It's Seth's Birthday

Stop by and wish Seth a Happy Birthday.

Time Changes...

It was a good weekend, even if I am a little sad about my friend leaving the country. But we get her for one more day and night. And this is a good thing.


****************************


No one has yet to correctly guess the painter of the image on my never printed book below. Okay, more clues: It is a watercolor but this painter is known primarily for oils; it was painted in 1901; the painter is an American.


****************************


This time change business sucks!

Fistful

In the next day or so, one of my best friends is leaving for Portugal. We have been friends for a long time, over ten years now. And I am really thankful for email because it might be the only way we "talk" for a while. Anyway, Jacob and I are having a tiny good-bye dinner for her tonight. Just us, her, and a few friends. There hasn't been a week we haven't talked or seen each other now for years. I might have to find a way to fly to Portugal to visit over the next year.


****************************


And this, my friends, is truly the book that never happened. It was to be my second book. But certain friends, who will remain nameless, teased me mercilessly about the title. One, and he knows who he is, kept referring to it as "A Fistful of Vaseline." Jeez, some friends. Anyway, this title, cover, order of poems, everything, died. What rose from its ashes is The Second Person, the book of mine Four Way Books will bring out in March of 2007. Now, in retrospect, I am glad A Fistful of Sand never made it into print. Points to anyone who can come up with the painter whose painting was to be the cover image.




****************************


Congratulations to my friend, Dana Levin. It was announced today that she is one of the recipients of this year's Whiting Awards.


****************************

Jacob Revealed (Yes, see he is real)

Okay, okay. Several of you have been pestering me for a picture of Jacob. And yes, I realize after months of reading about him some of you are curious. So, here is an image of both of us. I cannot for the life of me remember where this picture was taken, but I know it was maybe a year ago. Not sure. All I have to say is that he is the only man I have dated who could get me into a picture like this! Let us just say I am not the warmest of people and I HATE pictures. Anyway, this is the only digital photo of Jacob I have on my computer.


*****************************


I am listening to Glenn Miller this morning. His music always seems perfect on a Sunday morning. Something catchy and peaceful at the same time.


*****************************

Pain

I've been up since 8:00AM reading. And now I need to head to JapanTown to soak in the scorching hot pool and get my twice monthly Shiatsu. Does Shiatsu hurt? Sometimes. But I am never sore later, and it helps my neck and shoulders, where I have chronic recurring pain. The week before I started college, a woman ran a red light right into the side of my car. She did this at 50+ mph. Even with my seat belt on, I went out the window. I wore a neck brace and temporary halo for six months. My neck has never been the same. And as I get older, it causes me more and more trouble. But Shiatsu keeps it at bay. And it is the only thing that helps me sometimes for days. The guy who is my massage therapist is really good. I have mild panic attacks if I call and he is not available. I am addicted to him now. So sad.

Due Diligence

Yes, it is Friday. And yes, I am happy about that. There have been some tough weeks the last few weeks. There are times when patient care seems so overwhelming to me. And other times, it seems to happen almost magically. I am in need of some magical workings, and soon. Anyway, this is what I am supposed to be doing. And I know that instinctively. I really do think I am supposed to be a physician. Some of my friends worry about being good poets, but I worry about being a good doctor. And that doesn't mean I am truly confident about my writing. It is just that I cannot "worry" about it in the same way. And for that, I will probably never be that good at writing. I think worry sometimes prompts diligence. As you all know by now, my way of writing poetry is to avoid it. Not that I want to avoid it, but that I cannot seem to help myself. And blogging is just another way of avoiding it, actually.

Dreamt last night that I woke up and walked out of my room to find a totally different apartment. It was as if my bedroom had been transported to another apartment. Oddly, in the dream, I wasn't the least bit bothered by this. I just searched around, found the kitchen, got some water and looked for a window.

"Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"

Richard Blanco

Richard Blanco's new book, Directions to the Beach of the Dead, is now out. Some of you may have read his first book, City of a Hundred Fires, which won the Agnes Lynch Starrett Prize back in 1997. Blanco is an engineer as well as a poet. And he is pretty damned good (at both!) to boot. Check out the new book when you have a chance.

A new low for SPAM

I just got this in my email box. I think this is kind of sick. I mean who the hell is Laura Stamps. Is this even a real person? It says elsewhere she was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. Technically, anyone can nominate themselves by entering, so what the hell does that mean? Jesus, now there are people trying to rip off poets. Well, Laura Stamps, I will NOT be sending you $5.00.

