I am having a difficult time getting my hands on a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I find this frustrating. I need more than the scant amazon.com preview, which begins with this fascinating line:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains. Never was this truth more plain that during the recent attacks at Netherfield Park.
And continues with such gems as:
“What an excellent father you have, girls!” said she, when the door was shut. “Such joys are scarce since the good Lord saw fit to shut the gates of Hell and doom the dead to walk amongst us. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”
I am also showing a ridiculous lack of progress in my writing goals, for which I can only partially blame a certain friend and co-author (this is meant to be a shout-out, not passive-agressive linkage). I will not have Liar revised by the end of April. I will not have my chapters in Ntn completed. I have started a new novel but that, in itself, seems counterproductive as well.
At least I've figured out Paul Delaney. That's one writing goal out of the way.
The Writer's Almanac posted an interesting poem by June Beisch today, who I've never heard of before. It's called The Titanic. I like the flow, the rhyme scheme, the word play.
"All life, it seems, is the morning after
and love is the most beautiful of absolute disasters."
I'd really like to start writing poetry again. In another poem, Beisch sums up why I can't. Or why I don't.
"And poems are made
of love not made."
I really want to get a copy of this woman's work.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Now that I'm back in a regular office job...
...I'm subscribing to Writer's Almanac's daily newsletter again. Yay!
History of Desire
When you're seventeen, and drunk
on the husky, late-night flavor
of your first girlfriend's voice
along the wires of the telephone
what else to do but steal
your father's El Dorado from the drive,
and cruise out to the park on Driscoll Hill?
Then climb the county water tower
and aerosol her name in spraycan orange
a hundred feet above the town?
Because only the letters of that word,
DORIS, next door to yours,
in yard-high, iridescent script,
are amplified enough to tell the world
who's playing lead guitar
in the rock band of your blood.
You don't consider for a moment
the shock in store for you in 10 A.D.,
a decade after Doris, when,
out for a drive on your visit home,
you take the Smallville Road, look up
and see RON LOVES DORIS
still scorched upon the reservoir.
This is how history catches up—
by holding still until you
bump into yourself.
What makes you blush, and shove
the pedal of the Mustang
almost through the floor
as if you wanted to spray gravel
across the features of the past,
or accelerate into oblivion?
Are you so out of love that you
can't move fast enough away?
But if desire is acceleration,
experience is circular as any
Indianapolis. We keep coming back
to what we are—each time older,
more freaked out, or less afraid.
And you are older now.
You should stop today.
In the name of Doris, stop.
- Tony Hoagland
History of Desire
When you're seventeen, and drunk
on the husky, late-night flavor
of your first girlfriend's voice
along the wires of the telephone
what else to do but steal
your father's El Dorado from the drive,
and cruise out to the park on Driscoll Hill?
Then climb the county water tower
and aerosol her name in spraycan orange
a hundred feet above the town?
Because only the letters of that word,
DORIS, next door to yours,
in yard-high, iridescent script,
are amplified enough to tell the world
who's playing lead guitar
in the rock band of your blood.
You don't consider for a moment
the shock in store for you in 10 A.D.,
a decade after Doris, when,
out for a drive on your visit home,
you take the Smallville Road, look up
and see RON LOVES DORIS
still scorched upon the reservoir.
This is how history catches up—
by holding still until you
bump into yourself.
What makes you blush, and shove
the pedal of the Mustang
almost through the floor
as if you wanted to spray gravel
across the features of the past,
or accelerate into oblivion?
Are you so out of love that you
can't move fast enough away?
But if desire is acceleration,
experience is circular as any
Indianapolis. We keep coming back
to what we are—each time older,
more freaked out, or less afraid.
And you are older now.
You should stop today.
In the name of Doris, stop.
- Tony Hoagland
Friday, June 13, 2008
Everything Else in the World
Too young to take pleasure
from those privilged glimpses
we're sometimes given after failure,
or to see the hideen opportunity
in not getting what we want,
each day I subwayed into Manhattan
in my new, blue serge suit,
looking for work. College, I thought,
had whitened my collar, set me up,
but I'd majored in history.
What did I know about the world?
At interviews, if asked about the world,
I might have responded-- citing Carlyle--
Great men make it go, I want to be one of those.
But they wanted someone entry-level,
pleased for a while to be small.
Others got the jobs;
no doubt, later in the day, the girls.
