No Urgency, Urgency

Still reading Herbert. I am doing it piecemeal and slowly. Time is always a limitation with everything. Yesterday, two of my new consults turned out to really be urgent patients that needed to be setup for and start radiation ASAP. I didn't get out of work until close to 7:00pm. That isn't a complaint. It just provides an explanation as to why my time is usually limited. I am sure this is true for most everyone. Work eats up a lot of your time.


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I am not excited about the State of the Union address this evening. Not excited at all. In fact, I am worried it will be the stage setting for an armed conflict with Iran. I pray this is not the case.


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If you haven't stopped by Greg Perry's blog in a while, you need to stop by. He has been reviewing the poems from Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and No Tell Motel. Complete with snaps.


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Clue: What the alchemist sees.


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Great News, etc.

Josh Corey has some great news to share.


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Still at work. I am waiting on a treatment plan and then will be able to go home. I have been here almost 12 hours now.


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New Week

The wedding continues to take shape. We drove up to Sonoma to the winery where the ceremony is to be held. We worked out schematics for tables and setup, selected the wines to be served at the reception, drove to the hotel where we are having the evening cocktail party, etc. We also set up our rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. I am still a little freaked out because time is flying by, but I think we are getting things done. We need to start folding and stuffing invitations.


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I am re-reading a selected poems of Zbigniew Herbert. I had forgotten how sad and surprising his work can be. Not sad as in depressed, but as in pensive and melancholic.


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To those who emailed and asked, "Yes, I will be back teaching at Warren Wilson this coming summer." I love that program and would not have refused the invitation.


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STILL LIFE


I shall not soon forget
The greyish-yellow skin
To which the face had set:
Lids tight: nothing of his,
No tremor from within,
Played on the surfaces.

He still found breath, and yet
It was an obscure knack.
I shall not soon forget
The angle of his head,
Arrested and reared back
On the crisp field of bed,

Back from what he could neither
Accept, as one opposed,
Nor, as a life-long breather,
Consentingly let go,
The tube in his mouth enclosed
In an astonishing O.


--Thom Gunn


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Free

Our friends, Ron and Kevin came over to finally see the new place last night. After drinking an amazing Turley Zinfandel, we went to dinner. It was wonderful to sit around and talk about theatre, music, poetry, all of our "jobs" outside of Art. Poor Ron is off again to New York in his endless training for Giant Pharmaceutical Company.


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I am thinking again about line and the impulses behind line. I have been thinking about the Psalmic line in what we think of as its large sweep and the imagiste line, its short free verse utterance closer to syllabic verse than anything accentual. And I am remembering today that I am talking about free verse lines, not metrical lines. And I am remembering that nothing is truly free.


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I spent a good hour yesterday revising a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. I had stopped sending it out because I think I knew it needed work, but I just couldn"t see what I needed to do with it. But yesterday, looking it over again, I realized the lines didn't sound the way my lines usually do. These lines seemed overly prosey, dull in the way they sound when spoken. I started to tinker with the line length and, as I did that, started cutting things here and adding things there. By regularizing the sound, making it "sound more like me" the poem suddenly sorted itself out. I am convinced had I sat there trying to "fix" the logic of the poem or trying to fix the "story" that I would never have revised this poem. But playing with the sound of the lines helped me get both of those things right without thinking too much about them.


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Clue: It leads you home and it leads you away.


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New Year's Eve

Happy New Year! Tomorrow begins the Year of the Dog. Of course, I wait until the last minute. I need to go buy some red envelopes stat.


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


Today, some NER work, some wedding stuff, a quick visit to JapanTown to get shiatsu at the Hot Springs. And Zbigniew Herbert!


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ADT has left the blogosphere. I will miss him. A lot.


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Clue: Has keys but no locks.


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Subject and Object

Jacob and I watched Madagascar last night. It was pretty good, but I have to say that the Pixar movies are so much better. I never wanted to watch Finding Nemo, but it was actually great: very funny.