****************************

New Report for Poets by Laura Stamps!

HOW TO BECOME A SUCCESSFUL POET.................$5.00

Most poets dream their work will be appreciated by a growing number of readers. Wouldn’t it be nice for your poems to appear in literary journals and magazines worldwide every month? Or for your poems to be collected in chapbooks and books, which sell every week, year after year? These dreams can become your reality sooner than you think. Learn how it’s done from a poet whose work is widely published in literary journals, magazines, anthologies, and zines, and who is also the author of thirty books and chapbooks of poetry and prose.
In this report you will learn how to:

Publish your poems regularly in literary journals, magazines, zines, and anthologies across the country and the world
Produce and market chapbooks and books of your poetry
Determine the people nationwide most likely to buy your poetry books
Sell your poetry books to these people every week through direct mail, the internet, etc.
Make a living as a poet by selling the books you publish (and/or your books published by other presses)
And much, much more!
Order this report today, and see your dreams of success become a reality. Any poet with talent and determination can succeed…it’s just a matter of knowing how to do it.

"What a wonderful guide for poets...straightforward, honest, and practical. It made me think in ways I never had about my writing. It's a resource I'll be returning to, for knowledge and inspiration, again and again. I liked it so much I shelved it next to my copy of POET'S MARKET. Thanks for a great report and your practical advice!"
---Jack Phillips Lowe, poet, "Long Form" (Free Thought Publications) and "What's Passed is Past" (Onzo Imprints)

TO ORDER: Make $5.00 check or money order payable to LAURA STAMPS. If you live in South Carolina please add sales tax. Free shipping in the U.S.

*****************************

And who the hell is Jack Phillips Lowe?

Thanksgiving is coming. Yay!

Every year, Jacob and I host a big Thanksgiving day feast. Why? I am not sure. But this year is no different. I guess we started because at the time we knew lots of grad students, med students, residents, postdocs, etc. who were stuck here for Thanksgiving. So, we usually cook for 20+ people. Our friend, Geri, usually helped do the Turkey seeing Jacob is a veggie-saurus, and I have no idea what the hell to do with a Turkey. Anyway, Geri is off to Portugal in a few days, and we will be left stranded. Luckily, our friend JG is flying in to help us with the Turkey. And I am so excited because I think Jacob and I are going to kidnap JG to Vegas for a day or two over that weekend. Oh the gorging on all of that food followed by a day or two of, um, SIN! What more could you ask for, really. So, I am now even more excited about Thanksgiving, because, as you all know, I am a total whore for bath products, free books, and gambling!

Dark Days

It has been seriously overcast here the past two days. I don't mean fog, but real overcast sky. It has been dark and depressing, even down on the Peninsula. Makes me feel tired.


****************************


I am not the least bit surprised Harriet Miers withdrew her consideration for the Court. Not surprised at all. God help us when the new nominee is named. I have a terrible about this.


****************************


For a bit of a cheer up, check out today's WTHIUWYAP.


****************************

Crush

Join me in welcoming Richard Siken to the blogosphere!

Giggling

Ah, that Jimmy. Yes folks, it is time for yet another installment of "What the Hell Is Up With Your Author Photo." I swear to God Behrle could collect these into a book that would be a best seller. Marion Ettlinger, a little while back, released a book of author photos she has done over the years. Well, maybe at some point in the future we will get Behrle's Collected WTHIUWYAP. I am reserving a space on my coffee table for it starting now. Yup, Jimmy makes me giggle like a little German school girl. God Bless him.


****************************


In the mail today, free copies of books. I love getting free books. I am a total whore for free books. The only thing I love more than free books is free bath products!

Hidden Away

Hunkered down today in my studio reading for NER, for my students, for myself. I have been reading and working since about 8:00 AM. Just taking a quick break before continuing on. So much happiness in me today to be just alone in my studio reading. And it is nice to write in response to the work read instead of in response to the world at large.

Jacob is down at Stanford today crucifying fruit flies. Or, as he puts it, making fly kabobs. Yuck, I always hated drosophila. And seeing monster ones in the microscope always seemed like a kind of torture to me. When flies are large enough (by magnification) for you to study their eyes, the world is a fucked up place!

Tonight, the usual Mexican food and adult beverages followed by Top Model. I can't wait.

Wretched

Yeats for breakfast. Better than Wheaties. Much better. Add in some coffee and it is just heavenly.

