Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Footnotes on the Body
1. a spike of ice formed when water dripping or falling from another object freezes.
2. Furniture and photos are divorced from the attic. Does the movement of dust mean they are dead?
3. One thing the great poet confessed before biting into her doughnut: a good poem writes itself as if it doesn't care--never let on that within this finite space, your whole being is heavy with a need to emote infinitely. (Jenny Boully)
4. I am wet from waiting for a bus.
5. Thus, when the bizarrely costumed criminal known as _____________ appeared upon the scene later that same day, wielding a unique weapon capable of instantly ________ moisture in the air, _________ presumed he was actually _________, who had stolen __________ invention.
6. A man and his son
7. Recall the dream. The turtle does not like to be on his back
because that way he cannot carry.
8. The cries next door are both quieter and louder than before.
Somehow they made a chute too narrow for my garbage. Hoist.
9. Why should I kill myself worrying when I’ll end up just as dead? (Antonio Ricci)
10. Beluga whales craft long slow waves. The strain that follows the moan.
11. Set in post-World War II Rome, “The Bicycle Thief” tells a simple story well, relying for its impact on gritty realism and emotional verity. (Culture Vulture)
12. The man was caught lying in an alley by a citizen.
13. My icicle got stolen. It is vital for my job. Ladri. Ladri.
14. I. Spy with my little eye...
15. The chair and the bench are missing their stuffing. The holster, upholster.
16. The height of a sail, signals echo from ship to ship.
17. Marigolds! The marigolds were particularly lovely that year.
18. No need to reply to this mast of messages.
19. The yellowing of this photo. Sometimes saying the word lilac suggests a woman in white.
20. This plot synopsis is empty. Add a synopsis.
2. Furniture and photos are divorced from the attic. Does the movement of dust mean they are dead?
3. One thing the great poet confessed before biting into her doughnut: a good poem writes itself as if it doesn't care--never let on that within this finite space, your whole being is heavy with a need to emote infinitely. (Jenny Boully)
4. I am wet from waiting for a bus.
5. Thus, when the bizarrely costumed criminal known as _____________ appeared upon the scene later that same day, wielding a unique weapon capable of instantly ________ moisture in the air, _________ presumed he was actually _________, who had stolen __________ invention.
6. A man and his son
7. Recall the dream. The turtle does not like to be on his back
because that way he cannot carry.
8. The cries next door are both quieter and louder than before.
Somehow they made a chute too narrow for my garbage. Hoist.
9. Why should I kill myself worrying when I’ll end up just as dead? (Antonio Ricci)
10. Beluga whales craft long slow waves. The strain that follows the moan.
11. Set in post-World War II Rome, “The Bicycle Thief” tells a simple story well, relying for its impact on gritty realism and emotional verity. (Culture Vulture)
12. The man was caught lying in an alley by a citizen.
13. My icicle got stolen. It is vital for my job. Ladri. Ladri.
14. I. Spy with my little eye...
15. The chair and the bench are missing their stuffing. The holster, upholster.
16. The height of a sail, signals echo from ship to ship.
17. Marigolds! The marigolds were particularly lovely that year.
18. No need to reply to this mast of messages.
19. The yellowing of this photo. Sometimes saying the word lilac suggests a woman in white.
20. This plot synopsis is empty. Add a synopsis.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Dedo’s Notebooks
(Modigliani’s words are interspersed with those of Lunia Czechowska, who sat for one of his last portraits, not long before he died. This 1907 snapshot from his notebook is translated below.)
What I am searching for is neither the real nor the unreal, but the Subconscious, the mystery of what is Instinctive in the human Race.
He painted with such passion and fervor that the picture fell from the easel onto his head when he bent forward to try to view it close up.
I am also trying to formulate with the greatest lucidity the truths of art and life I have discerned scattered among the beauties of Rome, and as their inner meaning becomes clear to me I shall seek to reveal and rearrange their composition, I could almost say metaphysical architecture, to create out of it my truth of life, beauty and art.
This startled me. He was sorry to have frightened me and so smiled at me gently and began singing Italian songs to make me forget the incident.