At Horn & Hardarts, for solace
at lunchtime, I'd make a sandwich emerge
from its cell of pristine glass.
It took just a nickel and a dime.
Nickels and dimes could make
a middleman disappear, easy as that,
no big deal, a life or two
destroyed, others improved.
But I wasn't afraid of capitalism.
All I wanted was a job like a book
so good I'd be finishing it
for the rest of my life.
Had my education failed me?
I felt a hankering for the sublime,
its dangerous subversions
of the daily grind.
Oh I took a dull, well-paying job.
History major? the interviewer said, I think
you might be good at designing brochures.
I was. Which filled me with desire
for almost everything else in the world.
~ Stephen Dunn, "Everything Else in the World"
from those privilged glimpses
we're sometimes given after failure,
or to see the hideen opportunity
in not getting what we want,
each day I subwayed into Manhattan
in my new, blue serge suit,
looking for work. College, I thought,
had whitened my collar, set me up,
but I'd majored in history.
What did I know about the world?
At interviews, if asked about the world,
I might have responded-- citing Carlyle--
Great men make it go, I want to be one of those.
But they wanted someone entry-level,
pleased for a while to be small.
Others got the jobs;
no doubt, later in the day, the girls.
At Horn & Hardarts, for solace
at lunchtime, I'd make a sandwich emerge
from its cell of pristine glass.
It took just a nickel and a dime.
Nickels and dimes could make
a middleman disappear, easy as that,
no big deal, a life or two
destroyed, others improved.
But I wasn't afraid of capitalism.
All I wanted was a job like a book
so good I'd be finishing it
for the rest of my life.
Had my education failed me?
I felt a hankering for the sublime,
its dangerous subversions
of the daily grind.
Oh I took a dull, well-paying job.
History major? the interviewer said, I think
you might be good at designing brochures.
I was. Which filled me with desire
for almost everything else in the world.
~ Stephen Dunn, "Everything Else in the World"
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Summer Reading (Keeping Me Honest)
So, in an attempt to ensure that I do some quality reading this summer instead of just junk, I am keeping a running list of the books I consume...starting about a week and a half ago, when part of me gave up on reading for my thesis and started lusting after regular books. This list will updated regularly and a link will be available on my sidebar all summer.
1- Names My Sisters Call Me
by: Megan Crane
Classification: Chick Lit
Starting off with chick lit is not the best of signs, but I love Megan Crane (author of grad school centered book, "English as a Second Language"), so I'm not sure I feel the need to excuse her. Also, the MC has my name, which NEVER HAPPENS, and she is trying to get over the ex-love of her life who has a name that may be very familiar to some of my readers as well...
2- The Midnighters, Book 1
by: Scott Westerfeld
Classification: YA
Read at the youngest sister's recommendation. Not as good as the Uglies series, but I'm still planning on reading the whole set.
3- Duke of Shadows
by: Meredith Duran
Classification: Romance
Okay, I may be straying out of acceptable literature here, as the cover of this books does show a man's naked chest. I picked this one up because these gals gave it a decent review and because someone, somewhere related it to this book (also possessing a naked man cover), which I loved. Also, I suppose, one of the first romance novels I ever read was about the Indian revolt (Victoria Holt's The Indian Fan , which I discovered in Reader's Digest Condensed form) and who doesn't love a romance about the Victorians? And maybe that's enough justification for the one romance novel on my list thus far.
4- Anybody out there?
by: Marian Keyes
Classification: Chick Lit
Love Marian Keyes. This is not my favorite book of hers about the Walsh sisters, but it was a quick read and rather moving at parts.
5- Gingerbread
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
Rachel Cohn is the co-author of one of the best books I read in the past year, Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist. I'd been meaning to read Gingerbread for awhile, and I found a $2 copy at a local used bookstore. Huzzah! It was pretty darn enjoyable- Cohn creates eccentric and compelling characters- and I'm looking forward to reading the two sequels this summer.
6- Jinx
by: Meg Cabot
Classification: YA
Maybe this will be my summer of YA reading instead of quality reading. I am attempting to become a high school English teacher AND write a YA novel this summer so, professionally, the choices make sense. I've been looking forward to getting my hands on Jinx for awhile and I found it at the local library and snagged a copy. Not Cabot's best YA book (in my opinion, that would be Avalon High), and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who isn't a Cabot YA fan, but it was a quick, decent read.
