Quick note

Everything yesterday went beautifully. The day went by so quickly, it all seems like a big blur. I am exhausted. I can't believe I am back at work tomorrow. Can't wait until May 8th now to head off to Alaska. It will the first time in my adult life I have been away from work of any kind for two whole weeks. Right now, I need it.

And thank you to all of you who sent good wishes. It meant so much to the two of us. It is why we posted the ceremony, because so many of you wanted to at least experience some of it. And all I did was cut and paste, so it literally took me three minutes (for those who thought me a truly stalwart blogger).

I wish I could have talked more to so many people who came, but everyone told me it would be virtually impossible. But it was a great day. I was at a loss for words much of the day, an almost unbelievable thing for those who know me well.

The Ceremony

I promised several who could not be at the wedding that I would post the ceremony. It is below, except for our pre-vow statements.


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The Wedding Ceremony for Jacob Joseph Bertrand & Clarence Dale Anthony William Young


Processional:


Order:

1. Andrea Johnson (turns left and sits first row far left)

2. Jennifer Grotz (turns right and sits first row far right)

3. Emily Lutgen (turns left and etc.)

4. Rick Barot (turns right etc.)

5. Zachary Bertrand (stands before Michael Collier on left)

6. Geri Doran (stands before Michael Collier on right)

7. Jacob Bertrand escorted by Ralph and Diane Bertrand to foot of aisle. Ralph and Diane Bertrand proceed down aisle and turn left sitting in 3rd and 4th seat from center. Leave second seat from center for Zachary Bertrand.

8. C. Dale Young escorted by Clarence and Ruby Young to foot of aisle. Clarence and Ruby proceed down the aisle and turn right sitting in the 3rd and 4th seat from the center. Leave second seat from center for Geri Doran.

9. Jacob and C. Dale proceed down the aisle and stand before Michael Collier between their respective Best Persons.


Welcome:

Given by Michael Collier.

“Friends, we have gathered here today to share with Jacob and C. Dale a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live out their lives together as beloved partners. This is a commitment not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly – but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

“Who stands now to support Jacob in his lifelong commitment to this man?”

Zachary Bertrand responds: “I do.”

“Who stands now to support C. Dale in his lifelong commitment to this man?”

Geri Doran responds: “I do.”

Zachary and Jacob sit on left in 2nd and 1st seats from aisle. Geri and C. Dale sit on right in 2nd and 1st seats from the aisle.

Readings:

Michael Collier: Let us now hear the readings to celebrate the joining of this couple.

Michael can then sit in chair reserved for him.

First Reading: Andrea Johnson proceeds to mike.

“First Reading

A Reading from The Book of ECCLESIASTES

Two are better than one, because they have
a good return for their toil. For if they fall,
one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him
who is alone when he falls and has not another
to lift him up. Again, if two lie together,
they are warm; but how can one be warm alone?
And though a man might prevail against one who is alone,
two will withstand him.”

Andrea returns to seat.


Poem: Rick Barot proceeds to mike.

“Having a Coke With You” by Frank O’Hara

Rick returns to his seat.


Second Reading: Jennifer Grotz proceeds to mike.

“Second Reading

A Reading from the First Letter of Paul to the CORINTHIANS

Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not
arrogant or rude.

Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it
does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures
all things.

Love never ends.”

Jennifer returns to seat.

Poem: Emily Lutgen proceeds to mike.

“Sonnet XVII” by Pablo Neruda.

Emily returns to seat.

Michael returns to center position and takes mike. Reads Wedding Homily and then “Tree Marriage” by William Meredith.

Vows:

Michael asks Jacob and C. Dale to step forward.

Jacob: makes pre-vow statement.

C. Dale make pre-vow statement.

Michael asks Zachary and Geri to step forward (they should have the rings) to support the vows to be taken.

Michael: Do you, Jacob, in the presence of God, your family and friends, take Clarence Dale Anthony William, to be your beloved, your constant friend, your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, in joy as well as in sorrow from this day forward for as long as you both shall live?

Jacob: I do.

Michael: Do you, C. Dale, in the presence of God, your family and friends, take Jacob Joseph, to be your beloved, your constant friend, your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, in joy as well as in sorrow from this day forward for as long as you both shall live?

C. Dale: I do.

Michael: May we have the rings, the eternal symbols of the love and commitment between these two men?

Zach and Geri hand Jacob and C. Dale the rings. They then place them on each other’s fingers.

Michael: I now present to you all, Jacob and C. Dale. You may now kiss each other.

Kiss.

Recessional:

1. Jacob and C. Dale
2. Zach and Geri
3. Ralph Bertrand and Ruby Young
4. Diane Bertrand and Clarence Young
5. Emily Lutgen and Rick Barot
6. Andrea Johnson and Trecia Wells
7. Michael Collier

Move to Deck for Champagne Toast and appetizers.


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My Small Heart

Okay, the families are here. All the guests are arriving one by one. Lunch today then rehearsal then rehearsal dinner. It all seems to happening very quickly now. We have, as they say, given over. It has taken on its own life and we now feel like bystanders. Happy bystanders.


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Found a page in my old journal from Gainesville, just before I left to start my internship in Virginia. Apparently, a psychic who read cards and hands told me, when I asked what was in store for me in San Francisco, that I would know pain there I could never have imagined, but that it would be okay. She said the pain was a necessary pain and that not long afterward there would be love in my life unlike anything I had experienced before. She told me that in San Francisco, I would meet the true love of my life, that he would appear out of nowhere, that there was little I could do about it. She said this man would clarify my life, would have a heart large enough to make up for my small heart, that he would bring me patience and peace of mind. At the time, I was horrified. I was already married! I thought she was a nutcase. And I thought I was a fool for ever agreeing to let her hold my hand to dream the dream of the future. The strangest part? She said this man would be quiet, a deep thinker, that he wore a beard! In my entry, I laughed and wrote something like "Whatever!" When I read this entry yesterday, I nearly collapsed from shock. I had forgotten most of what she had told me. But she was right. There was little I could have done to change the course of events. Is the future not a straight line of time? Is it something that spins where some who are sensitive can see it coming back at them where others cannot see it at all? Beware the red-headed woman with green eyes who wants to hold your hand and tell you of your future. She is a powerful being. She sees.



