Sunday, September 07, 2008
I Caught the Bouquet
for the first time ever. What does "next to marry" mean? Like in the world? From that party? Is there a shelf life to "next?"
Friday, September 05, 2008
Bless the Beasts and the Ashleys
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Of the Freitag Triangle
"Oh, I thought it was the food pyramid."
But they're not stupid--they could name all of its parts. They're just fun and spontaneous and opinionated and I really like them these painters of the dead.
They're artsy and practical--my favorite combo.
But they're not stupid--they could name all of its parts. They're just fun and spontaneous and opinionated and I really like them these painters of the dead.
They're artsy and practical--my favorite combo.
Lukewarm broth--the day
Technical difficulties this day. Seeing L-Bo will be good. My life is surreally isolated lately. It's strange. Friends always in flux, busy or ill when I'm moving. Moving or the act of really changing kicks my emotional ass and so it's ironic. I have set plans to see some favorite persons soon and that always feels good. Money--there's some on the horizon--not quite into view yet but out there, I'm told. And WD has asked me to judge a next round--much less work, more cash. There seems to be no downside.
So it's Thursday, that's that. I'll pull myself from this little funk with some nice L-Bo time and maybe a cat-nap before my dinner plans. Insomnia thy name is scribe...
So it's Thursday, that's that. I'll pull myself from this little funk with some nice L-Bo time and maybe a cat-nap before my dinner plans. Insomnia thy name is scribe...
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
I'm Sorry I'm Always Late: I Work in a Zombie Warehouse
Gesturing to paint-splattered clothing...
Teacher: Did you say in a zombie warehouse?
Student: Yes. I paint the dead.
And if that can't be an excused tardy, I'm not really sure what is. Some days, I seriously love what I do. If this doesn't work into my new poem about a city, I think it will have to be its own teacher poem. The new book doesn't have one yet and though I tire of them, what can I do when my students work in zombie warehouses. On other days, I sometimes feel like I do, too.
Today has been pretty good. Long phone-call with my injured Georgie. Dinner plans tomorrow night. An attempt to live here and claim here and forget how the town hums with an old energy that used to send me all magnetized to the Broad Street exit.
Now it's Neil Avenue and as Steve Earle (b/c you haven't heard that name yet this day, have you?) says: "let's magentize this mo-fo." Let's magnetize every f-ing mo-fo, indeed.
Teacher: Did you say in a zombie warehouse?
Student: Yes. I paint the dead.
And if that can't be an excused tardy, I'm not really sure what is. Some days, I seriously love what I do. If this doesn't work into my new poem about a city, I think it will have to be its own teacher poem. The new book doesn't have one yet and though I tire of them, what can I do when my students work in zombie warehouses. On other days, I sometimes feel like I do, too.
Today has been pretty good. Long phone-call with my injured Georgie. Dinner plans tomorrow night. An attempt to live here and claim here and forget how the town hums with an old energy that used to send me all magnetized to the Broad Street exit.
Now it's Neil Avenue and as Steve Earle (b/c you haven't heard that name yet this day, have you?) says: "let's magentize this mo-fo." Let's magnetize every f-ing mo-fo, indeed.
Kali Mera Mora Mou: A Poem and a Place Should Be One
The province of the poem is the world.
When the sun rises, it rises in the poem
and when it sets darkness comes down
and the poem is dark .
It's strange how seductive the poem. I am trying to work on prose these days and everything I've ever learned comes back to the poem and the way those of us taken by it young and the throat, have to write so, so, so much prose just to get at its freaky little contours, the way it turns its corners, and its side-streets--they are the dangerous, magical places within it. It's as close to my awe for music as anything gets this--strangeness of rooms and staircases that is the poem.
This morning I walked to the bank--a mile and something from my place and it was all city, morning commuters and it was bustling and fragrant (onions grilling for some omelette, the vanillaness of waffles and the other smells human and bus and heavy), there were bikes and beautiful bicyclists spokes all spitting silver and so on, and there was a woman in the bus-stop cubicle on a cell phone "size don't matter" pause, laughter "oh, just something I pick up somewhere--but I don't believe it..." and the man at the bank that always makes me feel pretty even if I'm bedraggled from the walk (so muggy, so hot) and there's the line for coffee and the stand-up-and-say-good-morning coffee at the place next to Mojo. I loved the way that there were suits and little wonderful dresses and the click-click of high heels on the sidewalk (I thought of you, here) and a man sitting at the bus-stop alongside all of this polish, looking liberal arts professorial--long, grey ponytail, s & p beard, and reading a book while sitting on the sidewalk amongst all of these standing corporate or retail others. The small pigeon crouched by a building where someone had been leaving black sunflower seeds. All this was Columbus, Wednesday morning eight to nine a.m.
