Quickie

In the airport in Las Vegas. Some alarm is going off over and over. we have no idea why. It is effing loud as hell. It is crazy. We think maybe someone ran through security because the alarm can be heard everywhere in the airport. Ready to go home.


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

Still in Vegas, Baby

So we went to the airport and we got bumped! Yup. Such a shame. I have tomorrow off anyway. So, we got bumped, fly back tomorrow, and got 2 free round trip tickets to anywhere America West/US Airways flies. Woohoo. We are already back at our hotel. The weekend continues. For once, our bad travel luck paid off!

The Roundup

Well, it has been a while since I did ye old roundup. Here are some of the things that caught my fancy while roaming the internet this week:


1. Ali finds omens in the darnedest places.

2. It is birthday time over at the Radish King (well, kind of, depending on which day you visit).

3. Letter to Luke Wilson from Steely Dan (via Pirooz)

4. Chickywang asks the great question of Life, "What does 'something' mean?"

5. Inch, a magazine devoted to tiny poems and tiny stories, is launched!

6. I just discovered that NER has a wikipedia entry. How weird is that! Wikipedia continues to amaze me. Thanks to Jordan for reminding me about the wiki.

Emo Poet

My schedule is strangely very light today, which means the day will go slower than usual. Oh, but at 5:30pm, I will be at the airport. And, a couple of hours later, Jacob and I will be in Fabulous Las Vegas! Woo-hoo! Great Food, great shows, amazing shopping, and yes, baccarat! How is that for a Vegas commercial? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Yeah Baby, yeah!


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




John Ashbery, after almost 6 weeks of absences, returned to my dreams last night. In last night's dream, he was in a hula skirt, a tight t-shirt that said Amoeba on it, and his hair had been dyed a greasy black. He was wearing little clips in his hair and horn-rimmed black eyeglasses. Whenever I asked him a question, he responded: "I don't know. I'm an Emo poet." It was bizarre, as are all of my dreams where Ashbery makes an appearance. If I ever meet this man, I will likely have a breakdown thanks to all the sensory overload his image has provided me over the years.


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


Clue: The Colossus.


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

Homage to Butch!

I so wish today was Friday and we were flying to Vegas tonight. But alas, it is Thursday. I am so ready for Baccarat, Craps, and the occasional slot machine. And I am excited to see the new Cirque show.


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

THIS post happens to be my 800th post on this blog. I am kind of shocked by that.


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


Oh, for those of you who emailed, the magazine that took two of my poems yesterday is Virginia Quarterly Review.


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


When I was in high school, I toyed with the idea of changing my name. At a lecture at Warren Wilson, Rob Cohen gave a lecture about naming and discussed his own traumatic adolescence, in which he wanted to change his name. He wanted to rename himself "Butch". I wanted to be "Tony." Why? I have no idea. One of my middle names is Anthony, so maybe that was it. But I somehow thought "Tony" would be cooler, more dangerous sounding. You know, kind of Mafioso. Silly to think of this now. But yesterday, I daydreamed my new name was "Frank." I have no idea what this means. I don't even think I could be a Frank. Frank makes me think of Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet. Anyhoo...


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


Clue: Blue Cheese.


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

Postscript

Okay, packet not out! Two of the poems were accepted by the magazine I just withdrew them from two days ago. Got the email accepting them just as I was about to head out the door to mail off the poems. Will still mail off two poems because I have decided the most recent poem I wrote is finished. So the last two poems I wrote will go off today: the Tango poem and the one I wrote at Warren Wilson.


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


And a big thank you goes out to the webmaster of my website, Deborah Ager. She was able to update the page on my site for the new book. So now, the image will not expire (as it did here). For a peak at the cover (in much better resolution than I could have used here at blogger), make a pitstop here.


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


Clue: Manic!


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

Packet Out

Getting lots of errands done today. Packaged up three poems to send out, which seemed kind of odd. It is difficult for me to believe there was a time when I had 17-20 packets of three poems each out at different magazines. Now I rarely ever have more than one packet out. I just don't have any poems left to send. All three poems I am sending out were written in the last year. So, I am being good about getting new work out. What other option do I have? These are the only poems I have to send.


