Imagination All Compact: Musings, Literary and Otherwise

April Again

2010-04-01T16:11:00.000-07:00

It's National Poetry Month again. I think it's time to get writing. We'll see how many poems I can post this year.

April is as predictable as ever in Reno in that it's unpredictable. It's snowing on and off today, but not sticking. It's cold and windy. Occasionally the sun peeks out and teases us.

The poem below was written for a friend who told me he felt like he was disappearing. The form of the poem is a sestina and it involves repetition of the final words in each line in each stanza in a specific pattern.

I added my own spin to the form by limiting myself to a certain number of syllables in each line. The first stanza's lines have 16 syllables, the second stanza's lines have 14 syllables, the 3rd stanza's lines have 12 syllables... and so on. This gave me a nice way to meld with the title of the poem. Plus it was a great way to choose words carefully.

Anyhow, here's my poem for today. Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Diminish

you bury yourself in words, hoping to become invisible
you hope we see you, not as you, but for what the background will lack
thickening your emotions until they become your armored skin
mystifyingly tiny in that emptiness you call your space
no one, not even tenuous conscience, can claim you as their own
so you wait in cloying ennui until sorrow becomes that wall

and the sun drops behind it, that right-angle-shadowed wall
nearly suffocating in its thick and invisible
comfort, making sure you have false hope shadowed on your own
brickwork, knowing it may only be yellow-ness you lack
yet leaving pastel nestled in its cozy back-drawer-space
no longer peeled back and vulnerable under that skin

facades become mastery over toughened skin
precipices are camouflaged beyond that wall
it is your own reflection you fear in that space
you go to when hope becomes invisible
you can concentrate on manipulating lack
embrace the sweet unknown until it is your own

something -- anything -- that is all your own
not seeping out from gaps beneath your skin
only palpable in what closings lack
backing anxieties against that wall
smudging ashes of dread invisible
and you can once again claim amber space

expand until you fill that space
remember, dear: your heart's your own
I'll wait inside, invisible
curled inside your close, waiting skin
stillness crumbling that blackened wall
giving those forging tools you lack

I hope you see that lack
and find a yellow space
seep through gaps in that wall
widen them on your own
let brightness touch your skin
forsake invisible

invisible, you see your lack
bring back your skin, expand your space
you aren't your own, erase that wall

Packing

2010-03-24T09:40:00.000-07:00

I really should be packing up more stuff.

I stopped by Bibo Coffee Company on Mt. Rose Street for the best coffee in Reno. (A side note for those of you who know me as a tea drinker: when I want coffee, I go to Bibos (and they make a great cup of tea, too.)) I know I shouldn't have picked up my book, but I am an incurable book-a-holic. I am reading The Pacific and Other Stories by Mark Helprin and, as some of you may know, Helprin is (in my opinion) one of the best writers ever.

Anyhow, I find that when I read Helprin's stuff, I want to write. But this blog entry will be all I write today. I am back to packing up and throwing away stuff.

Happy Pi Day

2010-03-14T22:22:00.001-07:00

This is the first Pi Day in many years where I didn't bake, buy or eat pie. Ah Well. I'll make plans for next year.

Happy Pi Day, everyone.

Friday nights in March

2010-03-07T17:36:00.000-08:00

Another Friday night tending bar at Bruka Theatre. Another fun evening of pouring drinks and flirting and smiling. I love that I get to step out of office mode for a while and forget that I just spent a week with financial statements, forms and spreadsheets.

The theatre atmosphere is so different. I’m not just talking about the obvious party feeling and the dramatic conversations (in all senses of the word). I am talking about the group effort in putting together an artistic creation. The camaraderie and the sense that something beautiful is being created.

Life outside of work and theatre is getting full. We have to clean up and move out of the house we’ve been in for a little over three years. I do think it’s a good thing in the long run. But the work! Time to enlist the kids…

My creative life is confined to working on jewelry in between loads of laundry and writing haiku between cups of tea. I want to do more, but life, as always, intervenes.

My mood is lighter these days and I’m not sure why. St. John’s Wort and my fabulous friends seem to help. But finances continue to be tight. Having to get another car and moving and teenage boys seem to suck my bank account dry on a daily basis.

Ah… responsibility. I don’t want to be a grown-up some days.

Okay. Enough whining.

The weather has been cold and grey-ish. The thermometer says it’s in the 50s, but the wind on my face says it’s a lot colder. I find it comforting for reasons I can’t explain. Winter isn’t over. Spring keeps threatening to be.

Conversations seem to lean towards the wistful. Friends ask how you are and really seem to want to know. I am staying up later and wishing, most mornings, that I didn’t.

I’m reading Haruki Murakami’s lovely novel Norwegian Wood
and feeling its wistful spin on youth and sanity. The perfect novel for this March state of mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On another note: The coolest machine ever! I want one! Totally useless yet philosophically jam-packed.

February attitude

2010-02-25T20:43:00.000-08:00

In January I felt the winter blues set in as they always do. No matter what I do to try to avoid it or postpone it. January sets in like cold concrete poured slowly over the soul. You just wait for the thugs to toss you in February’s river to await spring.

Like so much in life, it’s a cycle. Sadness, that is.

I find myself, lately, wedging on my positive attitude with a mental shoe horn. It doesn’t go on easily or comfortably, but, somehow, by the end of the day, it fits. And I hardly notice things are any different.

I have noticed occasionally that my outlook on life gets dreary. And I struggle to figure out why. In the end I just put on my smile and, well, it sticks!

Someone (I think it was my mother) told me once that, “If you THINK you’re happy, you ARE happy.”

And so it is.

Thanks Mom.

Tea and rain

2010-01-09T20:11:00.000-08:00

Happiness is found in unexpected places. Okay. I know it sounds trite (as trite as unexpectedness can be…), but it’s always a pleasant thing to discover day after day.

I got to spend a few hours trading stories with good friends, new friends and new acquaintances at the Hi Point Coffee Shop here in Northwest Reno. And I got to hear the lovely vocal stylings of Michelle Pappas and sip some dang good tea.

Now I have a deep relationship with tea. I drink it daily and am not really picky, but I do love a really good cuppa once in a while. I find few coffee shops that also happen to have good tea. And the few tea houses we had in Reno are now gone. So if anyone knows of a good place for tea in Reno, I’d love to hear about it. I’ll buy you a cup of tea!

January is always such a flurry of activity for me. Thank goodness I haven’t had to deal with bitter cold or massive amounts of snow this year so far. In fact, it's raining now. Always nice to have rain once in a while.

Happy Birthday, mom!

Happy New Year!

2010-01-04T22:13:00.000-08:00

I’m going to keep with my tradition of not making resolutions and not resolve to blog more. But I do miss it.

Life trudges on and only approaches boredom when I stop to think about it. But I rarely do.

I’m reading a delightful book called The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón that I got from my brother for my birthday. A good mystery about a book, so far. I’m only a few chapters in.

I am also making my way through the “Firefly” series on DVD. Wow. I’d actually watch TV if I knew it could approach this caliber. Amazing writing and story-telling with fine acting and cool (yet understated) special effects. Good stuff…

I spent New Year’s eve watching “Avatar” just to emerge from the theater at 11:45. Just in time to catch the fireworks downtown. Lovely. No champagne, but at the turn of the year I passed my cool new hip flask (a Christmas present) filled with good cognac around and toasted the year in style. I love this town.

I found a poem

2009-11-06T23:02:00.000-08:00

I wrote this five years ago (or so...). An as-yet-untitled Ghazal:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trying not to recall how your bright eyes reflect in your words,
I make note of every color change you inject in your words.

Refreshing, that change - planetary influence might be blamed
For astonishing clues culled from harsh intellect in your words.

Rotary meanings click the time into grey bites between us,
I race to harvest rationalizations suspect in your words

Please! I offer bleeding bits of my soul to your whim’s altar.
Perhaps I read only subtle spectrums of reject in your words.

I queue up in the maze and greedily wait for a sign:
See your lover scramble for hope she can’t detect in your words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How did November 2009 get here without my noticing it?

Happy autumn all....

Do-it-yourself Muse

2009-10-21T19:56:00.001-07:00

First, start with a mirror.

October and a day off

2009-10-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

A leftover peanut butter sandwich. That’s what I thought of when the day began. What do you do with it? The kids didn’t have to be to school until 11:00 and I had to get out of the house.

By the time the time rolled around, I’d forgotten how time can do this to me.

Days off of work seem to be filled with coffee. I don’t usually drink it, but it tastes so good with solitude and music of my choosing. I choose a vanilla latte. Not too sweet, of course. The Morphine album I just bought, Tom Waits, Count Basie, some k.d. lang, Fiona Apple and a little bit of Miles Davis.

I could get used to this.

I linger carefully over our conversation. I make imaginary schedules. I know there are things I need to get done. And I ignore them, too.

You are there sometimes, sprinkling a little cinnamon into what should be solitude. But it never really is. And your flavor is welcome.

Another attempt at regular posting.

2009-10-19T16:36:00.000-07:00

It happens on those days when you are in your oldest jeans and a way-too-clever t-shirt and an old flannel shirt you’re using like a cardigan. She steps in with her grey suit and long legs in stylish heels. And envy pours over that particular hour.

Don’t you want those days to start over?

My hair is in yesterday’s braids, fuzzy from wind and sleeping on them. My mood and my prose are being buffeted by every influence. The radio piece on the Cultural Revolution. That Daniel Handler novel I read for the third time. The humid cold. The little girl who just smiled at me. The fact that he didn’t come over to say hello. It all slides my I-finally-have-a-day-off exuberance into a soft melancholy that’s hard to overcome.

I collaborate with my schedule to contemplate the letters I won’t write before I decide that I need a platitude. An aphorism. Something that resembles advice.

And I order a large cup of coffee instead.

Maybe I should decide to think about loftier subjects. Or not.

Things tend to not happen, really, on days like today. Just rain. The smell of coffee. And the sound of background.

Every Monday should be like this.

I miss this blog.

Missed Poetry Month

2009-05-13T22:11:00.000-07:00

Darn. Missed poetry month
and forgot to post poems. Must
resort to doggerel.

Lack of poetry
doesn't mean one can't compose
silly ass haiku.

Happy Month After National Poetry Month.

*sigh*

Happy Birthday to the Bard

2009-04-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

I'm celebrating in my usual manner. I hope all of you are, as well.

Whew

2009-04-08T16:22:00.000-07:00

As much as I love theatre, I am thinking about taking some time off so I can have time to myself and for my kids. They are growing up fast. (Liam is now, officially, taller than I am. *sigh*)

If you are in the Reno area, please come and see "Wait Until Dark" at the Reno Little Theatre. Okay, so you have to brave the uncomfortable seats at Hug High School... it's worth it for some fine acting and a good escapist thrill of a story. Two more weekends: Friday and Saturday nights at 7:30 and Sunday matinees at 2:00. After April 19, you're out of luck.

