12

Spent most of the day at the kitchen table reading submissions. Stacks and stacks of them. But I got through what I needed to get through today, which is a good thing. Also on call, which is never fun.


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Thinking a lot about the summer and the various things I need to do. I am very future-oriented right now.


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I just realized today that I am actually in my 12th year with New England Review. At first, I didn't believe it, but then I realized I was a medical student when I started with the magazine, and that was a long time ago.


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


I need to finish my taxes.


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Re-reading Octavio Paz. I used to love his work. This time around, I am having trouble staying interested.


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Clue: Haterade


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Colony Wh*re

Eduardo is on a total roll! First he won the Colgate Fellowship. And then he got the month at Yaddo. Now, he just got more good news. Stop by his place to find out and wish him well. And no, I did not send him the email to which he is referring!

Victor #15

The winner of Caption Contest #15 is Joe Massey. Here is the winning caption as selected by Jacob:




"You know," he said, "I've never felt more pleasure than when I'm having sex with a dolphin."

[Shortly after the picture was taken, he was fired. Sea World declined to comment.]



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Congratulations, Joe. And not only do you get bragging rights, but you also get a $25 Amazon gift certificate, good for buying music, movies, books, etc. Just email me and the details will be arranged.


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And the runner-up this week (well, this is a first!) is none other than Joe Massey with:

"Ah... suction."


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Tune in again. #16 is somewhere around the bend. Can't wait until the Year-End Caption Throwdown.


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From the Scrapbook

John Gallaher posted a painting by Jasper Johns yesterday, one of my favorite Johns paintings, actually. It reminded me I had written a poem based on this painting back in 1991. I knew the poem was on my desktop somewhere, but I also knew I hadn't sent it out since 1991. I think I may have submitted it maybe 3 or 4 times before retiring it. Well, sure enough, I found it on my computer. The funniest thing is I remember at this age worrying about finding my voice. Well, the poem is definitely in my voice! So much so, it is a little scary. The funniest thing though is I remembered I had stopped sending it out because I thought it was too racy, too gay, so to speak, back then. I think I had worried no one would publish it because of the way the poem came across. Remember, this was the 22-year-old CDY. Today, the poem hardly seems racy at all. In fact, it is quite tame compared to other poems I have. Thanks John. It was nice to find this poem. It was a lot like finding an old photograph of myself in a yearbook.


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Someone in Stockholm keeps visiting this blog. Who are you? Are you a physicist?


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


Friend in town tonight visiting, which means tasty dinner.


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


Clue: Where is my Sufi Poet?


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U + UR HAND (Bimbo Jones Remix)

Okay, okay, okay. Already four people have emailed me asking about the Bimbo Jones remix of Pink's "U+UR Hand." Okay, so here is the song, via YouTube. The video is of the original song, but some guy remixed the video to make it faster and to match the remix. Unfortunately, the lyrics don't always match the video. But at least you can hear this version of this song, which I think is significantly better than the original version. Check it out:

You and Your Hand

I think my new favorite song is Pink singing "U + UR Hand" [the Bimbo Jones remix]. I mean, how can you not love a song with this as the refrain:

I'm not here for your entertainment
You don't really want to mess with me tonight
Just stop and take a second
I was fine before you walked into my life
Cause you know it's over
Before it began
Keep your drink just give me the money
It's just you and your hand tonight


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I am not sweet. Get it? I am NOT SWEET! These people who are saying I am sweet are trying to ruin my street cred!


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


Work has me kind of down today.


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If you have a manuscript, 1st or tenth (doesn't matter), don't forget to enter the Levis Prize at Four Way Books. You can even enter and pay the entry fee all electronically. Deadline is the end of this month. Tony Hoagland is the judge. Entry fee is $25.


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Clue: Jardiniere


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What Remains

Well, I was right: Sanjaya is still on Idol and Chris Sligh went home. Oh well. At least Collin will be happy and will continue his recaps.


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


What is up with the University of Akron's administration?


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


A very interesting discussion going on over at Slate about Autobiography and Poetry.


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


Clue: In the Mail


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Caption Contest #15

Yes, it is in fact THAT time again. Once again, the winner gets bragging rights and may or may not win a surprise monetary prize (already decided by us here The Muse before posting this). Captions should be left in the comment section below, and the winner will be selected by our resident judge, Jacob. Winners of the Caption Contest this year so far are:


#12 : Justin Evans

#13 : Anne Haines

#14 : ADT


Will YOUR name be added to this list? Or will one of these caption gods and goddesses simply shut you out? Will one of our previous champs return to show you how it is done? Give us your captions, and tune in to see what happens.


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Let the games begin...


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Again, the Coins...

This is one of the stranger Poetry stories I have seen in a while. Sounds almost like a movie plot, doesn't it?


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Lying on the ground in what has to be a tropical rain forest, I see a parrot on a branch. It squawks a few times before it starts making a terrible gagging noise. Then it belches out several gold coins and squawks. It begins shaking violently. I sit up and watch as it vomits out hundreds of gold coins that billow in a stream through the air. The coins are like a giant serpent flying through the air, around and around and coiling. I am trying to scream but no sound comes out. I cough and a gold coin falls into my lap. I cough up another gold coin. I start to feel woozy. The gold coins still moving through the air turn black, turn to ash. It almost looks like a stream of smoke. The coins begin pouring from my mouth. I wake up with a sinus headache.


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


Does anyone know where the expression "The Emperor has no clothes" come from?


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


If you haven't already, you have to go read Collin's Idol Recap. It is hilarious and dead on! At this point, the voting is so odd this year, I have no clue who is going tonight. I have a suspicion it might be Chris Sligh.


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Clue: Bam!


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Whatever Nevermind

Jacob and I are having Mexican tonight with our friend, Rick, who is in town this week. Tuesday nights are almost always Mexican food night. We are so predictable.


