Wendy Wisner‘s poems this week at No Tell Motel.
I’ve spent the bulk of my waking hours this week reading about domestic violence. Browsing Wisner’s recent blog entries was a nice moment-thread of counterpoint.
Wendy Wisner‘s poems this week at No Tell Motel.
I’ve spent the bulk of my waking hours this week reading about domestic violence. Browsing Wisner’s recent blog entries was a nice moment-thread of counterpoint.
The organizers of 2010: A Space Oddity (mentioned formerly) have sent me a tentative list of their events:
And, I will be selling copies of Edgewise. I got the covers printed yesterday, so I just need to bind them and my pre-orders will be mailed out. I’m still taking pre-orders if you’d like to get in on this hawt chapbook action.
(mirrored from joannemerriam.com)
My favorite poem of hers: Wishes for Sons
Three things:
(1) A surprise package arrived in today’s mail, from my friend Marilyn. Slicing open the bubble-padded envelope and peeling away a thick layer of white tissue paper revealed yet more layers of another, gift-wrap grade tissue paper, tied with a red ribbon and sealed with a store sticker, accompanied by a crisp white envelope with my name in Marilyn’s familiar cursive. Undoing the ribbon and the seal revealed a copy of Mary Oliver’s Owls and Other Fantasies; opening the envelope revealed a handmade card, itself constructed out of both layers present (red and pink paper upon the cardstock) and absent (negative spaces created by wax or some other resist).
I’m looking forward to reading the book some other afternoon. Today I’m just taking time to savor both the surprise and its layers. (Mind, I neither expect nor require it of the presents I receive or give; it simply happens to be a type of pleasure I enjoy lingering with when inclination, opportunity, and means coincide.)
(2) Earlier this week, I was sorting through some snapshots from my trip to Israel last fall. I think I caught sight of this memorial inscription inside the Clore Garden of Science; I don’t recall if the item was a water fountain, sundial, or something else entirely. This is why I ought to caption my photos right away, not half a year later…
From photoblogging |
From photoblogging |
(3) I don’t know when (or even if) I’ll get to the book itself, but Susan Cheever quoted several intriguing passages from Mary Karr’s Lit when she reviewed it last November:
Humming through me like a third rail was poetry […] the myth that if I could shuffle the right words into the right order, I could get my story straight. . . .
~ ~ ~
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air, a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. But it could blow everybody’s head off.
One of travel’s many perks (up there with drunken coworkers and blizzards) is that the notebook sits beside the bed and so I miss the dateline but can scribble easily something that may turn poem. Draft begins:
Better to praise Demeter
for when the horsemen cut you down
as farmers turn their stalks to food
your harvest will have joy
…
Nothing new for the L sequence, nothing stand alone, the great quote I
misheard from Thoreau notwithstanding. Colorado makes better drivel than this but here it is anyway.
The stars my only respite
reserving judgement
flirting behind haze
constant in the houses
to which I am always welcome
horizon to horizon
empty of the heat
of my aching heart.
What kind of ending line is that? Useless prepositional phrase, not even a decent Simic.
Another start of a poem for the Laieikawai sequence. I wish I could put more order to it but life is not allowing that; I feel accomplished just for getting something workable on paper, if incomplete. And it will be easier to make them all better if I have a them to begin with, yes?
At dusk their skin’s the same
color as mine. Ten minute shower
rolls in: Grandma and I sing
the water down, the swell and surge
…
I wonder if any of our t’ousands and t’ousands of readers live in Alabama? I’m going to be there on March 6th, reading from my work and participating in a panel discussion on submission etiquette, as part of 2010: A Space Oddity (more info here).
Since I’m going to be there, I thought I’d use the opportunity to motivate myself to bring out another chapbook. I’m calling it Edgewise, and selling it for US$5 (postage included for pre-orders). Details here.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to little movies of poems lately, inspired by the many Billy Collins ones which I think I’ve linked to before, and some stop motion movies I was watching. I’m thinking it would be interesting to do stop motion movies of some of my own poems, just for fun.
Wikipedia has let me down again, nothing I can link to about electrical sneak paths, which inspired a fairly decent lyric rough draft just now. It just needs an ending, one more solid.
Excerpt:
My future
does not cut cross-grain,
up-river, or against the wind:
I flood the die and solder self
to self.
Perhaps if I were clever I would have revised last night’s tattoos but I have decided I could get nearly 10 new things drafted if I made myself keep looking forward. That’s a lot of Laieikawai retelling. So, first draft of “The Octopus Miracle”. No darlings to share yet, but I have learned that these poems may be alliteration-heavy and alternate first and third person. So. That’s two for two.