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


Still daydreaming about the Gluck poem from the previous post.


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


Ever wondered what Gore Vidal does with his late afternoons. Well, thanks to L'Uomo Vogue and photographer Steven Klein, we don't have to wonder much anymore. Yup, that really is Gore Vidal (sitting down, of course):




You can just hear the straight men clicking away from this website right about now!


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

Trick of Moonlight

DAY WITHOUT NIGHT


The angel of god pushed the child's hand
away from the jewels, toward the burning coal.



1

The image
of truth is fire: it mounts
the fortress of heaven.

Have you never felt
its obvious power?
Even a child
is capable of this joy.

Apparently,
a like sun
burns in hell. It is hell,
day without night.


2

It was as though Pharaoh's daughter
had brought home a lion cub
and for a few weeks
passed it off as a cat.
You did not press this woman.
She said she came upon
a child in the rushes;
each time she told the story,
her handmaidens recreated
their interminable chorus of sighs.
It had to be:
A little prince. A little lion cub.


3

And then with almost no encouragement
a sign came: for awhile
the child is like
a grandson to Pharaoh.
Then he squirms; on Pharaoh's lap
he reaches for the crown of Egypt--


4

So Pharaoh set before the child
two trays, one of rubies, one of burning embers:

Light of my heart, the world
is set before you:
fire on either side, fire
without alternative--


5

It was like a magic act: all you saw
was the child move; the same hand that took
such active interest in
the wealth of Egypt showed
this sudden preference for a pile of coal.
You never saw the actual angel.
And to complete the act,
the child maimed himself--
And a cry arose,
almost as though a person
were in hell,
where there is nothing to do
but see--


6

Moses
lay in the rushes:
he could see
only in one direction,
his perspective being
narrowed by the basket.
What he saw
was a great light, like
a wing hovering.
And god said to him,
"You can be the favored one,
the one who tastes fire
and cannot speak,
or you can die now
and let the others
stay in Egypt: tell them
it was better to die in Egypt,
better to litter the river
with your corpse, than face
a new world."


7

It was as though a soul emerged,
independent of the angel,
a conscious being choosing
not to enter paradise--
at the same time, the true
sun was setting.
As it touched the water
by necessity the mirrored sun rose
to meet it from
the depths of the river:
The the cry ended.
Or was hidden
in the stammering
of the redeemer--


8

The context
of truth is darkness: it sweeps
the deserts of Israel.

Are you taken in
by lights, by illusions?

Here is your path to god,
who has no name, whose hand
is invisible: a trick
of moonlight on the dark water.


--Louise Gluck, from The Triumph of Achilles


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


Even now, many years after first reading this poem, I am still completely fascinated by it. That Gluck takes the myth/narrative of Moses and makes it seem genuine, makes it seem present, is a real gift. How is it some poets take a story or myth and simply recount it, while others re-invent it, reinfuse it with a lyrical energy? I still maintain that The Triumph of Achilles is a masterpiece of a book. It is one of my favorite poetry books. It feeds me in ways many books of poetry cannot. Have you read it? Have you read it recently? The book has many layers to it. One layer often discussed among gay poets is the fact the book is often read as a conflict between a woman and a man (think "Mock Orange" and "The Horse") when in all likelihood it is actually about two men who love each other but are not always tender. Hmmmm, maybe like Achilles and Patroclus? This book remains as spellbinding to me today as it was when I first read it. It crackles with energy.


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


Found an old seminar notesheet of mine for a seminar I did on Plath, Gluck, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, and Carl Phillips. I may need to give this seminar again as a class at Bread Loaf. My brain cannot leave the four poems I used to lead discussion. So much so, that I typed out "Day Without Night." I am reminded so often, when reading these poets, just how small my own poems are, how myopic.


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


Clue: Bose


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

Temple of Poseidon

One of the lovely things today was meeting with an insurance broker about disability insurance. What a depressing thing. I suddenly felt too much like an adult. Disability Insurance? I never dreamed I would be placing such a thing high on my list of things to get.