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So, if you live in LA, I will be there the night of April 27th and will be reading on the 28th at the LA Times Festival of Books. I think my reading is at 4:30pm in the Poetry Tent. Later on the 28th, I will be flying back to SF. Why? Because the 29th is our wedding anniversary.


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Clue: The Rainbow Tiara


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Five

Certainly back in the swing of things. Today, a busy clinic day. Tomorrow, a stack of submissions to read through for NER. Yup, definitely back in the swing of my life.


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**Warning! Battlestar spoiler alert **

Jacob and I watched the season finale of Battlestar Galactica last night, thanks to TiVo. I was not the least bit surprised that of the five mystery cylons, Tigh and Tyrol were among them. The other two revealed kind of surprised me. As for the fifth, I still think it is Thrace. Hello? She was supposedly dead but is suddenly alive again. Talk about surprise ending that was not a surprise. When Lee is flying around and suddenly a viper appears, who didn't know it would be Starbuck?


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


I am so excited not only to watch Idol tonight but to read Collin's recap. His recap is the best. Seriously. The Best.


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


I have a hankering to go back and re-read Verlaine. I have no idea why now of all times I feel this way. But I feel like I need to go back. I wonder if there are better translations of Verlaine out there now. I always have this terrible feeling that the Verlaine I am reading is not translated well. I have a feeling translators to English butcher his poems to maintain form/rhyme.


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Clue: Mother Russia


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Homeward Bound

We are sitting in the Las Vegas airport. We had a great long weekend. I didn't think about medicine, editing, poetry, anything. As you can see, I didn't even blog. In fact, I didn't even check email until last night. It was all much needed. And we head back in much better moods. The highlight of the trip? A bottle of Joseph Phelps' 1999 Insignia. It was beyond heavenly.


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


I have never seen anything like the Sports Book at Mandalay Bay in March Madness. It truly was madness. Every time I passed it I immediately thanked God I don't do the sports betting thing.


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


My massage therapist yesterday was named "Happy." I am not making this up. And he said it was his real name given to him at birth. Can you imagine? To top it off, he was this big burly guy, which made his name all the more odd. He said he had a sister named "Petulence." I am not sure I believe him on this one, but who knows?


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


A woman at breakfast this morning was wearing an outfit befitting Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. It was the most hideous thing I have ever seen. Jacob kept calling her Boobarella, a reference to an episode of the Simpsons.


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Clue: All That Glitters


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

Off to Sin City

Errands are now done! All I have left to do when Jacob gets home is pack. I wish it were tomorrow morning now. We'll be there until Monday. Let the debauchery begin!



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


I have decided my new excuse for loving Vegas is that it helps me write poems!


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


Can't wait to see last night's LOST. There better be some answers. Of course, asking that of this show is a pointless endeavor.


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


Listened again to Mahler's Fifth today. It was like listening to a broadcast from the heavens.


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


Clue: "Call me Commander, and I just might sleep with you!"


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Gross Anatomy

Well, as in all past seasons of Idol, a good singer left the competition last night. Stephanie Edwards is a much better singer than Haley (whore wear) Scarlato and Gina (I am a goth rocker) Glocksden. Stephanie is much better than Sanjaya, Phil, almost all of the guys. But America voted, and she is gone.


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


Today, more errands. We are off to Sin City tomorrow for a long weekend. Meeting a good friend of ours there for a bit of an escapist weekend. I would mention here who our friend is, but she has sworn me to secrecy.


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


More books arrived in the mail yesterday. So many books this season, though I suppose I should have expected this. I swear that ever since the start of National Poetry Month, more and more books are released between Jan and April. I have no stats, but it seems like almost 80% of poetry books now come out at this time each year.


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


The latest in the Amiri Baraka business.


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


I was recently told by a friend that I am an academic, whether I like it or not. Well, I do not think this is the case at all. I do not work as a professor in a tenure track job. I do not contend with any of the difficulties my friends who do so have to contend with at all. My one role as a teacher is via the Warren Wilson Program, and there I am more a mentor than a professor. Having two students per semester is not the same as running workshops, going to dept. meetings, etc. Maybe I am crazy, but I do not think of myself as an academic at all. I made a decision to go for the M.D. instead of the Ph.D. I live in a work world very different from my many friends who teach for a living. I must, therefore, believe that this insistence on my friend's part that I am an academic is a kind of judgment. I am just not sure what the judgment is!


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


Thanks to Dave Matthews, practically everything in Vegas is sold out!


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


No, it is not time for the Caption Contest again. It is coming, but not yet.


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


There is a photo in my studio of me in my first Gross Anatomy class. I am so freaking young it is scary. I am dissecting free the various muscles overlying the humerus. Not many people know this, but I actually started medical school in a BS/MD program that would have provided me both degrees in 6 years. Not many people know that I dropped out after Gross Anatomy. It was too much pressure for a 19 year old, esp. me at 19. I decided Medicine was not for me. Went back to Studio Art. The irony is that I ended up dropping out of Art and within 5 years was back in Medical School. I couldn't stay away. Something in me couldn't stay away. I love to say if I had to do it all over again I would not become a physician. But then I see this photo in my studio, and I know that is a lie. I probably would do it over again. I am drawn to it. I am not one who believes in "callings." But I am not sure what else to use to describe this feeling.


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Clue: "Me morire en Paris con aguacero, un dia del cual tengo ya el recuerdo."


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Lambda Literary Award for Gay Men's Poetry

The Lambda Literary Awards were first given in 1988. Surprisingly, there was no category for Poetry the first year. The category of Poetry was added in 1989, but it was not separated between men and women that year. The first year where Gay men's Poetry was a category was 1990. The winner that year was Michael Lassell for Decade Dance. In 1991, an anthology edited by Assoto Saint won the category. It isn't until 1992, that individual collections of poetry began to win the category consistently. The list of winners is a very interesting one. I am typing it up here because the listing over at the Lambda Literary site is too difficult to use because all the awards are listed by year and the years are in groups of 3-4 on separate pages.


