Thursday, August 28, 2008

Further: Columbus Ohio Loves Neil Diamond

and will vote for Barack Obama
and is proud of Joe Biden
and forgive the Clintons for a wee bit narcissism
and buy Lesley Jenicke's fabulous Ghost of Fashion the minute it can
and will listen to Arrow Sparrow every chance it gets
and to Steve Louis' flock of thousand brilliant songs
and calls periwinkle blue its favorite color
and loves poetry
and Steve Earle--there cannot be enough praise
and cats--independent, beautiful. Columbus Ohio knows this.
and eats its vegetables
cleans its room
takes a hundred of its dresses to Goodwill
feels goodwill towards all--even those that once hurt Neil Diamond's feelings
but now sees the path to redemption
Columbus Ohio cannot disappoint me--we were all love at first sight
and it's diminishing points by vexing my dear L-Bo
Columbus Ohio is sorry and promises to straighten up, Neil Diamond
It hangs its head, please forgive it.

Thanks to Veace for This

This is about a press and a book contest. If you're "shopping" one (or two or three) manuscripts, please note this story. It is so expensive--in every single way--to muster up again and again and send our work (selves) out in those envelopes and with our hard-earned and too-little money. I don't want my peeps with all that talent to waste the precious secretarial energy it takes and end up more disappointed. For what it's worth, (other presses out there) Ms. Brown's book sounds very cool and interesting and I can't wait for someone to find a way to publish it anyway.

In the meanwhile, take care of yous.

Today is rainy Columbus, some Silver Jews, some waiting to hear My Man's speech. I love how the Dems are coming together and I am feeling so proud and positive. All you naysaying ninniepants please hold it. We have Republicans to conquer and we need some entry fees and gasoline if we're going to fill the world with your lovely poems, stories and song.

No matter what else you think, you must know that any vote other than Obama is a vote for that other guy (who is the same exact guy, BTW) and which guy do you think values art and music and education more?

To poetry! To song! (And what about the collective pretty of that first family--would it kill us to get some pretty around here?)

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Shame on You Ohio Neil Diamond "Fans"

Whole childhoods, marriages, lives were played alongside the Jewish Elvis' lyrics. A penny a day--even at my tickets' prices would not come close to covering the years that his music, his whole amazing story inspired. I am not asking for one penny back. The night was extravagant in every single way and utterly worth it.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Oh How I Love My Diamond Child

Neil Diamond, my mom, Louie-Louie and a million memories of Uncle Louie, my daddy's diner: Theodore's Cafe, Salt Lake City and the orange naugahyde of the seventies. The fall in the air on my porch tonight makes the evening's "rightness" nearly perfect, nearly unbearable. Tomorrow school begins--I can't wait.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Also this:

I miss you.

The Cicadas Made Way for the Crickets

My mom's in town and I'm up late while she sleeps. I'm out on my front porch with its two hummingbird feeders and I'm thinking about blogs and identity and how much of ourselves we show other people--the little stuff and how much we do it to endear ourselves in ways that are and are not cool. I'm thinking about people that I've sent bits of the self to, and if I hoped in some dark little corner of me that they would be charmed and if that's okay, especially if in the general course of things they would never see me in those ways and maybe shouldn't as they were not mine to be dear to... or shouldn't be.

Then endearment and identity and how hard I've tried to matter to so many of the wrong people and how futile and how what hasn't loved me well-enough, enough or at all maybe shouldn't occupy a moment, a poem an anything, as I have a general disregard for those who need a lot of attention from people that don't really matter to them finally or shouldn't because how much time do we have for all of this matter after all? And about matter and endearment and how objects too, become storied and the stories make things matter and make it hard to take that circus scarf and donate it or that bear pencil holder or that thunderstorm on a t-shirt torn now and overwashed. It's hard to part with anything when everything becomes some key thing.

It's late. I'm being too serious. I should sleep.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Skulls Can Be Checked Out of the Library, but Skeletons Must Stay

Every faculty meeting has one such jewel and if that meeting is six hours long, no one will say it doesn't ease a little of the sting.

Our dean is hilarious and I like our little college. It's easy to be proud of it and so few of my recent decisions can boast the same.

Toy Soldiers might be the name of my latest project. Any opinions?

Also, it seems that Bob Dylan, Lucinda Williams, Lyle Lovett and some humiliating enthusiasms of mine are all touring now. And I am going to visit both NY and Colorado within two months. The wallet wants to know what I think I am doing.

Bluebottle Kisses & High Bars

This self-published book award judging has become more difficult. I'm dragging to the finish line in picking my final books. But this morning held pancakes and good friends and Chicky's surprise appearance and a lovely present. Everyone's scattering like dandelion seeds and I'm trying to see the pinwheel-pretty and silver-spoked spin to new fields and more lion-headed yellow blooms. I have the best friends in the world. I am the lucky, lucky girl.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Goodale Park, Long Walks, Mangos with Cardamon

a dash of balsamic, unpacking boxes, planting discount plants, trying to find a way to get a twenty-dollar goodwill couch home...In honor of my dear L-Bo, things that August affords me. I made a heap of dinner last night with homegrown basil and chilies donated by the community garden and tofu, cauliflower, broccoli, garlic, onions, tomatillo...yummy plus red potato horseradish salad. Then mornings on my new porch with my plants and some of my (amazing, if I do say so myself) iced chocolate velvet coffee with french vanilla soy milk, and stacks and stacks and stacks of self-published books of poetry on which I am meant to rank and write a minimum of two-hundred words apiece for a pittance per book. Still, the Columbus fairytale is missing something major and yet, I love my new pretty, little life there. There's a texture to my days.