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I Will Definitely Take This!

You're Brigit Pegeen Kelly! Julie loves your
uncompromising weirdness and beauty. You shared
some cheesecake with Julie, once. She thinks
you look like a deer.


Which of Julie Platt's Favorite Poets Are You?
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Welcome Back!

Like a mad red brain
the involute rhubarb leaf
thinks its way up
through loam.

Jane Kenyon, from "Let Evening Come"

RHUBARB IS SUSAN is back.

Almost Time for School Supplies

I signed up for my classes and genre seminars for the MFA program today. English 666 is my poetry residency. I find this hilarious, especially since the genre lecture is titled "The Poetry of Extravagance." The text for the fiction seminar is New Stories from the South 2005. This program allows its students to attend all three genre seminars, which I think is great. I'm not going to attend creative nonfiction till I'm in the second semester of the program (didn't want to spread myself too thin), but I'm in both poetry and fiction classes this time.

______
I've been on a movie jag recently--in the last week I've seen Prime, Jarhead, Good Night and Good Luck, & Walk the Line. Good Night and Good Luck was superb. I was disappointed in Prime and Walk the Line. The performances in WTL were good, but Ray is too recent for this to score come Oscar time.

I think this may be Strathairn's year (and Clooney's, too--who knew back in the day that "George Burnett" of The Facts of Life would one day write, direct, and act in such a great movie). Strathairn's eyes, his stillness....I could go on and on. One expects Clarkson, Daniels, and Downey always to be interesting, and I wasn't disappointed. How about Frank Langella--who's also wonderful?

Easter Girls

I told you Harvey's art was awesome! Here is a drawing of the creative nonfiction writer (and her mom).

I wish I'd written this: My Daughter's Third-Grade Essay

I am writing about the day I was born. Many things happened on the day I was born. I don't remember most of them because I was too little. I think my mom was there and she can fill you in on the details.

One thing I learned about the day I was born is that it was the death day of the King--Elvis Parsley. He died at home in Greaseland.

Similes of the Week

Electronic (from Slate):

Like Bob Dylan walking onstage at Newport in 1965, kettles are poised to go electric.

Hard-Boiled (from John G. MacDonald):

The two adversaries faced each other like meat on a spit.

Worksheet

The girl was like the girl. And the mirror mirrored that.

"Naming of Parts" by Henry Reed

NAMING OF PARTS (from "The Complete Lessons of the War")

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.

_______

I think this is a very strange and very good poem: The soldier in the garden, like Adam naming, naming, and like Adam there's no real understanding or control over it. And the bees going backwards and forwards like bullets exchanged. And this also shares some of the qualities of a GET-A-GOOGLE poem. I think it's the stanza transitions.

Anyway, this is what I thought of on Veterans Day, when I saw Jarhead.

_______

I first read this poem when I was in junior high, and the Vietnam War was glistering green and Walter Cronkite's voice and a series of integers listed on television, (which I kept on for company when I did my homework). I can remember the first time I heard the phrase "body bag." I was doing my arithmetic homework, which was a word problem about distances trains could cover and at what point two divergent trains would converge. I was so tempted to put down TRAIN WRECK as the answer.

I don't know why I'm remembering this, and pleiku jackets and POW bracelets and the scalloped coins and stamps my uncle brought back from Vietnam. Maybe there is some poem brewing here. It's about time. I want to write something that is not an assignment, that is not 50,000 words of NaNoWriMo.

I'm going back to bed to wait on this poem.

Saying Grace

Grace. Grace. Grace.

Happy Birthday.

Tinker to Evers to Chance

This was an e-mail making the rounds at work, and I also saw it on Poesy Galore.

Three Names You Go By: Pamela (never Pam—that’s cooking spray). Mom. Whut. (An actor friend of mine gave me this nickname for the way I pronounce “what.” He also got the part of Lenny in Of Mice and Men by channeling my accent.

Three Screen Names You Have: Pamela. Pamela123. Pamelaxyz.

Three Things You Like About Yourself: I type really, really fast (250 words per minute). I can “taste” recipes and modify the ingredients before I start to cook. This is some weird synesthesic ability. I can keep a secret.

Three Things You Dislike About Yourself: I am a nit-picker. I am a pack rat. I don’t trust easily.

Three Parts of Your Heritage: Belorussian/Tinker/Hungarian.

Three Things That Scare You: The Bush-Cheney administration. Rush Limbaugh and his ilk. Riding lawnmowers (Don’t even ask).

Three Everyday Essentials: Coffee. Cats. Toothbrush.

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now: Kimono. Art deco ruby engagement ring. Perfume. That’s enough information.

Three Favorite Bands/Artists: Bob Dylan. B52s. Beatles.

Three Favorite Songs At Present: REM: “Losing My Religion.” Dylan: “Just Like a Woman.” Dolly Parton: “Jolene.”

Three Things You Want To Try/Do In The Next Twelve Months: Start an MFA program. (I am so excited about this). Clean out my closets. Plant more lilies.

Three Things You Want In A Relationship: Humor. Sex. Adoration. (Pretty much in that order).

Two Truths And A Lie: I can read palms. I have a mean backhand. I used to be in a new-wave band.