Lambda Literary Award in Gay Men's Poetry 1992-2005


1992 Edward Field Counting Myself Lucky

1993 James Schuyler Collected Poems --and-- Michael Klein 1990

1994 Thom Gunn Collected Poems

1995 Mark Doty Atlantis

1996 Rafael Campo What the Body Told

1997 Cyrus Cassells Beautiful Signor

1998 J.D. McClatchy Ten Commandments

1999 Mark Wunderlich The Anchorage --and -- Richard Howard Trappings

2000 Carl Phillips Pastoral

2001 Mark Doty Source

2002 J.D. McClatchy Hazmat

2003 Mark Bibbins Sky Lounge

2004 Luis Cernuda Written in Water

2005 Richard Siken Crush

Not Me

I am happily off from clinic for almost a week. I needed the break after so many weeks of working there solo. And the errands and work here in my studio has reached an all time high. There are stacks of submissions to read. Paperwork to be done. Contracts I need to return to magazines for poems of mine. All kinds of crap is piled up here. And yet, what I mostly want to do is read books. But this is nothing new. I swear to God if I could just read and live I would be happy 85% of the time. The other 15% of the time, I would be writing. But all I would need is 15%. If I were James Merrill wealthy, that is what my life would be like. I would get up, read, have some lunch, read. Go for a walk, read. And every so often, I would write something. And I would be as happy as a clam. Why that expression exists I have no idea. Are clams happy?


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


To the person who emailed me wanting to interview me about my life in poetry and working at Harvard Medical school, you have the wrong poet. You need to write to Rafael Campo. That is the doctor-poet you are looking for, not me.


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


Congratulations to Virginia Quarterly Review, again named a finalist in more than one category for the National Magazine Awards. VQR is a finalist in both General Excellence in a magazine with circulation under 100,000 and in the category of Fiction.


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


I mentioned David Shapiro's Selected Poems here over a month ago and even provided a link to it at Amazon over in my book recommendation section. Within the past week, both Jordan Davis and Ron Silliman have also mentioned the book, and positively, too. It really is a good selection of Shapiro's work.

I first read his poems when I was an undergrad in Boston. I was too ignorant of poetry to know what the NY School was or any "school" for that matter. I had not read Ashbery or Koch or O'Hara or anything written after 1900 for that matter. I was an art student. Most of the poetry I knew was in translation from other languages and "old stuff." Finding a book of Shapiro's in the Grolier Book Store in Cambridge shocked me back then. It was unlike anything I had read before. So, I admit, David Shapiro's work holds a strange and special place in my heart and mind.


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


American Idol was very odd last night, primarily because Sanjaya, the scourge, actually performed better than a couple of the other contestants! I mean, What the .... I was literally in shock. And what is up with the obviously planted young girl crying that the cameras kept focusing on. Surely she was planted by the folks at Idol. I mean, really. It was so Gag-a-liciously awful to see her crying with joy at seeing Sanjaya. If you want a spot on fabulous run-down on last night's Idol, you have to read Collin's recap. His recaps are hysterical and almost 100% dead-on! He should totally be doing this for an entertainment venue somewhere.


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


America's Next Top Model is so dead to me. Yes, I said it. It is dead to me. It has outlived its necessity and is now dreadful. I mean these women are just beyond ridiculous. And Tyra Banks needs to be taken down a notch. She thinks she she has a batting average to match Oprah. Well, I don't really like Oprah, but I would listen to Oprah 24 hours a day not to have to hear Tyra trying to be the "it girl." That show is just dead to me!


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Clue: Diamanda Galas


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Lottery

Thanks to my friend, Gaby, for reminding me to post this:


DEAR STRAIGHT PEOPLE,

Why do you hate gay people so much?

(Letter from the inimitable Larry Kramer posted in the LA Times)


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


I am still excited about yesterday's news. I will be there Oct 1 through 14th. So, no, I will not be there with Eduardo, which would have been hilarious.


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


I didn't end up buying a lottery ticket last night, but I should have!


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Clue: Broadway


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When It Rains...

So, I am still recovering from the good review in Publishers Weekly this morning. I was all excited because I got to leave clinic early for the first time in 4 weeks. As usual, I checked the mailbox when I got home. There on top was a letter from Yaddo. I cringed. A week ago today, I got the rejection letter from MacDowell, and I immediately thought, "Well bad news always comes with good news." I figured with the good review this morning, it had to be a rejection. But here is the thing. I opened it and found that I had been accepted, give the exact two weeks I wanted even! I am floored. I had just resigned myself to renting a place by the ocean for two weeks to make the time to sit down with all the poems I have written since the last book to see what I have, where I am going, start revising etc. But now, I won't have to do that. I am completely surprised by this. I applied to Yaddo not really expecting to get in. I kind of thought I had a better chance with MacDowell. I guess you really can't predict these things at all. I am off to buy a lottery ticket.

Boss

Garrison Keillor issued an apology. A very LAME apology. Whatever. I am so over GK. At least Dan Savage cares enough to take him on. Basically, what this comes down to is if one wants to write satire as opposed to broadcast it, one needs to have a clue how to write. Tone of spoken voice is not on the page. GK got himself into this because his "satire" didn't come across to anyone but the few who supposedly listen to him faithfully. Why did this satire fail? Because people say crap like this all the time about gay people. How are we supposed to know that Keillor has "lots of gay friends" and is joking? Real everyday people say stuff like this and mean it. And something in me still questions if Keillor didn't mean some of it despite all his gay friends.