The Save the Date letters are off! Well, for the most part. 6 months to go now. Now we must immediately start on the invitations themselves, finalize flowers, and yes, arrange the string quartet. No rest for the wicked. No rest for the wise.


****************************


Antibacterial soap always smells wretched.

Etcetera

Check out Josh Corey's brilliant post about Professionalism and Careerism.

***************************


I am desperately wanting not to call a patient later today with some very bad news. By far the worst part of the job.


***************************

Barber, Again

The Concert last night was incredible. Itzhak Perlman played the violin like a demigod. And I have to say it was amazing to hear Barber's Violin Concerto live. I had never heard it performed live before.

The Andante section of this piece is what caught me off guard last night. It conjures for me that moment just before one cries when the tears have welled up but have not yet reached your face. By that, I mean it has real tension and an odd mix of anger and hurt in its long lyrical sweeps. Jacob introduced me to Barber and his Violin Concerto not long after we met. I was somewhat shocked by it at the time. I still hear an immense amount of hurt in it. And then there is all that anger that comes flashing at times, a kind of drama bordering on melodrama. It is just all too human: a sad song that wavers between resignation and despair. I know I have mentioned this violin concerto before, but if you haven't heard it, you need to hear it. It really is an incredible piece of music. And the final section of the Concerto remains one of the most intense endings to a Concerto I have heard to date.


*****************************



Alas, the weekend is over. And it is time to go back to work. Sadly, I did not win the 70+ million dollars in the lottery last Friday.

Craps!

Just back from Tahoe/Reno. Met Jacob's other grandmother for the first time. It went well, I think. The most fun thing of the trip? Jacob and I learned to play Craps. And we both won a bunch of money to boot! I think Craps may be my new favorite casino game. It was way too much fun.

Okay, need to get a move on. Jacob and I are hearing a special concert tonight. Perlman will be "presiding." Tonight: Barber's "Violin Concerto." I can't wait.

Dirty Little Secret

Sasha

Tiesto

Paul Vandyk

Paul Oakenfold

Carl Cox

John Digweed

David Harness

Danny Tenaglia

What do these folks have in common? They are among the world's best DJs. This might seem like an odd thing to say because many think DJs simply play music, but these folks are more like sound engineers. Their ability to take a song and re-master it into something spectaculur is somewhat breathtaking at times. Recently, the new craze is the Mashup, which is basically taking the vocals and other identifying attributes of songs and blending them with the baseline and background music of another song. The results can be amazing. In my days of being a DJ, all I did was play music and talk on the air. I never clubbed (as a DJ). And those who did did so for little to no money. But the Mega DJs of today are as famous as singers. And performers now beg them to do remixes of their songs. Their compilations sell better than some of the original music recorded. Not sure why I am even talking about this except that I am a dance music junkie. I listen to it in my car, at home on my computer, anywhere I can. As the local dance music station says: "One Music, Under Dance..."

Ah, the Republicans

No, no, no, I am not trying to be Seth Abramson. But it is hard not to notice that Tom Delay now has an arrest warrant. Bill Frist is being investigated for insider trading (if Martha can serve time, they better make sure this guy does if he is guilty). And Karl Rove is likely to be indicted. It is even looking as if the Vice President might be indicted. Basically, the Republican leadership is making its claims about vice and deception thrown at President Clinton years ago look like child's play now. Sad. Maybe people will wake up and start voting these idiots out of office!

Rambling Post Facto

Dinner with Richard Siken was great. He is an intelligent, good-spirited man. And it was, as is common in the poetry world, kind of frightening to see the degrees of separation between us. Now, happily, there are no degrees--we met. One of the things we talked about, believe it or not, was blogging. I explained that I am still not 100% sure what a blog is, but I also explained that I have learned a lot from doing it over this year. I hope by year's end to make a decision about whether to continue for another year. We'll see.

*****************************


And this brings up a post I read this morning. Kelli posted about blogging and the realization of the blogosphere consists of actual people who read what we write. Personally, I think blogs have personalities (that may or may not be true to the author). I also think blogs fade in and out of my interest. Sometimes, blogs are hot. Sometimes they just kind of emanate a slight heat. It changes. We cannot all be Jim Behrle. But maybe some of his appeal is that he does something most other poetry bloggers don't. He does cartoons and features. Jimmy's blog is kind of like a Nighttime comedy show. Anyway, not sure what I am trying to say. Check out Kelli's post. It has some good food for thought for all of us, I think.


