Mr. & Mrs. Wallace Stevens, Phrygian Caps, and Captions

"At times, it seems that Stevens wishes (or writes) for representation to be anti-allegorical; “Instead of allegory,/” he writes of a particularly moving statue in “Examination of the Hero in a Time of War,” “We have and are the man.” The Greek agoreuein, from which the word allegory comes, does not mean simply “to speak,” but rather “to speak in the marketplace”; allegory, then, means not simply to “speak other,” but rather “to speak other than in the marketplace.” Let us, then, allow the words in allegory’s definition to remain in order, but let us also pierce them with a dash. Let us say that Wallace Stevens speaks other-than in the marketplace." (See link above)


I've been reading Stevens obsessively this week--as respite from the MFA non-poetry stuff--Chekhov, which has not arrived, and Frey, which I did not want to re-read in the first place. (I've been re-reading Hull, Kaminsky, Blake, and Kunitz, though). What a difference to read one Stevens poem immediately upon awakening, rather than Google News. I discovered in my reading that Wallace Stevens' wife was considered quite beautiful, as she was the model for both the Walking Liberty half dollar and the Mercury dime (apparently a misnomer, neither a depiction of the god of trickery nor requiring actual mercury in the minting). Ms. Stevens was wearing a Phrygian cap--which also may be found on the gallbladder. I think I prefer the hat she's wearing in the photograph above.

______

Typo of the Week: This patient has no cognitive defecate. (For those of you not in the transcription field, this should be "no cognitive deficit"--unless I've forgotten all my coding skills and there is an ICD code assigned to shi*t for brains).

I Must Have Dropped My Fortune Cookie

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: The Right Honorable Pamela of Under Table Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I'm not sure how, er, aristocratic, that title is.

My Fortune Cookie told me: BAD WOLF. Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

Who's afraid now?

From The Ephemera Collection: Greensleeves Was My Delight

There are Santas in reds, in black, in white, in blues from indigo to sky, in mauve, in scintillating satin and glass sequins, in scarlet with a mitre like the Pope, in grey, in gold, in silver, in purple-mountain-majesty robes with fur sleeves, with and without gloves, and one even without a beard. And, oh, yes, in green, like the delightful guy above. Santa in cars, in trains, riding bicycles, orbiting in hot air balloons, in the sleigh and pulling the sleigh out of a snowbank--and, in one delightful Santa series, Sants's piloting airplanes. Oh, yes, Santa can sometimes be found with a figgy pudding or egg nog. Despite all the candy canes and cookies, sometimes he's skinny (must be the South Pole diet). He has lists and sometimes is listless.

Here, Santa's tucked into china cabinets and barristers' cases, inside the Hoosier cabinet in the kitchen and the curio case in the hall. There are at last count 347 still in the albums--I haven't dug out my newspaper series, where Santa is answering letters, like Miss Lonelyhearts. That's what I'm saving to put out today--for some reason that series is my favorite.

These are represent only the ephemeral Clauses--over 100 of Harvey's plastic Santas line the stairs to the attic--and under the tree's a "new" one from the 1950s where a light-up Santa's caroling, holding that long last note, mouth round as a goldfish's (He's 2-1/2 feet tall, so this is quite an unwieldy package). There are Santas my husband's made from velvet and papier mache, burlap and clay, Fimo and fur, Santas in sweaters and breeches, for casual Friday. There are Santas I've stitched on little samplers, and Santa ornaments pendant from the branches of our trees--dating from 1900 (glass) to 2006 (Hallmark).

From feather tree to fireplace, Hoosier to hearth, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus--wherever you look.

Merry Christmas to you all.

From the Ephemera Collection: Day One

One of my (too) many collections is antique postcards. I have over 5000 cards. I like this one because the rocker of the hobbyhorse reminds me of a gondola. Some sort of collecting intervention may be necessary--I dropped postcards to focus on pink/black kitchenware, switched to rhinestones, then (in order) Manhattan glass, art prints, typewriter ribbon tins, Cordey ceramics, perfume bottles, and then back to antique/costume jewelry. I think the Bakelite/rhinestone/cameo obsession is here to stay, along with my obsession with, er, desks. We have one in every room, except the baths, but I usually write at the kitchen table, as does the rest of my family. Go figure...