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BUCOLICS


1.

what color is your collar Boss
is your backbone sore from bending over
when you clap your hand against your thigh
does a little cloud of dust fly off
do you wipe your face with your shirttail Boss
I'd bet one day's wages that you do
though I couldn't say for sure how much
my wages are they're probably
enough O I get by alright
a beech seed here a feather there
a locust wing a wing as light
as air besides it lets light through
I get a double portion from you
I tie my purse strings tight but put
this in your pocket all I have
I'd lay it on the table Boss
for you I'd bet you jerk your lines
you hang your salty harness from
a red nail in your barn you pour
your horse a scoop of oats you give
its tail a tug you say nighty night
you spotted nag it's funny Boss
I can hear you chuckle when
you close the door you're happy for
a good day's work a spotted horse
I wonder if those spots are real
or painted on it makes me smile
to think about it Boss even
field hands need a laugh or two
a little riddle a twisty tongue
I wouldn't put it past you O
you sneaky devil you cut up Boss


2.

the light inside the shadow how
it hovers there it's like an owl song
a quiver hoot it shakes a little Boss
I think your face is in that flicker
is your neck a candle wick your face
a flame on top you're almost always
going out so dim sometimes bright Boss
not for the life of me can I put
my finger on it the way it comes
it also goes which is quickly Boss
if you would just sit still I'd carve
your face into a stick then I
could look at you Boss a hundred times
a day you could listen for the owl
if he let out a hoot I'd turn
your wooden ear into the wind


3.

there was a fox Boss in my dream
last night a fox the color of
the field before it wakes to green
I didn't know there was a fox
about until it moved until
it moved like it was sliding Boss
it slid across a furrow then
I barely saw it sliding to
the woods sliding to the river Boss
I never know what's going to cross
my path O never what will make
me ask another question that's
a question in itself I'd like
to know why everything is stuck
in the middle Boss of something else
why the fox was stuck inside my dream
though it was making for the river
do you make nothing Boss but questions
did you set that fox inside my head
did you lay that field behind my eyes


4.

you move in every direction
at once you're worse than
the wind Boss worse than
a rock dropped in the water
here there everywhere that's you
you're like the sunshine always
reaching does it make you happy
Boss you must have fun the way
you dilly dally in the grass
from blade to blade I hear
you laughing I hear you clap
your hands I see what happens
next blackbirds hit the air
the treetops wave goodbye
what a life you have it easy Boss
you put me in stitches how you spin
the stars with just a finger


--Maurice Manning, from Bucolics

(originally appeared in Virginia Quarterly Review)


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Manning is definitely a poet who follows his own drummer. I applaud him for that. He is brilliantly unaware of current fashions.


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


Clue: Sublime


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

Thank You, Aaron

A gigantic thank you to Aaron Smith for putting me out of my misery. He faxed me a copy of the review Publishers Weekly has of the new book in the issue that just came out today. I am floored, made speechless. Whoever did the review for PW "got it." What more can a writer ask for?

Jacob, I have no idea where you are, but you need to call me!

The Return of Wystan

Among this host of would-be writers, the majority have no literary gift. This is not surprising in itself. A marked gift for anything is not very common.

What is surprising is that such a high percentage of those without a marked talent for any particular profession should think of writing as the solution. One would expect that a certain percentage would imagine they had a talent for medicine, a certain percentage for engineering, and so on. But this is not the case. In our age, if a boy or a girl is untalented, the odds are in favour of their thinking they want to write.


--W.H. Auden

For All Flesh Is As Grass

This is my Crime and Punishment year. As difficult as it is to admit, I have been rereading the same three books in sequence year after year after year for 20 years now. I don't really remember how it started. I can guess the first book, Wuthering Heights, was likely assigned to me in high school. Likewise, it is a good assumption that The Count of Monte Cristo was probably assigned to me as well. I am quite certain that Crime and Punishment was recommended to me, and I suspect I know why. Of the three, C and P is the one most like the great Greek tragedies in its underlying belief that pride is a deadly Sin. I am pretty sure the person who recommended Dostoyevsky's novel to me did so because she wanted me to learn a lesson about pride, about hubris.

What I cannot explain is why I read these books in sequence. In one year, I read Wuthering Heights, then the following year, Count of Monte Cristo, then the following year, Crime and Punishment. They have become a thread for me that is both familiar and strange each cycle. But the three of them seem linked in my head. That said, I cannot ever fully explain that to anyone. When I try, it comes out sounding psychotic. It is my Crime and Punishment year. And I shall begin entering the world of Raskolnikov, shortly.


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I spent three hours yesterday at the Japanese Hot Baths. I hadn't been in almost 6 weeks. Thankfully, no one was gonged for talking. The gong is almost always more intrusive than the whispering. But the men there yesterday were good about silence. At one point, sitting on a bench, I felt as if I had fallen into a trance. I actually felt as if I were separating from my body. This sounds effed up when i say it, sounds like I have lived in California too long, but I had this sensation that I was separating from my own body. And it felt very real.


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


Kevin Prufer does a good job introducing us to Troy Jollimore, recent winner of the NBCC Book Award for Poetry.


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


A certain poet blogger sent me a copy of Joel Brouwer's very first publication, a chapbook titled This Just In. A rare volume, and long out of print, I was quite surprised to receive it. I am not sure what I have done to deserve it, but I have already read the entire thing and added it to my shelves. Wonderful stuff. Wonderful.


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Denn alles Fleisch ist wie Gras und alle Herrlichkeit des Menschen wie des Grases Blumen.

Das Gras ist verdorret und die Blume abgefallen.


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


Sorry, I have Brahms on the brain. And those two lines are my favorite from the German Requiem.


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


And Congratulations to Eduardo for winning the Olive B. O'Connor Fellowship in Creative writing at Colgate University. Stop by and wish him well.


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


Clue: Deference and Patience


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

Cha-Ching!

Who says Poetry doesn't pay? Well, apparently Poets and Writers magazine is upping the ante on what it does. Congratulations to Elizabeth Alexander!


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


Has anyone read the new blog at the Poetry Foundation? The one named "Harriet"? They stopped the guest weekly blogger thing and started up a blog with a bunch of people contributing posts. It seems too haphazard to me. I am not explaining that well. But I am wondering what other people think.


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


I dream I am running up and down stacks in a library sometimes. Up and down, round and round. Books upon books stacked in those aisles. And in the dream, I am always so excited. It is truly perverse.