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


We named our pleicostomus "Poseidon." True to his name, he insists on hanging out in an around this temple ruin decoration we have in the tank that looks like a decayed Temple of Poseidon. Too weird. The tank is back to being crystal clear after a day and a half of cloudiness. Things are proceeding as planned.


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


We still haven't seen the Strangers With Candy Movie yet. We need to see it. We love that show. That show is sick.


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


I cannot humming the Bananarama song they keep playing on the radio here. I am doomed.


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

Zone

I have "early shift" today, and I need to be even quicker with this post than I usually am if I want to stay on time. Someone recently asked me how on earth I have the time to post to blog. I find questions like this somewhat funny. A blog isn't anywhere near as consuming as other things I do. In fact, posting to the blog is mostly an enjoyable thing for me. I think in this space a lot more than most people realize. It is a little like the shower. As a child, the only place I could think and be alone was the shower. Even to this day I zone out in the shower; I can review the entire day while in there. It isn't difficult for me to be in the shower for 30-40 mins without having a clue. Well, this blog is similar for me but with different material. I find when I look back at this blog, I can see how I was thinking something out. So, posting never seems like a chore. If I am too busy, I just don't post.


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


I have Frank on the brain. This is what I am slowly devouring. O'Hara can be mesmerizing at times. He can be so effing beautiful, even when he is being playful. I wish I had more of his temperament at times.


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


Clue: Pescadero.


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

Decisions

Sluggish as hell this morning. Should have gone to bed earlier. But I was all awake after a wonderful dinner and great conversation last night. And it was still really hot last night, so it made for difficulty falling asleep.


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


And, in case you missed me making my podcast debut, you can listen to it here. Yup, I have decided. I am not sure I like this podcast at all. I have obsessed about it enough.


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


Clue: Diva!


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

Sun Day

Not sure I am in SF. It is sunny and freakin' hot out there. Hot as hell!


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


Off to Union Square to meet up with Jacob's Aunt and cousin. Lunch. Wandering. The usual. Then, this evening, we are meeting up with a good friend of mine in town for a couple of days. We plan on hitting our favorite French bistro. And maybe some time today, we will pick up two zebra danios or two cloudfish to help cycle the tank. The pleicostomus just isn't producing enough ammonia to fuel the cycle.


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


The more I think about it, the more unhappy I am with the Poetry Foundation podcast. I feel the "host" is being too reductionist in his reading of both my poem and Linda Gregerson's poem. Alas. Such is life in the media.


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


Clue: Veuve Cliquot Brut Rose 1998


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

On the Radio

Back in Austin, during AWP this year, I was asked to record two of my poems for The Poetry Foundation. It was quite the experience, the recordings done in a professional recording studio and all. Well, today I received the CD with my recordings on it. I know this is irrational, but I never believe it is me when I hear myself on a recording. Never. It always sounds like someone else to me.


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


And speaking of this recording, imagine my surprise just now to find that there is a podcast from The Poetry Foundation discussing the notions of confession in poetry. Why am I surprised? Well, it is a podcast that features Linda Gregerson and me! I had no idea this existed, but it does. Very odd. Interesting, but odd. Check it out. For some of you, it will be the first time you hear my voice. But it isn't me. I swear it isn't.


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

Calphalon and the Nitrogen Cycle

Our calphalon cooking set arrived today, one of our surprise wedding gifts we didn't really expect anyone to get us. Jacob is beyond excited. Very cool, indeed.



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


The aquarium has begun to cycle. Always fun to watch biology and chemistry in action. Oh, the nitrogen cycle.


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


Spine of the feather. Tendril. The forearm's pressure on your neck. The great wings blocking out the overhead light. The room's stink of sex. The feathers in the air. The bed creaking.


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


My day yesterday was a tough one. I sometimes forget the difficulty of having to tell someone bad news. It is never easy. It is never easy to reinstill faith/trust. It is never easy. You carry the sensation of that moment with you for days afterward. Some of that sensation never leaves you.


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


Clue: Shrubbery.


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

Prelude to LOVE

TGIF. Busy day ahead of me. Packed hospital schedule.