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


I just turned the sprinkler system back on a day ago, and already it is raining again. What the...


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


Zbigniew Herbert in da house! Well, this weekend at least. I am excited to re-read his work. Too many good conversations recently where Herbert came up.


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PICKING BLACKBERRIES WITH A FRIEND WHO HAS BEEN READING JACQUES LACAN



August is dust here. Drought
stuns the road
but the juice gathers in the berries.

We pick them in the hot
slow-motion of midmorning.
Charlie is exclaiming:

for him it is twenty years ago
and raspberries and Vermont.
We have stopped talking

about L'Histoire de la verite,
about subject and object
and the mediation of desire.

Our ears are stoppered
in the bee-hum. And Charlie,
laughing wonderfully,

beard stained purple
by the word juice,
goes to get a bigger pot.


--Robert Hass


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Dream Interrupted

There are times I wish I were not a doctor. This is one of those times. No, not because of patients or patient care, but because of the business stuff. And yes, there are separation issues with the old group. Aren't there always separation issues? I even dreamed about it last night, so it was like I never slept, never got away from it.


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


I wanted to read from Zbigniew Herbert's Selected Poems yesterday, wanted desperately to read from it. I haven't read any Herbert in years and was recently talking to a friend about his work. But yesterday, after all the NER work and the work for my practice and the other errands here and there, there was no time. Soon, Herbert, soon.


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Clue: "Asset Allocation" isn't always a financial term.


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Beautiful

Now THIS is a seriously beautiful book cover. I am crossing my fingers Four Way Books gives me a cover this gorgeous.

Every Choice

The odd thing or the good thing about having this blog is that it really is a record for me. One of the poems I had accepted yesterday, "Against Divination" was written this past year, and I could find the blog entry that matched when it was written. That entry, in turn, led to another entry that had captured the moment that is at the core of the poem, what I think made the poem come into existence. I think that is kind of cool, for me at least; having this record.


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


Yesterday:


Me: I need to explain...
Patient: You don't need to.
Me: But, I...
Patient: I know what is happening. The disease is growing somewhere else, isn't it?
Me: Yes.
Patient: The radiation can't help me there, can it?
Me: No.
Patient: So, this treatment I am doing won't let me live longer.
Me: Probably not. There is...
Patient: Okay. Well, I think I'll be seeing my daughter soon enough.
Me: Should we have someone contact her?
Patient: I don't think so. She ran away when she was 17 because she wanted to live in a city and have fun.
Me: Does she ever contact you?
Patient: No, but I will see her soon enough, I think.


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THE PURE ONES


Roads to the north of here are dry.
First red buds prick out the lethal spring
and corncrakes, swarming, lower in the clouds
above the fields from Paris to Beziers.
This is God's harvest: the village boy
whose tongue was sliced in two,
the village crones slashing cartilage
at the knees to crawl to Carcassonne.
--If the world were not evil in itself,
the blessed one said, then every choice
would not constitute a loss.
This sickness of this age is flesh,
he said. Therefore we build with stone.
The dead with their black lips are heaped
on one another, intimate as lovers.


--Robert Hass


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Acceptance

I had a terrible day. It was just frustrating in so many ways I cannot even begin to get into it here. Wedding frustration stuff. Work stuff. I just felt overwhelmed and tired. So, it was a real surprise and pleasure to get a message on my answering machine from one of my favorite magazine editors accepting two of my poems. It didn't make the day a good one, but it cheered me up a lot. I am not the most excited person about my own poems. I have a love-hate relationship with them. So, it was nice to hear that someone thought enough of these poems to want to share them with others. And getting a personal phone call is a rarety, so it felt really good. Usually these things happen by old-fashioned mail, occasionally by email. But a phone call, that is rare indeed. I know there is a lot of talk lately about poetry and publishing, and I know well enough that publication doesn't mean the poems are good, but it means something that someone wants to devote space to my small poems. And that is enough for me today. It is enough.

Ready, Set. . .