*****************************


I already have two add-on emergent patients for today. So, I need to go and get ready. I already had a full day before checking my voice messages this morning. Now, it will be a jam-packed day. And the add-on patients will not be easy cases. Not that any patient is ever "easy." But I am ready. Most of it takes place in the mind before the body must handle it. So, I am strengthening my mind and resolve, reminding myself to have patience, reminding myself to listen even if I know I have 15 things left to do. So, I need to go get ready.

Metro

NEWS: Charles Flowers has been named the new Executive Director of the Lambda Literary Foundation. Congratulations, Charles!


****************************


First, we had metrosexuals. Now we have various metro-bloggers. You know who you are! This is simply not acceptable. More later.


****************************


I am so over the National Book Award. Can't we just make up our own award? I mean the finalists for the NBA seem so tried and true. Oh well. Such is life.


****************************


Dinner tonight with Richard Siken. Hopefully I don't totally geek out in my admiration of his work.

The money's on the dresser...

Dreamt last night that I was cleaning peanut butter off of my chest, and the entire time I was doing it I was reciting "Kubla Kahn." Dear God, I was a Reese's peanut butter cup!

Hello?

Reading Stevens: Sexy. Reading Eliot: NOT Sexy. Got it?

Reading Donne: Sexy. Reading Herbert: NOT SEXY AT ALL!

Reading Dickinson: Sexy, in a kind of mod-goth way. Reading Bradstreet: NEVER SEXY!

Reality Bites

Although HBO's ROME has been fairly in line with ancient historical account, last night they took a very distinct departure from History with their version of Cleopatra. And as much as I liked last night's episode, I have to admit I am just not as jazzed about this series the way I was with Six Feet Under and Carnivale. Anyway, such is life. Soon American Idol will be back and I will have weekly episodes to cheer and jeer. And speaking of not being jazzed: I am not that into America's Next Top Model this season either. That said, the preview for this week's episode certainly looked as if things were about to go nuts on that show. So, we'll see. I feel like starting up a drinking game where you have to drink every time one of the contestants on Top Model sneers, cries, and every time one of them screams "Tyra Mail!"


*****************************


Just now eating my lunch. Typing this post in between bites. Wretchedly busy day. Wretched, dahling. Just wretched.


*****************************


I have decided the techno-dance remake of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" is just my favorite thing to hear while flying down 280 at 80 mph.

The Lottery

Crazy day already. Crazy. Busy. Too busy. Have I won the lottery yet? I need to start seriously buying tickets.


***************************


Tony Robinson has work up this week at No Tell Motel. Stop by and check him out.


***************************


And you guessed it. As if he felt my psychic vibe asking for more, Jimmy has done yet another installment of "What the Hell Is Up With Your Author Photo?" This time, Norman Dubie.


***************************


I think I need me some baccarat this weekend.

Sunday Afternoon With "Wally"

As many of you know, one of my favorite things in the blogosphere is Jim Behrle's "What the Hell Is Up With Your Author Photo?". Jimmy comes up with some of the craziest things for this feature. If you missed the recent one, you simply must go by and check it out. It is hilarious. Thanks to Jimmy, I am already planning my next author photo. I plan to wear a "wife beater," hold a cat in my arms, and tote a machine gun over my shoulder. You know, a kind of florid Caribbean meets Rambo meets Robert Wrigley.


****************************


Save the Date letter. Save the Date letter. Must get Save the Date letter printed up today so we can start addressing envelopes. Must get out of apartment today to get this done. Yes, I should get up and stop lounging around like a slug.


****************************


Apple now has a video iPod. Why didn't I buy Apple stock? Jesus, now they are really going to see their share price soar. This is like Google all over again. I should have bought Google stock. But I was chicken.


****************************


Because I have tormented one of my students all semester with Wallace Stevens, I am sitting down with Wally today. Yup, Wally and I are going to get reacquainted. First, a little back and neck rub action. Then maybe some heavy petting. Okay, we'll probably just have some coffee and gab. Maybe a little of the mutual neck massage thing while Wally tells me to be more risky in my verse. If I am a good boy, he might give me a kiss on the forehead. I mean I know Wally wasn't gay, but his verse is well, you know, the gayest thing around! I mean how could you read him without ever thinking: "This guy is gay or at least a switch-hitter." Ah Wally. He was one of the first gay poets I ever encountered, even if he wasn't gay.


****************************

Is there a better breakfast than a Snickers bar?

Quicker than a Ray of Light

Someone left the cake out in the rain...