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


Clue: Fleur de Lys


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Cool Whip and Constantinople

Kreepie Kats on Gawker today. I bet many of you can recognize who did this cartoon.


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


I want the weekend to start now.


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


At this time next week, I will be swilling a martini from a patio overlooking Sin City. I need a vacation.


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


Any idea where in Seattle one stays (hotel-wise) if they want to be fairly close to Open Books? Is there a W Hotel nearby? A Westin?


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


Clue: You Will Try...


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

The Grinding of a Multiplicity

Well, as I predicted to friends and people at work yesterday, Brandon is gone and Sanjaya is still on American Idol. I now realize this is all part of some terrible joke to kill off American Idol. And to be honest, Sanjaya may do just that. Thank God for TiVo because like commercials Sanjaya is now slated for FF by people everywhere. Yes, there will be the curiosity factor, the I wonder how awful he will be singing THIS song, but I will resist to spare my eardrums. Sanjaya is the worst singer in the final twelve to date on AI. The WORST. And as much as it was good to see Diana Ross on Idol last night, I could have done without her singing.


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


Wow, the Academy of American Poets gets homoerotic! With Dickinson, no less. What next, Walt Whitman tatooed in the small of a leather daddy's back?







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


ACCEPTANCE SPEECH


This time I’m not going to say a thing
about deity. It’s not the blizzard,
it’s three days after. Trinkle from thawing
roofs, ruined crocus pronging through.
Ruin, I promise, won’t be mentioned again.
Trees, sure, still begging in the road, split
to the bole but this isn’t about the chainsaw.
A pruning saw will have to do. The puppets
aren’t hanging themselves in each other’s
strings. Everyone’s easily identifiable
beneath the funny mask. Somewhere in Oregon,
Mary has another month to go, she’s comfortable
in any position for thirty-five seconds. Lulu,
we know you’re in there but no one’s
blaming you for reluctance to come out.
Poetry is the grinding of a multiplicity
throwing off sparks, wrote Artaud
and look what that got him: toothlessness
and shock therapy. Your dad, who has the worst
teeth of anyone I know, once ordered eggplant
in a steakhouse. Do not order eggplant
in a steakhouse turned out to be more
than aphoristicly true. Do not spend a lot
of time in an asylum writing cruel poems
if you can help it, one Artaud is enough.
In Kandinsky’s Blue 2, there’s a shape
in two rows of shapes that seems okay
although to the right’s a capsized canoe
full of mathematicians, to the left a bow
about to launch the killer astrolabe.
By what manner is the soul joined to
the body? How about climbing a ladder
of fire? No thanks. On TV, a rhino’s
lying in some red dust, munching a thorn.
You wouldn’t think he could ejaculate
for half an hour straight, but you’d be wrong.
See that cloud, it might weigh 10,000 pounds
which is about average for a cloud.
Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.
Tony says Mary is always writing about the sacred.
Talcum powder, binoculars, this decimated
planet. I know, a promise has been made
but Tony’s been sick for years and no one
knows with what. Flax oil, bark tinctures,
corticosteroids. He’s not exactly someone
you’d trust to drive your car, but still.
Something awful’s coming, isn’t it?
Would it help if I said Amen?


--Dean Young, from First Course in Turbulence


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My next painting is going to be titled Grey 22. Ha!


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Clue: No, She Didn't!


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Garrison Keillor can EFF OFF!

I am absolutely enraged! I mean AB-SO-LUTE-LEE enraged. I am used to the wingnuts spouting hatred and bigotry. But I am NOT used to hearing such bigotry from the likes of Garrison Keillor. Yes, you read right. Garrison effing Keillor. Well, I never did like Prairie Home Companion, but now I will never listen to it again. EVER. SALON published this oh so wonderful piece with Keilor. What a load of crap. I am not usually a big fan of Dan Savage, but Savage has the right idea in his own article: Eff Garrison Keillor, the effing hypocrite who is by no means a role model for parenting!

Stitch After Stitch

This morning, as usual, I went to the kitchen immediately upon waking up and poured myself some coffee. On top of the refrigerator is an Alhambra 2007 Poetry Calendar. I flipped forward to today's date and, lo and behold, saw my name. I had a moment of surprise because when I got the calendar I never checked to see which day had my poem on it. So, today's poem on the 2007 calendar is my poem "Torn." Again, I had this slight twinge of embarrassment that I always have when I see that poem. But I have come to realize this has nothing to do with the poem. It has to do with me. Too long to explain here right now. After shaving, I came to check email etc. before showering and getting dressed for work. I had 12 emails in my public email box (mostly from folks abroad, UK and Germany) saying they had read the poem in the calendar and wanted to contact me etc. I was deeply flattered. I was deeply humbled. What I can say is that this doctor couldn't have asked for such a basket of correspondence this morning, even though he needed more than anything to think of himself as a poet right now. Thank you to those who wrote. It is incredibly easy to believe that what we write enters a vacuum. Thank you.


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Congratulations to Keith Ekiss, who was recently named the Jones Lecturer in Poetry at Stanford.


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I spent late last evening sending out emails acknowledging formal acceptance of poems for NER. Some good stuff coming your way in the near future. Some mighty fine stuff.


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I have decided that Sanjaya remains on American Idol as the result of a cruel joke played on us all by old women and teenage girls. Diana Ross must have had an aneurysm burst last night when she heard him sing her song.


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Clue: 24 hours notice


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Thief

I have little to say today. But Paul has an amazing poem over at his place. That last line. God, I love it. I want to steal it!


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I need a vacation again. This being alone all the time in clinic thing is really making me tired.


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Yay. I just can't wait to hear Sanjaya butcher some song tonight on American Idol. I mean, he is just the best little butcher I have ever heard!


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Clue: Vulcan


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Confusion

The time change has messed up my head as much as usual. But then again, I think it is the Fall time change that usually causes me confusion. I actually like this time change, like coming home and still having daylight. The other way, I leave for work in the dark and come home in the dark.