7- Everything Else in the World (Currently Reading)
by: Stephen Dunn
Classification: Contemporary Poetry
I'm hoping that reading a bit of contemporary poetry will inspire me to get back into the writing of it myself. I've been a fan of Dunn ever since I read "Poe in Margate" in his Local Visitations my sophmore year. I fell a little in love with the first two poems in this book and though none of the others have packed the same punch, I've enjoyed reading most of them. I like poetry occasionally, as a change of pace, and I prefer poems that deal not so much with The Human Experience as my human experience.
8- Shrimp
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
Sequel to Gingerbread (see number 5)and just as good. Can't wait to get my hands on the third and final book in the series.
9- Women: A Novel (ABANDONED)
by: Charles Bukowski
Classification: Literature with a capital L
Fifty pages into this book I'm still not seeing what all the hype is about, but I'm going to keep persevering...One hundred and some pages and I have left it in Maryland so I can read more entertaining things while in NYC. Hopefully will finish on my return. I like Bukowski's prose...just not his story. Update: Returned to the library, unfinished. Good prose could not win out over story.
10- Tantalize
by: Cynthia Leitich Smith
Classification: YA
A YA novel of the "OMG, Everyone around me is being turned into a vampire!" variety. Enjoyable but not fantastic. Read it on the bus on the way to NYC.
11- Sense and Sensibility (Currently Reading)
by: Jane Austen
Classification: Classic
To my great shame, I fell in love with this story through the movie, so now I'm giving the book a try.
12- Blood Brothers
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
First in Nora Roberts new trilogy. I wasn't crazy about it. The entire thing just seems very familiar. Stale. Read it anyway, because it's Nora Roberts, but I hope I'm not outgrowing her. Still, didn't stop me from reading...
13- The Hollow
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
Better than the first book. Still, not that exciting, which it should be, considering all the demonic possessions and blood curses and what not. I'm sure I'll read the third book when it comes out, but I'm in no hurry, and I'm not keeping the series around for a re-read.
14- The Midnighters, Book 2: Touching Darkness
by: Scott Westerfeld
Classification: YA
Now that I'm familiar with the premise, I didn't find this book as exciting as I found the first one. But I like Westerfeld and his ideas a lot. Also, didn't feel like reading this book next, but I had to so my little sister could return it to her friend. Will definitely read the third in the series.
15- Pop Princess
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
I continue to pretty much adore Rachel Cohn (she is, thus far, the author of one fifth of the books on this list- a statistic that will soon change, no doubt). I love her character names, too: the protagonist in this book is Wonder Blake, and her other series has Cyd Charisse and Shrimp. How can you not like an author who thinks, "Convention be damned, these are my special characters, and I will name them whatever special thing I want?"
16- The Host
by: Stephenie Meyer
Classification: They're calling it fiction for adults, but it deserves the same label as the Twilight books, so YA.
I really enjoyed this book- like the Twilight series, it was a quick read, with engaging characters. It does worry me slightly that Meyer seems to find a legitimate way within the plot to get her female characters severely beaten, often by the men they love, and that achieving love often requires great change/sacrifice on the part of the female character only. Feminist issues aside, Meyer just knows how to tell a good story, and this book also fixes one of the major problems I have with the series thus far (can't go into more detail, as it would be a major spoiler). If you want to give her a try without slogging through all the teen-angst vampire drama of her more famous series, I definitely recommend this book.
17- A Crazy Little Thing Called Death
by: Nancy Martin
Classification: Mystery
I had every intention of picking up something hefty- something brimming with literary merit- after The Host. I read the first few pages of Shriver's critically-acclaimed The Post-Birthday World. I thumbed through the critical darling Johnny One-Eye, a book I had reserved at the local library- a book I went on a waiting list for. Instead, I chose Martin's fun and frivolous series about the Blackbird sisters, centering on Nora Blackbird, a fallen Philadelphia socialite who is forced to make a living as a society columnist, while solving murders and dating mobsters on the side.
18- Daring to Dream
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
A friend and I were recently discussing our favorite Roberts' books (in light of the Blood Brothers trilogy and other disappointments) and she listed the Dream series, which I could not remember reading. So I picked up the first one at the library, started to enjoy it, and a couple of chapters into it, realized that while I didn't know the story, I knew small details about the characters' lives; at some point, I had read this book. Still, I didn't remember, and I did a re-read, so it counts.