I am currently reading Black Swan Green by David Mitchell and I'm enjoying it. Not as much, however, as I enjoyed his novel Cloud Atlas, which was... amazing. One of the best things I've read in years: thought-provoking and just really great story-telling (encompassing 6 different, loosely interlocking, stories).

Poetry soon.

Poetry Month 2009

2009-04-04T15:23:00.000-07:00

I haven't forgotten. I just won't be as ambitious as last year. I will post poetry this month, however...

Currently, I'm involved in yet another show at Reno Little Theatre and now have breathing room as we opened last night (Friday, April 3). "Wait Until Dark" runs Friday and Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons this week and the next two weeks. Come see the show! It's great suspenseful entertainment, and the cast rocks.

And it's nice to have my life back.

Happy National Poetry Month.

Update on Becket

2009-01-07T22:21:00.000-08:00

It was a wonderfully successful run. Thanks to everyone who came to see it!

The company photographer managed to capture one picture of me doing what I did best in this show: tying down blinds.

Above is a pic of the set (which was cool with the industrial look of scaffolding and metal blinds). I was the one behind the blinds raising them and lowering them. I still have callouses on my fingers from those ropes.

I will be happy if I never have to raise or lower a blind again.

Or light a candle.

But it was memorable and I miss the cast and crew.

Thanks to all!

On Stage

2008-12-10T22:14:00.000-08:00

Whew. The show's up. I have been spending much too much of my time on yet another stage production. I am stage manager for the Reno Little Theatre production of Becket. (Scroll down and click on the performance photos... I am not in any of them, but the handsome cast is there and the really cool stage Holly designed...)

Yeah. I think I do have something wrong with me to put up with all this hard work for no money and no glory. But it's still wonderful to be involved in such an undertaking. The cast is large (15 actors), but they ROCK.

If you're in Reno or nearby, please come see the show. It runs two more weekends, Friday and Saturdays at 7:30 PM and Sundays at 2:00 PM, closing Sunday the 21st.

Holly Natwora is the power behind it all (she directed) and she's done some wonderful things with this show.

Anyhow, that's what I've been up to and now I need to see about getting things ready for Christmas.

Back soon!

Birthdays

2008-10-14T18:24:00.000-07:00

Strange how they can give one pause, no matter how one tries to dismiss them...

Poetry on the fly... no editing, just typing:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
birthday

random text greetings from friends
who I often give up on
(I'm not even in their top 100
on MySpace...)

a card from co-workers

an old friend sends a real written letter

the chimes on the church across the river
play a sort-of-off-key version
of Ode to Joy (or maybe the harmony drowned
the melody's message?),
and I wonder if, maybe,
it's a completely different tune
familiar enough to make me grind my teeth

full moon surprises

while trying not to look inward

trying not to slip into a cliche
sadness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah, Right

2008-06-24T21:31:00.000-07:00

Seems sarcasm is an evolutionary survival skill... hmmm...

Sensual poem

2008-04-28T21:50:00.000-07:00

A little sensual poetry for a Monday. How to be erotic without being blatant...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
stir

Up to my hips in metallic gem-light

seeing dark eyes feast
silver streaks
was that your heart going by?

Up to my ache in wordless seasoning

tasting more than
skin-salt and liquid moon foam
was that your soul I savor?

Up to my lust in satin aroma

inhaling much more than
essence of sequined man-tides
is this where ecstasy perfumes?

Up to my sanity in startled “oh!”

uttering more than clichés
melody in key of vowels
is that the secret sung in swallowed “yes?”

Up to my smile in seamless grasp

pulling more of you inside than body
buttered obsession
did you give warmth your name?

19 Feb 2003

A slice of time

2008-04-25T18:46:00.000-07:00

Here's another terzanelle. It was written (surprisingly) quickly when I saw a man place a bouquet of white roses on the stoop of an abandoned building. I wrote the poem when I passed by the building a week later and the roses were still there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Still Life on Stairwell

He placed the roses down with so much care,
their breath became the sunlight, fading green,
which left a tender shadow on the stair,

and gave a final stroke of tourmaline
to soft, forgotten petals, velvet white –
whose breath became as sunlight, faded green.

I pause to mourn – no fragrance reunites
me, in my bitter tea-stained reverie,
with those forgotten petals, velvet white.

I know that future’s roses, meant for me,
won’t keep that heart of green and drip with tears.
I slip back into tea-stained reverie.

He walks away in ashen atmospheres,
the light shrinks from those blossoms, now sad gray
No longer white and green, they drip with tears.

The wilted stems and ribbons swept away,
where once he’d placed those roses with such care
the light shrinks from the blossoms, sad and gray,
and leaves no trace of shadow on the stair.

14 Mar 2004

Meanings

2008-04-24T20:10:00.001-07:00

When I was given the word "still" as a title to write with, I immediately came up with three different definitions in my mind. The first thing that came to mind was the adjective that suggests lack of movement. The second thing I thought of was the adverb suggesting always...continuous-ness. And the third was the noun that suggested a vessel in which liquor is distilled.

So here is what sprang from my fevered brain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
still

I.
holding onto
the breath I should have
used
to tell you

your words
paint upon my monotonous sky
a crescent moon
spilling
fog onto skyline’s jut

but I wait

exhaling so softly
water doesn’t
know

II.
in case you missed the way
my hair
insinuated itself

and don’t recall the taste of rosemary

I’ll untie me
from your cerebellum

reminders are
forthcoming

here
I
am

III.
nothing to do
but condense comfortable conversation

heat

pull the moist
leaving

essence

25 Jan 2004

One more sonnet

2008-04-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

What the heck... I think Shakespeare's birthday deserves yet another sonnet. (And I'll be almost caught up to my "one poem per day" promise for April.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Freeze-Dried Sonnet

As if the darkness of your eyes could show
a way for me to trap the voice of pain,
and set in amber life’s imbroglio
for me to hide, so only you remain.

Jars of my desire, well preserved –
formaldehyde-postponed in its allure,
patient in the hope that I’ve reserved
for packing up my soul, in honey-cure.

Repentance never froze a single urge,
but kisses stir emotions long left stored.
From suspended animation will emerge
warmed and soft – adventures unexplored.

A trophy, not of conquest, but of art –
A taxidermist version of my heart.

29 Dec 2002

Another sonnet

2008-04-23T18:37:00.000-07:00

Another sonnet for the Bard's birthday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shadow Theater

We live, as many do, within that space
where footlights end, and audience begins.
The fear lurks, unrelenting, in that place,
too close to catch the actor’s disciplines.

Tentative in spotlights, under wraps,
I seek the hand of moonlight’s puppeteer.
Stage fright fills imagination’s gaps
where props behind love’s curtains disappear.

Your words betray the secrets sought in silence.
The eyes of all observe your crucial scene.
A soliloquy of gestures in defiance
of direction, daring me to intervene.

Returning, where we comfortably consume
The space between the curtains and the gloom.

25 Jan 2003

Happy Birthday, Will

2008-04-23T18:16:00.000-07:00

In honor of Shakespeare's birthday (he's 444 this year... not 544... I mis-typed his age last year), I am posting a sonnet (Shakespearean, of course) I wrote in a fit of mathematical ecstasy.

I will go read Hamlet... or watch the movie. Please celebrate in your own customary way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Science of Patterns

The order of the colors, prism bent;
The fractions in a chambered snail’s shell;
Statistics buried, called coincidence;
The chemical recall of asphodel.

So water congregates to build a cloud
and droplets marry heavy, forming rain;
With Spanish moss’s chaos-patterned shroud
To respirations measured fill and drain.

Honeycombs, whose architects are bees;
The icy veins in alabaster’s skin;
The march of leaves up eucalyptus trees;
The oscillating song of violin.

An ocean wave will roll in, uninvolved
In differential equations it has solved.

30 Oct 2003

More fun with forms

2008-04-22T21:16:00.001-07:00

Electronic signatures produced by collisions of protons and antiprotons in the Tevatron accelerator at Fermilab provided evidence that the elusive subatomic particle known as top quark has been found. (Image courtesy of Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory)

The terzanelle is yet another form I like to play with. It's similar to the villanelle in that it uses repeated lines, but this one takes the middle line of the stanza and it gets used as the last line of the next stanza, so the rhyme scheme changes each time. And the final line should be the last line of the first stanza.

It's like putting a puzzle together... the hard part is making sure it makes sense. And this one just barely does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Subatomic Terzanelle

In orbit, strewn with waiting, patient protons,
With you beneath – unaware my anxious hover.
Beaming light, my kisses touched like photons,

And quantum flux in wavelengths of a lover,
Are positively charged in spectrum’s hope.
Beneath my hungry stare and anxious hover,

Add neutrons, and my heart’s your isotope.
Creating radiation, banish dark –
So positively charged in spectrum’s hope –

Infecting every flavor of each quark,
Until they shake in subatomic lust,
And create that radiation – banished dark.

Adding electrons to your nuclear husk
Can ionize your will to spark a fusion.
They’ll vibrate you in subatomic lust

Swirling in subnuclear confusion.
In orbit, strewn with hope and patient protons,
Ionize your will to spark that fusion –
Lightly, as my kisses, touched by photons.

15 May 2003

Because I wanted to use "hieroglyphics" in a poem

2008-04-22T17:41:00.000-07:00

Another villanelle. So they're fun to write...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
encryption

I found the definition of “beguile”
in places where your blush would hibernate
amongst the hieroglyphics of your smile

It dawns on me, I cannot reconcile
so I repeat until my mind can conjugate
and still see definition in “beguile”

I grasp the implication, pause a while
let meanings there unfold, as I translate
the wondrous hieroglyphics of your smile

So let me take a lifetime to compile
the essays that your eyes communicate
expand my definition of “beguile”

into vocabularies versatile
(hard-pressed for me to ever understate)
and solve the hieroglyphics of your smile

A scholar of the context of your style
and expressions as your eyes deliberate
I find the definition of “beguile”
inside the hieroglyphics of your smile

30 Aug 2004

Another Monday sonnet

2008-04-21T22:31:00.000-07:00

A sonnet for Monday.

I have a theory that writing form poetry is (for me) a sort of exercise. I think sometimes that I write better with structure because the form itself (with its rhythms and rhyme schemes) keeps the left side of my brain occupied so my right brain can actually create. Kinda like giving a child a toy to play with so you can finish up a chore.