I heard this song today, sung by Donna Summers herself. About half way through the song, I realized I have no earthly clue what this song is about! But it is still a catchy song.

****************************

My massage therapist: Jesus Christ! Your neck and back are a mess!

Me: Well, it has been a rough week.

MMT: Clearly! Now I am going to get a total workout in trying to loosen these muscles up.

Me: Sorry. You know how stressful work is for me.

MMT: Yeah, but this is the worst I have ever seen your neck.

Me: Well, let's just say work was especially awful this week.

MMT: I think I am going to have to do a combo of Swedish and Shiatsu.

Me: Do whatever you think will help.

MMT: I think I need a mack truck to run over your back.

Me: Don't get carried away now!


*****************************

Trouble me. Disturb me with all your cares and worries. Trouble me.


*****************************


This morning, the fog was insane. Everything was wet as if it had rained, but it hadn't. So many silences outside this morning. And the sun was up somewhere in the East Bay, but here it was just a glimmer in the distance.


*****************************


Strange guy in steam room: "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Me: No. I don't think so.

SGISR: Don't you have a website? A blog?

Me: No.

SGISR: Are you sure? Aren't you a poet? A doctor?

Me: No. I think you have me confused with someone else.

SGISR: Well, if you are that guy, my wife loves your blog.

Me: Sorry. No blogs here.


*****************************


And I feel like I just got home. And I feel....

Ambush

I recently posted about how I got ambushed in an interview that I thought was going to be about my then new book; it turned into an interview about editing. Well, check out this interview of Richard Burgin and Richard Newman. I feel quite certain they thought this was going to be an interview to help promote their new work, but...

Anyway, an interesting peek into two literary magazines and their editors.

Blood, Again

Bleeding is a terrible thing, but it is amazing how quickly it gets people to go see a doctor. Even men who avoid doctors like the plague will run in when they see blood, especially in their urine! The sight of blood produces a primal response. It scares people. It shocks them. People will endure pain for long periods of time, but they won't ignore blood, for the most part. I have no idea why I am telling you this.

Dead Deer Road

I think they should rename Edgewood Road in Redwood City "Dead Deer Road." This morning there were 6 of them along the road as I made my way from 280 into Redwood City. 6 !!!!!!!! It creeped me out. I mean, it is almost as if they are committing suicide. Is it a full moon or something? Jeez. Scary dead deer road. Scary.

T-Rob!

Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday, dear Tony.

Happy Birthday to you!


(to be sung in a voice far better than mine)

Connections

Tonight, after dinner, Jacob, Geri and I got into a discussion about interviews. One line of conversation led to another and then we reached the ambush interview. I related how I once gave an interview for public radio and thought I was going to read some poems and talk about my then new book. Instead, the interview shifted to NER and how and why I select the poems I do. I was totally unprepared for this. The interview was a total disaster. But out of it came one good conversation. The interview was a little over a week after 9/11. The interviewer asked me about how I thought poets would appropriate the horrible events of that day. I fumbled around an answer and eventually said something about how the real 9/11 poems would come about 12-24 months after the fact because the imagination needs time to figure out where to place all the objects and the emotions. Anyway, I remembered that I have a 9/11 poem. Well, it isn't a blatant 9/11 poem, but the central image in the poem is one from that day, an image that I cannot get out of my head, even now. I remember watching a reporter standing with NYC in the background. The smoke was billowing and everywhere bits of paper was raining down like snow. It took a while for me to process this, but I realized it was all the memos and papers and reports from the offices in the Towers. That these scraps were falling all over the place, even miles away, made a ridiculous impact on me that I cannot explain. It bothered me in a way the more graphic depictions and images of that day couldn't. So subtle. So terrible. The scraps of paper falling all over everything.

Anyway, my poem about this would never have taken place had I not listened one afternoon to Aaron Copland's "Quiet City." I listened to it and for some reason the music conjured New York, not just New York but New York at 3:00 AM. Something about that piece is incredibly haunting. So much sadness in it. Not the longing sadness of Barber but a tormented and terrible sadness. And in it, there are moments where there is an outburst of horn and strings vying for your attention, like sirens. I couldn't stop listening to it. I think I listened to it 8 or 9 times in row. I am not sure why, but every time I heard it, I envisioned the images of 9/11, almost as if they were being played in slow motion in a sick montage. Within a few days, I had drafted my poem "Quiet City."