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Countdown

Family arriving. Picking up tuxedos. Woke up this morning with the last line of a poem in my head. Drank coffee and played with line after line in my head. Sat down and drafted the poem. Tinkered with it. First poem in a long time. Was just telling my friend I had seemed to have lost the desire. But it surprised me. The poem? It is titled "La Revancha del Tango."


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Many tiny things to do. Must make lists to make sure we don't forget stuff tomorrow morning. It will all be over before we know it. There is sunshine everywhere.


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A Mess

I had the worst day of work today I have ever had as a physician. It was beyond awful. It ended with a brand new patient consult where the patient had a grand mal seizure on the exam table as I was examining him. This necessitated a trip to ED and my staying there until 6:00pm. I was supposed to leave at 3pm. I missed my haircut appt. I fucked up the reservation for dinner tonight. My nerves are totally frayed. I am nearing gin and a wine chaser!


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And thank you to all of you sweet people who have emailed me. It meant more than you could imagine. And yes, I know everything will end up working out.


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Just found out a friend is taking Jacob and me to French Laundry on Friday for lunch. We are very excited.


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Clue: Diamonds are forever...


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Starlight and Visitation

I missed American Idol last night. Instead, I was sitting around drinking wine and talking about Poetry, about the evolution of one's style, about strength of style vs. being stubborn, etc. It was wonderful. We talked about reviewing and the poetry "conversation" and the reasons we need a community and the reasons we don't. It was a conversation I could only have with but a handful of people, which made it all the more special. The funny thing is that now that my friend Geri has arrived, I realize I really am getting married shortly, and I also feel like everything will work out okay. Anyone who has visited this blog long enough knows I am more than a little obsessive-compulsive, more than a little bit of a perfectionist. As a consequence, I have very high expectations for most things, coupled with very little patience. But Jacob and Geri and other friends ground me. I think things will work out okay. It will not be a disaster. By now you know I am trying to talk myself into believing this.


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Don Justice visited me last night. No Ashbery, just Justice. He told me, in a very subtle and Justice-like way, that I was full of shit. When I asked him what he was talking about, he said: "You know... You already know." I started laughing uncontrollably in the dream. He started laughing, too. We kept laughing and laughing.


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Today is rare cancer day. I have three consults today, all of which are pretty darn rare cancers. Thankfully, I have treated all three types before. I will still probably spend time reviewing each one before I see the patients. I won't be able not to do that.


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A couple of days ago, a patient came for follow up.

Patient: Are you married yet?
Me: Nope, this weekend.
P: Well, I told you to take this week off when I saw you six months ago.
Me: I know.
P: We will all survive even if you aren't here.
Me: I know.
P: You are a workaholic, aren't you?
Me: Probably.
P: Well, you shouldn't be here, but I am still glad to see you.
Me: (laughing) I know.
P: You know a lot, but you don't know everything (starts laughing)
Me: (laughing even more) I know...


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This Gossamer, This Web

Yes, I am nervous. Of course, I am nervous. I am not the man of steel, for godssake.


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My best friend arrives today. Suddenly everything is starting to seem very real. I know I can't stop talking wedding. Just hang in there. The usual CDY stuff will return soon enough.


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Here is the poem that will be read by our officiant, Michael Collier, just before we make our vows:


TREE MARRIAGE


In Chota Nagpur and Bengal
the betrothed are tied with threads to
mango trees, they marry the trees
as well as one another, and
the two trees marry each other.
Could we do that some time with oaks
or beeches? This gossamer we
hold each other with, this web
of love and habit is not enough.
In mistrust of heavier ties,
I would like tree-siblings for us,
standing together somewhere, two
trees married with us, lightly, their
fingers barely touching in sleep,
our threads invisible but holding.

--William Meredith


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What's Goin' On...

OMG, this post just about killed me. Pirooz is mackin' via the grandma!

Gideon is as sneaky as we always guessed. You go, Gid!

Aimee discovers what many of already knew... EVIL

Steve discovers his own personal evil.

Steve takes notice of the Ruth Lily Prize.

Singular

I am a little overwhelmed, but just a little. We got a lot of the little stuff done this weekend: table name cards, programs printed, reception table schema finalized, table assignment lists printed, etc. etc. My friend (and my best person), Geri, arrives tomorrow. Family members arriving soon. I am still working until Wednesday. So yeah, a little overwhelmed. We still need to check on picking up the tuxedos. I am actually a little scared about whether or not things will end up okay. No, not scared about actually marrying Jacob, just scared of how the whole thing will go down. And even scared is likely the wrong word. Nervous, yes, I am nervous.



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Found a picture of me taken in 1988. In it I am wearing a Smiths t-shirt with a giant picture of Morrissey's head on it. I look so freakin young, it is scary.


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Here is a photo of the two of us in Orlando not too long ago. We managed to ride Mission Space and survive (no doubt because Rebecca Loudon lit candles for us!). I am sorry; I know I am not being a very good poetry blogger right now. I just can't help it. I feel fixated and my thoughts are small, quite limited presently. The best I can do for a poem today is to send you all back in time to a post of mine. Here is one of my earliest posts, back when this blog was a lot better:


The One


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Clue: Oh, I can't be bothered...


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Zoo Dead

Well, the official public report is out: Zoo Press is dead. You can read about it in the new Poets & Writers. Interestingly, their web site still exists, touting their "contests" etc. The whole thing is appalling. Sad, and appalling.


*

Ambient Groove

The 10-day forecast on weather channel has been saying slight rain for the 29th now for a few days, but oday when I checked it, it says sunny for the 28th and 29th. Let's hope it stays that way!