But it's just a theory. I could be way off base.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Abstract

Impassioned portrait sketched in words of lust,
Enticing me to reconsider all.
It traces doubt with grey upon my trust
And intimations hide behind the scrawl.
Relinquish every preconceived intent,
And paint my face with violet crystal tears.
I cannot take them back, so I relent,
And let the brushstrokes cover all my fears.
The sharpened edges blur with every hue -
Impressionist emotions, tinged with red.
I dip my fingers lightly into blue
And dare to replicate those things unsaid.

Kandinsky never could imagine these
Colors of my heart’s geometries.

13 Jun 2002

Because sometimes it just is...

2008-04-21T21:51:00.000-07:00

I can't think of anything to say about this one except it was easy to write.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tectonics

all the rocks
insistent in their geology
couldn’t be still enough

to buoy my being
when your smile
slips off my shoulders

and tickles in tendrils
eroding with insist

pull the alarm
and sound
for the majesty
of darkened entwine

lifting until scream
pushing until ahhhh
and never letting
silent knowledge of my love

fracture

28 Mar 2004

Just because I like the sound of the words

2008-04-21T18:12:00.001-07:00

I got the title of this one from an Emily Dickinson poem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prodigal of Blue

neon
slithers art deco edges
into greyhound bus familiar
startle

sunsets
from the 12th floor
forgotten with
touch
drop
curl

the purple flowers
were bubbles
in the oxygen of wonder

you heard the aria
before dinner

I was incandescent
marigold

14 Mar 2003

still more verse

2008-04-20T18:46:00.000-07:00

Some more sensual verse. I love it when writing turns out to express things just the way you want. In this case, I wanted to be appropriately subtle and evasive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
elements of nearness

pour yourself

into my lovescape

listen

while I intone the vowels
of your secret name

let me spread

my verisimilitude
to your soul’s scrutiny

magenta
savory
and smoother than cello

inhale
your sibilance
and I’ll exhale
favor
after corrugated favor

I have capacity

beyond your shadow’s glint

so tap into

isabelline implications

no one is looking

touch warm
start ruffling the silences

that can’t be pulled
from your tongue’s softness

reach into

the crook of my comfort

nestle in

rapturous silver
meant for taste

your voice tickling

deeper than oboe

your eyes

striking ripples
in lost-teen-angst yesterdays

irrelevant

hoping to

laser

into the midnight

of your eye-crinkling smile

I know your touch

at stocking’s edge

write, I say...

just write

don’t think

of my aphorisms

only let me fetch

one more constellation
from icy silence

awaken to my

juniper pleadings

and inspire the

piquant spice-green
knife-edge
courage hidden
there

yes... right there

27 Nov 2003

some fun verse

2008-04-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

And a little bilingual scribble for today. I got a title suggestion from a friend who said he was learning to dance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
aprendo a bailar

necesito los zapatos
that can hip
your eyes this direction

whipped mambo
served calientado
frosted in frenzy

bedroom your way to doblado

step back
(two three four)
let el hombre lead
(seis siete ocho)

blue into cushion
mareado

unstiffen
press into
escuche
and before you know it

bailamos

9 Mar 2003

April 15 haiku

2008-04-15T23:24:00.000-07:00

my dear accountant
the IRS doesn't want blood
it just wants your soul

Another time of year...

2008-04-14T18:16:00.000-07:00

A little tribute to November. A bit melancholy for spring, though...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Colder Season

Watching November ripen
with each thrum thrumming
of river and heart
in sullen, sad-love-song, crystallized ways.

The sky can’t manage
to be cheerfully blue,
and, frankly, stopped trying weeks ago
when October dissolved.

Now with darkness being a mere formality,
you take time to trace out our names
in faded sequins and reconstituted
rhinestones.

When incantations become
merely talking to yourself,
wretchedness accumulates and shoulders
take on permanent shrugs of surrender.

Lastly, you sleep when spoken to.
So they take you somewhere
mint green, without
the benefit of petunias.

7 Nov 2005

Another villanelle

2008-04-14T18:10:00.001-07:00

I know I meant to post a poem a day, but with the newest show, my weekends are taken up with getting stuff done. Sorry about that. I will post a couple a day to make up for it.

I love villanelles. Here is one I wrote and played a little loose with the repeated lines. But it's my poem, so I can do that. Besides, it works.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Absorbing Invisibility

I sit in camouflaged desire,
repressing fevered whirlwinds,
becoming shade as you require.

To dim the violent purple fire
dilute until it’s crystalline,
and wait in camouflaged desire.

Add grey to brazen red’s attire;
suppress her strut in softer skins,
in paler shades, as you require.

Hush the lute, and stow the lyre,
dampen strings on violins.
I’ll listen, and conceal desire.

I’ll paint with words that you inspire
disguised in shrouds of discipline
and faded, as your needs require.

Awaiting signals, I retire,
patient in the blues I’ve thinned.
I wait in camouflaged desire
a paler red than you require.

13 Feb 2003

Another peek into my mind

2008-04-09T20:41:00.000-07:00

Here's a really old poem. It's one of the few I still like. Seems like I've always been obsessed with Dylan Thomas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unsoundwaves

There are no violins on the moon;
and no nightingales.
The purpose of innocence
remains to be discovered
in the splintered remnants of peanut-butter memories.
So, take my hand while there's still time.
We can't compete with mediocrity.
And, screaming,
the wounded secret provides an anticlimax
for some celestial drama.
And the sandman is waiting under the marquee;
but that isn't my name in lights.
I saw a cloud move like this once,
unnaturally,
like a stream of my thoughts.
I hurry to catch up with you.
You tell me I write nothing like Dylan Thomas.
Unknowingly, you've stuck a grudge
somewhere between my shoulders,
and white things seep into my line of vision.
I wish I had your purpleness back
because you're listening to me now,
and I wish I had more to say.

Well, Dylan Thomas could never write like me.

Rambling

2008-04-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

Some verse written in a sitting-in-a-sunny-window-inspired ramble. I love to interrupt my stream-of-consciousness occasionally, usually with another stream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Book I’m Going to Recommend

was on the free book shelf
at the coffee shop by the river

would you order a soda… or just water?
and the maroons and daisies of this day might become softly muted

I recognize the author
from, of all things, the television

would you recognize him as well?
how could this lapse in my rose-colored protocol conquer your smile?

I open the nearly-torn cover and out drops
a photograph of white-shirted man
with skinny tie
and his head resting on the jawbone
of some poor dead jackass

I imagine you’d strike that pose…and
even the chrysanthemums growing on my stony side would wilt in breathlessness

the photo was labeled “Live Faust Die Jung”

you’d see the fun in this
and it would plunge me back into the fragrances of “what if”

and the back was signed,
“Sorry for the lateness in getting this CD to you.
Things have been a bit twisted.”

“What CD was it?” you would wonder, as if on cue,
and I take the violet-shaded way around this time

A page was marked with a ticket to the
Grand Prix of Monterey
for June 7, 2002.

how often would we really look at the world in cellophane hues?
and would you have had time to read this before the race started?

I’ve stopped halfway through the book
ending each chapter with what I’d imagine you’d rant

if I could only tell you

and you’d look at me with that flash of hush
and I don’t

because you already know

13 Jan 2006

A sonnet for Monday

2008-04-07T18:13:00.001-07:00

Monday seems like a good day for sonnets. Here's an old one I wrote when I finally figured out what I was doing.

Besides, we can all use a little romance on Mondays.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Simile for Your Kiss

The full moon took its time, and then my breath
Away as I saw clouds reveal its light;
Then gave me pause as when our lips first met.
I gasped in recognition -- pure delight.

Remembering your kiss, your touch -- that smile
Stopped my anguish at a moment’s crest
As liquid silver was my truth. And while
I memorize your touch upon my breast.

And, stopping me with white, the water mist
Reflects the singing moon as tarnished fire.
Just where my breath had paused before your kiss –
That same soul-filling memory of desire.

Mixing milk then bronze into the vial
The moon is metaphor still in your smile.

26 Sep 2002

Sunday and time to play...

2008-04-06T14:25:00.000-07:00

Some fun free verse. A friend gave me a title and I ran with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copacetic Persuasion

I tango to
the ask in your twinkle

resist?
not when we fit together
like finger to texture

regret is for the cup
not leaking
with serendipity

luck beckons
with python poker-face

and I’ll mambo until
romance’s roulette
tells me otherwise

26 Feb 2003

More forms...

2008-04-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

Today I'm going to dive, yet again, into a poetic form. It's a simple form called a villanelle and it uses repeated lines to its effect. The first and third lines are repeated at the ends of stanzas and again as the last two lines of the poem. The middle lines of each stanza rhyme with each other, and the other lines rhyme as shown.

The most familiar poem that uses this form is Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle into that good night".

While I have no delusions of being Dylan Thomas, I have written a few villanelles. This one was written while reading an old magazine in a doctor's waiting room. The magazine had an article about a group of people who bought tickets right after the first moonwalk to the first tourist trip to the moon. Evidently, the tickets are still valid, (or they were when the magazine was published) and I jotted down this ode to patience and optimism.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Waiting Room

Rapture waits in time I’ve loaned
to festivals in a “maybe” past.
My trip to the moon has been postponed.

I sigh in spectrums under-toned,
with passions held in color-fast
while rapture waits in time I’ve loaned

with interest. I am unatoned
until I surrender up, at last.
My trip to the moon; it’s been postponed.

Tranquil in the seconds owned
with minutes counted, softly passed
in rapture. I have time I’ve loaned

to one collecting fees, disowned
by passing title. Yet all’s surpassed:
my trip to the moon has been postponed.

In patience, which has been condoned,
I hold my tickets, business-classed.
While rapture waits in time I’ve loaned.
And my trip to the moon has been postponed.

13 Jan 2004

Romance, or something like it.

2008-04-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

I wrote this one day when I had just stepped down off of my soapbox, ranting about Valentine's Day.

The short version of the rant is this: I think Valentine's Day is ridiculous and a waste of time and romance. If you can't say "I love you" 365 days of the year, why bother to do it only on one day? And I would much prefer to have a romantic gesture on a random day when I didn't expect anything...

Anyhow, June 12 became an unoffical romantic poem day for me and a group of poets. Here is the first one I wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
June 12th

This time last year

was river-fed and angular
was stirred by crystal zephyrs
was your smirk in my brain’s scrapbook
was meticulous merriment
was drops gathered in word sponges
was crabgrass between my toes
was how I’d imagined you’d smell
was the ratcheting of crickets
was the aching rise of pitch at the end of your sentence
was time slick with the artful varnish of optimism
was the grain of your beard crumbling beneath my breath
was toasted foolishness
was our absurd valentine

12 June 2003

Another ghazal

2008-04-03T23:50:00.000-07:00

So here (as promised) is another ghazal I wrote. I am proud of this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dictionary of Rogue Verbs

I conceal meditations of that subjective tense from myself,
where clues of why your syntax may be indifference to myself.