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


I wish it were next weekend already. Next Friday, we are off to Vegas, Baby! We are heading out there to see the new Cirque du Soleil show, LOVE. This is the one based on music by the Beatles. Should be good. I hear it has gotten good reviews.


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




Dolce & Gabbana have clearly been studying the Poetry World. Here, they use it as material for their new advertising campaign.


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

God's Tasks

After almost an hour in the Pet store yesterday, we finally selected a started kit for a 20 gallon aquarium. We bought the glass tank, the hood/light, heater, power filter, all in one kit. We also had to buy gravel, a "bubble bar," plants, decorative rocks, etc. Then, when we finally got home, we had to go back out to buy a stand. Ended up eating dinner out, but we came home and spent several hours washing everything, conditioning the water, setting the gravel, etc. But, the tank is all set up. Now we get to just stare at it for 4 weeks until we can start introducing fish. Jacob cannot get over how long the tank needs to "equilibrate." Some say you should wait 6 weeks before introducing any fish.


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



THE VISITATION


God sends his tasks
and one does
them or not, but the sky
delivers its gifts
at the appointed
times: With spit and sigh,
with that improbable
burst of flame, the balloon
comes over
the cornfield, bringing
another country
with it, bringing
from a long way off
those colors that are at first
the low sound
of a horn, but soon
are many horns, and clocks,
and bells, and clappers
and your heart
rising to the silence
in all of them, a silence
so complete that
the heads of the corn
bow back before it
and the dog flees in terror
down the road
and you alone are left
gazing up
at three solemn visitors
swinging
in a golden cage
beneath that unbelievable chorus of red
and white, swinging
so close you cannot move
or speak, so close
the road grows wet with light,
as when the sun flares,
after an evening storm
and you become weightless, falling
back in the air
before the giant oak
that with a fiery burst
the balloon
just clears.


--Brigit Pegeen Kelly


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


God sends his tasks, indeed!


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


Clue: Phobic Anaphora


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

... Just How Much I Love You

I hate to admit this, but on iTunes right now is Ricky Martin's "Shake Your Bon Bon." It seems to be a perfect match to the book of poetry I was just reading. Shake your bon bon, baby!


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


Jacob should be stealing out of his lab shortly (right, Jacob?). Why? An afternoon of fish tank purchasing, designing and etc. There is a space in our living room that bothers us. The eye cannot help but look there. And we have decided it needs a fish tank. How we make these decisions remains a mystery to me.


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


I will never admit which comic books I read as a child. Well, many can guess I read X-Men, but the rest of it, the rest of it. Well, too personal and too telling. Can say it wasn't Superman. No, never Superman. My hero was no mutant, no child from another planet. Nope, he held the hope all children have, that someone could simply give you the gift of superpowers. I say no more.


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


Feathers coughed from the mouth. The smoke-filled room. The bed sheets crumpled and tossed to one side. The beating of wings. The beating of wings. The beating and beating of wings.


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


If I could capture the essence of soul (soul but not soulful) in the way Robert Plant sings "Sea of Love," I would be a happy camper. That drawn out "of" in "Sea of Love." Yes, THAT is poetry.


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


Clue: Yorba!


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

Sneak Peak

Here it is, a sneak peak at The Second Person. (Expired)

Secret Revealed

Paul finally gives it up! Congratulations, Paul!

Double Your Pleasure

My brain is still processing the unreal amount of data from the 12 days in Asheville. But I have a line or two gelling. And I keep daydreaming about writing a double sonnet. I have never written a double sonnet. Nor am I 100% sure how one is written. I own a couple of sonnets, but no double sonnet. And this form seems necessary in the daydream, but I don't know why. Let us say there are wings, blood, a rape, chest hair, tears and feathers flying from the mouth. Double sonnet. How effing weird.


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


I need to re-read Hass's Praise. It has been a long time since I read it cover to cover. I remember loving it. I remember wanting to be Robert Hass. Ah, youth. No disrespect, but I now would never want to be Robert Hass.


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


In the dream last night, again, money being thrown in the air, at me, at everyone. Gold coins. Gold keys.


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


Clue: They know not what they do...