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Jacob and I went bowling with our friends, Ron and Kevin, last night in Pacifica. I hadn't been bowling in almost two years. I was pretty bad. Barely broke 100 in one of the games. A fun, somewhat trashy time (complete with hot dogs and nachos and beer).


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Made up the iPod playlist for the evening cocktail party. We decided on lounge/cocktail music from the 30's up until the present day. A strange mix of big band, crooners, up-tempo ballads, ambient music, and even a Barry White song. Best discovery we added to the list? An ambient house groove remix of Ella Fitzgerald singing "Slap that Bass." It is amazing.


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The Chronicle reviews Aliki Barnstone's new translation of Cavafy. Much to agree with here.


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Clue: Scrambled eggs, hash browns, sourdough toast.


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Coming Soon, ANTM: The Men!

It is just a matter of time, people. Just a matter of time!

Candy, Napa, & Mercury

It is Saturday morning, so what better to start the day than a little Dolce & Gabbana.








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The Napa Valley Writers' Conference (July 29-August 4, 2006) in St. Helena, CA, will award full and partial scholarships to conference participants again this year. All scholarships are awarded on the basis of merit and need. Two full scholarships, covering the $675 tuition, will be awarded to writers of color. Most other scholarships are partial.

This year's faculty are:

FICTION: Ron Carlson, Michelle Huneven, Antonya Nelson, ZZ Packer
POETRY: Forrest Gander, Brenda Hillman, Arthur Sze, C.D. Wright

To apply, visit their website

The deadline is MAY 17.

I taught there last summer and it was a phenomenal setting and warm people. The poetry workshops are designed for you to write new poems for each day. The readings are at wineries. There is fantastic food and wine galore. And the beauty of Napa and St. Helena is stunning.


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Today, we pick up non-alcoholic beverages, new plants for our bathroom (the goddamned rosemary we bought months ago has slowly wilted and died), get the table name cards printed, get the table assignments for the lunch/dinner printed, try not to have a breakdown.


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Is it not true that they recommend pregnant women not eat fish because of dangerous mercury levels and other toxins? Or did I dream this up?



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Clue: "I am wearing 'Push-me-in-the-bush No. 5', for god's sake."


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Friday!

I am glad it is Friday and the week is over. My nerves are frayed. I need this weekend badly, even though there is much to do. Must print up the programs. Must print up the table assignments. Must do a lot, really. But glad it is Friday. And glad I am marrying the most patient man in America. Well, he would have to be to marry me!


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I have started visiting websites looking at reviews and insider things relating to our cruise (on Celebrity). I even found pix of our suite. I am starting to feel like a kid before going to Disney World. Okay, everyone will understand that except Rebecca Loudon. What I am saying is I am starting to get excited. I am not sure what we will do with ourselves for 2 weeks out at sea. I think I may just sleep, and kayak by glaciers, and watch bald eagles, and enjoy the Aqua Spa! Hell, I am going to love this.


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I got an email today that I know has to be a joke. It was for the Jim Behrle School of Blogging. I know this has to be a joke. Please tell me it is a joke. Anyway, I reported it as spam.


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One more hour of work. One more hour.


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A Spoonful of Water

My friend Geri should be coming in early in the next week. She has been off in Europe on an Amy Lowell Travelling Scholarship. It will be good to see her.


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How does one learn more patience? Not sure such a thing is possible. It seems certain people are just inclined to be more patient and others are inclined to be the opposite. I wish I were more patient.


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UNDER ONE SMALL STAR

My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you
    as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook
    each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest
    is the first.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minutes to those who cry
    from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations
for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing
    a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always
    in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck
    the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you
    now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere
    at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be each woman
    and each man.
I know I won't be justfied as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

--Wislawa Szymborska

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Clue: 99 Bottles of beer on the wall...


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Nothing Like the Sun

My surprise turned out to be a windbreaker (I don't own one and need one for the upcoming cruise), a pair of crocs (wacky sandal things), a wicking fleece (again for the Alaska trip), and dinner at Bistro Chapeau! The exclamation mark is part of the name of the restaurant. All in all, a great surprise. My dinner was exquisite, as it always is at Chapeau!. We started with a very tiny portion of split pea soup with basil oil on top and a kir royale. I then had a mesclun salad topped with a creamy dijon dressing and a chunk of fried Camembert as well as a few grape halves. Palate cleanser was a vodka-infused orange and ginger sorbet. The came the 1997 Chateau Olivier Bordeaux. Fantastic. My entree was a filet mignon in a green peppercorn and brandy reduction served with sauteed trumpet mushrooms and petite frite. Desert? A warm chocolate and caramelized banana cake with a scoop of rum raisin ice cream. I am so not going to fit into my tuxedo for the wedding!!!!!!!


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Congratulations to a friend of mine who just had his second book picked up by Norton. It is never easy to place a second book of poetry, and this was no exception, but everything worked out well in the end.


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I need to sit down today and read my second book manuscript over one more time, line by line, word by word. I need to get the final manuscript together to send off to Four Way. I suddenly have a sense of dread, which is completely illogical. It reminds me of the dread I used to have when organizing slides of paintings to finalize an exhibit. An uncomfortable, slightly dyspeptic sensation of looking at your own work. Looking at individual poems or paintings never does this to me. But looking at a grouping of any kind always does this to me.


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For today's poem (a not so daily thing), I am going Old School. I mean seriously old school, people:




SONNET

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;



Coral is far more red than her lips' red;



If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;



If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.



I have seen roses damasked, red and white,



But no such roses see I in her cheeks;



And in some perfumes is there more delight



Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.



I love to hear her speak, yet well I know



That music hath a far more pleasing sound;



I grant I never saw a goddess go;



My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.



  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare



  As any she belied with false compare.

--William Shakespeare


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Reminds me. I once saw a patient years and years ago whose last name was Shakespeare. When I pronounced the name, the woman looked at me with an annoyed look and said: "It is pronounced Shock a spee ah ray." I just about died!


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Clue: Battle Stations!