I fasten onto your way of conjugating my ache until
I become the persuasive phrase you’d gauge innocence in myself.

When I can pen your hair into gold, the lucrative emerges,
but your daunting ease drains silver from the eloquence of my self.

Stretch taut my desire over the copper of your framework’s embrace,
and in esteem’s calligraphy – stained to permanence through my self.

Parchment-ready for prurient brushes with the ink of glances,
I inhale and find in the thesaurus of confidence: my self.

9 Jan 2004

Introduction to the Ghazal

2008-04-02T21:27:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I discovered a wonderful adaptation of an ancient form into English.

The ghazal is a form of Persian poetry originating in Iran in the 10th century A.D. It is originally written in Persian or Urdu.

I have included a lengthy explanation of the form below, but if that doesn't interest you, you can skip to the poem at the bottom. Of course, you're welcome to skip this whole entry altogether...

To summarize, I will draw from a book I have and condense from a lesson by Agha Shahid Ali.
***************
Here are the basic points for writing a ghazal in English:

A poem of five to fifteen couplets. The name rhymes with "guzzle." No enjambment between couplets. Think of each couplet as a separate poem, thematically and emotionally complete in itself.

Once again, ABSOLUTELY no enjambment between couplets -- each couplet must be like a precious stone that can shine even when plucked from the necklace though it certainly has greater luster in its setting.

What links these couplets is a strict formal scheme. This is how it works: The entire ghazal employs the same rhyme and refrain. The rhyme must always immediately precede the refrain. If the rhyme is merely buried somewhere in the line, that will have its charm, of course, but it would not lead to the wonderful pleasure of IMMEDIATE recognition which is central to the ghazal. The refrain may be a word or phrase.

Each line must be of the same length (inclusive of the rhyme and refrain). In Urdu and Persian, all the lines are usually in the same meter and have the same metrical length. So establish some system -- metrical or syllabic -- for maintaining consistency in line lengths.

The last couplet may be (and usually is) a signature couplet in which the poet may invoke his/her name in the first, second, or third person.

The scheme of rhyme and refrain occurs in BOTH lines of the first couple (that is how one learns what the scheme is), and then in only the second line of every succeeding couplet. The first line of every succeeding couplet has no restrictions other than to maintain the syllabic or metrical length.

There is an epigrammatic terseness in the ghazal, but with immense lyricism, evocation, sorrow, heartbreak, wit. What defines the ghazal is a constant longing.

This is what a ghazal looks like:
Couplet one:
---------------------------------------------rhyme A + refrain
---------------------------------------------rhyme A + refrain
Couplet Two, Three, & so on:
---------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------rhyme A + refrain

Here are some opening and concluding couplets of Shahid’s:

Example A:
I say That, after all, is the trick of it all
When suddenly you say "Arabic of it all."
………………..
For Shahid too the night went quickly as it came.
After that, O Friend, came the music of it all.

Example B:
What will suffice for a true love knot? Even the rain?
But he has bought grief’s lottery, bought even the rain.
………………..
They’ve found the knife that killed you, but whose prints are these?
No one has such small hands, Shahid, not even the rain.

Example C:
Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell tonight
Before you agonize him in farewell tonight?
………………..
And I, Shahid, only am escaped to tell thee—
God sobs in my arms. Call me Ishmael tonight.
***************
Did you get the gist of it? I know this is full of a lot of pretentious-sounding vocabulary and poetic jabber, but it is a delightful form to play with.

I discovered that I stretched my creativity a lot when writing with this form.

Here's my first try at it. (Tomorrow I'll post some later tries...)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghazal in ¾ Time

Rendering my words into songs may, from the dance
Kiss damp orange music pulled away from the dance.

We touch as though we knew the absence of roses.
Touching again, we move in disarray from the dance.

I wipe a tear from the page where you are drawing,
Stringing lines to remove the bouquet from the dance.

Though you spoke to me of afters, not of nevers,
We move through green laughter as if we’d pray from the dance.

Overwhelmed by the frost on your kiln-fired brow,
I discern the porcelain sobriquet from the dance.

Reaching into the marigolds between us, think:
How the weather takes a holiday from the dance.

Loosen your frown, unbutton your anxieties;
Let this lover remove all dismay from the dance.

Jan 2003

National Poetry Month

2008-04-01T20:22:00.001-07:00

Yes, it's that time of year again. It's National Poetry Month and I decided to be ambitious. I am going to try to post a poem every day this month.

Every poem will be written by me. Some will be brand new, some will be older, some written last autumn. Some may be long and some may be haiku. Some will be rhymed, some will be sonnets, and maybe I'll sneak in some other forms.

I'll start with a personal favorite. It was originally written as an exercise in how many poetic devices I could use, and after much editing, I discovered I actually liked it. So here it is. If you like it or not, I'd like to hear about it. And like it or not, it may give you some insight into how (or if) my brain works.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tea's Bridesmaid

The milk swirls tiny cyclones in my tea.
Butterscotch doesn’t work as an herbicide.
Your brow furrows with wicker-chair-imprint preciseness
at the off-key scrape of the sugar pot lid on the counter,
and the grains tickling the cupped palm of your hand,
while the steam warms the air next to your nostrils,
lingering for the linen scent.
The kitchen takes on cream-colored urges and vanilla sounds.
With a wry smile, I mention Dylan Thomas
and Wales doesn’t seem so far away.
Okay…
Wales is unreachable.
Unless, of course, you are in Cardiff reading this
or you can only read Urdu
(and tides effect only grapefruit).
So take the chill off your chili and cha cha cha!
The cordial jest of despair can’t douse the flame of your anxiety.
My tea steeps in urgent equations.
You giggle uncontrollably
and stare at the Fig in disbelief.
The storm will come and freeze my tea before it’s ready,
and the cup will crack in cinnamon waves.
Time will go by as if by ancestral recipes
(de gustibus non est disputandum).
Though my tea laughed until it spilled its sides,
the light from the kitchen skylight aches in as if it traveled all the way from Wales.

9 Jan 2003

Reading about reading

2008-03-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

"You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought."

That is how Italo Calvino's novel, If on a winter's night a traveler, begins.

And this strange beginning starts an even stranger journey of the Reader through this oddly beautiful novel. The novel is told in the second person where the Reader (you) begins a novel called If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino only to find that the novel is misprinted and cut off after the first chapter. The Reader (you) goes back to the bookstore to get a complete copy of the novel and meets the Other Reader who has the same novel, also misprinted. The novel then progresses with you and the Other Reader (Ludmilla) acquiring what they think is the full novel only to find it is another novel which has also been cut off after the first chapter.

This goes on again and again through ten different novels cut off after one chapter. The story of the Readers and their journey through the beginnings of these ten novels is told between novels and is surprisingly easy to follow, as the story gets very complicated and the Readers speculate on the nature of reading and (to a lesser extent) writing. It is a delightfully thoughtful book that somehow managed to be a page-turner.

It's also surprisingly difficult to write about this novel...

While it is an odd book to read, it is still compelling and the various novels' beginnings provide a great backdrop to the story of the Readers and their quest.

In the end, it's all about readers. And reading. So read it!

It's pink!

2008-02-28T19:13:00.000-08:00

Yes, I got a new computer... and it's pink!

I feel spoiled with this new laptop with a 17" screen and tons of memory as well as a DVD player with BluRay and all sorts of other bells and whistles. In fact, the screen is so big that there's room for a ten-key pad next to the keyboard. Heh. A joy for us accountant-types. And it's pink!

I also love the fact that I finally have a laptop I can take with me and have more than just a half hour of battery charge (poor old laptop). Which is why I can blog from the basement of the theatre (I'm tending bar tonight and have some time to do this) and I hope this means I can blog more often. And I love having all those things my obsolete old computer didn't have (5 USB ports! CD-burning capabilities! Speed!).

The only drawback is the the size makes it difficult to find cases for it. But that's what I get for having all this screen!

And did I mention... it's pink!

Still Alive and Still Here

2008-01-05T12:47:00.000-08:00

Just an update: It's year-end and I'm slammed busy, as usual.

I keep updating my book lists to the left, but haven't taken the time to post blog entries about any of them.

Christmas presented me with a lot of reading material and I'm making my way through most of them.

An enthusiastic recommendation for the Robert Heinlein posthumous novel written with and by Spider Robinson: Variable Star is definitely a page-turner. I loved it despite the deus ex machina feeling of the ending. This book brings me back to the Heinlein books I read as a kid.

Back soon, I promise.

Nerd's Delight

2007-10-16T21:35:00.000-07:00

I need to say, right off, that Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl is a literature-lover's book.

The first thing I noticed was that Pessl titled each chapter with a work of literature, and that each chapter has subtle references/resemblances to that work. She is a young (twenty-something when she wrote this) writer who, evidently, likes to show off her literary knowledge. This may put off many from reading this book, and I can't really recommend it to anyone who might shrink from this sort of thing. But to those of us who thrill to seeing so many literary references (often a bit too much - I think Pessl is showing off much of the time), this book is one to put on the list.

A short synopsis of the book: Blue Van Meer is a 16-year-old who arrives in a small North Carolina town and attends an exclusive prep school. She has spent her childhood traveling the country with her father (a charming college professor), going from school to school. Most of the book follows her through her senior year at St. Gallways and her unusual acceptance into an exclusive group who call themselves the Bluebloods. The story follows Blue's relationships with the Bluebloods and with Hannah Schneider, the film teacher (film teacher??) who is the leader and nexus of the group. The story takes a really odd turn when Blue finds Hannah dead - strung up in a tree with electrical extension cord. (This is not a spoiler, as it is mentioned in the introduction of the book.)

Let me just say that the rest of the book winds dizzyingly into a mystery that is never really "solved" or explained. The final chapter of the book is titled "Final Exam" and literally asks more questions than it answers. I warn you that this can be a frustrating book for anyone who likes their novels to have some finality. All I can say is that I loved this book.

And be sure to check out the extremely clever little website set up for this book.

Still backstage...

2007-10-15T15:36:00.000-07:00

I know I've been away a long time. Apologies. Time to make this blog a habit again.

I have been involved in stage managing yet another production at Brüka Theatre. It's been a lot of work and very time-consuming, but a lot of fun.

The show is titled "Beckett Undressed" and it is a compilation of three of Samuel Beckett's shorter works including Imagination Dead Imagine, Krapp's Last Tape, and Come and Go. There is also an original piece by our director, Stacey Spain, called No News, that she created specifically for this production at Brüka, and is heavily influenced by Beckett's work.

Stay tuned to this space for lots of commentary on the books I've been reading and perhaps a story or two about theatrical goings-on.

Where I've been lurking...

2007-07-02T21:23:00.000-07:00

So where have I been for the last couple of months? I've been dipping my toes into new waters. I decided to delve further into the world of theatre and stepped into the role of stage manager for a local theatre company.