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

Call Me

Don't photos like this just BEG for a caption to go with it? Well, what are you waiting for? Come on... Give us a caption... Yeah, just do it....


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

Winner

The new cell phone even works in the Radiation Oncology Dept.! Wow! That is pretty amazing.


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


I ran into 7-Eleven last night to pick up milk. I scanned my last lotto ticket I bought before heading to NC. It came up, "See Clerk. You are a Winner." I just about nearly died. Well, the clerk took the ticket, ran it through the machine and handed me $3.00 and printout verifying that yes, I won $3.00. How sad is that...


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


It is funny. I came back to the hospital today, and it was as if I never left.


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

Connected

I have been taking a lot of ribbing from Jacob and my work partner, Lisa, about my cell phone. I admit, it was kind of old in the tech world. I have had it since 2001. But I liked it. Anyway, I got an annoying message from Cingular telling me I had to update the Sim card in the phone in order to take full advantage of their network (more than likely the combined network of Cingular and their former rival AT&T). Well, after hearing how my phone probably had a dot matrix screen, how it probably couldn't even receive a text message, I decided to just get a new phone. That said, I just could not get myself to sign a new 2 year contract with Cingular. I have been with them for 6 years, but I don't like the idea of locking myself into a new contract. Anyway, here is an image of new phone. It is essentially an update of my old phone. Same size as the old one and same style, but this one is slightly lighter.




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


The poem I drafted in Asheville is almost done. Almost. I found myself tinkering with it again yesterday. I am psyched because it would mean I am ahead of my usual poetry producing schedule. This is my third for the year, which means there is a good chance I might produce more than 4 poems this year. I might end up with 5.


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


Four Way Books continues to amaze me. I just cannot get over the time and care the staff there puts into their books. It is just incredible. Their production standards are incredibly high. I cannot imagine how much they must spend on each book. I heard recently that Kevin Prufer's next book will be on the Four Way List.


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


Clue: Icarus


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

The Return of the Neurotic

After a day of traveling yesterday, I made it home in one piece. I was so tired, I even fell asleep on the plane a few times. Glad to have this day to regroup before returning to the hospital tomorrow. The 12 days in Asheville were fantastic, as always. It made me happy I am a writer. It made me happy to be surrounded for that time with others who also care and care deeply about writing and reading. Sadly, I didn't make it home until almost 10:30pm. But even on the flight back, my brain was racing with what seemed like a million ideas.


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


I may have to go see a movie today. Not primarily for the movie, but simply to be with Jacob in a visual space, a fun space.


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


Cleaning up some NER stuff today. Getting some editorial stuff out of the way. Hoping to also finish up tinkering with the new poem started in Asheville.


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


I had a dream last night that someone was throwing money at me: gold coins and other pieces of gold. I was laughing in the dream. Someone kept saying "Aren't you glad you decided to be a poet after all?" It was very odd.


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


Clue: Nasturtiums


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

Perse and the Alp

I just heard a lecture on St. John Perse, the French poet who won the Nobel Prize god knows how many years ago. It was incredible to realize that this poet has almost completely faded away. Although the reason for this disappearance is difficult to pin down, what was so amazing about this talk was how the speaker "resurrected" Perse, going so far as to translate a poem of his. This act of selection, of seeking, of passing on, seemed immensely courageous to me. Courageous and generous. Giving. It was a beautiful talk and a moving one, as well.


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


I made the decision last night. My book now has a cover. It is freakin' beautiful.


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


There's a somebody
I'm longing to see


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


Clue: Sometimes an Alp is just an alp


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

Tinkering and Prayer

I have been carrying the last line of a poem with me now for almost two years. I have attempted this poem two or three times, but never had the right point of entry. Last week, while sitting through a lecture, I heard a story told, and suddenly the point of entry and the vehicle of the poem were there before me. I drafted the poem that same day and have been tinkering with it ever since. It is one of the rare times I have found I had to use a metrical form. It has been kind of wild. And revising within the form has been challenging but worthwhile so far. I am pretty psyched. Number three for the year.


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


I have decided that prayer is something I need to think more about. Not the act of prayer, but the concept of it. The rationale.


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


Clue: Empanadas!