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Humming With Light

The reading last night went well. It was good to finally hear Juliana Spahr read, and D.A. Powell read a brand new poem that was absolutely incredible. I mean, this poem was gorgeous. I would have taken it for NER in a heartbeat, but it was already taken. In all, a good and very diverse reading. None of us sound even remotely alike.


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Driving across the Bay Bridge last night with Moby playing as backdrop, the night air was transparent and the city gleamed and glimmered, its lights even reflecting off the water of the Bay. No not the kind of reflection you see in a not too good painting but that angelic glow of light thrown off and then thrown back, the lower parts of the city humming with light. What a beautiful city. And then the hills behind the city glittering with house lights and street lights like stars.


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I have a case this morning so I am up a little earlier than usual in order to make it in to the hospital on time. I don't like working on this day. In fact, I used to always take this day off. But now that I am half owner of a practice, it is harder for me to just take off and stick my partner with all of the work.


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Clue: One Year Older. Gag!


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Pulitzer Prize for Poetry (2006)

Winner: Claudia Emerson for her book Late Wife.

Finalists: Dean Young, Elegy on Toy Piano and Elizabeth Alexander, American Sublime.


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This result was suprising to me.

On Either Side

Well, I think we are in good shape here for the wedding. We just paid up the photographer. I think we still owe another $500 to the floral designer. Need to check on that. Time is now flying by. Before you know it, we will be married and then off to Alaska.


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Busy day today. I am going to try my hardest to stay on track in terms of dictations and chartwork. I cannot stay late because I am reading in Berkeley tonight at 7:30pm at Pegasus Books. Reading with Doug Powell, Ilya Kaminsky, Tessa Rumsey, Juliana Spahr, and Brian Teare. I am just going to have to head straight there from work. At that hour of day, it will likely take 90 or more minutes to get to the East Bay from the South Bay.


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Stephen Burt's new book is reviewed in the Washington Post Book World.


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I still like this weird little poem by H.D. It has been much anthologized and taught, so much so some dislike the way they do a an alternative rock band that then crosses over and gets too much play on pop radio. But I still like this poem. Even now, 25 years after first reading it, I still like it.


HEAT


O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.


--H. D.


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Short Lines

Back in San Francisco. As we drove into the city, the sun came out. It looked like a miracle of sorts, the ground still dark and wet, the air all sparkly and bright, the sky still darkened but the blue coming through.


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Sorry folks. Blogger doesn't like the paste option I used for Koch's poem yesterday. It keeps moving the really short lines around. If I had time, I would type it out from scratch. But I don't have the time.


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Someone arrived at this blog searching "hunky furry poet." I find that a little disturbing. Jacob finds it hysterical.


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Friends of our are off watching a wacked out version of "Swan Lake." In this production, all men, and all naked. What is up with that?! We didn't get back in time to go see it. Ah, San Francisco. First the Hunky Jesus competition in Dolores Park. Now naked Swans.


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Clue: Free Wireless in Ireland...


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A Serious Moment

Decided to get out of Dodge. We are heading out of town. Be back tomorrow evening.


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30 bottles of champagne for the toast/hors d'oeuvres. 53 bottles of wine. Open Bar at the cocktail party. I wonder if anyone will be able to remember the amazing wine valley food.


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Clue: Hi-Lo-Yo!


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THE BOILING WATER

A serious moment for the water is
when it boils
And though one usually regards it
merely as a convenience
To have the boiling water
available for bath or table
Occasionally there is someone
around who understands
The importance of this moment
for the water—maybe a saint,
Maybe a poet, maybe a crazy
man, or just someone
temporarily disturbed
With his mind "floating"in a
sense, away from his deepest
Personal concerns to more
"unreal" things...

A serious moment for the island
is when its trees
Begin to give it shade, and
another is when the ocean
washes
Big heavy things against its side.
One walks around and looks at
the island
But not really at it, at what is on
it, and one thinks,
It must be serious, even, to be this
island, at all, here.
Since it is lying here exposed to
the whole sea. All its
Moments might be serious. It is
serious, in such windy weather,
to be a sail
Or an open window, or a feather
flying in the street...

Seriousness, how often I have
thought of seriousness
And how little I have understood
it, except this: serious is urgent
And it has to do with change. You
say to the water,
It's not necessary to boil now,
and you turn it off. It stops
Fidgeting. And starts to cool. You
put your hand in it
And say, The water isn't serious
any more. It has the potential,
However—that urgency to give
off bubbles, to
Change itself to steam. And the wind,
When it becomes part of a
hurricane, blowing up the beach
And the sand dunes can't keep it away.
Fainting is one sign of
seriousness, crying is another.
Shuddering all over is another one.

A serious moment for the
telephone is when it rings.
And a person answers, it is
Angelica, or is it you.

A serious moment for the fly is
when its wings
Are moving, and a serious
moment for the duck
Is when it swims, when it first
touches water, then spreads
Its smile upon the water...

A serious moment for the match
is when it burst into flame...

Serious for me that I met you, and
serious for you
That you met me, and that we do
not know
If we will ever be close to anyone
again. Serious the recognition
of the probability
That we will, although time
stretches terribly in
between...



--Kenneth Koch

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Kurt Cobain, Owls, and Hotties...

Eduardo is the featured poet over at Poetry Northwest's site.


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Pirooz has a hotties list. Sadly, I did not make it. Crying now. Just kidding.


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Kurt Cobain? Plath? Poetry? You have to check out this essay.


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No poem today. No poem. No. No Poem TODAY. No POEM. Nothing. None. No.


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I didn't realize there were owls living in the vast stretch of tree filled swale in front of our street. No, didn't realize it until one of them, being quite hooty, did the tell-tale call several times last night. It was so quiet a night the owl call was all the more haunting and surprising. " Who Cooks for You? Who Cooks for You?"


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Clue: Seamus Heaney...


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Blast Off

First day back to work was tough. I realized I am really not 100% yet. Tired. Unfortunately, my partner and I have a business meeting/dinner tonight. So, it will be a while before I get to head home and hang out with Jacob.