Reflection 1: Keeping a list of my reading sins is supposed to encourage me to read works of greater literary merit this summer. Obviously, this plan is not working thus far, as looking back ath the list, it contains mostly romance, chick lit, and YA novels. Here's the thing: I don't feel at any way ashamed of my reading preferences. I just want to make sure I read something of quality this summer.
19-And Only to Deceive
by: Tasha Alexander
20-A Room with a View
by: EM Forster
21-Queen of Babble in the Big City
by: Meg Cabot
22-Queen of Babble Gets Hitched
by: Meg Cabot
23-From Dead to Worse
by: Charlaine Harris
24-Death on the Nile
by: Agatha Christie
25-Midnight Brunch
by: Marta Acosta
26-Where Angels Fear to Tread
by: EM Forster
27-Wicked Lovely
by: Melissa Marr
28-Again the Magic
by: Lisa Kleypas
29- Water for Elephants (Currently Reading)
by: Sara Gruen
Summaries to follow
1- Names My Sisters Call Me
by: Megan Crane
Classification: Chick Lit
Starting off with chick lit is not the best of signs, but I love Megan Crane (author of grad school centered book, "English as a Second Language"), so I'm not sure I feel the need to excuse her. Also, the MC has my name, which NEVER HAPPENS, and she is trying to get over the ex-love of her life who has a name that may be very familiar to some of my readers as well...
2- The Midnighters, Book 1
by: Scott Westerfeld
Classification: YA
Read at the youngest sister's recommendation. Not as good as the Uglies series, but I'm still planning on reading the whole set.
3- Duke of Shadows
by: Meredith Duran
Classification: Romance
Okay, I may be straying out of acceptable literature here, as the cover of this books does show a man's naked chest. I picked this one up because these gals gave it a decent review and because someone, somewhere related it to this book (also possessing a naked man cover), which I loved. Also, I suppose, one of the first romance novels I ever read was about the Indian revolt (Victoria Holt's The Indian Fan , which I discovered in Reader's Digest Condensed form) and who doesn't love a romance about the Victorians? And maybe that's enough justification for the one romance novel on my list thus far.
4- Anybody out there?
by: Marian Keyes
Classification: Chick Lit
Love Marian Keyes. This is not my favorite book of hers about the Walsh sisters, but it was a quick read and rather moving at parts.
5- Gingerbread
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
Rachel Cohn is the co-author of one of the best books I read in the past year, Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist. I'd been meaning to read Gingerbread for awhile, and I found a $2 copy at a local used bookstore. Huzzah! It was pretty darn enjoyable- Cohn creates eccentric and compelling characters- and I'm looking forward to reading the two sequels this summer.
6- Jinx
by: Meg Cabot
Classification: YA
Maybe this will be my summer of YA reading instead of quality reading. I am attempting to become a high school English teacher AND write a YA novel this summer so, professionally, the choices make sense. I've been looking forward to getting my hands on Jinx for awhile and I found it at the local library and snagged a copy. Not Cabot's best YA book (in my opinion, that would be Avalon High), and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who isn't a Cabot YA fan, but it was a quick, decent read.
7- Everything Else in the World (Currently Reading)
by: Stephen Dunn
Classification: Contemporary Poetry
I'm hoping that reading a bit of contemporary poetry will inspire me to get back into the writing of it myself. I've been a fan of Dunn ever since I read "Poe in Margate" in his Local Visitations my sophmore year. I fell a little in love with the first two poems in this book and though none of the others have packed the same punch, I've enjoyed reading most of them. I like poetry occasionally, as a change of pace, and I prefer poems that deal not so much with The Human Experience as my human experience.
8- Shrimp
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
Sequel to Gingerbread (see number 5)and just as good. Can't wait to get my hands on the third and final book in the series.
9- Women: A Novel (ABANDONED)
by: Charles Bukowski
Classification: Literature with a capital L
Fifty pages into this book I'm still not seeing what all the hype is about, but I'm going to keep persevering...One hundred and some pages and I have left it in Maryland so I can read more entertaining things while in NYC. Hopefully will finish on my return. I like Bukowski's prose...just not his story. Update: Returned to the library, unfinished. Good prose could not win out over story.
10- Tantalize
by: Cynthia Leitich Smith
Classification: YA
A YA novel of the "OMG, Everyone around me is being turned into a vampire!" variety. Enjoyable but not fantastic. Read it on the bus on the way to NYC.