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

Stunned

Just today got the cover samples for the new book. They are beautiful. I am so happy because they all look good. This book that was to come out in 2005 (but never did) suddenly has a new face. Well, 4 new faces. I am still waiting to hear from Jacob what he thinks, but I think I know which one it will be. Some folks begin to see their book as a book when they get the galleys. For me, it is the cover. When I saw the images, it suddenly felt real again. This book really is going to be published.

There for the asking...

My brain is hyper right now, more so than it is usually. It is hyper-thought-ful. I get this way when I am around a largish number of writers who are talking about books, art, stuff. My brain gets overstimulated, wild, reckless in its thoughts. I know I am this way. I know it will be months from now before I start to make full sense of what all I am taking in right now. So many ideas just bumping up against each other. My brain is gorging itself on all this mind-candy. I know sometimes I am speaking and not making sense. Thinking too fast. Thinking now about Chekhov and pain/sorrow, the fact some yellows appear almost green just by being near things green, Gravitational fields and mimicry, mise-en-scene, angles and melons, haute couture.


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


I am still convinced a shower is the equivalent of 3 hours sleep, that 12 oz of water consumed is equivalent to 15 mins of sleep. I learned this as a medical intern. I swear it still holds up.


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


Remember months back (maybe not that long ago) I discovered that I used the word dark or a variant of it 30+ times in my new book. Remember how I decided I would never use dark or a variant of it ever again. Remember how I then had to admit that I almost immediately broke that rule in the last poem I wrote back in April. Well, the horror continues. Thanks to Jordan, I discovered the Google Books thing. Lo and behold: I found my first book there. When I searched dark and darker, it came up 12 or 13 times. No wonder people think my work is dark and depressing. I am always freakin using that word! What the hell. That means I have consistently used the effing word in poems for 16 years. I think I may need to not just make a rule but put up signs all over my house that have "dark" in a circle with a line through it.


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


from Dark Harbor


II.


I am writing from a place you have never been,
Where the trains don't run, and planes
Don't land, a place to the west,

Where heavy hedges of snow surround each house,
Where the wind screams at the moon's blank face,
Where the people are plain, and fashions,

If they come, come late and are seen
As forms of oppression, sources of sorrow.
This is a place that sparkles a bit at 7 p.m.,

Then goes out, and slides into the funeral home
Of the stars, and everyone dreams of floating
Like angels in sweet-smelling habits,

Of being released from sundry services
Into the round of pleasures there for the asking --
Days like pages torn from a family album,

Endless reunions, the heavenly choir at the barbecue
Adjusting its tone to serve the occasion,
And everyone staring, stunned into magnitude.


--Mark Strand


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

Extra Heartbeat

I feel infinitely better today after getting some sleep last night. The redeye thing really got me good. I was totally dehydrated. But today, I feel more like my normal self.


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


Rainy and overcast here in Asheville. I kind of like it.


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


I already feel the energy rising here. So much talk of Literature and writing and struggle. Community really is an important thing.


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



FAURE'S SECOND PIANO QUARTET


On a day like this the rain comes
down in fat and random drops among
the ailanthus leaves--"the tree
of Heaven"--the leaves that on moon-
lit nights shimmer black and blade-
shaped at this third-floor window.
And there are bunches of small green
knobs, buds, crowded together. The
rapid music fills in the spaces of
the leaves. And the piano comes in,
like an extra heartbeat, dangerous
and lovely. Slower now, less like
the leaves, more like the rain which
almost isn't rain, more like thawed-
out hail. All this beauty in the
mess of this small apartment on
West 20th in Chelsea, New York.
Slowly the notes pour out, slowly,
more slowly still, fat rain falls.


--James Schuyler


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

Crackle and Drag

I survived the trip to Asheville. The redeye to Atlanta was okay, but the flight from Atlanta to Charlotte was wretched. We boarded the plane twice and had to get off, each time being sent to another gate and having to wait another 20 mins. I got to Asheville almost 2 hours after I was supposed to get here. But thankfully, I am here.


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


Happy Fourth, Y'all!


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


EDGE


The woman is perfected
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.