Three Physical Things About The Opposite Sex That Appeal To You: Great hands. Great voice. Quirky sense of humor.

Three Things You Just Can't Do: Sing on key. Turn away a stray cat. Resist a shoe sale. (This is particularly annoying as I work at home, barefoot).

Three Favorite Hobbies: Reading, writing, and thriftstore/fleamarket/antique shopping.

Three Things I Want To Do Really Bad Right Now: Shop for Thanksgiving menu (alligator pie and pumpkin cheesecake). Have another cup of coffee. Add an “ly” to Bad.

Three Careers You Have Considered: Teacher. Stay-at-home mom. Medical editor/transcriptionist. I have done them, too. In my fantasies, I’d like to be a chef and go to cooking school.

Three Kid's Names You Have Considered: Daniel, Raleigh, and Kermit. (I was so mad when I first saw The Muppets and realized that the name Kermit had been hijacked by a felt amphibian).

Three Things You Want To Do before You Die: Visit Venice. Have grandchildren. Refurbish my kitchen. (Spoken as Dorothy, clicking heels: I WANT A VIKING RANGE. I WANT A VIKING RANGE. I WANT A VIKING RANGE. A friend of mine has one and doesn’t even know how to turn it on).

Adding to this what was on Emily’s blog

Three Celebrity Crushes: John Cusack. Gabriel Byrne. George Clooney. (Yes, it’s the Irish thing that gets me every time. If it wasn’t for whiskey, the Irish would rule the world).

Three Ways You Are Stereotypically a Boy: I am deadly with a slingshot. I’m not afraid of spiders or snakes. I love hockey.

Three Ways You Are Stereotypically a Girl: Perfume. Kenneth Cole shoes. Cannot pass a mirror without cringing.

Usually, I'm the Devil...

Whether you harbor some vestige of modernist
morality or simply fail to see the irony in
Reality TV, one thing is clear. You are just
Not Postmodern.


What kind of postmodernist are you!?
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Two Quick Questions

1. Is it just me, or does Robert Goulet bear an amazing resemblance to the link above?

2. Wotinhell is "the poetry of extravagance?"

Inquiring minds want to know...

Finally, Envelope 201

ENVELOPE, n. The coffin of a document; the scabbard of a bill; the husk of a remittance; the bed-gown of a love-letter.
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary

This time it is the husk of a remittance--after 200 straight rejections, I have had an acceptance. And if you are really interested in reading an article on proofreading as you transcribe, let me know. But, hey, $200 beats 200 straight rejections, hands down (and on the keyboard).

I am staying busy with NaNoWriMo and assignments for workshop. This week, the assignment was: "A window and a mirror have a conversation. Write at least 25 lines on that." Well, I have written 39 lines on that particular topic, but the window didn't get a single word in. I can never do these assignments exactly as ordered.

Fantasy Basketball draft starts today. My son and I are excited. Daniel named his team Dice because he is going to roll over his poor old mother.

Pamela

John Fowles, RIP

I love his novels, especially The French Lieutenant's Woman. That was the final assignment in a Victorian literature class I took.

"Trouble Child"

Where is the lion in you to defy him when you're this weak?
("Trouble Child")

Happy Birthday, Joni Mitchell. For some reason, I have always loved the line above. It reminds me of Philip Levine's "They Feed They Lion" and also of Eugene Delacroix's paintings (lion as predator in "Arab Horseman Attacked by a Lion" and also lion as prey in "Lion Hunt").

Where is the lion?

Mary Oliver, Dead Kitten, and Critiques

I think that, of course, you can know that a poem is bad (or good) without being able to articulate the "why" of it. It's the same way you know that, well, soup is bad or good, depending on immediate taste.

However, if you're devoted to soup, if you make your own soup from scratch (pardon the pun), or if you, as I do, obsess over recipes, you'd ferret out the ingredients that flavor/don't flavor the soup. (Make the bitter batter better, as it were).

Anyway, that's my take on the whole Cyclops kitten debate. (And could you guess I am simmering hot and sour soup today?)

Here's what I really learned from this whole debate:

From Wikipedia:

Given their penchant for blacksmithing, many scholars believe the legend of the Cyclopes arose from an actual practice wherein blacksmiths wore an eyepatch over one eye to prevent them from becoming blind in both eyes from flying sparks. Blacksmiths also tattooed themselves with concentric circles in honor of the sun; this is another possible source of the legend.

Here's another detail for my useless information and for the Tattoo poem series. And no, I don't have a tattoo. I just think they're fascinating.

Stephen Wright and the Novel

"I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done."

I am trying to write a novel in November, or at least 50,000 words of fiction. I think the Jack Torrance syndrome will set in soon.

I've set aside time to write every day. First day--2000 words. Second day 1000 words. Yesterday--possible titles. Total word count 3497. Not bad in 3 days, but I'm not going to reach 50,000 at this rate!

Harvey's doing great--exercising, losing weight, and getting plenty of rest and relaxation. I'm having fun experimenting with new recipes. Chicken with apricots and peaches was a big hit last night, even with Raleigh. I still cannot believe he's eating salads, vegetables, et cetera. Thanks again to all of you who sent good mojo and positive thoughts.