The play's director, Jim Martin, was kind enough to train me (read: be at his beck and call) as stage manager for his production of The Golden Screw. It's an eclectic play billed as "A Witty Musical Regarding Rebellion & the Soul of an Artist" that defies categorization.

The Golden Screw is a small, rather obscure play by Tom Sankey that alternates original songs with short vignettes and loosely tells the story of a folk singer in the 60's and his rise to fame and then walking away from it all. The vignettes were performed by three very talented actors with a minimum of props and costumes.

The star of the production was the amazing James Cavanaugh, singer and musician extraordinaire, who did Sankey's songs a lot of justice.

It was a privilege to work with such a great cast and crew. And what a lot of fun!

(For those who live in the Reno area, stay tuned. We may have a "touring" production at the Great Basin Brewing Co. in Sparks.)

Happy 543rd Birthday

2007-04-23T17:24:00.001-07:00

Shakespeare turns 543 today and I celebrated with a reading of Hamlet and took the day off from work.

(Actually, I took the day off because I competed in a karate tournament in San Francisco yesterday and I am exhausted.)

So I plan to read a few articles, anticipate Bill Bryson's biography of the bard, and not get too hung up on what he might have looked like.

I hope you'll celebrate in your usual ways...

Yet another quiz

2007-04-06T21:36:00.000-07:00

A bit of fun for National Poetry Month.

What Poetry Form Am I?

Hmmm... apparently I'm terza rima:

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile.
Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away
I let mine out, and chatter all the while.

I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day
Is any day that's spent without a friend,
With nothing much to do or hear or say.

I like to be with people, and depend
On company for being entertained;
Which seems a good solution, in the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A weird quiz with doggerel at the end.

Or maybe I'll find out Which Poem Are You?

Which poem are you?

The Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

To you, love is desperate and hateful. You're wildly passionate and wildly inventive. You're also likely to start stalking people.

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

Hmmm... the quiz itself is more fun than the results. Someone was having too much fun.

National Poetry Month

2007-04-03T21:16:00.000-07:00

A reminder that April is National Poetry Month.

Read poetry!

Write poetry!

Is it an addiction yet?

2007-02-24T14:54:00.000-08:00

I have been wandering through YouTube now that I realize there is loveliness hidden there. Take these gems from Billy Collins:

Some Sweet Talk

And this cool animation:

Fun with silly quizzes

2007-02-21T21:47:00.000-08:00

It's odd what these quizzes can measure. Here are three tests to determine which novel/poem/work of literature I (evidently) am:

First, Which Literature Classic Are You?

Umberto Eco: The Name of the Rose. You are a mystery novel dealing with theology, especially with catholic vs liberal issues. You search wisdom and knowledge endlessly, feeling that learning is essential in life.
Take this quiz!

And now Which Book Are You?

A Clockwork Orange
You are 59% Great Book

A Clockwork Orange is perhaps one of the most bold works of literature ever penned. It charts a lengthy although ultimately circular change of character, concerned with a protagonist who is truly 'fucked up'. Despite the best attempts at the outside world to change him, he remains as he is. Chaotic, passionate, vivid and robust - you are the proud and destructive Clockwork Orange. You are a wild person, often driven by impulse and prone to ignore rationality over raw passion. You are intelligent, and well aware of the weaknesses of your personality, but you are also aware of the strengths. Where others are prone to indecision and a lack of originality, you are bold, imposing and often artistic. You can be violent, not neccessary physically, but certainly emotionally - imposing your will on others through aggressive dominance. Clockwork and Orange are not words which traditionally go together. Clockwork is a mechanical method of creating artificial movement, where an Organe is an organic creation. Trying to force one to work with the other will always be foolish. Alex, the main character, is something of an Orange. He is an organic person, growing and changing - even evolving - but ultimately sticking to his nature as an orange. The clockwork seems to represent the word around him, trying to change him and force him into a certain way of life - perhaps for his own good - but ultimately doomed to fail. The freedom of individuals to make choices becomes problematic when those choices undermine the safety and stability of society, and in A Clockwork Orange, the state is willing to protect society by taking away freedom of choice and replacing it with prescribed good behavior. In Alex’s world, both the unfettered power of the individual and the unfettered power of the state prove dangerous. Alex steals, rapes, and murders merely because it feels good, but when his violent impulses are taken away, the result is equally as dangerous, simply because freedom of choice, a fundamental element of humanity, has been taken away.

And, finally, The Book Quiz.

You're Mrs. Dalloway!

by Virginia Woolf

Your life seems utterly bland and normal to the casual observer, but
inside you are churning with a million tensions and worries. The company you surround
yourself with may be shallow, but their effects upon your reality are tremendously deep.
To stay above water, you must try to act like nothing's wrong, but you know that the
truth is catching up with you. You're not crazy, you're just a little unwell. But no
doctor can help you now.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

So... The Name of the Rose, A Clockwork Orange, and Mrs. Dalloway. I wonder what this really says about me?

Introducing the book

2007-02-13T17:44:00.000-08:00

I don't usually do much browsing at YouTube, but I really laughed at this one...

Reading

2007-02-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

I am not sure how some of these literary bloggers read as much as they do and how they can afford to get books when they come out in hardback, but I do envy their apparently copious amounts of time to read. I read quickly, but I have to steal time by reading in line at the bank or waiting for kids while they're in some activity. It cuts into my social life, but I try to read every chance I get.

I just finished a couple books and will get back to you with some thoughts on them this weekend. I am still unpacking books to put in my new "library" and I'm amazed at what a bibliophile I am. It looks like a used book store.

I can't wait to be surrounded by my books and my music.

In the meantime, I have vowed to get through a good portion of my "to be read" stack of books before I buy any more. I just need several days of uninterrupted time...

What Kind of Reader Are You?

2007-02-03T19:00:00.000-08:00

I don't do many of those web quizzes unless they have a literary bent. I admit I loved finding out What Kind of Reader I was.

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm You're probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people's grammatical mistakes make you insane.
Dedicated Reader
Book Snob
Literate Good Citizen
Non-Reader
Fad Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Update!

2007-01-10T19:12:00.000-08:00

Have you ever read a book that you just don't want to end? Or one that you know that, halfway through, you'll start again as soon as you finish? I'm halfway through one like that right now.

I am currently reading Adverbs: A Novel by Daniel Handler. I balked, at first, when I saw the recommendation on the back of the book from Dave Eggers. But I'm really glad I picked this up.

Daniel Handler's writing is amazing. He writes with such freshness (what does that mean?) and a poetic touch, that I find myself re-reading passages again and again. I will give more notes when I finish it (the second time?).

In the meantime, I am in the middle of moving to another house, so I have been fairly scarce. I am currently in bed with a rather nasty cold virus, so packing, work and everything taking me from my blog is relegated to a later time. For now, I can lounge in bed and read and blog.

We all had to start somewhere...

2006-10-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Mark Helprin's first novel, Refiner's Fire. As some of you might know, he is one of my favorite authors. (If you asked me my 5 favorite books, Winter's Tale would always be on that list.) His writing is some of the richest and most artistically beautiful that I've ever read.

Having said this, I have yet to read everything he's written. So I picked up a copy of Refiner's Fire and one of Freddy and Fredericka and prepared myself for some escape. (In case you haven't guessed, these are the only two of his novels I haven't read.)

Refiner's Fire starts out with an amazing story of a ship full of illegal immigrants off the coast of Palestine in 1947, where a child is born and orphaned during a battle. Once we start to follow the foundling and his charmed life, however, the story starts to falter. The boy, Marshall Pearl, is brought to America and adopted by a rich couple and raised in the Hudson River Valley. At this point, the character becomes a comic book superhero who, apparently, has no character flaws and always gets the girls.

The entire middle of the book took me several months to get through because I kept putting it down. I really didn't intend to finish it. But something compelled me to pick it up again and again. I think that through Marshall Pearl's story -- one that takes him through Jamaica fighting Rastafarians, to Harvard, to the desert southwest, through the slaughterhouses of the midwest, through a sea-crossing voyage on a British merchant navy ship, to the peaks of the Swiss Alps -- what kept me going was Helprin's amazing writing. He uses the poetry of the English language to paint such amazing scenes and descriptions that the weak characters, the Dickensian coincidences, and lack of compelling plot were almost minor annoyances.

However, the book ends rather dramatically with Marshall Pearl fighting in the Israeli army in the Yom Kippur War. Once I hit the last few chapters, I couldn't put it down.

Again, the reason I couldn't let this book go was because of the writing. And knowing this is Helprin's first novel, I really must applaud this incredible book. It's still definitely a must-read, especially for Helprin fans.

Now... on to Freddy and Fredericka...

A few small musings

2006-10-26T23:44:00.000-07:00

I've always wondered why serious writers shy away from writing about sex, as a rule. I know there are exceptions, but one just doesn't see much of it. It seems to me, and to Emily Maguire, that such an important part of our lives shouldn't be neglected in literature.
And John Humphrys argues that proper grammar and punctuation should be preserved in the interests of communication and clarity:

Language is more than a tool for expressing ourselves. It acts as a mirror to our world, reflecting back to us the way we live. It reflects our attitudes about the way we see things and how we are seen by others: in public life; in politics and commerce; in advertising and marketing; in broadcasting and journalism. Yet the prevailing wisdom about language seems to be that "anything goes".

Word by word, we are at risk of dragging our language down to the lowest common denominator and we do so at the cost of its most precious qualities: subtlety and precision. If we're happy to let our common public language be used in this way, communication will be reduced to a narrow range of basic meanings.

And it's official: we all look the same. No. Really. It's official.

Succinct

2006-10-26T09:07:00.000-07:00

Wired Magazine asked writers to write stories in six words. Distilled prose at its best...

(Bonus: More entries at Metafilter.)

Wasting time

2006-10-24T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have the week off and I get to waste a little time. It should be a rule for days off.

So I found out What Horrible Edward Gorey Death I Will Die in one of those funny quizzes:

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?

You will be smothered under a rug. You're a little anti-social, and may want to start gaining new social skills by making prank phone calls.
Take this quiz!

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Smothered under a rug? Mom always warned me I'd come to this sort of end.

Stuff that has been sitting in my temp files

2006-10-13T22:43:00.000-07:00

I haven't taken the time to post lately, but it seems I have had time to collect assorted musings and links, so here we go:

William Shakespeare, da Bard
Scott Esposito has a marvelous blog column about book reviews that is well thought-out and gives some good advice on writing reviews, as well as reading them with a critical eye. You can be sure I will be posting more reviews, as this article was enough to make me want to write them.
The Villanelle is the Most Restrictive of all Sandwich Forms
Serpents Upon a Wingèd Vessel

Punctuation redux

2006-09-27T21:19:00.002-07:00

Lynne Truss, the author of Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation now has her own website. It seems to be rather sparse now, but there's a section where readers can submit their own examples of bad punctuation. Now I just need to get out my digital camera and send some in.