11- Sense and Sensibility (Currently Reading)
by: Jane Austen
Classification: Classic
To my great shame, I fell in love with this story through the movie, so now I'm giving the book a try.
12- Blood Brothers
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
First in Nora Roberts new trilogy. I wasn't crazy about it. The entire thing just seems very familiar. Stale. Read it anyway, because it's Nora Roberts, but I hope I'm not outgrowing her. Still, didn't stop me from reading...
13- The Hollow
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
Better than the first book. Still, not that exciting, which it should be, considering all the demonic possessions and blood curses and what not. I'm sure I'll read the third book when it comes out, but I'm in no hurry, and I'm not keeping the series around for a re-read.
14- The Midnighters, Book 2: Touching Darkness
by: Scott Westerfeld
Classification: YA
Now that I'm familiar with the premise, I didn't find this book as exciting as I found the first one. But I like Westerfeld and his ideas a lot. Also, didn't feel like reading this book next, but I had to so my little sister could return it to her friend. Will definitely read the third in the series.
15- Pop Princess
by: Rachel Cohn
Classification: YA
I continue to pretty much adore Rachel Cohn (she is, thus far, the author of one fifth of the books on this list- a statistic that will soon change, no doubt). I love her character names, too: the protagonist in this book is Wonder Blake, and her other series has Cyd Charisse and Shrimp. How can you not like an author who thinks, "Convention be damned, these are my special characters, and I will name them whatever special thing I want?"
16- The Host
by: Stephenie Meyer
Classification: They're calling it fiction for adults, but it deserves the same label as the Twilight books, so YA.
I really enjoyed this book- like the Twilight series, it was a quick read, with engaging characters. It does worry me slightly that Meyer seems to find a legitimate way within the plot to get her female characters severely beaten, often by the men they love, and that achieving love often requires great change/sacrifice on the part of the female character only. Feminist issues aside, Meyer just knows how to tell a good story, and this book also fixes one of the major problems I have with the series thus far (can't go into more detail, as it would be a major spoiler). If you want to give her a try without slogging through all the teen-angst vampire drama of her more famous series, I definitely recommend this book.
17- A Crazy Little Thing Called Death
by: Nancy Martin
Classification: Mystery
I had every intention of picking up something hefty- something brimming with literary merit- after The Host. I read the first few pages of Shriver's critically-acclaimed The Post-Birthday World. I thumbed through the critical darling Johnny One-Eye, a book I had reserved at the local library- a book I went on a waiting list for. Instead, I chose Martin's fun and frivolous series about the Blackbird sisters, centering on Nora Blackbird, a fallen Philadelphia socialite who is forced to make a living as a society columnist, while solving murders and dating mobsters on the side.
18- Daring to Dream
by: Nora Roberts
Classification: Romance
A friend and I were recently discussing our favorite Roberts' books (in light of the Blood Brothers trilogy and other disappointments) and she listed the Dream series, which I could not remember reading. So I picked up the first one at the library, started to enjoy it, and a couple of chapters into it, realized that while I didn't know the story, I knew small details about the characters' lives; at some point, I had read this book. Still, I didn't remember, and I did a re-read, so it counts.
Reflection 1: Keeping a list of my reading sins is supposed to encourage me to read works of greater literary merit this summer. Obviously, this plan is not working thus far, as looking back ath the list, it contains mostly romance, chick lit, and YA novels. Here's the thing: I don't feel at any way ashamed of my reading preferences. I just want to make sure I read something of quality this summer.
19-And Only to Deceive
by: Tasha Alexander
20-A Room with a View
by: EM Forster
21-Queen of Babble in the Big City
by: Meg Cabot
22-Queen of Babble Gets Hitched
by: Meg Cabot
23-From Dead to Worse
by: Charlaine Harris
24-Death on the Nile
by: Agatha Christie
25-Midnight Brunch
by: Marta Acosta
26-Where Angels Fear to Tread
by: EM Forster
27-Wicked Lovely
by: Melissa Marr
28-Again the Magic
by: Lisa Kleypas
29- Water for Elephants (Currently Reading)
by: Sara Gruen
Summaries to follow
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
And now, a very carefully constructed poem...
Ode to our Upstairs Neighbors
You play beginner sax all night- notes loud and long and flat.
Your screaming sexcapades wake Mike, Me, Andrew and the cat.
Sure, I'm a fan of sex and art, but this really is abuse.
There must be some way to silence you and your partner/Muse.