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Over at Rebecca Loudon's place, I read about a woman dying after riding Mission Space at Epcot. Here is a follow-up article to that. Scary stuff. Jacob and I rode this when we were in Orlando a month or so ago. We had ridden it before. It IS an intense ride.


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Okay, have to run. I have two lines bumping around in my head. Not sure they even belong together yet. Will have to see over time what else coalesces.


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

Not Sex

Well, just as I called. Ace should have gone home last night, but America voted and sent Bucky home. I just knew it would play out like that. I am sorry, but even Bucky can sing, even if not well. Ace cannot sing and needs to go!


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


A lot of discontent in the poetry blogosphere right now. A lot. I can't even bother saying any more about it. What is the point? Have you noticed lately how little real conversation goes on about poetics? Recently, these "conversations" are like a realization of Behrle's cartoons.


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



THE HUG


It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.


--Thom Gunn


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



Clue: Boot Camp.


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

Aimlessly

Still haven't read Natasha Trethewey's Native Guard yet? Well, here is what Jordan Davis has to say about it. Aren't you even a little bit curious?


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


I found, this morning, while searching for something on my laptop, a note I wrote to myself disparaging the ms. that would become my first book. I was dead on. Thank God, I eventually listened to myself. Thank God I dumped and dumped and re-ordered. I can barely look at that book now, but I am sure I wouldn't be able to even look at it at all had I left it the way it was. Well, to be honest, had I left it the way it was it would probably still be a ms.


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


Actually came close today to making up a list of paints and painting supplies I would need to work on something I know cannot be a poem. Came close. But I just can't do it. I just can't get myself to do it. Painting feels more and more like something a different C. Dale did. See what being sick and staying home does to a person.


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


And Happy Birthday to two young poets in Houston. You know who you are...


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

Scowl for Scowl

American Idol does Queen. Well, more like Queen did American Idol. Oh, forget it. Bad joke. Anyway, the show starts up, the music we all love and hate starts playing. The camera scans the audience. Wait! Is that Daniel Nester in the audience. Darn, no, it isn't. But secretly, we all wish to see him in the audience with a smile the size of Kansas plastered on his face.

What can I say? Queen Night on Idol was a mixed bag. Kelly Pickler continued her faux hillbilly naivete BS, but she shocked just about everyone by doing a fairly decent rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Seriously. I know, when I heard she was singing this I all but vomited in my mouth. But in the end, she did a pretty good job. Other good jobs, Taylor Hicks was entertaining, even if he looked like he was having seizures at time. Dude, if you are going to kick over the mic, do it! Jeez.

Bomb of the night was definitely (yup, you guessed it) Ace Young. He actually started off okay but turned "We Will Rock You" into a lame rock ballad. Gag! It was terrible. The only thing worse? Chris Daughtry who sang a Queen song never performed live before. I think there is a reason it was never performed live. It sucked. And Chris's version sounded strangely (well, not that strangely) like Live covering Queen. Chris, who was one of the promising singers at the start, is fizzling away into boredom. Yawn.

And Katherine McPhee? Well, she did a good song, but she was flat at times which, unfortunately, meant she sounded like she was screaming. It was ghastly. Paris did a good job but I just couldn't get into it at all. Basically, what I am saying is that Queen night wasn't horrendous, but it wasn't that great either. Who will go? I am thinking it is going to be Bucky. I want it to be Ace, but I am thinking it is going to be Bucky.


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


I am more than a little worried about this. The rhetoric has begun. I fear we are approaching WWIII. And I fear we may be looked upon as the bad guys, especially if we pull out the nuclear option. All this talk of a "surgical" nuclear strike makes me more than a little nauseated. And why can't certain people in this administration pronounce the word nuclear correctly?

First there will be gastroenteric distress as people in the areas shed the lining of their gut. Then there will be infections and deaths because we won't have the white blood cells necessary to fight off anything (the marrow is easily destroyed after such an exposure). But then, even though supportive care can get you through these things, if the brain suffers a high enough dose, there will be brain necrosis and certain death that follows. How do we know this? The way we know about all radiation reactions. The experiments performed by the Nazis and the experiment we performed at Hiroshima.


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


I know my blog is schizophrenic. I know.


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

APOLOGIA PRO POEMATE MEO

I, too, saw God through mud,--
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

Merry it was to laugh there--
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

I, too, have dropped off Fear--
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
And sailed my spirit surging light and clear
Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;

And witnessed exultation--
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

I have made fellowships--
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

By Joy, whose ribbon slips,--
But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,
And heaven but as the highway for a shell,

You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.


--Wilfred Owen


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

Like a Good Neighbor

We had a bit of a scare today. In all of the planning etc. for this wedding, we forgot the stipulation in the contract with the winery that we had to have an insurance rider for $500,000 per person for various damages, etc. that could occur that day. Somehow, we forgot to do this. Not to sound like a commercial for State Farm Insurance, but....

Today, after I got the message from the winery asking where the rider certificate was, I called my State Farm Agent. I explained that we had effed up and that this rider was due two weeks ago. She was amazing. She took the information, put me on hold, spoke to an underwriter, got back on the line and told me she would definitely have the certificate by Monday but would try to have it today. An hour later, she called me back to tell me she had the certificate and could fax it to the winery. I gave her the number, and she did it. She then faxed me a copy with a note reminding me to call her back after the ceremony so they could adjust my insurances. Apparently, they will give us a couple's discount on our car insurance, renter's insurance, etc. once we are married. I was kind of shocked. I called her and made sure she realized we were a same-sex couple. She said she knew and could technically give us the discount now, but thought that defeated the purpose of our wedding ceremony. I have to say, I was even more shocked. Basically, what I am saying is that State Farm is the absoeffinglutley best insurance company I have ever had!

No Winn-Dixie... NO!

I think I am starting to feel better. Well, it could just be wishful thinking.