Geri pinpointed that I wrote it almost exactly a year after 9/11. The odd thing is the poem ended up in the Fall issue of VQR last year, almost exactly 3 years after 9/11. As we talked about that day and the oddity of how images end up in poems, I couldn't help myself. I got up, went to Jacob's CD collection, pulled the CD from the shelf. I popped the CD into the player and sat there. It was exactly as I remembered, mournful, slow, terrible. It is sad to me that this beautiful piece of music should be linked in my mind with that horrible day. Who can ever understand why the mind makes the connections it does.

Angels?

It is a beautiful and sunny day. Any moment now, the Blue Angels will ruin it all with their thunderous jets flying over my building to turn around over the ocean before rocketing down the Golden Gate to fly under the Golden Gate Bridge. Such drama queens!

Avoidance or "Denial is Not Just a River in Egypt"

I now wish the poem I wrote back in mid-year was not about a dream. Why? Because I just read 260 poems today and 12 of them were about dreams. So weird. It makes me wonder about the collective mind and such. I mean I read a lot of poems, and I do not remember ever seeing this many poems about dreams (most of which are kind of apocalyptic). It must be the times. It must be this age we are living in. We must not be sleeping well at nights. The terrible things of these days must be taking new forms at night in our heads.

I have, until the poem I wrote mid-year, always avoided dreams in poems. You know, poems overtly involving dreams. Not sure why, but I did. I already veer toward the hokey in poems anyway, so I suppose it is probably a good thing I avoided dreams. Let's face it, I am good at avoiding. One of the first reviews I got for my first book said something about how the reviewer wished I would just stop writing about trees and stuff and write about what I really wanted to write about. This reviewer basically accused me of avoiding my life and my sexual orientation in my poems. Well, he was partially right. But what else could I do? I didn't feel comfortable enough inside poems to use my experiences without sounding hokey. Have my poems changed? I think they have, but one never really knows.

I think my poems have become more "accessible" in terms of what I really care about, but I have to admit, I don't really have a clue. And I get confused by what people say. Some have told me my first book is difficult, almost hermetic. Recently, some have thanked me for writing such a clear and accessible first book. What the hell? I am amazed at how easily I can look at someone else's poem and quickly figure out how it works, why it works, what the author is doing well, etc. But when it comes to my own poems, I draw a big effing blank. I guess it is supposed to be that way. Not sure. Not even sure why I am writing this stupid post in the first place!

When Jacob composes, he seems to hear and understand the music before he notes the music on sheets of paper. It is as if he is hearing the music before it even exists in the physical world. It exists before it is written down. But writing poems is never like that for me. I can construct numbers and numbers of lines in my head, but I never fully understand or can predict the poem until I start drafting it. A friend of mine can not only write lines but entire poems in her head. She can recite them, right up to the last word she "wrote" in her head. This freaks me out. Am I jealous of this? Kind of. Not sure. When I asked her about this, she just shrugged her shoulders and said she had no explanation. Later, she said she might have an explanation, but didn't want to think about it enough to give the explanation. Ah, avoidance. I can respect that.

Sleep and the Long Poem

I must have been exhausted yesterday because I slept for almost 12 hours last night. This is not like me at all. But I feel remarkably better having slept for so long. Not groggy at all.

I have much to read today. Much to read.

Over at 13 Ways, Diane has asked for recs on mags that run long poems. Someone else asked this a while ago and I remember people having lots of good answers. If you know of any mags, take a trip over there and let her know.

Out of here

I am SO out of here in ten minutes! TGIF! I need Shiatsu tomorrow. My neck/shoulders hurt. I am a total stress case after today.

More from the Town Crier

When you have a chance, stop by and wish Ivy Alvarez "Congratulations." Her first book was just accepted!

Congratulations (with "Memories" playing in the background)

I recently got this mass announcement from Tupelo Press regarding some of their prizes. I think they were for first books, but I can't remember exactly now. You know, early senility. Anyway, the winner of their Editors' Prize (selected by the Editors at Tupelo as opposed to a guest judge) was Melanie Almeder. I was so excited to see her name. Melanie was in one of my workshops at Florida (UF, not FSU! Some would kill people who confused the two, but I am no Football enthusiast, so I would just roll my eyes as opposed to punching). Anyway, I doubt Melanie reads this blog, but Congrats Melanie! Oh, and one last thing, Melanie was with me the first time I went to Traffic School. It was back in the day of sitting in a room practically singing Kuumbaya with a group of people. Yes, back before Internet Traffic School, back before even Comedy Traffic school. Ah, those were the days.