An interesting thing, greed. How it can distort one's sense of reality is quite amazing. I have learned a lot over the past three months about how greed can blind people to the realities of their job. I am glad I am on my own now, even if times are a little tougher now than they were six months ago. But everything will work out. I have to keep reminding myself of this.


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


I found out that my second book will begin production shortly. This is exciting because it means the book may actually see the light of day this time. Front cover, then back cover, then everything in between.


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


Our invitations arrived. There is a lot of folding, stuffing, and addressing in front of us. The wedding is starting to have a life of its own.


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Wedding Bells!

Well, I am not the only poet-blogger getting married. Barbara Jane Reyes and Oscar Bermeo are tying the knot! Love is in the air. And that makes me very happy. Stop by and wish them well.

Reclaiming Time

There are times when my memory seems too good to be true; my sixth grade classroom: the map of the world on the east facing wall, the west facing windows, the hedge outside the window trimmed to sit one and a half inches above the bottom of the window sill, the clock with the second hand that jerks one second backward every 54 seconds, the hideous green and brown carpet, the lone and ancient leather-spined book on the top shelf with the name Voltaire on it, the greenish grey chalk board never fully cleaned, the pale lime green paint on the walls. Memory is sometimes too good to be true. Must not some of this be the imagination's rendering? Must some of this not be shaded by the imagination? I have a very good memory. I can remember where on a glass one finds its imperfections in touch. I can remember smells almost as well as image-based things. I can think and remember in three dimensions (a handy trait in my particular field of medicine). But that said, I don't trust memory. Even at work, I look things up when I probably don't need to do so. It isn't that my memory isn't good. It is that I don't trust it. I think many people trust memory too much. Maybe this is why we don't study History the way we should, why we repeat things in this country rapidly with no comprehension of other people's history, much less our own.


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


Guy in hotel hallway: You know, sometimes you just get me.

Other guy walking in hallway: Well, we've been buds since we were kids.

GIHH: Yeah, since we were kids.

OGWIH: Shit, you must be drunk...

GIHH: Man, I love you, man.

OCGWIH: You are drunk.

GIHH: No man, I'm not tryin' to get all Brokeback on yo ass. I just love you man.

OCGWIH: Now I know you drunk...


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Clue: Next to the green-shaded brass banker's lamp.


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

Respite

I didn't realize how tired I was this past week until I was away for the weekend with Jacob. We had a great and restful weekend. And I think he had a good birthday. It was a welcome respite.


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


I found my Cavafy! It was misfiled with my Philosophy books. I must have put it there by accident when I was unpacking the books.


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


Jacob was right. Tercet gone!


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


Clue: You see it nightly, but you cannot see it.


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


Clue: Calculator


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

Poker Face

Still sick. Still! No muscle aches or anything, but I am still congested, etc. I just cannot stand it. I just cannot deal with being sick.


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


After work today, Jacob and I are driving out of town. It is his birthday this weekend, so we are stealing away for a weekend of spa-ing and shopping. It should be fun. Jacob is going to do the mud thing. I just can't get myself to do a mud bath. It just seems so dirty. And yes, I know it is mostly clay and not mud, but I still don't want to get in it.


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


Okay, last night Ashbery returned. I swear I conjured him because of joking about him appearing in my dreams all the time. This time, however, he showed up with my old teacher, Donald Justice. They were playing poker in my living room. Don ignored me and wouldn't say a word to me. Ashbery kept asking me to get him some water, a toothpick, some toast, a pencil. I kept saying, "Okay, uhm, okay." and Justice just kept concentrating on his cards. The weirdest thing? They were playing against people that were on the TV!


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


Oh Cavafy, where are you? What in God's name did I do with my Cavafy? I swear I have looked at it since the move.

The Parenthetical

Back pain resolving. Still having cold symptoms though. I am hoping most of them are gone by tomorrow. It is Jacob's birthday on Sunday, and we are sneaking away for the weekend. I don't want to be feeling like yuckness.