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


To all the model wannabes on TV lately, THIS is what a supermodel looks like. Get it? She is flawless. F-L-A-W-L-E-S-S. Runway or no runway, she looks flawless. All these young models who are photographed looking like they just stepped out of Winn-Dixie need to just pack it up. Supermodels? I don't think so. This is a supermodel:

Linda Evangelista

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

And a belated congrats to Kelli Agodon for correctly guessing that "Betty, Pick up!" is from a hilarious episode of Laverne and Shirley.


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


Maybe I am sicker than I thought.


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

Anchor in the Wheel

Still sick. Still home from work. A first. Haven't missed even a day of work in four plus years. Now, I have missed two.


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



FEVER 103


Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ----

My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you. And my light.
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,
I think I may rise ----
The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I

Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean.
Not you, nor him.

Not him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) ----
To Paradise.


--Sylvia Plath


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


Today is my younger sister's birthday. One of the many family birthdays in April. We are all Aries. We are all impetuous and strong-willed. This makes for a lot of work to be a good family to each other. My poor Mother. I don't know how she stomachs an Aries husband and several Aries kids.


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

HELL

I am not very good at being sick. In fact, I am a terrible patient. Terrible. I have a hard time admitting I am sick. And these leads me into worse trouble. I should have spent the weekend napping, but I was convinced I was getting over a cold. So, Poker night, etc. But yesterday, right after brunch, I started to feel a little lightheaded, a little groggy. I thought it was just from coughing too much. But as time passed it got worse. And by early evening, I was freezing cold. I thought I should turn on the heat but when I checked the thermometer, it said 70 degrees. Well, that meant the house was warmer than it normally is and meant I likely had a fever. Yup, when I checked I had a temp of 100.8. I had to run and take Tylenol, etc. I also prescribed myself an antibiotic, because I started to worry that I may have something more than a virus. Anyway, started the antibiotics and took some Nyquil. I had to cancel my clinic today and reschedule or shift some of the patients to my partner's schedule. I slept for over twelve hours. I am in hell. I hate being sick. I hate being at home and not being able to do any of the work I need to do. It is my version of HELL.

You Got to Know When to Hold 'Em

Last night was Poker Night. We hadn't done that in quite some time, but friends came over and we started with champagne and a selection of cheeses. We followed that up with a spinach and goat cheese salad tossed with a raspberry vinaigrette and served with a Fume Blanc. And for our main, we had Mongolian-style beef (tofu for Jacob) served with a meritage. Desert was beyond decadent: brownies topped with a caramel/chocolate ice cream served with an old pinot noir. It is a wonder we could play poker at all!




Here we are doing our Kermit and Fozzie Bear "See, we really are twins!" pose. We are, as you can see, more than a little goofy at times.














This is when I was actually winning. That didn't last. Gag!










And then, of course, there were the cheaters! But we caught them, and we punished them mercilessly. I mean, just look at the guilt in their faces!!










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


Not sure why, but Jacob is on a brunch kick, and we are having people over today for home-made waffles, breakfast potato casserole, mimosas, etc. Who knows; I may even be talked into making Summer Sparklers. What are those, you ask? In a champagne flute, pour champagne to 3/4ths full, add some fresh lemonade and top with a splash of cranberry. The Summer Sparkler is, without a doubt, the gayest drink you will ever see. Too bad it is super tasty.


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


Re-reading Leopardi's Selected Poems. I am just not loving it this time around. I am kind of bored. I am sure this has more to do with me than Leopardi. At least, I hope so.


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


Clue: Again, October 13, 1307...


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

For Aimee Nez

Starting to feel better. Thank God.


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


We sat down last night and worked on the table assignments and the Ceremony Schema. We have opted for a very traditional format. At times, it is even Old School. It is definitely old school for the celebrant to ask who will stand in support of ________ and have the best person proclaim "I will." But we are doing it. And we even included the dreaded call for anyone who opposes to speak now, etc. Not sure why we are so drawn to the traditional, especially for a ceremony that is not traditional, at least not during the last however many centuries. Records show Bishops marrying two men (only of certain stature and class) in Europe eons ago, but now such ceremonies are the equivalent of damnation in the Church. And well, the State, at least the United States, damns it in a different way. But I am rambling. The reality is that since we cannot do this legally, the pomp and circumstance is strangely all the more important. I keep joking that I want to elope, but we can't. All we have is the chance to profess our love before family, friends, and God. We cannot elope because there is nothing legal that approximates that profession. Anyway, I didn't intend to step up on my soapbox this morning, and so I leave it at that.


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


The following is for Madame Nez, who adores all things wedding. It is the preliminary program. We have opted for two readings from the Bible and 3 poems.

Michael Collier, Officiant

Zacchary Bertrand, Best Person
Geri Doran, Best Person

Emily Lutgen, Attendant
Rick Barot, Attendant

Parents of the Grooms
Dr. & Mrs. Ralph Bertrand and Mr. & Mrs. Clarence Young

Procession: Air for the G-String, J.S. Bach

Welcome: Michael Collier

First Reading: The Book of Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Andrea Johnson

Poem: “Having a Coke With You,” Frank O’Hara
Rick Barot

Second Reading: First Letter of Paul to the Corinthians, 13:4-8a
Trecia Wells

Poem: Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda
Emily Lutgen

Poem: “Tree Marriage,” William Meredith
Michael Collier

Vows: Jacob Bertrand & C. Dale Young

Recessional: The Wedding March, Midsummer Night’s Dream
Felix Mendelssohn

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


Clue: October 13, 1307.


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

Children Named C. Dale

I inadvertently made a woman very happy today. She was convinced she would have to lose her breast. I explained how radiation worked and that it would follow a lumpectomy (removing the original nidus of tumor), that she didn't need a mastectomy. She practically hugged me. Usually, my patients seem to know this before they come to see me. But this woman didn't. She was so excited she didn't have to have a mastectomy she all but promised to name her first child after me. The worlds of confusion. The worlds of wonder.


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


I am hacking up a lung here, people. I feel like I have Tuberculosis. Thank God, the day is almost over. Sadly, I am on call starting today at 5:00pm.