On this Date

On this Date, in 2000, I grudgingly went to a party for doctors and others at UCSF at a doctor's bed and breakfast. I hadn't eaten any lunch or dinner that day and ended up drinking wine and chit-chatting with a few people I know. Ran into my friend, John, from Tai Chi, and then I ended up downstairs in the garden talking to him. The garden was the perfect place to chit chat because you got to see virtually everyone moving about because people kept getting in and out of this huge hot tub and others kept exiting and entering the building to check out the deck and the view.

I began to get annoyed with John because he kept talking to this guy and was clearly hitting on the guy. The guy just wouldn't leave! Anyway, as time passed and more wine was had, I started talking more and more with this guy. It turned out he was both a composer of music and a biologist. He had gone to college in Iowa. We talked about odd things related to writing and the Arts. He had a beautiful smile and a kind of calm to him that mesmerized me because I couldn't tell if it was genuine or constructed. John ran upstairs to talk to someone and to get ready to leave. He had to study pathology for a test or something.

So I move over to the deck with this guy, and we are talking and talking, and drinking and drinking. And then, out of nowhere, we start to kiss. Well, we were, to use the ugly expression, mugging down! It has been quoted that we were locked in a kiss for something like 12 minutes. Apparently, people were walking in and out of the building and passing us on the deck. People in the hot tub were apparently hootin' and hollerin. But we were oblivious. When the kiss broke, I stood there slightly stunned. I had never kissed anyone like that in a public space much less at a party. Not even when I was in high school. I was so freaked out by this I told this guy I had to run to the restroom. I did go to the restroom, but then I was so freaked out I couldn't go back downstairs. And I was clearly drunk because I could barely walk.

So I left. Yup, I found my leather jacket and stumbled out the door. I was so drunk I fell and rolled down a length of street in Cole Valley. I was so drunk I could barely get on the bus to go home. And what I sight I must have been in leather pants with leaves in my hair and dirt all over me, my shirt partially ripped. When I got home, I sat on the edge of my bed to take off my shoes but fell asleep like that. I woke up the next day with a terrible hangover and the realization my legs were asleep.

I replayed the events of the night before over and over that morning. Why was I such a moron? Why didn't I stay? I called up my friend, Geri. I needed advice. She told me to just call the guy. It was then I realized I didn't know his name. Well, I only knew his first name. Anyway, I checked the UCSF directory, and then I called every Jacob listed. And then I remembered the name of his Lab and called it, but he wasn't there. Later that day, a friend who helped organize the party called me and asked me if I had a good time at the party. I said yes. He said everyone did except his friend's roommate. See, this friend's roommate met this guy, hit it off, ended up making out with him, but then the guy bolted. I told him: "How awful!" I couldn't admit I was the guy. But as the day passed, he called again to say he knew I was the guy who bolted. He just wanted to give me grief. He gave me Jacob's email. I emailed him and said I would love to continue the conversation we began at the party. Surprisingly, he emailed me back. We met a few days later for our first date. The funny thing, we didn't kiss again after our first meeting for almost two weeks! Anyway, that conversation is still going...

Happy Anniversary, Jacob. You are still the best "conversationalist" I know!

To Die For

Jacob and I went up to Napa this evening for the tasting and menu-setting for the whole commitment ceremony. The food was amazing. Most times food from caterers is okay but not good, and it certainly isn't great. Well, much to our surprise, the food was as good as a five-star restaurant in San Francisco. Simply amazing. The smoked chicken and Brie wrapped in saffron tortilla appetizers were to die for! So were the mini dungeness crab cakes. And the thinly sliced eggplant wrapped around a goat cheese and olive mousse was divine (per Jacob). And these were just the hors d'oeuvres to be passed around during the champagne toast/cocktail hour after the ceremony but before the reception meal. Some weight is going to be gained by anyone in attendance.

Hump Day

Finally read the new Best American. As always, I found poems to like and poems I just don't care for. But that is always the case. So, I am not sure why all the vitriol about this year's BAP I have been reading all over the blogosphere.

Spent the entire morning so far doing teacher stuff.

Now, time to read poems. Time to make some green tea.

And what is up with this? (from Towleroad) Is this supposed to make me feel better about Harriet Miers? Well, it doesn't.

Harder

Has anyone ever heard of a German lit-mag named Haerter. I can't do the umlaut thing over the "a". Anyway, has anyone ever heard of this lit mag? I am a little weirded out by the fact I think "haerter" means "harder" in English. That said, I am assured this magazine is a litmag and not another type of mag. So, if anyone has info, let me know. Spill it.