My meme: pick a town unglamorous (Brooklyn don't count, you mean thing) and write about it thoroughly. It can be a shorter poem (Degrees of Gray in Phillipsburg) or long like Paterson.
When the sun rises, it rises in the poem
and when it sets darkness comes down
and the poem is dark .
It's strange how seductive the poem. I am trying to work on prose these days and everything I've ever learned comes back to the poem and the way those of us taken by it young and the throat, have to write so, so, so much prose just to get at its freaky little contours, the way it turns its corners, and its side-streets--they are the dangerous, magical places within it. It's as close to my awe for music as anything gets this--strangeness of rooms and staircases that is the poem.
This morning I walked to the bank--a mile and something from my place and it was all city, morning commuters and it was bustling and fragrant (onions grilling for some omelette, the vanillaness of waffles and the other smells human and bus and heavy), there were bikes and beautiful bicyclists spokes all spitting silver and so on, and there was a woman in the bus-stop cubicle on a cell phone "size don't matter" pause, laughter "oh, just something I pick up somewhere--but I don't believe it..." and the man at the bank that always makes me feel pretty even if I'm bedraggled from the walk (so muggy, so hot) and there's the line for coffee and the stand-up-and-say-good-morning coffee at the place next to Mojo. I loved the way that there were suits and little wonderful dresses and the click-click of high heels on the sidewalk (I thought of you, here) and a man sitting at the bus-stop alongside all of this polish, looking liberal arts professorial--long, grey ponytail, s & p beard, and reading a book while sitting on the sidewalk amongst all of these standing corporate or retail others. The small pigeon crouched by a building where someone had been leaving black sunflower seeds. All this was Columbus, Wednesday morning eight to nine a.m.
My meme: pick a town unglamorous (Brooklyn don't count, you mean thing) and write about it thoroughly. It can be a shorter poem (Degrees of Gray in Phillipsburg) or long like Paterson.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Blogs, Blogging, the Self and the Other
This thing was a gift me upon the publication of my book. My friend, Chicky set it up and I meant to use it as a way of sharing beautiful words--poems and prose and lyrics that moved me and beautiful days: qualities of light, sounds, the texture of a Tuesday in March, that sort of thing.
With such a crucial election, I decided to take my hot-headed passions to the street and fight for my candidate. In doing so, one set of friends jokingly referred to me as a Socialist and others not-so-jokingly as anti-woman. Either way, it's my fault. The most persuasive people do their lives with grace and conviction.
Obama doesn't need me here, he needs me door to door. Here is easy and preaches to the ten people that may or may not even read these posts, most of whom are already sympatico with me on some level or other or why bother?
I like my life and I like my words when I'm using them otherwise. Blogs can be all opinions and narcissism and I fear that I have erred terribly on both fronts.
Later today I'll find you a shiny poem, Dear Readers. As for November, like the old Burger King ads: have it your way.
With such a crucial election, I decided to take my hot-headed passions to the street and fight for my candidate. In doing so, one set of friends jokingly referred to me as a Socialist and others not-so-jokingly as anti-woman. Either way, it's my fault. The most persuasive people do their lives with grace and conviction.
Obama doesn't need me here, he needs me door to door. Here is easy and preaches to the ten people that may or may not even read these posts, most of whom are already sympatico with me on some level or other or why bother?
I like my life and I like my words when I'm using them otherwise. Blogs can be all opinions and narcissism and I fear that I have erred terribly on both fronts.
Later today I'll find you a shiny poem, Dear Readers. As for November, like the old Burger King ads: have it your way.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Tangled Up
in so blue.
Almost set my apt. on fire. Counting pennies until Sept. 15. Not ready for this week.
The candied asparagus and brown rice are not even lifting my Eeyoreish droopiness.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Almost set my apt. on fire. Counting pennies until Sept. 15. Not ready for this week.
The candied asparagus and brown rice are not even lifting my Eeyoreish droopiness.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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.
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
http://staceylynnbrown.blogspot.com/2008/07/less-than-auspicious-debut.html#links
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?)
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
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.
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.
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.
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