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There is discontent in the poetry blogosphere right now. It is palpable. I hope it passes soon.


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The draft/revision did not go well. But I will try again sometime soon.


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


The weather in San Francisco over this past weekend was beyond amazing. Something tells me it will pass before the week ends.


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I think NYC has the most expensive hotel rooms in the country. I swear to God.


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We watched the first half of the HBO miniseries on Queen Elizabeth I last night. Good, but not a big Wow for me. We'll see how the second half goes. Oddly, Helen Miren plays the queen. And she played the current Queen recently as well.


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I finally updated my author photo over at my website. Thank God for Marion Ettlinger.


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Clue: Parsifal


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What's Good for the Goose...

Our friends, Ron and Kevin, were here for dinner last night. Jacob went bonkers cooking, but it was so worth it: Chicken Enchiladas in Mole, Cheese Enchiladas, Mexican rice, beans, guacamole. It was, as Aaron Smith says, DUH-LISH-US. Tonight, my turn. I am making Mongolian beef (beef alternative for Jacob).


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Actually got a lot of reading done yesterday. And some work for NER. A good day. I have such a ridiculous stack of books to read now. I have had to segregate the fiction just so it doesn't keep getting moved to the bottom of the stack.


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Amazon is now taking orders for my book, instead of pre-orders. It says 4-6 weeks for delivery, but I bet that gets updated within a few days to their normal delivery schedule. It is so cool that this book finally has a life. I still only half-believe it exists. But then I go over and pick it up and remind myself it really is real now. Four Way Books rocks.


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Well, well, well. Now the New York Times is taking on The New Yorker. And about poetry, no less! This is hilarious considering the article The New Yorker ran not long ago. (sorry, registration required for the NYT)


The second issue with The New Yorker’s poem selection is trickier. This is what you might call “the home job”: the magazine’s widely noted fondness for the work of its own staffers and social associates. The most notorious examples were the three poems The New Yorker published by the Manhattan doyenne Brooke Astor in 1996-7 (one more than Robert Creeley managed in his whole life)...

In 2002, for instance, the poet who appeared most frequently in the magazine was the assistant to David Remnick, the editor — that assistant’s name, coincidentally, was Dana Goodyear. In fact, since 2000, Goodyear (who is 30) has appeared in the New Yorker more than Czeslaw Milosz, Jorie Graham, Derek Walcott, Wislawa Szymborska, Kay Ryan and every living American poet laureate except for W. S. Merwin. She’s already equaled Sylvia Plath’s total.


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Working on a draft. Trying to save the work I started on the way to Tahoe that I felt I had to kill. Not sure. Tentative. The lines seem out of whack. The whole poem is out of whack. This may actually be a good thing.


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Clue: Testify!


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Cinco

I really want some crazy metal rock band to do a remake of "Eleanor Rigby," guitars wailing and all. I think that would be so frackin cool!


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Sunny here in SF this morning, the air crisp and shimmering. I love it when it is like this. Instantly makes me feel good.


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Going to get some reading done today. Read half of Peter's new book so far. And yes, I am jealous, but in a good way. I am amazed at how Peter uses wordplay and medicine in the same glorious way. I am humbled by the intelligence behind his straightforward language and play. Also reading Gregerson's Magnetic North. Talk about telescopic imagination! What a mind at play in those poems. The leaps she makes over and over between A and Z in a poem are shocking and spellbinding.


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There goes another one of those crazy hummingbirds!


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Come with me, my Love,
to the sea, the Sea of Love...


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I swear my dream last night was like this painting. Nebulous, dark, so much motion, and in it all, the number Five. Five oranges on a blue table. Five books (all left open). Five windows each framing a horse looking into the room. The Five horses. Five candles flickering. Five. What does the number Five mean?


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Clue: In space, no one can hear you scream.


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Victor #14

And the winner of Caption Contest #14 is none other than ADT for the following:



"As you can see, these cacti differ in appearance from most others due to their distinctive pricks."


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The Mystery Guest Judge was none other than last year's champion, Aaron Smith. And unbeknownst to him, this week's winner does, in fact, receive a prize. The prize this time is a $25 dollar gift certificate to Amazon. So, ADT needs to drop me an email and we will process his prize.


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Jacob and I selected the following runner-up:

"Do I look like I'm happy to be here? No beach towel? No tanning oil? By the way, Where's my mojito, bitch?"

--Justin Evans


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As always, thanks to all those who entered their captions. Here at the Muse, we freakin love this contest. Stay tuned for more installments in the future. And a warm thank you to our Guest Judge, Aaron.


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Stop Making Sense

A bunch of people know everybody in town. Most people know of everybody in their neighborhood, and have heard of most of the civic leaders and socialites who keep turning up in the town's newspapers. And everybody's got hard-won beliefs about what life and people are like in each of the neighborhoods.


I strangely understand this post by Jordan Davis. Normally, I like Jordan's mind but get confused in his sly posts. But this time, I see a lot of the web-like gossamer and can make out the shapes. I am not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. But I get it. I think I know the neighborhoods he speaks of, and it ain't Brooklyn or Oaktown.


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


I just received the Mystery Judge's verdict regarding the Caption Contest. Must converse with Jacob and then the winner will be posted. Stay tuned.


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Clue: Run run run, run run run awaaaaaaaaaaaay!


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National Book Critics Circle Announces Winners, etc.

Back on Jan 21st, I announced here the nominees for this year's National Book Critics' Circle Award for Poetry. Last night, the NBCC named their winners, which included (in the Poetry Category):

Troy Jollimore for his book Tom Thomson in Purgatory (Margie/Intuit House).

Congratulations to Mr. Jollimore, who is spending this year as a scholar at Stanford.


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Awaiting the envelope from our Mystery Guest Judge so that we can announce the winner of the Caption Contest.


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The fact that I have to listen to Sanjaya again on American Idol next week seriously makes me not want to watch the show. Ever. Again.