Notes on recent readings

2006-08-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

I read two short books during this last month that I feel I need to mention.

First, I read Saturday by Ian McEwan. Before I comment, let me say that I was mesmerized by Atonement - an intense book by McEwan that was well-researched and quite compelling. And I should also say that his book Amsterdam was one of my favorites. So I suppose I shouldn't expect greatness to hit three times. I liked Saturday, I just didn't think it was McEwan's best novel. His writing, as always, was breathtaking, even when he was describing highly technical neurosurgery details. I don't even mind that there was very little plot. I did mind that the plot seemed a bit too pat and too coincidental. A good read, but not, in my opinion, his best.

The next book I read was Everyman by Philip Roth. I am ashamed to say I hadn't read anything by him, and I thought this might be a good start, since it is short and recently published. I won't dismiss any of his other books because of this one, but I must say it wasn't one of the finest books I've read. The writing was amazing, the characters were well-rounded and real, and the details were nuanced, but it was essentially plotless and a little depressing. I enjoyed reading it, but I think I need to try one of his more famous books. If anyone has a suggestion... ?

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

2006-08-15T21:02:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I like to browse the present and past winners of this contest. The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is an annual contest of bad writing, with the entries consisting of single sentences of some of the most horrible writing...

I don't usually mention my perverse love for reading these entries, but I just had to share a statement made by Michael Quinion, editor of one of my truly favorite websites, World Wide Words. I subscribe to his wonderful newsletter on language and in the July 22 issue, he had this to say about the contest:

I've always been ambivalent about the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest for Bad Writing. He wasn't that awful a writer and doesn't deserve such mockery. Admittedly, he wrote floridly, as did many authors of the nineteenth century, but we don't point the finger of accusation at Dickens, whose pages are often at least as enpurpled. To mock decidedly bad writing, it should be renamed the Dan Brown Da Vinci Code Bad Fiction Contest. Trying to outdo him really would be a challenge.

Heh. I guess I'm not the only one who is still mystified why Dan Brown is so popular.

Oh... and I highly recommend subscribing to the newsletter, especially if you love the English language.

Immersed in good prose

2006-06-09T23:29:00.000-07:00

While away from the blogging, I have been reading quite a bit. I have three completely different books to recommend. (I never did like getting stuck in a rut as far as genre...)

First, I picked up the book The Fall of a Sparrow by Robert Hellenga from a pile of books at the top of my bookshelf. I had received this book (an autographed hardback copy!) as a gift several years ago, and hadn't picked it up because I tend to like to read paperbacks so I can carry them anywhere.

I wish I would've picked it up sooner.

The novel is about a classics professor at a small midwest college whose eldest daughter is killed in a terrorist attack in Italy in 1980. The story is about how he, his wife, and his surviving daughters cope with the tragedy. The book immersed me in the very believable lives of the characters and in the rich settings of rural Illinois and modern Italy. I loved being amongst the academia where people quote classics in everyday speech, switch languages with ease, and are comfortable with their extensive vocabularies. It made me stop on occasion and wonder where I could surround myself with this sort of crowd. Highly recommended book for those in love with the language and in need of an escape.

A dear friend recommended How to Be Good when I asked him if I should read any Nick Hornby. And I am really glad I read it.

It's a fast and funny read, but not always a light read. Kate is a GP living in suburban England and married to a sarcastic, often bitter man. The novel is told from Kate's point of view and is a sad and funny picture of a marriage going sour. Just when Kate is ready to leave the marriage, her husband meets a healer who calls himself DJ Goodnews, and he undergoes a spiritual transformation. The rest of the book is a funny look at Kate's (and her family's) attempts at being "good". It is a thoughtful novel about moral and ethical decisions while poking fun at modern suburban life and what it means to be good.

I can't say the book made me want to run out and read more of Nick Hornby's books, but I was told that this one isn't representative of Hornby's prose, so I may try another. A bittersweet book, but not one the best.

Finally, I read Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. I hope it doesn't sound like a bad advertisement when I say that this has to be one of the best novels I've ever read.

I was a bit put off when I kept hearing the word "atmospheric" used in reviews of this book, but after reading it, I can see where the adjective is spot on.

The book begins rather innocently with the narrator, Kathy, describing her years growing up in an exclusive boarding school called Hailsham. As you read, you begin to notice subtle differences in the world Kathy describes. Ishiguro sets the story in England in the "late 1990's", but as the narrative continues, one begins to realize that this is not the world we live in.

I won't go into much of the plot, but I want to state that this is one of the most thought-provoking books I've ever had the pleasure to read. Highly highly recommended.

Happy Birthday, Will

2006-04-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

I decided that April 23rd would be a good time to break my hiatus and start blogging again.

Today is William Shakespeare's 442nd birthday and I'm celebrating in my own quiet way (reading some of the plays). I wish I could celebrate in other ways, but alas...

I've been slowly making my way through Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare by Stephen Greenblatt. I don't usually like to read biographies in general and I really don't much like reading about Shakespeare as much I like reading his actual works. But this is a very readable book with a lot of great insights. I love how Greenblatt takes the simple facts about Shakespeare's everyday life and childhood and links them to the content of his writing. It's fascinating and well-written and I would recommend it to anyone even remotely interested in Shakespeare or Elizabethan times.

Read Poetry!

2006-03-11T23:06:00.000-08:00

I read poetry. Let me repeat myself: I read poetry.

I keep a shelf of poetry publications right behind my desk (see proof).

I mention this because I've been reading an awful lot of really bad poetry lately. All the poems were written by people who: (1) claim to write poetry "for themselves", (2) use poetry as therapy, (3) never read poetry regularly, and (4) want to be published.

If one wants to publish poems, one should read what is being published.

Having said all that, I am discovering that I am finding out what I like to read in poems. I am also discovering that I use that knowledge to steer the way I write. (I think I may explore this in another post. Stay tuned.)

And on a lighter note: How can serious literature compete??

What makes a poem a great poem?

2006-02-26T19:15:00.000-08:00

I finally finished reading Break, Blow, Burn : Camille Paglia Reads Forty-three of the World's Best Poems . I'm sure everyone who's ever reviewed this book disagrees with some or all of the poems Ms. Paglia chose as 43 of the best poems. I will also disagree with most of her choices, but it was interesting to read her evaluation of each poem. It was an education to discover what someone considers when judging a poem. (And, yes, I mean judge a poem. Paglia did this as soon as she placed the word "Best" in the book title.)

Paglia does, however, give a great course in Poetry Appreciation 101, though one taught by an over-enthusiastic grad student with way too much knowledge and a need to let you know how much knowledge she has.

She starts the book with a very apt introduction. By this I mean she trots out a lot of erudite ways you can approach critical reading of a poem, then proceeds to tell you that you should "...make the mind still and blank. Let the poem speak." She drops words like "poststructuralism" and "neo-Romanticism" into the introduction and it hit me two ways: first it annoyed me that she was sounding as pretentious as the critics she was dismissing; second, it was flattering that she should assume her audience intelligent enough to ascertain the meaning from context or, at the very least, look it up. This was a perfect set-up to her way of approaching the poems.

I am not going to go into my opinions of her choices of poems because I think she justifies the choices well. I am, however, going to say that while I think she reads a whole lot into most of these poems, it's almost as though she's trying too hard.

But above all, her love of poetry and these poems is evident. Some of the poems I didn't like upon first reading (such as those by George Herbert) became transformed with her comments. I went back and read them with a new appreciation. Some others I have always loved (such as some of Shakespeare's sonnets) were enhanced by the commentary. Still others (such as William Carlos Williams' The Red Wheelbarrow) were merely confused. A sixteen-word poem followed by three pages of evaluation is a bit much.

I don't normally like to read about poems as much as I love to read the poems themselves, but this was a worthwhile journey with an author whose love of poems is as strong and feels it is "...akin to addiction or to the euphoria of being in love."

A few morsels

2006-01-16T22:14:00.000-08:00

January is definitely my busiest time of the year. After work, I just want to stay away from computers. So here are a few things I stumbled upon during my hiatus that I wanted to share:

Hamlet by P.G. Wodehouse.
And in the ever-lengthening list of books I want to read: Umberto Eco has a collection of essays - On Literature.
Technology is amazing. Now you can download your own personal PDA. Okay... so it's a piece of paper. But it's a very cool piece of paper!

Have a good January. I hope to post before the month ends, but don't hold your breath.

It was only a matter of time...

2006-01-16T18:49:00.000-08:00

My friend Jack turned me on to the Best Blonde Joke Ever...

Really funny in a Phillip Glass/ M.C. Escher sort of way.

Any thoughts?

2005-12-18T11:43:00.000-08:00

If anyone has any input on the following book, please let me know. I am interested in reading it, but I want more feedback from general folk.

The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls, & Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient by Sheridan Prasso

Have a Happy New Year, anyhow...

2005-12-18T10:43:00.000-08:00

For those of you who know how much I disliked The Da Vinci Code, you'll also know that this scares me.

Let's just hope the writing is at least good. Note to Dan Brown: it takes more than a little research and a lot of made-for-TV plot twists to make a good book. Please learn how to write.

the spaces in between

2005-12-07T17:22:00.000-08:00

A few things that keep me amused in between my busy times (kinda like grout... it keeps the gaps filled and things from falling apart):

My favorite American zen master, Drew, knows how my son would react to "intelligent design" teachings...
And some cool rare erotica... you know: really old dirty pictures. Heh.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Still Not Dead (They’re Just Playing Hide and Seek)
No wonder I love Umberto Eco. Quote: "The "death of God", or at least the dying of the Christian God, has been accompanied by the birth of a plethora of new idols. They have multiplied like bacteria on the corpse of the Christian Church -- from strange pagan cults and sects to the silly, sub-Christian superstitions of The Da Vinci Code. "

more ponderable particles

2005-11-26T08:40:00.000-08:00

Yay! A good source of reading recommendations. The Guardian has its critics and guest authors tell us their best books of the year. Now, if I could just get together a lot of time to read... I'm amazed at how few of these books I've heard of, much less read.
I just finished reading Audrey Niffenegger's first novel The Time Traveler's Wife. I really liked this book. I assumed it'd be either bad science fiction or a sappy romance novel. It was neither. It was an amazing charater study wrapped in a touching story with some really interesting speculative fiction tossed in. I highly recommend this book. (And if you want to buy it from Amazon, please purchase it through my links on this page... Heh.)
In the "you have got to be kidding" department: Meeting Tom Cruise Helps Chinese Writer Fulfill her American Dream

Since I seem to have a theme going

2005-11-19T10:16:00.000-08:00

Anne Ishii has posted her Finger in the Throat Report #7.

