Monday, December 19, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Joni Mitchell, "River"
It's coming on Christmas, and I wish I had a river.
I wish you joy, I wish you peace, and I wish you love.
And for the Radish King, Queen Bee of Beethoven Day, I wish you a little Robert Downey, Jr.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Poets and Artists, Issue #30
On pages 48 and 49 of this fine journal, I have an ekphrastic poem. (Click on the image and flip through to read). As always, I am honored to be among the poets and writers Didi chooses for her beautiful magazine.
(PS The baby Jesus is in there, appropriately enough for this Advent season. And so is the tesselated crucifix).
(PS The baby Jesus is in there, appropriately enough for this Advent season. And so is the tesselated crucifix).
Friday, December 16, 2011
Poetry Sucks! A Night of Poetry, Music and Bad Language
I went down to Nashville to run errands for my family and meet up with the fabulous Nickole Brown, Heather Foster, Jacklyn Dre Marceau, and Chet Weise, where I planned to be a member of the audience, rooting for Nickole, Jacklyn, and Daniel Pujols to read their stuff. Nickole, however, became ill and had to cancel, so I was invited to pinch hit. To a standing room crowd/packed bar/grill at Dino's in Nashville. To a room of people expecting Nickole and her virtuosity.
I didn't even have my newest poems. Or my chapbooks. Or even high heels.
Poems were printed, a copy of my first chapbook was excavated, and I made it to the microphone. The audience was generous, and Jacklyn and Daniel were really, really good.
I read my new poems for Harv. Some people seemed very moved. (I think sometimes it's better to be authentic than to have a big stage presence or a virtuoso voice--although I wish I had both. This was a huge compliment to these poems, which are my latest love letters to Harvey).
Chet was an amazing host, and it was great to see MFA folks again.
Here's a photo of me, with the Pabst halo making me look as though I'm some sort of redneck Giotto:
I didn't even have my newest poems. Or my chapbooks. Or even high heels.
Poems were printed, a copy of my first chapbook was excavated, and I made it to the microphone. The audience was generous, and Jacklyn and Daniel were really, really good.
I read my new poems for Harv. Some people seemed very moved. (I think sometimes it's better to be authentic than to have a big stage presence or a virtuoso voice--although I wish I had both. This was a huge compliment to these poems, which are my latest love letters to Harvey).
Chet was an amazing host, and it was great to see MFA folks again.
Here's a photo of me, with the Pabst halo making me look as though I'm some sort of redneck Giotto:
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Stille, Still
Last night I dreamed a dream whose palette was these colors, these tints, and I dreamed that I was holding Harvey to me by his curls, and I spoke these words in French, which are Baudelaire's (but not really Baudelaire's):
Je veux longtemps plonger mes doigts tremblants
Dans l'épaisseur de ta crinière lourde
(I want to plunge my trembling fingers
Like swords into the thicket of your hair--translation by me)
When I awakened, I was lost. When I awakened, I was cold. When I awakened, I longed for Lethe.
I clench your name in my teeth like the obolus for Charon. Nothing but Death can take it from me.
(I look in the mirror and see what Sylvia saw in "Mirror": I see wrinkles and dark circles and quite a bit more than a bit of Medusa. And I care--but not very much--because who would want me anyway, with all this depression that just won't stop. I bought a red dress and from the shoulders down I guess I pass, but I need a Sleeping Beautyrest type of sleep).
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Mittelschmerz and the Manger
Is this some secular annunciation, and/or a painterly form of radiography: An interior scene of the female body outside its swaddling clothes, with the halo of the egg, not in the ovary/tube but also inside out?
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Richard Manuel - You Dont Know Me - Tokyo 1983
It's one of the songs I associate with Christmas, especially December 1986 (when I was so sure that I would never fall in love, ever). Despite my misgivings the Band goes on the playlist of An Idiosyncratic I-Pod Christmas.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Friday, December 09, 2011
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Monday, December 05, 2011
Sunday, December 04, 2011
"The Secret of Poetry is Cruelty," Jon Anderson
To the Roaring Wind--Wallace Stevens
What syllable are you seeking,
Vocalissimus,
In the distances of sleep?
Speak it.
_______________________________________
Western Wind--Anonymous
Western wind, when will thou blow
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!
I'm just an empty valise these days, an empty vase, an empty as.
Friday, December 02, 2011
Thursday, December 01, 2011
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