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Clue: Who's the dirty girl now?


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YES!

AS FROM A QUIVER OF ARROWS


What do we do with the body, do we
burn it, do we set it in dirt or in
stone, do we wrap it in balm, honey,
oil, and then gauze it and tip it onto
and trust it to a raft and to water?

What will happen to the memory of his
body, if one of us doesn’t hurry now
and write it down fast? Will it be
salt or late light that it melts like?
Floss, rubber gloves, a chewed cap

to a pen elsewhere--how are we to
regard his effects, do we throw them
or use them away, do we say they are
relics and so treat them like relics?
Does his soiled linen count? If so,

would we be wrong then, to wash it?
There are no instructions whether it
should go to where are those with no
linen, or whether by night we should
memorially wear it ourselves, by day

reflect upon it folded, shelved, empty.
Here, on the floor behind his bed is
a bent photo--why? Were the two of
them lovers? Does it mean, where we
found it, that he forgot it or lost it

or intended a safekeeping? Should we
attempt to make contact? What if this
other man too is dead? Or alive, but
doesn’t want to remember, is human?
Is it okay to be human, and fall away

from oblation and memory, if we forget
and can’t sometimes help it and sometimes
it is all that we want? How long, in
dawns or new cocks, does that take?
What if it is rest and nothing else that

we want? Is it a findable thing, small?
In what hole is it hidden? Is it, maybe,
a country? Will a guide be required who
will say to us how? Do we fly? Do we
swim? What will I do now, with my hands?


--Carl Phillips


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Okay, I even enjoyed typing that out for you all. There are just some poems you love, that you have to keep with you. This is one of those poems for me. I have no idea why I needed this poem today. But I did. I just did. I love it as much today as I did the first time I read it in the Atlantic Monthly so long ago.


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Is This Week Over Yet?

I got some news today that I am told should make me happy, but all it has done is made me nervous. Now I have another reason to be nervous this month. And Gag, it will happen in the same week I am to hear from the colonies. I am so going to go to Vegas at the end of the month. I will need to recover. May need to behave badly to make myself feel better.


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I swear when I get home I am going to type out that Carl Phillips poem for you all. I love that poem.


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Family Member of Patient: I looked you up on-line.
Me: Oh, really!
FMOP: You are a poet as well.
Me: Yes. Does this bother you?
FMOP: Nope, Dad's sister ____________ is a poet. Have you heard of her?
Me: Um, yeah. I think anyone who knows poetry knows of your Aunt.
FMOP: I should have known. She is so full of herself.


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The cafeteria today tried to do scallion pancakes. They RUINED them! Dear God, how can one ruin scallion pancakes? Whenever they try to be all ethnic, they ruin the food.


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


Have you entered the Caption Contest down below? You should enter. Some good captions so far. I am sure our Mystery Guest Judge is chomping at the bit waiting to select a winner. Who will win? Will Anne Haines take two in a row? Will Shanna Compton sweep in and wow us all with like 50 captions? And whatever happened to John Gallaher? Some good captions there already. Mighty fine competition (said in Beverly Hillbilly voice).


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Clue: What's in Party Boy's Pants?!


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China Girl

If Sanjaya and Antonella Barba don't go tonight, I will certainly have a screaming fit in my living room. They are the worst singers on Idol ever. And I cannot believe they haven't been booted off already! I mean, they are both of a badness I cannot even discuss in detail.


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I need a poem I love in this space right now, but I am at work and have no access to my books. What I want in this space right now is Carl Phillips' poem, "As from a Quiver of Arrows." I need something like that here, but cannot put it here. I should have that poem by memory, to be honest. But memory fails me today. The last line keeps darting around my head.


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Spent this morning signing paperwork for corporate tax returns and stuff. YUCK. I hate that kind of stuff.


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


Since Peter's book was sold out at AWP, I ordered it from Amazon. It should come today. I can't wait to devour it! I am afraid after reading it I will be so jealous I may have to fly to Seattle and slap Peter around a little bit. You know, in a friendly way...


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I am so tired of people saying "Do you think Anderson Cooper is gay?" Dear God, it reminds me of the people in the 80's saying "Do you think George Michael could be gay?" Nuff said.


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Speaking of the 80's, David Bowie's "China Girl" was playing in a dream I had last night. I was in a bar that had stained glass windows and red lights. It was very muggy and ceiling fans seemed to be in slow motion. Someone was talking about hash. And David Bowie was crooning in the background. And I was only 22. And I was dancing in a cage. And then I woke up. The sad part was that I wasn't dancing in a cage because I wanted to or because I was a go-go dancer; I was in a cage because someone had locked me up in one!


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


I know there is some MFA bashing going on (when is there not?) but all I can say is that I am not sure I would have the discipline I have today for incorporating poetry into my life had I not gotten one. It isn't for everyone, and it isn't a requirement for anything, really, but it really did give me time to read, to write, to immerse myself in poetry in a different way than I had previously. If I had to do it all over again, I would do it. I can't always say that about Med School, but I can about the whole grad school thing. It was there I learned to really use a library, there I first fell in love, got married (first time around), wrote hundreds of drafts and then threw them away. It was in grad school that I first surprised people with my love of Ashbery and O'Hara, where I sat in the Salty Dog and argued about Hemingway with drunk locals. So, yeah, I would do it all over again because I know I needed it then. I needed it because it was the first time in my life I felt as if other people understood me. Sappy, but true.


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Yeah, I need me some Carl Phillips.


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Clue: Hot Dish


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Caption Contest #14

Yes, it is (indeed) time for the Caption Contest. Once again, the prize has been set in advance (if there is one). But this time, we have a Mystery Guest Judge making the final decision. So, do you have what it takes? Can you caption this baby in an original way? Here at the Muse, we are ready to see what you've got! So, leave your captions for this photo in the comment section below. And tune in later to see who has won...