We others (excuse the plural) have different rights from normal people, for we have different needs which place us above their morality. It is our duty never to be consumed by the sacrificial fire. Your real duty is to save your dream. Beauty too has some painful duties: these produce, however, the noblest achievements of the soul.
As a sitter you had the impression that your soul was being dissected.
To do any work, I must have a living person. I must be able to see him opposite me…
I can still see him standing before me now with his short sleeves and his tousled hair as he attempted to capture my features on the canvas.
Isn’t this the aim of friendship: to shape and exalt the will according to its bent, to reveal each to the other and to ourselves? Goodbye.
While I was preparing dinner, he asked me to lift my head for a few moments and by the light of a candle, he drew a beautiful sketch on which he wrote:
La Vita ~ un Dono: dei pochi ai molti: di Coloro che Sanno e che banno a Coloro che non Sanno e che non banno.
Life is a Gift: from the few to the many; from Those who Know and have to Those who do not Know and have not.
What I am searching for is neither the real nor the unreal, but the Subconscious, the mystery of what is Instinctive in the human Race.
He painted with such passion and fervor that the picture fell from the easel onto his head when he bent forward to try to view it close up.
I am also trying to formulate with the greatest lucidity the truths of art and life I have discerned scattered among the beauties of Rome, and as their inner meaning becomes clear to me I shall seek to reveal and rearrange their composition, I could almost say metaphysical architecture, to create out of it my truth of life, beauty and art.
This startled me. He was sorry to have frightened me and so smiled at me gently and began singing Italian songs to make me forget the incident.
We others (excuse the plural) have different rights from normal people, for we have different needs which place us above their morality. It is our duty never to be consumed by the sacrificial fire. Your real duty is to save your dream. Beauty too has some painful duties: these produce, however, the noblest achievements of the soul.
As a sitter you had the impression that your soul was being dissected.
To do any work, I must have a living person. I must be able to see him opposite me…
I can still see him standing before me now with his short sleeves and his tousled hair as he attempted to capture my features on the canvas.
Isn’t this the aim of friendship: to shape and exalt the will according to its bent, to reveal each to the other and to ourselves? Goodbye.
While I was preparing dinner, he asked me to lift my head for a few moments and by the light of a candle, he drew a beautiful sketch on which he wrote:
La Vita ~ un Dono: dei pochi ai molti: di Coloro che Sanno e che banno a Coloro che non Sanno e che non banno.
Life is a Gift: from the few to the many; from Those who Know and have to Those who do not Know and have not.
Friday, February 22, 2008
The Sincerest Form
I wish to be congratulated on my ability to hit "View Wireless Networks" fifty times before I finally manage to piggyback on to someone else's wifi (favorite wifi network name in my hood: "Fucking Pay For It." Second favorite: "We ARE Fucking Paying For It.")
*
Cat Power's version of Michael Hurley's "Werewolf Song" is a very weak sister compared to Hurley's original.
*
Green Mountains Review say they liked "Honeymoon W/Smoke" and to try again. The Indiana Review just says keep trying. So it goes.
*
After seeing El Orfanato (by myself, alas), my sincere desire to make horror movies is stronger, and farther out of reach, than ever.
*
Currently in rotation:
The Mountain Goats, Heretic Pride
Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta
Ben Webster, At the Renaissance
Mahler's Sixth
*
A limousine driver, whose name I cannot remember, once said:
"The most important thing is concentration. Like, when you write a poem, you concentrate on the freaking poem, right? When they drive, most people do driving, twenty-per cent; good-looking girls on the side of the road, thirty per cent; and then coffee--of course, very much coffee--twenty-five per cent. What I am doing--fuck everything else--I am focussing on driving."
{gc}
*
Cat Power's version of Michael Hurley's "Werewolf Song" is a very weak sister compared to Hurley's original.
*
Green Mountains Review say they liked "Honeymoon W/Smoke" and to try again. The Indiana Review just says keep trying. So it goes.
*
After seeing El Orfanato (by myself, alas), my sincere desire to make horror movies is stronger, and farther out of reach, than ever.