Other, more violent lines considered for the ending:
And if you do not cut it out, we'll shoot your partner/Muse.
Keep it up- we may snap and kill you and partner/Muse.
You play beginner sax all night- notes loud and long and flat.
Your screaming sexcapades wake Mike, Me, Andrew and the cat.
Sure, I'm a fan of sex and art, but this really is abuse.
There must be some way to silence you and your partner/Muse.
Other, more violent lines considered for the ending:
And if you do not cut it out, we'll shoot your partner/Muse.
Keep it up- we may snap and kill you and partner/Muse.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Deep? I am the poetry club.
Feminism be damned, I want a man to cook for.
Or, to not end with a preposition: A man for whom I can cook. Which sounds dumb.
Also, according to my roommates, I am the only person in NYC who makes casseroles.
Lately, I think mostly as a procrastination tool, I have been doing a lot of cooking. I like casseroles because they fulfill my need to cook while only utilizing the bare minimum of dishes. As much as I love to cook, I hate to wash dishes (in fact, we almost started World War III and a health hazard in our apartment senior year of college because none of use liked to do dishes). My two most recent culinary experiments have been a Moussaka casserole and Sundried Tomato Potato Gratin. Any recipe with rhyming words is fine and delicious by me.
I watched 'John Tucker Must Die' tonight, while compiling notes on the reception history and criticism of Edna St. Vincent Millay's sonnet 'I shall forget you presently'. I found this teen movie much less satisfying than '10 Things I Hate About You'.
It had a few good lines, however. Including: 'Dude. I'm deep. I'm dating the poetry club.'
Dude.
Or, to not end with a preposition: A man for whom I can cook. Which sounds dumb.
Also, according to my roommates, I am the only person in NYC who makes casseroles.
Lately, I think mostly as a procrastination tool, I have been doing a lot of cooking. I like casseroles because they fulfill my need to cook while only utilizing the bare minimum of dishes. As much as I love to cook, I hate to wash dishes (in fact, we almost started World War III and a health hazard in our apartment senior year of college because none of use liked to do dishes). My two most recent culinary experiments have been a Moussaka casserole and Sundried Tomato Potato Gratin. Any recipe with rhyming words is fine and delicious by me.
I watched 'John Tucker Must Die' tonight, while compiling notes on the reception history and criticism of Edna St. Vincent Millay's sonnet 'I shall forget you presently'. I found this teen movie much less satisfying than '10 Things I Hate About You'.
It had a few good lines, however. Including: 'Dude. I'm deep. I'm dating the poetry club.'
Dude.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Poetry of My Namesake
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
~ William Butler Yeats
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
~ William Butler Yeats
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Creed
I believe the chicken before the egg
though I believe in the egg. I believe
eating is a form of touch carried
to the bitter end; I believe chocolate
is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty
in a right-handed world, which does not
make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.
I believe "normal" is just a cycle on
the washing machine; I believe the touch
of hands has the power to heal, though
nothing will ever fill this immeasurable
hole in the center of my chest. I believe
in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe
in salt over the shoulder, a watched
pot never boils, and if I sit by my
mailbox waiting for the letter I want
it will never arrive—not because of
superstition, but because that's not
how life works. I believe in work:
phone calls, typing, multiplying,
black coffee, write write write, dig
dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in
a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue
down the lover's belly; I believe I've
been swept off my feet more than once
and it's a good idea not to name names.
Digging for names is part of my work,
but that's a different poem. I believe
there's a difference between men and
women and I thank God for it. I believe
in God, and if you hold the door
and carry my books, I'll be sure to ask
for your name. What is your name? Do
you believe in ghosts? I believe
the morning my father died I heard him
whistling "Danny Boy" in the bathroom,
and a week later saw him standing in
the living room with a suitcase in his
hand. We never got to say good-bye, he
said, and I said I don't believe in
good-byes. I believe that's why I have
this hole in my chest; sometimes it's
rabid; sometimes it's incoherent. I
believe I'll survive. I believe that
"early to bed and early to rise" is
a boring way to live. I believe good
poets borrow, great poets steal, and
if only we'd stop trying to be happy
we could have a pretty good time. I
believe time doesn't heal all wounds;
I believe in getting flowers for no
reason; I believe "Give a Hoot, Don't
Pollute," "Reading is Fundamental,"
Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,
and the best bagels in New York are
boiled and baked on the corner of First
and 21st. I believe in Santa
Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu's petals,
Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep
dreaming about—she lives inside me
opening and closing her wide mouth.