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


I found a title yesterday for the new poem. As usual, the title, once found, seemed a natural fit. And, as usual, it made me wonder why I didn't know the title before. Anyway, I am pretty happy with the poem now. I still have to tinker a little bit more. Jacob suggested ditching a whole tercet. So, now I have to think about that. That Jacob. He keeps knowing more and more about poetry. I made the comment last night that the parenthetical is almost never a slight thing, that there is strength and resolve to be found in parentheses at times. I started to say "I learned that from..." and he finished my sentence by saying "Bishop." I was not amused. But inside I was also more than amused. I love the fact Jacob reads poetry. I love the fact he even cares about it all. He is one of but a handful of people I know well who reads poems but doesn't write them. Most of my friends that read poems also write poems. After over ten years as an editor, I know a lot of poets.


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


My all important copy of Cavafy is missing! Where on God's green earth is it?!!!!


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

Pain, in retrospect

Jeff Bahr has a poem up at Poetry Daily today. Check it out, if you haven't already.


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


Whoever invented motrin deserves to made into a god! I was actually able to sleep after the motrin diminished the pain I was having in my back. Tylenol didn't do a thing to the pain.


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


Not getting much done today, as predicted. Frustrated I am by that. But I just don't feel well enough. I might tinker some more with the new poem, pray to the Muses for a title. I just hate coming up with titles for poems. Maybe John Ashbery will visit me again in one of those weird dreams and deliver me a title. I could only hope.


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


To my good friend trekking across to country right now to interview for a job in North Carolina: Good Luck! I have my fingers crossed for you; my toes, as well!


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

Motrin, please!

I saw all the patients today and even got 15 minutes for lunch. But my back is really killing me now. I need to go find some motrin. I have a feeling my day off tomorrow will not be spent getting errands done. I have a feeling I may have to take it easy tomorrow, something I am not looking forward to doing. I HATE being sick. I find it revolting. I just cannot stand to be sick. I am a terrible patient. Jacob can attest to this.


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


Apparently I am being interviewed tomorrow for an article in Men's Health, of all places. As you might guess, this has nothing to do with Poetry. I am assuming it will go better than the last interview I started. And no, there will be no pictures of me in terribly tight spandex swim trunks.


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Lame

Since Sunday, I haven't been feeling too well. I have been achey and have had a sore throat. Yesterday, I also seemed to sleep badly because I woke up with a feeling in my left back that felt distinctly like I had pulled a muscle there. It is still bothering me. I feel like crap today. Unfortunately, for me, my partner is away at a conference and won't be back until tomorrow. So, I have to go to work. And today is on-treatment day, which means I have to see all 43 patients currently receiving treatment. I will just do the best I can. There isn't much else for me to do.


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


Thank God in heaven for good coffee!!



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Sex Sells, etc.

Well, everyone says sex sells, and clearly Dolce & Gabbana have heard this statement. These pictures are from their new catalog. D&G likes to push the envelope, and let me say they really pushed it here.


I mean this second photo brings new meaning to the term "audition"!



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The Finalists for the National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry were announced this morning. They are:


Simon Armitage's The Shout

Manuel Blas de Luna's Bent to the Earth

Jack Gilbert's Refusing Heaven

Richard Siken's Crush

Ron Slate's The Incentive of the Maggot


The best part of this list is that three of the books are debut books! Blas de Luna, Siken, and Slate are all poets for whom these are their first full collections of poems. At least I think that is true.

Brokeback Mountain?

Thanks to Anne (who found this at Towleroad).

At Random

5 eggs, 1/2 cup of half and half, grated asiago cheese, 1/4 cup of white sweet corn, freshly ground black pepper: SCRAMBLE it up! Cut 1/2 inch slices of french baguette and toast them, roughly 5 tiny slices per person. Voila! An easy and very tasty breakfast. Serve with tomato juice for those who want savory, with apple juice for those who like a little sweetness.

Now you know what we had for breakfast.