*
Currently in rotation:
The Mountain Goats, Heretic Pride
Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta
Ben Webster, At the Renaissance
Mahler's Sixth
*
A limousine driver, whose name I cannot remember, once said:
"The most important thing is concentration. Like, when you write a poem, you concentrate on the freaking poem, right? When they drive, most people do driving, twenty-per cent; good-looking girls on the side of the road, thirty per cent; and then coffee--of course, very much coffee--twenty-five per cent. What I am doing--fuck everything else--I am focussing on driving."
{gc}
Let It Snow
Just found out that I don't have to trek over to Teaneck to teach; thanks to this fabulous winter weather, the campus of Fairleigh-Dickinson University is closed.
This might be my first true Snow Day since, oh, 1978.
In honor, I reproduce Louis MacNeice's most anthologized poem, "Snow."
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes --
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands--
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
This might be my first true Snow Day since, oh, 1978.
In honor, I reproduce Louis MacNeice's most anthologized poem, "Snow."
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes --
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands--
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Cold Spells
I would like to be congratulated for being the last person in the known universe to have acquired a high-speed internet connection, which is pure genius. I can now download all sorts of songs, recipes, and instructions for constructing ray-guns without having to wait for what feels like weeks.
*
Cat Power's version of "New York, New York" (simply "New York") makes me tremble: If this is emotional tyranny, then I don't want freedom.
*
cold-drill, the journal of the MFA program at Boise State University, has accepted "This Medicine May Cause Blurred Vision" for publication.
*
After seeing Il Postino again (with Laura, this time), that terribly sweet film about love and exile, I remain convinced that poetry does have some sort of purpose, that it does, indeed, have a place in the lives of the [un]common, the now.
*
Currently in rotation:
Sons & Daughters - "Chains"
Bruce Springsteen - "Radio Nowhere"
Paul Westerberg - "High Time"
Asian Dub Foundation - "Naxalite"
*
The poet, whose name I cannot recall at the moment, says:
We love what we cannot know...
[d | r]
*
Cat Power's version of "New York, New York" (simply "New York") makes me tremble: If this is emotional tyranny, then I don't want freedom.
*
cold-drill, the journal of the MFA program at Boise State University, has accepted "This Medicine May Cause Blurred Vision" for publication.
*
After seeing Il Postino again (with Laura, this time), that terribly sweet film about love and exile, I remain convinced that poetry does have some sort of purpose, that it does, indeed, have a place in the lives of the [un]common, the now.
*
Currently in rotation:
Sons & Daughters - "Chains"
Bruce Springsteen - "Radio Nowhere"
Paul Westerberg - "High Time"
Asian Dub Foundation - "Naxalite"
*
The poet, whose name I cannot recall at the moment, says:
We love what we cannot know...
[d | r]
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Winter Trees
The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing.
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.
Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Wasit-deep in history.
Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietas?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but easing nothing.
Sylvia Plath
(Paradise Pond at Smith College, Plath's alma mater and home of her manuscripts, letters, and general memorabilia.)
Sunday, February 17, 2008
T. Rex Tuesday?
the new improved Honda Accord coterie needs to reunite over cornbread
and certain crispy fried tomatoes
and beer
what say ye? meet me at the bar at 5:30...
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Top Dawg!
Today is a good day. My favorite hound won Best in Show at Westminster...Uno is the first beagle to ever win the 100-year-old canine competition.
No longer an Underdog--Uno beat out two neatly primped poodles, a top Sealyham terrier, a sleek Weimaraner, a lively Australian shepherd and a sprightly Akita.
"He's perfect, he was a 10," Jones said. "He does cuteness well."
Precocious as he was precious, Uno celebrated by chewing on the microphones of reporters who tried to interview his winning crew.
A toy poodle that began the night with 108 best in show prizes stood in Uno's way.
Formally known as K-Run's Park Me in First, Uno came into this competition wagging his white-tipped tail with 32 best in show ribbons overall. He already had become the first beagle to win the hound group since 1939.
Uno breezed in the 15-inch beagle category Monday morning, then took the group several hours later. So while other dogs tried to reach the final ring Tuesday, Uno went on a brisk walk around Manhattan and took a nap beneath his warm, fuzzy blanket.