--Sylvia Plath


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

Nine and Fifty Swans

Checked in on-line for my flight tonight. Confirmed rental car. Started packing. Need to run to the bank and deposit some checks. Squared away payroll for while I am gone. Finished reading the last straggler submissions for NER (even though I am sure a few more will filter in shortly). Read all the students' work for workshops. Read and commented on the thesis for which I am chairing committee. Set up Treasury Bills auction bid for while I am gone. Have had more than one cup of coffee this morning and am buzzing like a bee.


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


Style Weekly takes on Virginia Quarterly Review. The very interesting article is here.


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


THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE


The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?


--William Butler Yeats


What amazes me still, about this poem, is the way Yeats manipulates time. I have returned to this poem time and time again to marvel at that fact. The way he twists present, past, and potential future via the scene portrayed is breathtaking. The way in which that scene and the manipulation of time bespeaks the speaker's regret is masterly. I think it might be one of the greatest examples of manipulation of time in the short span of a poem. So many of our contemporary poems are mired in the present tense. We have forgotten the implicit power of the shift to the past tense, the power and import of "why" a speaker in a poem chooses to "go back there," the implications that revisitation lends to the present presented in the poem. I could go on all day about this poem. The funniest thing is that it isn't even one of my favorite poems by Yeats. But in it, I see a fantastic mechanism I cannot help but admire.


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I found an old sheet from my schedule in the Second Year of Medical School. I kid you not, these two lectures were listed back to back on a Friday afternoon:

"Malpractice and Your Future"

"On Loss, Death, and Dying"

Jeez, that must have been a truly cheery week to end that way!


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Grillin & Skillin

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Suzanne asks a very good question today about the people we share our poems with (or not) in the drafting/revising stages. I am not sure there is a right way to do it. I suspect that there are as many ways as there are poets.


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If you are in the Berkeley area and want 10% off used books at Pegasus Books, pick up the coupon here. Thanks, Clay.


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I guess I should have posted Calvocoressi's poem today seeing it is the anniversary of the disappearance of Amelia Earhart.


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Hope everyone is having a good Holiday weekend. It seems awfully quiet in the blogosphere. Okay, back to work.


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Reduction

Well, England lost to Portugal and Brazil lost to France. This totally effs up my predictions for the World Cup. I had Brazil winning this thing. And what the hell is up with France?


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My day of reading was a good one. Lots of good stuff. Excited now to go to Asheville. Two weeks with no hospital will be weird. But then again, even one week without the hospital is kind of weird to me. I realized the other day how strangely I am at home in a hospital. I find this awful.


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I got one of those letters today that just make your day, make your month, even.


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I have hired the first of my poem writers. I am paying him $24,000 a year + benefits. Still sifting through resumes to hire two more. I am going to make a fortune from Poetry now. Once up and running, I should be churning out almost 50 poems a month, what with my three assistants working their tails off.


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Clue: Chicken and Ginger Won Tons in a chili oil reduction.


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On the Kitchen Floor

Reading reading reading. I am doing a lot of reading this morning in several of my capacities. Lots of poetry to read. I may never see the light of day.


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I woke up this morning to the sounds of England vs. Portugal. But I am not allowed to watch it. If I do, England will lose. So, I am staying in my studio doing work.


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SAVE ME JOE LOUIS


When I was small no one stopped the fights.
A man could beat you till you died,
the crowd leaning in, you on your knees,
maybe somewhere someone says, No,

but it's like spoons dropping in kitchens:
enough to make someone look up,
not enough to get them moving.
The ref's just glad it isn't him

trying to stand, shading his face
like he's coming out of the movies
into winter sun, shock of the world
made real again — brutal, to be sure,

but America is like that,
unrelenting, you get what you ask for
in the ring or on the kitchen floor.
Someone always wants you to give up,

shake hands, wipe the blood away and talk
of lighter things. And you do
because you've been fighting long enough
to know there's no one here to save you.


--Gabrielle Calvocoressi (from The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart, Persea Books, 2005)


Calvocoressi's book is a fine one. I wish it were getting more attention. Take a gander, if you have a chance. Rumor has it she will be publishing a new book next year.


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