Come one, come all, down to my digestive system, as I consume this very lovely work of asianica, which I am using to coin a new genre of fiction: Phonetic Asianica, or Phonetica for short.

Phonetica is self-explanatory. It's when a writer chooses to represent his/her characters phonetically. When Yummee from Fan Tan says she likes being pushed around, it reads "I rike-ee beeng pushed alound." When the complimentary hooker in Lost in Translation visits Bill Murray's hotel room, and wants to convey a desire to have her pantyhose ripped off her legs, it reads: "Lip it! Lip my hose!"

Funny? Yes. Relatable? oh, I'm sorry, rerataber? iyessss. Always applopliate? Possibry not.

I was laughing so hard by the end of this article, I had people peering into my office wondering if I was okay.

Maybe white men shouldn't write about Asia.

(via Bookslut)

miscellany

2005-11-16T21:32:00.000-08:00

The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Told Entirely in Emoticons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And, for my amusement: Me. As rendered by Googlism.

mona is a fine person
mona island/planeta
mona is mocking me
mona island
mona is an ideal retreat for student travelers and groups
mona is not "busty" exactly
mona is practically flat top
mona is situated in a pleasant area of douglas just 40 yards from the promenade
mona is a truly unlikable and selfish character
mona is a murder mystery parody that doesn't have the gumption to go for the jugular
mona is the ultimate in luxury accommodation
mona is often compared to galápagos
mona is made into a useful object
mona is
mona is shown
mona is a logic
mona is located in downtown los angeles
mona is not confined to any particular project type
mona is seventeen and has nine brothers and sisters
mona is ambitious because she is smart enough to start a small delivery business to finance her pageant dues
mona is now played by minnie driver
mona is a well
mona is the most important technology in the book
mona is 5 percent
mona is a dancer and prostitute
mona is a pointless and horrific dark comedy
mona is rarely by herself
mona is dead in the water
mona is so relentlessly obnoxious she makes roseanne look like mary poppins
mona is approximately 742
mona is going to be one year old
mona is on the air
mona is going headfirst over a cliff
mona is fashion company
mona is largely due to ms
mona is no exception
mona is a solid
mona is never outrageous enough to make you fall into the sort of silly mood a film like this needs to
mona is only about 8
mona is at deirdre?s funeral
mona is the
mona is a substantial woman with an effervescent personality that pops out in loud bursts of joviality
mona is this
mona is drawn to the "glamorous" world of "little miss" beauty pageants
mona is posing near a former slaveholding fortress in west africa for a photo shoot
mona is my sister
mona is retiring and all the nannies are celebrating with her
mona is the only museum anywhere devoted exclusively to northwest art
mona is a pubescent kali on roller blades
mona is a deeply bad comedy
mona is temporarily replacing our secretary
mona is as pretty as a picture
mona is made up of 3 bunnies
mona is tickling herself" by lisa
mona is forced to run several odd jobs to pay off the fees for the pageant entries
mona is an active file system that cooperates with user processes to accomplish tasks
mona is singing and composing better than ever
mona is recognized as an ice environment and information technology specialist
mona is a woman of power
mona is a lot like watching an episode of wheel of fortune
mona is a team player
mona is a trojan horse which deletes files on drive a
mona is now shipping with drivers for windows 95/98/2000/xp/mac/wdm/asio/gsif
mona is somewhat troubled
mona is a divisive hierarchical clustering method
mona is a dark comedy parody of a whodunit
mona is the best tv sitcom i've ever paid seven bucks to see
mona is an adult shepherd mix
mona is merely a registered narcissist
mona is a faculty member at marywood university in scranton
mona is home to giant lizards that can be seen sunning themselves along the 200
mona is foremost the brainchild of bourgeau
mona is basically a very powerful add on similar to a very high end sound card that adds a whole load of flexibility to your studio
mona is the norse goddess of the moon after which monday was named
mona is that the midler character really doesn't act all that differently or all that more outrageously than anyone
mona is a novel approach to file system extensibility that provides heretofore unseen flexibility
mona is presented in a 1
mona is a detector array specialized to detect neutrons
mona is asking for help
mona is certainly self confident and is very much the terrier in personality
mona is a funny and entertaining

Some Shakespearean particles

2005-11-13T18:52:00.000-08:00

Some tidbits on Shakespeare:

Seems they want to dig up Will's body to see if he may have been murdered by his son-in-law.
And there is yet another candidate in the "who really wrote Shakespeare's plays" debate. Frankly, I am in the "Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare" camp, but the debate is sometimes amusing, and there's one pretty good novel that came of it.
And if anyone wants to get me a nice Christmas present...

Just when I think maybe we've grown up a bit...

2005-11-11T13:37:00.000-08:00

Geez.

Now Dean Koontz is getting called to the carpet for racism. Seems he's been telling a story about letters he wrote to a Japanese businessman that included a lot of racist-sounding remarks. What really annoys me is his assertion that, "there's some political incorrectness in it, but nothing mean". Sheesh. And apparently, he's been telling this story for years!

You'd think a best-selling author would know that there are so many less controversial ways of being funny. Or maybe not.

more thought particles

2005-11-08T21:36:00.000-08:00

A few rants, chuckles and a farewell:

I have a few grammatical pet peeves that cause me to grind my teeth. The laziness of people to not figure out the difference between "lay" and "lie," for instance. Whenever I hear my co-worker tell her dog to "Lay down!" I have to bite my tongue. (It reminds me of the comic strip where the man tells his dog, "lay down" and the dog rolls onto its back. The man tells the dog, "speak" and the dog looks up at him and says, "that's lie down.") So when I listen to the radio, I expect a certain amount of proper word usage. I listened to Ed Gordon (an experienced interviewer and journalist) on NPR interviewing a woman about adoption, and imagine my gnashing of teeth when I hear him mis-use the word "reticent" in the phrase, "...people aren't as reticent to take in kids..." Reticent means "inclined to keep silent or uncommunicative. What he really means is reluctant, which means "struggling against; resisting." Ack.
A chuckle from my favorite comic site: Shakespeare...
The worst phrasebook ever written.
And a farewell to John Fowles, dead at age 79. His book, The Magus, is still one of my all-time favorites, and I still get chills if I think about it too much.

Trying to look smart?

2005-10-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

It turns out that one in three consumers polled in London admit that they bought books "to look intelligent." And that few actually read the books they buy.

When did reading become a matter of social appearance rather than a wonderfully enjoyable escape?

And what does it say about me that I was seen by dozens of people yesterday when I was reading Poetry Magazine?

Jessa Crispin uses this information to give guys advice on what to be seen reading. Funny stuff.

a little bit of a rant

2005-10-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

I did hope not to use this blog as a forum for ranting, but sometimes you just have to let it out.

As an Asian-American, I'm subjected to a lot of stereotypes. Now, while the actual number of comments has diminished through the years, the fact that I still hear them remains a source of a lot of incredulity. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks this. James Yeh has this hilarious little commentary on stupid things people say to Asian-looking folks. And while you're at it, check out his blog. Good stuff.

I have had three proposals from complete strangers. Hello!? We aren't all mail-order brides looking for a way to stay in the country. Some of us were born here and actually speak without accents. Imagine that.

Advice: We (Asian-Americans) know that we look "exotic" and sometimes your curiousity is ovewhelming. Go ahead and ask what our background is, but please don't ask, "What are you?" My standard reply is "Human," or "Female."

Literature for the mind

2005-10-22T13:54:00.000-07:00

A friend (whose opinion means a lot to me) recently recommended I read The Brothers Karamazov. I was never that interested in Russian literature and maybe slogging my way through War and Peace didn't help.

I stumbled across this marvelous article about Apostolos Gerasoulis, the mathematician behind the search engine "Ask Jeeves." It tells a great deal about the creation of and ideas behind the search engine, but the one part that stood out for me was the following quote:

"At first, he was a pretty bad student, until he discovered the principle of abstraction in the stories by Dostoyevsky."

A nice thing to hear about for those of us with a mathematical and literary bent.

New gadget!

2005-10-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually much for gadgets, but I recently received an iPod nano for my birthday. (Yes, it wasn't long ago.)

Heh. No wonder the Apple users are such fanatics. This gadget is easy to use and great for my walks and workouts. Plus, I get the added benefit of seeing people eye it with envy. (I want an Apple computer, too, but that will be years away...)

I've already loaded 117 songs on the thing, and am deciding what part of my large CD collection I want to add. Heh. It seems I can never have too much Steely Dan.

Fun.

We pause for this baseball note...

2005-10-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

It's not easy being a National League fan. Neal Pollack thinks so, too.

"I'm an old-fashioned National League purist. I stand firmly against the designated hitter and believe that NL games are more sophisticated and interesting. Even during the prime juice years of McGwire, Sosa, and Bonds, there was still a pitcher hitting ninth; baseball isn't baseball without the double switch."

Needed a laugh...

2005-10-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

And I got one.

I couldn't stop laughing at Gene Weingarten's article...

Enjoy.

A Cask of Whine

2005-10-02T18:07:00.000-07:00

Busy busy times for me -- pardon the hiatus. A few notes:

My baby brother turned 40 yesterday. Happy birthday, David! We'll be the same age for a couple weeks now.
I confess I could NOT finish A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I read so many rave reviews and had friends recommend it. Heck, even the gal at the bookstore waxed rhapsodic when she saw me buying it. But I'm sorry. I found it extremely self-absorbed and so full of self-congratulatory cleverness and Gen-X-brand angst, that, after 100 pages and many derisive snorts and rolling of the eyes, I just gave up. I didn't even find the writing particularly catchy. Sorry. I just couldn't do it...
The Giants are out of the playoffs.
And maybe I'm just having a bad week, but does anyone else actually find this funny? (Really... I am easily amused, usually.)

Yet another biography...

2005-09-11T09:40:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I love Shakespeare's plays. What a lot of people don't undertand about my love of the work, however, is that it doesn't necessarily translate into a desire to read about Shakespeare himself. I do have a copy of Stephen Grenblatt's Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare in my pile of books to be read. And some kind soul gave me a copy of Harold Bloom's Shakespeare: The Invention of the Humana few years ago. (I am reluctant to admit I haven't picked it up.) But the truth is, I'd rather pick up a copy of a play and re-read it than read a biography or any treatise about his work.

But it seems that there are always new biographies coming out. I don't plan to read Peter Ackroyd's biography, despite the good press on it so far. But I am intrigued that Bill Bryson is working on his own Shakespeare bio. I adore Bryson's writing... I may have to get that one.

The Secret Life of Bees

2005-09-04T19:08:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Sue Monk Kidd’s novel The Secret Life of Bees. My initial reaction was that it is a beautifully written coming-of-age novel. The descriptions of the American South in the 1960s are tender and lovely.