But when it came time to show, Uno was as ready as ever. He looked around and soaked up the cheers while parading around the ring, the ovation becoming more thunderous with every step. When he made his final stop in front of Jones, Uno went to town. Rather than rely on his golden brown, pleading eyes, he began baying over and over.
Years from now, it'll be known as the "ah-roo!" heard 'round the ring.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Most Dangerous Direction
reindeer hair and burnt juniper form ribbons tied to the mountains
at night the Duca leave their deer in a sheltered enclosure to protect
them from the cold and wolves
before healing others they must first heal themselves to prove they are
true shamans
the peaks of the mountains rise up behind the hunters
Tsuyan has a second soul
the back of her tent will be cut
to let her body out
the animal has been wounded but it is too late in the day to go after him
the ancestors penetrate the past lives with the present
she appeases the forces of nature by sprinkling tea in all corners
the communists destroyed our idols
so I learned how to tie magic knots
they bound the rivers and mountains
where the ancestors reside
the duca resorted to abstraction
the tea is a nutritious soup with milk and butter and spiced with a salt
which the reindeer cannot resist
her headdress is decorated with rooster feathers, a suit of armor
when all the stars are out it means that the ancestors are present
she strattles the drum as her spirit joins the others waiting for her
a demon has removed an arrow
she points the stick at someone
the message is whispered and veiled in mysterious metaphors
if it is wounded it will go hide in the trees
if it doesn’t snow the dogs will follow the trail
salt preserves the sweetness and connection
the babies are tied to their kin
no shaman has been able to pacify this unpredictable demon
her remains will be hung on a tree
nestled in a house for immortals
her things will be placed nearby within reach
thus she will continue to watch over her people
the hunters have to choose between heading for the pass or going
through the valley
they study the shoulder blade of a charred lamb
the oracle was right
the moose is still in the snow looking up
the dogs pull at its fur
the hunter stabs its back begging for forgiveness
her trance is over
the bone marrow alone is enough to feed a man for an entire day and
the meat for three weeks
otherwise the ghost of the moose will leave black tracks on their trail a curse
the camp moves on as dictated by the reindeer
the most dangerous direction is north
the sun never warms it
the winds rise from it
and the black sky of the dead circles the mountain
{lm}
at night the Duca leave their deer in a sheltered enclosure to protect
them from the cold and wolves
before healing others they must first heal themselves to prove they are
true shamans
the peaks of the mountains rise up behind the hunters
Tsuyan has a second soul
the back of her tent will be cut
to let her body out
the animal has been wounded but it is too late in the day to go after him
the ancestors penetrate the past lives with the present
she appeases the forces of nature by sprinkling tea in all corners
the communists destroyed our idols
so I learned how to tie magic knots
they bound the rivers and mountains
where the ancestors reside
the duca resorted to abstraction
the tea is a nutritious soup with milk and butter and spiced with a salt
which the reindeer cannot resist
her headdress is decorated with rooster feathers, a suit of armor
when all the stars are out it means that the ancestors are present
she strattles the drum as her spirit joins the others waiting for her
a demon has removed an arrow
she points the stick at someone
the message is whispered and veiled in mysterious metaphors
if it is wounded it will go hide in the trees
if it doesn’t snow the dogs will follow the trail
salt preserves the sweetness and connection
the babies are tied to their kin
no shaman has been able to pacify this unpredictable demon
her remains will be hung on a tree
nestled in a house for immortals
her things will be placed nearby within reach
thus she will continue to watch over her people
the hunters have to choose between heading for the pass or going
through the valley
they study the shoulder blade of a charred lamb
the oracle was right
the moose is still in the snow looking up
the dogs pull at its fur
the hunter stabs its back begging for forgiveness
her trance is over
the bone marrow alone is enough to feed a man for an entire day and
the meat for three weeks
otherwise the ghost of the moose will leave black tracks on their trail a curse
the camp moves on as dictated by the reindeer
the most dangerous direction is north
the sun never warms it
the winds rise from it
and the black sky of the dead circles the mountain
{lm}
Monday, February 11, 2008
"Shopping" Poem
I am looking for a map and one more day.