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


Peter's poem, "Dream of a Cancer Cure," is pasted above my desk. A doctor friend of mine stopped by the other day and photocopied it for his own office. Do I now owe Peter royalties?


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


Clue: Betty... Pick Up!


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

Shouts Stroke Darker the Strings

Feeling a little bit better this morning. I actually only made it through a half day at work yesterday. I was so fatigued I came home and slept for almost 4 hours. This is very unlike me. I usually cannot sleep in the afternoon. It was a terrible moment yesterday when I had to tell the front desk to either cancel appointments or shift them to my partner's schedule. I just couldn't function. I actually kind of hurt. But this morning I feel a little bit better.


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


I am sorry, but I just cannot get in to Wallace and Grommit. Just not there, people.


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



FUGUE OF DEATH

Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall

we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night

we drink it and drink it

we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there

A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes

he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden

hair Margarete

he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he

whistles his dogs up

he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in

the earth

he commands us strike up for the dance





Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night

we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at

nightfall

drink you and drink you

A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes

he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden

hair Margarete

Your ashen hair Shulamith we are digging a grave in the

sky it is

ample to lie there





He shouts stab deeper in earth you there and you others

you sing and you play

he grabs at the iron in his belt and swings it and blue are

his eyes

stab deeper your spades you there and you others play on

for the dancing





Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightfall

we drink you at noon in the mornings we drink you at

nightfall

drink you and drink you

a man in the house your golden hair Margarete

your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents





He shouts play sweeter death's music death comes as a

master from Germany

he shouts stroke darker the strings and as smoke you

shall climb to the sky

then you'll have a grave in the clouds it is ample to lie

there





Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night

we drink you at noon death comes as a master from

Germany

we drink you at nightfall and morning we drink you and

drink you

a master from Germany death comes with eyes that are

blue

with a bullet of lead he will hit in the mark he will hit

you

a man in the house your golden hair Margarete

he hunts us down with his dogs in the sky he gives us a

grave

he plays with the serpents and dreams death comes as a

master from Germany





your golden hair Margarete

your ashen hair Shulamith. 

--Paul Celan


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

You Better Work

I really shouldn't find this funny, because it is not funny, but I couldn't stop laughing at this bizarre puppet show. Punch and Judy? Well, no, but pretty close. Thanks to J- for sending this to me.

The Scandal Just Became Much Worse

Oh My Freakin God! I am not sure why I am surprised by this. In fact, I shouldn't be surprised at all. What next?

My Mistake

Yesterday I posted a poem titled "The Survivor" presumedly by Theodore Roethke. I posted it because I came across it at a web site named Poetry Connection. To be honest, I was floored by this poem because it was one of those instances where Roethke sounded strange, brilliant in a different way. Well, I should have known. Thank you to Tomas for pointing this out. It turns out that poem is also known as "Ocalony," a poem written by the Polish poet, Tadeusz Rocewicz. Why Poetry Connection is perpetuating the claim that Roethke wrote this then is a mystery to me. And I apologize for almost having perpetuated this as well. I am kind of surprised. When I went back to the Poetry Connection site, I actually found in the comment boxes for this poem a person demanding an explanation. Anyway, I am truly embarrassed by this. I can see no reason why this poem is attributed to Roethke. As far as I can see, the only thing these two poets have in common are their initials. I have corrected yesterday's post. Unfortunately, blogger wouldn't let me just change the name. I had to re-post the entire thing and then change the name, so Tomas, your comment was lost.


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


America has lost its mind. To send Mandissa home before Ace Young is about the most insulting thing I have seen so far on AI. I mean, come on! Ace Young cannot sing. He has been in the bottom three every week since there has been a final 12. So what the hell? He isn't in the bottom three and Mandissa, Paris, and Eliot are? Don't get me wrong. I didn't care much for the songs Mandissa did the past 2 weeks, but she is still a better SINGER than several folks who are continuing on. I am sorry, but I wish we could vote AGAINST people. I would pay to text the word "STOP" 100 times for Ace Young via Cingular Wireless. The man cannot sing. It is embarrassing.


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


I think I may have a cold. I thought it was just allergies, but I think that is wrong assessmentttt. It isn't a horrible cold, but I definitely don't feel right. Anyway, need to get to work. A mask will do the trick. More than likely viral. More than likely no longer contagious. But mask it will be.


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


Clue: Senator Russ Feingold ROCKS!


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

Empty Synonyms (corrected)

It rained here in SF 25 days in March. 25 days! This hasn't happened since 1904. And it is still raining. This is usually the most beautiful time of the year in SF. Now I fear we will go right from winter rain to summer fog, as if Spring never existed. And I am now actively praying the rain stops before the end of the month. If it doesn't, we will be married in the barrel room of the Winery as opposed to under the Great Tree.


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


And speaking of wedding stuff, I am infinitely surprised by how rude or nonchalant many people are when it comes to RSVP. I mean, how difficult is it to write your name on a card and mail it back. I mean, the envelope is addressed and even has a freakin stamp on it! There are at least 60 people who have not yet RSVP'd. 60! If I knew people were going to be so wishy-washy, I would have set the deadline a week earlier than we did. I mean, I didn't think it would take 2 months for people to send back an effing card.

And last wedding comment of the day: Jacob and I do not have time to be travel agents and concierges for everyone coming to this wedding. Hello, that is why there are travel agents and the internet. Try Travelocity. It is kind of easy to use.


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


Clue: Kryptonite!


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



THE SURVIVOR


I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.

The following are empty synonyms:
man and beast
love and hate
friend and foe
darkness and light.

The way of killing men and beasts is the same
I've seen it:
truckfuls of chopped-up men
who will not be saved.

Ideas are mere words:
virtue and crime
truth and lies
beauty and ugliness
courage and cowardice.

Virtue and crime weigh the same
I've seen it:
in a man who was both
criminal and virtuous.

I seek a teacher and a master
may he restore my sight hearing and speech
may he again name objects and ideas
may he separate darkness from light.