This is my first busy day, too--I have Dancing in Odessa to reread (MFA residency text, along with Lynda Hull's Collected Poems) and comparisons between Kunitz and Blake to discover (MFA seminar in poetry). I think it will be the 12 days of poetry, as I blitz through these works. Usually I try to take the fiction seminar, also, but I don't know if I have the time or the willpower this semester.

And I'm brooding like a biddy over this chicken poem idea. And I owe AJPL a Dr. Seuss poem.

By the Chimney With Care...

The tree is up, the shopping is done, and the blog has gone Beta. I have curled ribbon and unfurled wrapping paper, mailed books and other, less wieldly packages, baked cookies and fudged fudge, and now I'm ready for a giant drink. (Is there such a thing, I wonder, as egg blog? Would it be spiked?)

Happy Holidays to all of you, and may your poems be merry and bright.

My best gift so far: Geography III from bookmooch. You need to check that site out. I'm excited to read the poems in this order, and I have a brand-new poem in hatch mode (sort of inspired by "Crusoe in England," sort of not). It may be about chickens...there are chickens in my first real poem (there are nuns playing chicken), so why not in my latest?

Happy Hour with Mr. Stevens

I dreamt (always want to be archaic) last night that I was having drinks with Wallace Stevens in a very posh Art Deco bar. He gave me an insight into "Sunday Morning" that I'd never had before. It has to do with migration. And ornithology. And kitsch. And Dadaism.

One of the best dreams ever. And maybe a creative thesis...

Mr. Stevens drinks whiskey neat, by the way.

I hope that tonight it's high tea and we're tackling "The Idea of Order at Key West." ("I'd love me some scones and clotted cream," as Hardy wrote).

M.C.--but not Hammer

Who Should Paint You: M.C. Escher

Open and raw, you would let your true self show for your portrait. And even if your painting turned out a bit dark, it would be honest.

What Artist Should Paint Your Portrait?

It Pays to Improve Your...

Your Vocabulary Score: A+

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

It's Freezing Here!

THE ICE HOUSE--James Wright

The house was really a cellar deep beneath the tower of the old
Belmont Brewery. My father's big shoulders heaved open the door
from the outside, and from within the big shoulders of the ice-man
leaned and helped. The slow door gave. My brother and I walked
in delighted by our fear, and laid our open palms on the wet yellow
sawdust. Outside the sun blistered the paint on the corrugated roofs
of the shacks by the railroad; but we stood and breathed the rising
steam of that amazing winter, and carried away in our wagon the
immense fifty-pound diamond, while the old man chipped us each
a jagged little chunk and then walked behind us, his hands so calm
they were trembling for us, trembling with exquisite care.



Lakeside View #1: Brewery, Bottle House, Ice House

Free Writing under the Influence of Lynn Emanuel

Caution: Please note that BABUSHKA in Russian means aged woman or grandmother (Baba is short for this). It does not mean headscarf when used in Russia.

(This is an excerpt from a longer piece about my family’s heritage--I Led Three Lives: The Rerun Years. Yes, my family’s of Russian descent. No, we weren’t supposed to talk about this during the RED SCARE of the 1950s. Yes, we do have a specific history of glassblowing, public scenes, and love for Pasternak. No, we don’t own a Faberge egg or any photographs of Olympic skaters. Whatever this is—memoir? poem? not-so-urban legend? shameful sentiment?—it began its life as a villanelle then fled, as did Baba herself, outside formal constraint).

SNIP SNIP SNIP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNUR SNUR SNUR

"Coincidence? I think Not!" Thank you, Maxwell Smart.

What Is Poetry?--John Ashbery


The medieval town, with frieze
Of boy scouts from Nagoya? The snow

That came when we wanted it to snow?
Beautiful images? Trying to avoid

Ideas, as in this poem? But we
Go back to them as to a wife, leaving

The mistress we desire? Now they
Will have to believe it

As we believed it. In school
All the thought got combed out:

What was left was like a field.
Shut your eyes, and you can feel it for miles around.

Now open them on a thin vertical path.
It might give us--what?--some flowers soon?