I believe she will never taste her
mother's milk; she will never be
beautiful; she will always wonder what
it's like to be born; and if you hold
your hand right here—touch me right
here, as if this is all that matters,
this is all you ever wanted, I believe
something might move inside me,
and it would be more than I could stand.
~ Meg Kearney, An Unkindness of Ravens
from The Writer's Almanac
I believe the chicken before the egg
though I believe in the egg. I believe
eating is a form of touch carried
to the bitter end; I believe chocolate
is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty
in a right-handed world, which does not
make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.
I believe "normal" is just a cycle on
the washing machine; I believe the touch
of hands has the power to heal, though
nothing will ever fill this immeasurable
hole in the center of my chest. I believe
in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe
in salt over the shoulder, a watched
pot never boils, and if I sit by my
mailbox waiting for the letter I want
it will never arrive—not because of
superstition, but because that's not
how life works. I believe in work:
phone calls, typing, multiplying,
black coffee, write write write, dig
dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in
a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue
down the lover's belly; I believe I've
been swept off my feet more than once
and it's a good idea not to name names.
Digging for names is part of my work,
but that's a different poem. I believe
there's a difference between men and
women and I thank God for it. I believe
in God, and if you hold the door
and carry my books, I'll be sure to ask
for your name. What is your name? Do
you believe in ghosts? I believe
the morning my father died I heard him
whistling "Danny Boy" in the bathroom,
and a week later saw him standing in
the living room with a suitcase in his
hand. We never got to say good-bye, he
said, and I said I don't believe in
good-byes. I believe that's why I have
this hole in my chest; sometimes it's
rabid; sometimes it's incoherent. I
believe I'll survive. I believe that
"early to bed and early to rise" is
a boring way to live. I believe good
poets borrow, great poets steal, and
if only we'd stop trying to be happy
we could have a pretty good time. I
believe time doesn't heal all wounds;
I believe in getting flowers for no
reason; I believe "Give a Hoot, Don't
Pollute," "Reading is Fundamental,"
Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,
and the best bagels in New York are
boiled and baked on the corner of First
and 21st. I believe in Santa
Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu's petals,
Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep
dreaming about—she lives inside me
opening and closing her wide mouth.
I believe she will never taste her
mother's milk; she will never be
beautiful; she will always wonder what
it's like to be born; and if you hold
your hand right here—touch me right
here, as if this is all that matters,
this is all you ever wanted, I believe
something might move inside me,
and it would be more than I could stand.
~ Meg Kearney, An Unkindness of Ravens
from The Writer's Almanac
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Ex-boyfriends in Heaven
Ex-boyfriends never go to hell,
no matter how many times
you suggest it. No, they ascend straight
to heaven, where they speak French,
wear matching socks, and always,
always arrive on time, with a full
tank of gas and a bottle of wine.
They never curse your cat
or your mother, never call you up
drunk doing Arnold Schwarzenegger
impressions, never say Hey Rita
if your name is Tammy,
never say Hey Tammy
if your name is Joan.
They're better trained than dogs
and they smell better, too, better
than Twinkies or camellias, better
than anything on earth. Once
in a while, they take a holiday,
drive their Porsches down
through the clouds
in one long line and ring
the doorbell in your dreams,
offering tender apologies, tender
chicken cutlets, tender love.
But before you take one sack
of groceries, before your lips
graze a clean-shaven jaw,
before you let one polished
Oxford loafer through your door,
remember that as soon as they cross
the threshold, the truth will slip
in behind them: ex-boyfriends only
exist this way in heaven, or
whatever you want to call it,
their new lives without you.
~ Gwen Hart, Lost and Found
Ex-boyfriends never go to hell,
no matter how many times
you suggest it. No, they ascend straight
to heaven, where they speak French,
wear matching socks, and always,
always arrive on time, with a full
tank of gas and a bottle of wine.
They never curse your cat
or your mother, never call you up
drunk doing Arnold Schwarzenegger
impressions, never say Hey Rita
if your name is Tammy,
never say Hey Tammy
if your name is Joan.
They're better trained than dogs
and they smell better, too, better
than Twinkies or camellias, better
than anything on earth. Once
in a while, they take a holiday,
drive their Porsches down
through the clouds
in one long line and ring
the doorbell in your dreams,
offering tender apologies, tender
chicken cutlets, tender love.