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Explain This Then

What did I order today, anxiously? I ordered Magnetic North, Linda Gregerson's new book. I have always been a fan of her work. Those muscular lines, the incredible leaps of the mind in its interrogations. And her syntax! My God! Her use of syntax makes me break into a cold sweat. It is thrilling to watch. I have read many of these poems as they appeared. Dying to get all of them in one volume. I have so many books to read now.


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The California Lottery is up to something like 300 million. Can you imagine what it would be like to win so much money? I can't imagine it. If I won I think I would have to move to Bora Bora for a while. Or maybe Venice or Istanbul.


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


Apparently, after reading around the blogosphere, my Green Lantern t-shirt was quite a hit at AWP, which I find kind of funny. Anyway, to those who wrote me asking where I got it, I got it is a gift from one of my former students. I haven't got a clue where he got it. But it does make you feel like you have super-powers when you wear it...


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Congratulations to my friend, David Caplan, who just got engaged!


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Umbrian blue is a specific color of blue supposedly found only in the skies in parts of Italy. So why then have I seen it in California? Specifically in northern California?


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Clue: Granulated sea-salts


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Cookie Time

Lots of waiting in our household, this month. Lots of waiting.


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Thinking again about something a friend said to me a long time ago: "Writers sound the most absurd when they try to explain why they write." I think he may be right.


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


Yes, Charlie Jensen is tall. And yes, he has a beard. A real beard.


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


I am trying to convince a friend of mine to write an autobiographical book of essays a la David Sedaris. Her stories of childhood and growing up are absurd and funny and absurdly funny. Sadly, she is too wed to poetry. If she is reading this, she needs to get off her ass and start writing me that book of hilarious essays. Yes, I am THAT pushy!


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Clue: "Are they made from real girl scouts?"


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I Almost Forgot...

Strangest request at AWP:

Some guy asked me to autograph the band of his jockey shorts. I told him I would be happy to sign a book instead. And he actually bought a copy of the new book and had me sign it!


Strangest sight at AWP:

A drunken woman stumbling in the elevator who then went up to one of my good friends and circled my good friend's nipple with her index finger before almost collapsing. My friend was shocked and said: "Did you see her do that?!" In fact, I had!


Funniest moment at AWP:

Hearing a big gurl poet tell everyone she is straight. Whatever. What she was really saying is "straight to bed."

Lambda, etc.

Normally I would have posted this last week, but I was at AWP where computer access and time was minimal.

The Lambda Literary Foundation has announced the Finalists for their Poetry Awards:

Nominees for GAY POETRY

Gutted by Justin Chin (Manic D Press)
The Album That Changed My Life by Jeffrey Conway(Cold Calm Press)
A History of My Tattoo by Jim Elledge (Stonewall)
Other Fugitives & Other Strangers by Rigoberto Gonzalez (Tupelo Press)
When the Eye Forms by Dwaine Rieves (Tupelo)

Nominees for LESBIAN POETRY

Domain of Perfect Affection by Robin Becker (University of Pittsburgh
Days of Good Looks by Cheryl Clarke (Carroll & Graf)
The Truant Lover by Juliet Patterson (Nightboat Books)
Lemon Hound by Sina Queyras (Coach House Books)
Touch to Affliction by Nathalie Stephens (Coach House Books)


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Stay tuned for the next round of the Caption Contest. This time, a mystery judge!


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Clue: Hilarious!


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Home Again

Glad to be home. Woke up this morning in Atlanta and was totally disoriented. Not hung over, mind you, just totally disoriented about where I was. The conference was good. It was as hectic and strange as always, but it was good to see old friends and to meet some new ones. Got to meet some of the bloggers I hadn't met before like Collin Kelly. Collin was working the Atlanta Review table, and I felt for him. I had worked the NER table the day before and I knew the craziness going on down in that bookfair. Once again, someone handed me poems and wanted my take on them right there. So odd.


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Aaron Smith is as funny in real life as he is on his blog. He had Jacob and I laughing for almost 18 mins straight!


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I am at least less tired now than when I went to AWP, so that is a good thing.


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


Eduardo was missed at AWP. Terribly missed. He is one who always has a smile on his face.


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


I still owe Charlie Jensen a drink.


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Okay, time to go watch Idol and LOST (captured for us by TiVo).


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Clue: Peanut Butter and Jelly: not funny


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Winding Down

The book signing yesterday went pretty well. I was quite surprised.


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Jacob is off to the Georgia Aquarium today to see Beluga whales, the whale shark and other insane ocean life.


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


It has been good to get away from the practice the past few days, even if it will be crazy when I get back. The funny part is that I actually miss it. I guess I really am a doctor who writes poems. It is odd for me to say that, but I realize, at things like AWP, that I don't really live in the Poetry World, so to speak. Maybe no one really does, but it sure seems like a lot of poets do. The conversations here always seem so weird to me. Thank God for friends. And thank God for short escapes.


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


I met John Gallaher yesterday. He seems like a sweet guy. And you can tell, from his eyes, that he is whipcracker smart.


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Clue: Serenity Now!


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Message from Atlanta

The trip out went fairly well. And even checking in and registering for AWP went well. Jacob and I are staying at a hotel a few blocks away from the Hilton, which is nice. Close enough but far enough away.

The book fair was definitely designed this year by someone who wants to eff everyone up. The tables have this numbering schema that makes no sense to anyone. It took me 25 mins to find the NER/Bread Loaf table.


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I have seen a fair number of the bloggers: Charlie Jensen, Gina Franco, Aaron Smith, Peter Pereira, Craig Morgan Teicher, and others I am probably forgetting to name. No Eduardo though. Eduardo is missing and very much missed!


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I am happy to report that Jacob is now a celebrity. A crazy woman behind me on the escalator yesterday said to another woman (while pointing to Jacob in the Lobby): "Oh shit. I totally have to go talk to him. I mean, he is a really famous writer." I love moments like these at AWP. The absurdity mixed with the odd glee people have is truly weird.


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Clue: This party is OVER!


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