The story revolves around Lily Owens, a 14-year-old girl growing up in Sylvan, S.C., on a peach orchard with her father and a housekeeper. The story jump starts when Rosaleen, the black housekeeper, goes into town to register to vote. She encounters some white men bent on preventing her registration, and ends up beaten and in jail. Lily helps her escape, and the two of them run away; Rosaleen from jail and Lily from her abusive father. Lily’s mother is gone, dead from a gun accident when Lily was four, that may or may not have been caused by Lily.

Lily’s only clue to anything in her dead mother’s past is a photograph and a picture of a “black Madonna” with the words “Tiburon, S.C.” scrawled on the back. So Lily and Rosaleen head to Tiburon, where they meet with three sisters who run a honey farm.

The story’s basic themes involve Lily’s search for a mother and that love transcends race. The book is beautifully written, with often poetic and achingly lovely descriptions. But, as Lily matures and searches for clues to her mother’s past, the book becomes a bit too pat. The coincidences made me wince a bit and as I pondered the book, I found myself wondering about some of the details in the book. For example, if the setting is the Deep South in 1964, why didn’t anyone say anything when Lily and Zach drove into town? There’s a big fuss about a group of black teens throwing a bottle, but none of the white men involved in the fracas mention Lily. Wasn’t this less than ten years after the murder of Emmett Till, who was lynched for allegedly talking to a white woman?

I enjoyed the book, though it is not usually the sort I like to read. It is rare when I pick up a book that is aimed at the “chick lit” crowd. This book is not necessarily in that category, but the marketing of it seems to be towards the same group. The writing is exceptional, however, and I would recommend it just for the beauty of the prose.

A couple excerpts:

“When I looked up through the web of trees, the night fell over me, and for a moment I lost my boundaries, feeling like the sky was my own skin and the moon was my heart beating up there in the dark. Lightning came, not jagged but in soft, golden licks across the sky.”

“The first week at August’s was a consolation, a pure relief. The world will give you that once in a while, a brief time-out; the boxing bell rings and you go to your corner, where somebody dabs mercy on your beat-up life.”

The joy of reading

2005-08-30T20:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first day of school for my kids. I woke to cool air and Morning Edition on the radio. On Mondays they air a series called This I Believe. It is a series of audio essays by various people, famous and not-so-famous, speaking about what they believe.

This morning's essay was from Rick Moody about The Joy and Enthusiasm of Reading.

"I believe in the absolute and unlimited liberty of reading. I believe in wandering through the stacks and picking out the first thing that strikes me. I believe in choosing books based on the dust jacket. I believe in reading books because others dislike them or find them dangerous. I believe in choosing the hardest book imaginable. I believe in reading up on what others have to say about this difficult book, and then making up my own mind."

What a wonderful beginning to a day.

Unstable Particles

2005-08-25T22:15:00.000-07:00

In accordance with The Lynne Truss Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation, the press is having a hard time deciding whether to go with the official version, or be grammatically correct.

Shakespeare Was, Like, The Ultimate Rapper.

Kit Weinert gives us Rules for Modern Poets to Live and Maybe Roast By, and he does it beautifully…

“Really, rhyme or not rhyme isn’t the issue for a poem. What matters is whether a poem is good or not, true or not”

Useless research

2005-08-24T08:45:00.000-07:00

I've stumbled across some odd, useless and obvious "studies" done in the name of serious science, but I've finally found one that is obvious as well as apt!

Now I know my profession has a less-than-exciting reputation, but I have never felt the need to justify it. Heck, I can easily get a job almost anywhere. But it's funny how so many accountants get defensive about the work they do.

The Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales provided a robust defence of its members.

A spokesman said: "The area of tax accountancy is anything but dull. Our members get to work in all sectors of the economy, including small businesses and the media and entertainment industries.

"Many of our members lead varied and interesting lives, taking part in activities such as trekking around the Alps for charity and being involved in local community projects, such as working in deprived areas. "

Some of them can even write...

Summer fun!

2005-08-14T23:58:00.000-07:00

August 18th is Bad Poetry Day.

Like we need a day for it... I believe there is more bad poetry around then there is any other art form. I realize this is subjective, but it's just too easy to do.

In fact, let's try it! Send a bad poem to cordelia248(at)yahoo(dot)com (in the proper formatting, of course), and I'll post the finest (worst) here.

Go write!

And I'll be back intermittently until the kids start school. Sorry for the days of silence.

An essay by a poet

2005-07-24T19:58:00.000-07:00

I have mentioned before that I have a difficult time writing prose. I lack the organization and the sense of pacing to write much prose.

Vivé Griffith writes an amazingly beautiful essay in The Gettysburg Review that illuminates many of these feelings on why and how I write:

"I never learned how to tell a story. Try as I might, I can never quite place a beginning, a middle, an ending on things. I get confused, and my endings become beginnings, my middles endings. Or I forget what happened and make something up. Or I think I can see the full sequence, but I get impatient on the way there.

I have learned instead to create moments. I am in love with moments."

Her love of moments is illustrated in the the subject of the essay, her father. She uses her poet's sense of word-painting to give us a sad, sweet picture of him.

"Here’s the thing: my father uses my poems to sell timeshare. He sits across those cheap metal folding tables that seem to be a staple in every timeshare office and says, “Let me show you a poem my daughter wrote.”

What kind of poems sell timeshare?"

It is this sort of writing that sets my fingers itching to write. We'll see if it helps...

And on the lighter side...

2005-07-23T13:18:00.000-07:00

I just finished The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde, a book I discovered later than I'd planned due to the fact that I thought his name was either a typo or something made up. Apologies to Mr. Fforde.

I loved this book. I admit, when I heard the premise for the book, my first thought was that it would be either eye-rollingly ridiculous or too clever for the average reader. It may have been the latter, but I loved it. (I consider myself an average reader, but my friends and family tend to disagree.)

I am not a huge fan of alternate histories. While I believe they are good as exercises in stretching our historical perspectives and cultural imaginations, many I've read take themselves too seriously. There is little serious about The Eyre Affair.

The setting is England in 1985. Time travel is routine, and the French have revised much of history. Literature is serious business. The heroine is Thursday Next, a Special Operative in Literary Detection (a LiteraTec) who is chasing an evil criminal, Acheron Hades, who's just stolen the original manuscript of Dicken's Martin Chuzzlewit. He has also kidnapped the inventor of a device - the Prose Portal - that allows people to cross into the literary world. After Hades removes and kills a minor character in Chuzzlewit (only remembered thereafter by people who've read the book before 1985), he acquires the original manuscript of Jane Eyre and kidnaps the Jane.

I had a delightful time reading this book. It did, occasionally, get a bit caught up in being clever and scholarly, but the pace and wit were fast and addictive. The book is sprinkled with literary references throughout, but being well-read isn't necessarily required to enjoy the book. I loved the hilarious names (a corporate bigwig named Jack Schitt...!) and not-so-subtle jabs at literature. When a zealous Baconian knocks on the door to preach about dubious Shakespearean authorship and distribute literature (they heckle performances of Hamlet, too), I knew this was my kind of book.

After I finish the new Harry Potter book (yes, yes... I have kids and I happen to like the books), I plan to start in on Lost in a Good Book, the next Thursday Next novel. Heh.

Particulate matter

2005-07-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the silent period. I've been out of town visiting parents, in-laws and other wonderful people. Or I've been enjoying Reno in July (this really is a great town...!).

~~~~~~~
I've always loved reading a good book review. This, however, is the first book review that made me laugh hysterically and made me wonder about this ummm... book.

~~~~~~~
And a brief interview with poet Juliana Spahr brought a smile.

"I like poetry because it helps me think. It helps me resort data. It lets me list things and then think about the shape of the list. I am not sure I can make poetry do much more than this. I don't trust poetry when it tells me what to do without resorting the way I see things first. "

Check out her poems, too. Simply lovely, in my opinion...

~~~~~~~
And does anyone want to finance a year-long trip to Stratford for a poor accountant/blogger who happens to adore Shakespeare? Sir Ian McKellen as King Lear... Patrick Stewart in The Tempest... I think I may be salivating on the keyboard.

~~~~~~~

Sublime prose

2005-07-01T20:45:00.000-07:00

If you asked me to list my five favorite authors, who made it on the list would usually depend on when you asked me. But (aside from Shakespeare) the list would always include Mark Helprin. I've read Winter's Tale five times, and A Soldier of the Great War and Memoir from Antproof Case twice.

Mark Helprin's prose is sublime. He can transport me like no other author can.

Harvard Magazine profiles Helprin:

"The study where Mark Helprin writes his novels and short stories, essays, speeches, letters, and Wall Street Journal columns is a spectacular room. Fifty feet long and nearly 30 feet wide, it holds two desks; there’s a fireplace at one end, and some fishing rods hang aloft on display. Everything is in immaculate order."

I wish I had the time to rave about his writing, but I need to get ready for a trip. Just go out and read his work (his new novel, Freddy and Fredericka is just published). You won't be sorry.

Imagination All Compact: Musings, Literary and Otherwise

April Again

Packing

Happy Pi Day

Friday nights in March

February attitude

Tea and rain

Happy New Year!

I found a poem

Do-it-yourself Muse

October and a day off

Another attempt at regular posting.

Missed Poetry Month

Happy Birthday to the Bard

Whew

Poetry Month 2009

Update on Becket

On Stage

Birthdays

Yeah, Right

Sensual poem

A slice of time

Meanings

One more sonnet

Another sonnet

Happy Birthday, Will

More fun with forms

Because I wanted to use "hieroglyphics" in a poem

Another Monday sonnet

Because sometimes it just is...

Just because I like the sound of the words

still more verse

some fun verse

April 15 haiku

Another time of year...

Another villanelle

Another peek into my mind

Rambling

A sonnet for Monday

Sunday and time to play...

More forms...

Romance, or something like it.

Another ghazal

Introduction to the Ghazal

National Poetry Month

Reading about reading

It's pink!

Still Alive and Still Here

Nerd's Delight

Still backstage...

Where I've been lurking...

Happy 543rd Birthday

Yet another quiz

National Poetry Month

More reading!

Is it an addiction yet?

Fun with silly quizzes

Introducing the book

Reading

What Kind of Reader Are You?

Update!

We all had to start somewhere...

A few small musings

Succinct

Wasting time

Stuff that has been sitting in my temp files

Punctuation redux

Notes on recent readings

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

Immersed in good prose

Happy Birthday, Will

Read Poetry!

What makes a poem a great poem?

A few morsels

It was only a matter of time...

Any thoughts?

Have a Happy New Year, anyhow...

the spaces in between

more ponderable particles

Since I seem to have a theme going