But before you take one sack
of groceries, before your lips
graze a clean-shaven jaw,
before you let one polished
Oxford loafer through your door,
remember that as soon as they cross
the threshold, the truth will slip
in behind them: ex-boyfriends only
exist this way in heaven, or
whatever you want to call it,
their new lives without you.
~ Gwen Hart, Lost and Found
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Don't Drop
Flying Lesson
Over a tray of spent plates, I confessed
to the college president my plans to go East,
to New York, which I'd not really seen,
though it seemed the right place
for a sophomore as sullen and restless
as I had become on that merciless
Midwestern plain. He slowly stroked
a thick cup and described the nights
when, a theology teacher in Boston, he'd fly
a tiny plane alone out over the ocean,
each time pressing farther into the dark
until the last moment, when he'd turn
toward the coast's bright spine, how he loved
the way the city glittered beneath him
as he glided gracefully toward it,
engine gasping, fuel needle dead on empty,
the way sweat dampened the back of his neck
when he climbed from the cockpit, giddy.
Buttoned up in my cardigan, young, willing
to lose everything, how could I see generosity
or warning? But now that I'm out here,
his advice comes so clear: fling yourself
farther, and a bit farther each time,
but darling, don't drop.
~ Julia Kasdorf
Over a tray of spent plates, I confessed
to the college president my plans to go East,
to New York, which I'd not really seen,
though it seemed the right place
for a sophomore as sullen and restless
as I had become on that merciless
Midwestern plain. He slowly stroked
a thick cup and described the nights
when, a theology teacher in Boston, he'd fly
a tiny plane alone out over the ocean,
each time pressing farther into the dark
until the last moment, when he'd turn
toward the coast's bright spine, how he loved
the way the city glittered beneath him
as he glided gracefully toward it,
engine gasping, fuel needle dead on empty,
the way sweat dampened the back of his neck
when he climbed from the cockpit, giddy.
Buttoned up in my cardigan, young, willing
to lose everything, how could I see generosity
or warning? But now that I'm out here,
his advice comes so clear: fling yourself
farther, and a bit farther each time,
but darling, don't drop.
~ Julia Kasdorf
Monday, February 20, 2006
Antilamentation
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don't bother remembering
any of it. Let's stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
~ Dorianne Laux
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don't bother remembering
any of it. Let's stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
~ Dorianne Laux
Monday, January 09, 2006
Subscribe Now! And Save!
I get The Writer's Almanac in my Inbox at work every day, an electronic newsletter that includes a daily poem plus general info. about writers who were born on this day in history. When I come in on Mondays, I have three all lined up and waiting for me. They bring me great joy, and I think everyone should subscribe. To entice you, here are some nuggets currently residing in my Inbox:
Things
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
there are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.
~ Fleur Adcock
"[Human beings] are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special."
~ Stephen Hawking
"Most writers are secretly worried that they're not really writers. That it's all been happenstance, something came together randomly, the letters came together, and they won't coalesce ever again."
~ Nicholson Bakers (I find this one very relevant to my life)
"I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."
~ Umberto Eco
It's nice to get literature and wisdom into your every day routine. Also? It's free.
Things
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
there are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.
~ Fleur Adcock
"[Human beings] are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special."
~ Stephen Hawking
"Most writers are secretly worried that they're not really writers. That it's all been happenstance, something came together randomly, the letters came together, and they won't coalesce ever again."
~ Nicholson Bakers (I find this one very relevant to my life)
"I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth."
~ Umberto Eco
It's nice to get literature and wisdom into your every day routine. Also? It's free.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
I'd rather read poetry than type documents about HVAC equipment
Lute Music
The Earth will be going on a long time
Before it finally freezes;
Men will be on it; they will take names,
Give their deeds reasons.
We will be here only
As chemical constituents—
A small franchise indeed.
Right now we have lives,
Corpuscles, Ambitions, Caresses,
Like everybody had once—
Here at the year's end, at the feast
Of birth, let us bring to each other
The gifts brought once west through deserts—
The precious metal of our mingled hair,
The frankincense of enraptured arms and legs,
The myrrh of desperate, invincible kisses—
Let us celebrate the daily
Recurrent nativity of love,
The endless epiphany of our fluent selves,
While the earth rolls away under us
Into unknown snows and summers,
Into untraveled spaces of the stars.
~ Kenneth Rexroth
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