___________
Regarding that last line's question:

"The word anthology comes from a Greek word that means bouquet”
William Matthews, "Personal and Impersonal"

What I want for Christmas and 39 Reasons Why I Deserve It

1. What is your occupation? Transcriptionist/adjunct teacher.
2. What color are your socks right now? Red
3. What are you listening to right now? Hank Williams, Senior. Every once in a while, I have to follow the red-gravel road to Heartbreak City. (Now, all CDs of his offspring are banned in this household, due to an unfortunate encounter in a local establishment. Suffice it to say that Bocephus went the way of all good hockey pucks).
4. What was the last thing that you ate? Eggs Benedict. Because I deserve them.
5. Can you drive a stick shift? Yes, but the results aren't pretty.
6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Pink (to clash with the socks)
7. Last person you spoke to on the phone? Harvey
8. Last letter you received was from: The IRS-a $400 refund check. I was frostin' amazed, to paraphrase ADT.
9. How old are you today? One day older than dirt, and a day younger than mud
10. Favorite drinks? Coffee
11. What is your favorite sport to watch? Basketball or tennis--it's a tossup (no pun intended)
12. Have you ever dyed your hair? Not on purpose, but I did just lop off 2 feet of it.
13. Paper or plastic? This is where situational ethics come into play-I'm not in favor of plastic towels or paper bands.
14. Favorite food? Pasta alla mara
15. What was the last movie you watched? Stranger than Fiction
16. Favorite day of the year? Christmas Eve, especially if it's snowing
17. What do you do to vent anger? Bitch, bitch, bitch
18. What was your favorite toy as a child? Tied: My bike. My Baby Pat-A-Burp doll. My GI Joe with KUNG FU death grip.
19. What is your favorite--fall or spring? Fall.
20. Hugs or kisses? Depends on how much lipstick I'm wearing. And on whether there's mistletoe or chocolate involved.
21. Cherries or Blueberries? Cherries
22. Living arrangements? House (1893 Queen Anne-painted yellow with green, gold, cream and purple trim)
23. Poetry or Fiction? Bi-genre (like both rhyme and reason)
24. Gold or Silver-Yes, and platinum, copper, Bakelite, Lucite-I heart costume jewelry. The more rhinestones the better has always been my motto.
25. Who's the real Bond? Fleming's version-but for a blonde, Daniel Craig is rather, yowsa.26. When was the last time you cried? Last week, when an iron fell on my foot. The iron must be severely depressed, as it definitely is not overwork that led to its plunge.
27. What is on the floor of your closet? My closet has a floor? WOW. I thought the shoes were piled all the way down to the basement.
28. What's the funniest thing you read recently? A newbie (transcriptionist in training) transcribed the patient was without focal neurological defecate.
29. What did you do last night? Read Daniel Anderson's Drunk in Sunlight-what a terrific book of poems. The formalist in me applauds and wants to write some pentameter.
30. What inspires you? Art.
31. What are you afraid of? What's happened to the hamster?????
32. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers? Cheeseburgers
33. Favorite dog breed? Papillon (my dog)
34. Number of keys on your key ring? 6
35. How many years at your current job? 19 years, 7 months and 5 days (not that I'm counting the 20 years to retirement, or anything such as that. No, sirree, Bob.)
36. Favorite day of the week? Sunday
37. How many states have you lived in? Four
38. Favorite holidays? Thanksgiving and Easter.
39. Ever driven a motorcycle or heavy machinery? Heavy machinery, yes; a motorcycle, no. (I have ridden an elephant and a camel, though not simultaneously).

I must have a cold...

There is no doubt that I am from a notch in the Bible Belt--the Kentucky hillbilly accent is my true timbre--not the South, not the Midwest, but the Commonwealth.

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland   "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The South
Philadelphia
The Northeast
The Inland North
The West
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Angels from Two Perspectives

Rilke--from The Duino Elegies ("First Elegy")

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying


Levin--from In the Surgical Theatre ("The Baby on the Table")

--I can't tell
if they are bending in lamentation or praising
hallelujah, if the egg
is a cross
in a circle of light—when will they lower
the kiss, the fist, the sharpened
scalpel, the angels
are waiting, calm, impassive, the emanations
of science
in each white face—
Can you help me sew up
what they're about to open? Can you feel
the chill of the table
on your own small back?

Auden was right--and I wasn't.

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.