I am looking for a friend in a land of mines.
I am looking for a man with dish-pan hands.
I am looking for a truffle in the Piedmont dirt.
I am looking for a crop circle inside of the mall.
I am looking for a beagle to take home the blue.
I am looking for a bridge that is pretty in the fall.
I am looking for a sign of movement in the wood.
I am looking for a license plate that starts with EVR.
I am looking for a ferris wheel that glows in the dark.
I am looking for a snowball to pour sugar over and lick.
I am looking for a kettle filled with oolong and darjeeling.
I am looking for a set of ten fingers and twenty warm toes.
I am looking for a cat named two-bit to comb its matted fur.
I am looking for a variety of fruit with flesh that sticks to the pit.
{lm}
I am looking for a friend in a land of mines.
I am looking for a man with dish-pan hands.
I am looking for a truffle in the Piedmont dirt.
I am looking for a crop circle inside of the mall.
I am looking for a beagle to take home the blue.
I am looking for a bridge that is pretty in the fall.
I am looking for a sign of movement in the wood.
I am looking for a license plate that starts with EVR.
I am looking for a ferris wheel that glows in the dark.
I am looking for a snowball to pour sugar over and lick.
I am looking for a kettle filled with oolong and darjeeling.
I am looking for a set of ten fingers and twenty warm toes.
I am looking for a cat named two-bit to comb its matted fur.
I am looking for a variety of fruit with flesh that sticks to the pit.
{lm}
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Girl in the War
Peter said to Paul you know all those words we wrote
Are just the rules of the game and the rules are the first to go
But now talking to God is Laurel begging Hardy for a gun
I got a girl in the war man I wonder what it is we done
Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul the only thing I know to do
Is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through
Because the keys to the Kingdom got lost inside the Kingdom
And the angels fly around in there but we can’t see them
I got a girl in the war Paul I know that they can here me yell
If they can’t find a way to help her they can go to Hell
If they can’t find a way to help her they can go to Hell
Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul her eyes are like champagne
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
--Josh Ritter
Are just the rules of the game and the rules are the first to go
But now talking to God is Laurel begging Hardy for a gun
I got a girl in the war man I wonder what it is we done
Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul the only thing I know to do
Is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through
Because the keys to the Kingdom got lost inside the Kingdom
And the angels fly around in there but we can’t see them
I got a girl in the war Paul I know that they can here me yell
If they can’t find a way to help her they can go to Hell
If they can’t find a way to help her they can go to Hell
Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul her eyes are like champagne
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
--Josh Ritter
Monday, February 04, 2008
My Baby Done Left Me (I Got the Grand Marquis Blues)
She rolled away this morning
she didn't even say one word
Oh she rolled away this morning
she didn't even say one word
Was it something I said girl
or something you heard?
I feel like screamin' and cryin'
but that wouldn't do no good
I feel like screamin' and cryin'
but that wouldn't do no good
She took all my money,
you know I knew she would.
I never had the GM blues
as bad as this before
No i never had the GM blues
quite as bad as this before
My parking spot's empty now
people I can't rest no more
My baby done left me
out in the cold
My baby done left me
yeah out in the cold
They swept the street behind her
as she got up and rolled
My baby done left me
and she won't come home
My baby done left me
no she won't come home
I said where you going baby
she said I'm free to roam
she didn't even say one word
Oh she rolled away this morning
she didn't even say one word
Was it something I said girl
or something you heard?
I feel like screamin' and cryin'
but that wouldn't do no good
I feel like screamin' and cryin'
but that wouldn't do no good
She took all my money,
you know I knew she would.
I never had the GM blues
as bad as this before
No i never had the GM blues
quite as bad as this before
My parking spot's empty now
people I can't rest no more
My baby done left me
out in the cold
My baby done left me
yeah out in the cold
They swept the street behind her
as she got up and rolled
My baby done left me
and she won't come home
My baby done left me
no she won't come home
I said where you going baby
she said I'm free to roam
Friday, February 01, 2008
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