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We spent the morning doing wedding registry stuff. Dear God, it all seems so complicated. But we decided to use a consolidator web site which allowed us to register at multiple places but have one central access point for our gift givers. In some ways it was kind of fun. In other ways, it was scary.


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


Still tinkering with the new poem. And yes, I still don't have a title. But this is nothing new for me. Many of my poems live for weeks, months sometimes, without titles.


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


We proofed the invitations. They look good! Now to deal with the florist. How hard can it be to get some calla lilies and irises?


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

Legitimate Danger

Well, Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century, is finally out. It has a really interesting mix of poets in it, including: Mark Bibbins, Joel Brouwer, Dan Chiasson, Olena Kalytiak Davis, Nick Flynn, Arielle Greenberg, Matthea Harvey, A. Van Jordan, Maurice Manning, Joyelle McSweeney, Paisley Rekdal, Brenda Shaughnessy, Richard Siken, Larissa Szporluk, Mark Wunderlich, Kevin Young, and many others. It has a nice feel to it. I take my hat off to Cate Marvin and Michael Dumanis for editing it. Editing an anthology is never an easy feat. You can also purchase it at Amazon for a healthy discount.


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

Mindlessness

Rainy again here. Dark, depressing. I spent the last half hour doing errands like paying bills, updating addresses, etc. Mindless. Now, it is time to proof the wedding invitation stuff.


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


Clue: The mind is not made of water.


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What is this, you ask? Well, this was what was above my bed at the Holiday Inn in Asheville. Is it a painting? No. Is it a photo? No. It is... a STENCIL! Yes, a stencil pasted to the wall above the bed! Gag!!!!!!


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Walk Well

The trip back from Asheville wore me out. I was like a zombie when I got home last night. I was hungry and exhausted. Flying just sucks the life out of you. I am glad I went though. The graduation ceremony for the WW MFA students is incredibly touching, symbolic even. Each graduating student gets a hand-carved walking stick made for them. They also get the usual diplomas/degrees as well. But it is the walking stick that is touching. Since WW is a type of mentorship, the ceremony has a special feeling to it. It isn't just a welcoming of people but a challenge to these graduates that there is work ahead, a lot of "walking". Anyway, it is all very moving.


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


I guess I better register for AWP soon. I keep getting letters and emails reminding me that panelists must register. I guess Austin isn't that far away.


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


I bought Brian Turner's Here, Bullet.


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Congratulations and Clues

I received wonderful news last night. My good friend, David Roderick, had his first book manuscript selected by Robert Pinsky as the winner of the APR/Honickman Award. I am so happy for him. David is one of the nicest guys I know. And he has not only been a good friend but a phenomenal editorial assistant for NER. Congratulations, David!


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


Clue: Just because something is broken doesn't mean it can be fixed!


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


Clue: Not the Ghost in the Machine.


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

Quick recap

Got to Asheville yesterday around 6:00pm. Checked in at the Holiday Inn, which is the creepiest HI I have ever seen. Think David Lynch. Think antlers underneath the lights in the hallways. Thinks statues of bears holding up the lamps in the rooms! Heard a fantastic reading last night by five of the faculty at this semester's residency. Got to hang out for a bit with friends afterward.

Today, went to a beautiful lecture given by Maurice Manning. It was titled "Defending Poetry," but the talk was about not just that but trying to define poetry and to define a poet. A thought-provoking and beautiful talk. Rick and I took our graduating student out to dinner. Rick was his teacher for his second semester. I just had him for his thesis semester. Tonight a reading by four of the graduating students and then more hanging out. Got to hang out with my other student from this past semester tonight. It was a good time talking poetry stuff and stuff in general.

Both last night and tonight I have been starving at midnight and have eaten at the Waffle House. This is of a sadness not even I can write about.

Tomorrow is graduation. And Thursday I head back to SF and back to work at the hospital on Friday.

Birthdays! etc.

Birthday wishes are in order here and here. Stop by and wish them happy birthday when you get a chance.


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


Thank God for airport lounges!!!! The Atlanta airport is like hell.