I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.


--Tadeusz Różewicz


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

In Full Glitter

I am off to San Mateo to cover clinic for a day for my old medical group. I am not sure why I am doing this, because I really don't want to do it. But I guess I still feel something for the patients at this clinic because I worked there for years. I feel less than admirable things for the members of the old group.


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


Someone asked me recently how my third book is going. I have to say I was more than a little thrown off guard. It also solidified something for me. I don't seem to be one of those poets that writes "books." I guess I am one of those poets who writes poems and prays to God over the years enough of them coalesce into something that looks like a book. I voiced this to this person who has asked about my third book. He seemed more than suspicious. Sadly, what I describe about my writing habit is true. I write about 4 poems per year. To amass a book's worth of poems takes me a long time. And all I can do is hope enough of them stick together after I shake them up in a box. I don't know how to make books any other way. I have friends who can see themes and overarching stories and write books out of that. But I don't seem to have that skill. If I were to actively think about a theme, I am not sure I could write the poems. Is this skill something learned? Not sure.


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


I am so not excited about Idol tonight. But I am sure I will watch it. As the time rolls around, I will start humming that awful theme music of theirs, drift to the couch, fling myself into the corner of the couch, find a glass of wine. For an hour, I will be completely taken with the show, for good or bad. "Hi, I am C. Dale Young." "Hi C. Dale." "I'm addicted to bad reality TV..."


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


Clue: I did not invite my brother to my wedding. Didn't invite one of my sisters either.


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


CROW'S FALL


When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.

He laughed himself to the centre of himself

And attacked.

At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.

But the sun brightened--
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.

He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.

"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."



--Ted Hughes


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

What Happens After Too Much Port?

Yup, I was viciously attacked. Gag!


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


Haven't I been here before? Monday morning? Sucking down coffee? Wanting a vacation?


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


Clue: Will you make Zyrtec part of your first line drug regimen?


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


Clue: Heal thyself!


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

Impromptu Dinner Party

It has been raining all day, and so what better than an impromptu dinner party. Well, not really a dinner party, just our friend Ron joining us for dinner. Anyway, usually Jacob whips up dinner for these kinds of things, but I decided to take control of the menu and do the cooking this time (with some help from Mr. Bertrand).

Menu

1st Course: Steamed Shrimp Shumai and potstickers, served with a soy, ginger, green onion, red pepper dipping sauce (made my me)

2nd Course: Mixed Greens with a creamy ginger dressing

First and 2nd course served with an Etoile Brut Rose Champagne

------

3rd Course: Soup (Bok choy, scallions, mushrooms, grated fresh ginger, and soy for the base and then mung bean sprouts and flat noodles added at the end)

------

4th Course: Stir Fried Chicken (Tofu for Jacob) with small-grained sticky white rice

Served with chilled Cline Vineyards Marsanne-Rousanne

------

5th Course: Orange and Cream Sorbet served with fresh blueberries

Served with a 25 year old Port


And what would an impromptu dinner party be without Jacob modelling our latest purchase, an Indian-style Wok!

Ah, Sunday Evening in the Bertrand-Young household.

Sorry, I Couldn't Resist...

Okay, I now feel bad for playing my April Fool's joke yesterday. No, the wedding is very much still a go. I just couldn't resist playing an April Fool's Day joke. I got 6 emails from folks telling me things would be okay and to hang in there, and now I feel terribly. So, I am very sorry. Yes, it was a bad joke. I should be ashamed of myself.


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


Meeting again today with the florist. Must be strong.


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


And to the anonymous emailer: "No, I do not feel I am a cheat for using the endwords of Graham's poem in a poem of my own. I would think Ms. Graham would be flattered. And no, I do not know her."


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


And now I know I wasn't crazy when I said this past week's American Idol was the worst show ever in the history of that competition. Even my parents thought it was god-awful. And they usually love that show.


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


Just found out my poem, "Torn," will be included in a poetry calendar for next year. No, not the one with photos of poets, but the one with a poem a day for each day of the year.


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


Time to run errands. It is kind of a sleepy-looking overcast morning here. Makes me want to go back to bed.


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

THE WEDDING IS OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Etruscan

Back in San Francisco. Thankfully, no more traveling until July. Well, actually, I will be away for two weeks on my honeymoon, but that will not be the same kind of travel. Tired. Cranky. Thinking about how annoying it is to meet people who consider themselves young poets but who haven't read anything. I mean they have read virtually nothing. They LOVE to write poems but hate reading them! I don't get this at all. If you hate reading poems, why would you love Poetry?


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


Today starts the United Airlines moratorium. Never again. NEVER!


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


Time change tonight. Happy because it means the sun will be out longer. I get so much more done then. I love it.


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


SAN SEPOLCRO

In this blue light
     I can take you there,
snow having made me
     a world of bone
seen through to.  This
     is my house,

my section of Etruscan
     wall, my neighbor's
lemon trees, and, just below
     the lower church,
the airplane factory.
     A rooster

crows all day from mist
     outside the walls.
There's milk on the air,
     ice on the oily
lemonskins.  How clean
     the mind is,

holy grave.  It is this girl
     by Piero
della Francesca, unbuttoning
     her blue dress,
her mantle of weather,
     to go into

labor.  Come, we can go in.
     It is before
the birth of god.  No one
     has risen yet
to the museums, to the assembly
     line--bodies

and wings--to the open air
     market.  This is
what the living do: go in.
     It's a long way.
And the dress keeps opening
     from eternity

to privacy, quickening.
     Inside, at the heart,
is tragedy, the present moment
     forever stillborn,
but going in, each breath
     is a button

coming undone, something terribly
     nimble-fingered
finding all of the stops.

--Jorie Graham



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"San Sepolcro" happens to be my favorite poem of Jorie Graham's. I realize now that by posting it I have betrayed myself, or more specifically, I have betrayed one of my own poems. My poem, "Few Shall Answer," owes a very strange debt to this poem by Graham. Now you know the truth. The ugly truth.


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