The Blogosphere

I realized recently that there are certain blogs I read fairly often even if not daily (like the ones in my blogroll). For the past few weeks, I have been reading the following fairly often:

Jordan Davis

Steve Schroeder

Ginger Heatter

Sam Amadon

Towleroad


Now tell me which blogs you have been reading often recently. Enquiring minds want to know.

Report from the Park

By the way, Dolly was good yesterday, even though I am not convinced she wasn't lip synching!

Since you asked...

I have gotten a number of emails over the past few months asking me about Zoo Press, etc. Let me reiterate here that I am no longer on the Advisory Board of Zoo Press, despite my name still existing on their web site. If you look carefully, you will realize most of that website hasn't been updated in a year or more. When Zoo Press stopped answering emails, phone calls, faxes, etc., I decided to move on. My book and their entire Spring 2005 season was not published (and to my knowledge the Spring '05 books still haven't been published). After I withdrew my book, I also resigned from their advisory board, but no one seems to be home at Zoo. No one responds. Anyway, as for the Kenyon Review, Paris Review and other contests by Zoo. Caveat Emptor. Enter at your own risk. Why anyone would enter contests at a publisher which still hasn't published their Spring 2005 list and published their Fall 2004 list in March of 2005, is beyond me. With regards to the Paris Review Prize, you might check with Paris Review before entering the contests seeing the contest lists Richard Howard as the judge but he is no longer the poetry editor at PR. Lastly, the University of Nebraska Press, which used to distribute Zoo Press's books, will no longer be distributing them as of this month. Zoo has no distributor that I am aware of at this time. Zoo brought out a lot of good books. It is sad to think it might have just disappeared.

Help!!!!!

Well, it is official. We booked our honeymoon today. After a lot of thinking and too many ideas, I think we came up with the right trip. At least I hope we did. If not, it will be a long 12 days.

Today, again, it seems like 50 billion things are going on in San Fran. I think today is the Castro Street Fair. And I know the bluegrass festival is going on in Golden Gate Park. I know this because Jacob and my friend Ron are dragging me to see Dolly Parton. Yes, you read correctly, Dolly freakin' Parton. The things one does for love and friendship. At least it is beautiful outside today, sunny and San Francisco cool.

The Fall submissions have started trickling down to my desk. I have the first two batches (20 submissions each) that have made it through screening, etc. And now the reading begins. I hope to get through a bunch before Dolly.

Let me take you on a trip...

Around the World and back
And you won't have to move,
You just sit still...


Fog this morning. Jack-the-Ripper fog. And that chill I have only found in San Francisco. And walking down one of the avenues, the fog drifting and swirling by, the fog saying "I hide everything. I make everything equal." And the small patch of yard, the telephone pole, the car turning at the end of the block, the creeping vines on a faux trellis: they all became the same, flickering images inside the fog.


Now let your mind do the walking
And let my body do the talking
Let me show you the world in my eyes


In the dream, I was lying still, so still I couldn't move. I imagined my index finger and imagined it moving, but it would not move. And then I could feel the pulse in my carotids slowing down. Slower and slower.... And I knew it was preparing to stop. And my mind kept going, kept reaching out to touch everything in the room. And the silence became like water. The silence became everything.


Let me put you on a ship
On a long, long trip
Your lips close to my lips


Out beyond Red Reef, the bluish-white water is twisting and turning as the currents move in toward the Intracoastal. This is a place to sit, to find out just how slowly or quickly one can think when unfettered. No city. No sound of the city. No men's eyes charting your bare chest and abdomen, lingering just above the waist line. No one trying to sell you their love or, worse, their soul. And it is there you know who you really are. It is there you see the black heart in your chest keeping time. And it is there you return time and time again, the mind's eye calculating with frightening accuracy the distance between your body and the body of water using only the refracted light in the salt air as a ruler.


All the islands in the ocean
All the heaven's in the motion
Let me show you the world in my eyes


It isn't that I mistrusted you or your ability to recognize the slightest change in green caused by shifting sunlight. Well, actually, it was that, really. You were challenged. There was no music in your heart, no tune to comfort yourself. And now when I hear this song, you are like a ghost in the rafters, a ghost in the machine of my head. There is no heaven, nothing written in the stars. And when the oracle in my chest spoke, he told me there would be another one, one who would not only hear the music of the spheres but write it down for me. Now, there is music filling the room. The ocean has given up trying to gain my attentions.