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


I am afraid, today, to look at the poem I drafted yesterday. I will get over that discomfort tomorrow, I hope. I know there is work to be done.


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Bye Fer Now

Up earlier than usual for me in order to get to the airport. Off to Asheville. Oh let there be some sleep for me on the plane. Back in SF on Thursday.

The Devil in the Violin

I was right. The poem was coming. I was pretty sure of it yesterday when I started knowing where the lines went, that one was the opening line, another the ultimate line. And I started seeing how other lines would fit here and there. And I called Jacob and pestered him about the opening of Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre." And I knew it right then and there the poem was taking on a life of its own. He must have heard the poem talking when I began to ask about the "devil" in the violin. He must have known when I asked him to define "Tritone," to explain to me how an augmented Fourth works. And when he told me how the violin must be tuned specifically to play this piece, the poem went nuts. THAT was it. That was IT.

I went to the Japanese Hot Springs yesterday, and almost the entire time I was there I was like a zombie. I usually use that time to clear my head, to enter an almost meditative space. There, I usually try not to think about anything, to empty my head. But it was impossible. By the time I left there, I had fifteen lines of the poem in my head. When I came home, Jacob asked me if I had drafted a poem. Well, I hadn't yet sat down to draft anything, so I told him no. But in fact, I had been drafting all afternoon, had to force myself to concentrate on the road driving home for fear I would zone out and crash my car.

At home, I forced myself to stay away from my studio. I did laundry, lots of it, and picked up stuff to make dinner. I then cooked and drank wine. I knew there was no turning back, that I needed now to relax and let the poem sort itself out. I started changing words in the lines. I started playing around with sound as words are shifted. I am sure I wasn't a wonderful companion to Jacob, but I also think he knew I was "deep in the poem," was working it out. I had a hard time falling asleep last night. My brain was in overdrive, busy with words.

This morning, I got up, had coffee, went outside because it was actually sunny for a change. Why the mind should then fix on something terrible, something from the past so grave, so awful, is beyond me. I was actually disgusted with myself because here I was in this beautiful, almost idyllic, morning and my mind fixated on an image of death. But when I came inside, I realized that I couldn't help it. It was the poem. It was the missing piece of the poem. And so, I finally went into my studio and drafted the poem, all 33 lines of it. I have already started to tinker with it again, now that it has taken shape, is in a different form. I am in that state where I keep returning to it, sometimes just to look at it or read it aloud. I keep finding errors of logic, errors of language, errors everywhere. I am noting them. But for now, I am letting the poem sit as it is with its many flaws. As silly as it sounds, I am letting it live the way it is for a little while before I start what is, for me, the real work of writing, the revising.

That Face!

Well, Kelli's done it. Peter's done it. Eduardo's done it. So, I couldn't resist doing it. Yup, I did the old face recognition program. Like everyone else, I don't quite understand what this program evaluates because I don't think I look much like the folks I am matched up with! The number one person I am matched up with?

I just don't get it. I ran the program again with a different picture, assuming it would find a different top match. Well, it didn't! Ran it again and the top match to a different picture of mine was once again, Matt Leblanc! Ah what the hell! I do not think I look like Matt Leblanc.

I tried another picture of me, and yup, you guessed it. Matt Leblanc. Others that come up, but not with such a high percentage of match are Nicolas Cage, Kevin Spacey, and Johnny Depp.

So, Jacob and I then had to upload pictures of him. One of his pictures matched Antonio Banderas and George Clooney. Another matched one of Saddam Hussein's relatives. Both brought up Luciano Pavarotti as a low match.

So, if you wanted to see Matt Leblanc have sex with Antonio Banderas...


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


The poem is coming. More lines. Playing now with the sound of the lines. Playing now with the "Devil."


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

Yes!

I am ANXIOUSLY awaiting this book...


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


ADT is having a mini-meltdown. He wants you to post poems that will "rock his face off." He wants them STAT.

Feisty

What is it about people on the East Coast, specifically New York (Ron!), that makes people call us on the West Coast at ungodly hours of the morning (4:15 AM)! I mean, I swear to God. I normally get up around 5:00 to 5:15 AM, but really. Jacob and I totally freaked out this morning when the phone began ringing at 4:15 AM. Why? Well, the last time someone called us at that hour was on September 11th. By the time I got to the phone the person (Ron!) was leaving us a message. All I have to say is the girl must be on crack!!!


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


I think I am approaching a poem. I cannot stop listening to this New Order song and now I have certain lines in my head and the vague notion of an argument, some wisps of rhetoric floating by. For once I know the opening lines, but I may be wrong. They may well be the closing lines by the time I sort through the lines. As more lines come, it will become more clear. I hope this isn't a false start. I'll know soon enough. I have three lines right now. Order isn't yet an issue.


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New things have been popping up all week with the new practice. But so far my partner and I have been handling them and handling them reasonably well. Our big scare earlier in the week was realizing that we had only contracted with Blue Cross/Blue Shield for their regular insurance and that we were therefore not one of their preferred providers. Well, we are remedying that quickly.


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It was about a year ago that I signed up for sitemeter. And today, at some point, I will have my 100,000th visitor. Yeah, some will read that statement as a brag or an obsession with popularity or whatever. But I could care less. I find the fact people visit this blog fascinating. And as I have been known to say, bloggers can write about whatever they goddamned want to write about.


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C'est la vie

Amazing how a very simple meal can really be a fantastic meal. Last night, we had a spinach and arugula salad that we picked up at Albertsons followed by a creamy sweet corn soup with pieces of fresh sourdough batard on the side. It was the perfect dinner for a cold and wet evening.


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Spent much of my day yesterday reading, working on wedding stuff, and running errands. I wanted to be life I was in grad school and just sit myself down until I wrote a poem. Sadly, it just doesn't work like that anymore. At least not for me. I would still be sitting here staring at the keyboard. But such is life. Things happen when they are supposed to happen. And if the past is any indication, it may well be another month in the new place before I write anything or even begin to write anything. I don't write much in new spaces. This is why I could never go to a Writer's Colony.


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


Jimmy has moved once again. He is now here.


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Guidelines

Finishing up the stuff on the wedding invitations. I always feel like we are doing things for this wedding in a timely manner, but then I look at one of the wedding guides and then freak out. The guide says the invitations should be printed and stuff 6 months before the wedding. Good God. Anyway, I need to work on flowers today as well. And I need to sit down and read submissions. I just got another stack in the mail from Middlebury yesterday.


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Sometimes, you feel helpless because someone is taking advantage of someone you love. You can offer advice, but there is little you can do directly. It is an interesting and odd kind of pain to be in this situation. I am someone who likes "to do." I am not good at simply watching or advising.


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


One calla lily. Two irises.


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Huh?

Why in God's name would you name an under the desk stand for your keyboard a "Banana Board"? What the hell was this company thinking? Uhm, let's call it a banana board.

1963

A new year, a new job. Well, a new "old" job. I am in practice with one other doctor starting today. But we are working at one of the hospitals we used to work at when in the old group. I am excited because I will no longer be working at multiple hospitals. And I am excited to be my own boss, so to speak. It is also a little scary. There is safety in numbers. So, it is going to feel a little weird to us for a while. But I am sure we will get used to it. The elemental aspect of our job won't change: we take care of patients.


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Aren't they raising the cost of postage again?


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I have been re-reading Neruda. I remember loving Neruda. Somehow, I just wasn't connecting to his work this time. Maybe I am not in a Neruda mood. I just didn't feel the awe and fascination in reading his "Odas" that I used to feel. But I am still aware of the fact he seems able to find ways of describing common objects that are striking.


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I cannot stop listening to New Order's "1963."


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Back

Well, we are back in San Francisco. I hope a good time was had by all to welcome the New Year. We had a fairly quiet weekend. Glad to be home.