Courtship

I've just recently discovered Mark Strand and I have to say so far, so good. I will have to investigate further, but this I really got a kick out of this one.... The simultaneous awkward/sexiness of the beginning of a relationship .

Courtship
by Mark Strand

There is a girl you like so you tell her
your penis is big, but that you cannot get yourself
to use it. Its demands are ridiculous, you say,
even self-defeating, but to be honored, somehow,
briefly, inconspicuously in the dark.

When she closes her eyes in horror,
you take it all back. You tell her you're almost
a girl yourself and can understand why she is shocked.
When she is about to walk away, you tell her
you have no penis, that you don't

know what got into you. You get on your knees.
She suddenly bends down to kiss your shoulder and you know
you're on the right track. You tell her you want
to bear children and that is why you seem confused.
You wrinkle your brow and curse the day you were born

She tries to calm you, but you lose control.
You reach for her panties and beg forgiveness as you do.
She squirms and you howl like a wolf. Your craving
seems monumental. You know you will have her.
Taken by storm, she is the girl you will marry.

I Can Feel Your Smile

I don't suppose this constitutes poetry, but it pleases me to know it's out there.

Via: The Richardson Art Photography Blog.

Esprit d'Escalier

The French have a saying that translates in English to The Spirit of the Stairway. Basically this refers to when you think of the perfect remark or retort at exactly the wrong time, i.e. as you are heading down the stairs and out of the house.

I was thinking of this today, as I'm sure that I did have some perfect retort or clever witticism that did not occur to me until long after the fact . This happens innumerable times a day. Nothing unusual.

I wonder though, is there a phrase for all of the things you said but wish you hadn't? That moment right after it comes out when you think, 'Oh, fuck. I wish I could put that one back in.' I have a phrase, that I stole from a friend for the evenings when I lie awake plagued by years of things I wish I hadn't said or done. I refer to this as enumerating my regrets.

Is it worse to have said something that you wish you could take back or to have never said anything at all?

Rare Film Clips Of The Poet Anne Sexton

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfvS_fgbuDI

I really can't say enough about Anne Sexton. She was probably the first poet that I felt a real visceral connection to. Having just come back from a girls' weekend at the beach I thought of her, The poem Her Kind, which she reads on this clip, and so many other poem s by Anne that have made an impact on me. The audio is not great on this one so I want to include the poem Her Kind as well. I find it difficult to post just one because I love so many of them, but there will be more to come in time. I apologize if some of the line breaks are not what they should be; it is a hazard of posting poetry sometimes.

Her kind
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Commitment

What better way to follow up a sweet love poem post than with a scathing indictment on commitment. (Which, happily, is not indicative of my current state of affairs.) This poem was written some years ago and was published originally in the Summer/Fall 2005 issue of So to Speak.

Happy reading.

Commitment

by Katie Kidder

I am home late from work again today.

The doorknob is greasy and unlocked.
All of the lights are on,
even the one over the oven that I never use.
Somewhere, water is running.

You are still here.

What have you been doing with my dog?
She’s running in circles.
There’s red velvet cake on her nose—
I was saving that cake for Saturday.

I can hear you upstairs.

You are either in my bed or on my computer.
“Hardcore.com isn’t what it looks like, honey.
I don’t know why Horny Housewives is highlighted.
I was looking at people with their eyes torn out ‘n stuff.”

You seem glad that I do not care either way.

Tonight while you are downstairs,
getting high, watching Return of the Jedi,
clipping your toenails on the coffee table,
opting not to bathe,

I will not ask you to leave.

I will crawl into the closet like a child,
where it is quiet and black
and envy the people on the Internet
with their eyes torn out.

When You Are Old

This is one of three poems that was read at my wedding, so I am especially fond of it. My friend (and a talented writer I might add) Dan McNamara read it, as he and Yeats are fellow Irishman. I tried to find a picture of my husband and I at our wedding to post, but apparently that does not exist digitally, so you will get this lovely picture of the fiercely talented and classic poet, William Butler Yeats. (Picture and poem can be found at poets.org)

When You are Old
by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Of Mice and Men...

OK, this blog is not really about Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. It is really about Kay Ryan's poem, On the Difficulty of Drawing Oneself Up, as this is indeed a most arduous task at times.

On the Difficulty of Drawing Oneself Up

One does not stack.
It would be like
a mouse on the back
of a mouse
on a mouse's back.
Courses of mice,
layers of shivers
and whiskers,
a wobbling tower
mouse-wide,
with nothing more
than a mouse inside.


By Kay Ryan

Moonshine and Rosebuds and all that Dross

"Moonshine and rosebuds" for some reason is the one phrase that I can always remember from Jack Keroac's On The Road. Its been a long time since I read it but I think it is referring to the way things are not, as in, it's not all moonshine and rosebuds. Or it may have been the kind of lines Sal Paradise (aka Jack Keroac) and Dean Moriarty (aka Neal Cassady, who also plays a starring role in The Electric Koolaide Acid Test, by Tom Wolf) the two man characters laid on women as they traveled across the 66. As in, he filled her full of moonshine and rosebuds. Either way, I don't suppose I'm going to find out today as is seems my copy of On The Road has hit the road. Big sigh.

The 50th anniversary of the book is coming up next month so look forward to lots of media hype on the subject. It was the beginning of the media blitz that actually inspired me to write this. While reading an article, I came across something even better than moonshine and rosebuds, and I thought it was worth quoting. So here it is:

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center pop and everybody goes, 'Awww!'"

They are the only ones for me too, Jack.

Should I be Flattered or Pissed?

Wow. This is not the blog I thought it would be. I just discovered the title of one of my poems has been usurped by a classmate. I was actually looking at poems by Carrie Addington to post here. She and I did a workshop together in 2004 in Italy. She was one of my best buds there. We roomed together in Venice. She is a damn good poet. And apparently a bit of a thief. The poem that I workshopped (which she gave many accolades to) was called "The Intolerable Nature of Yearning." Oh, but what do I find when looking for poetry by Carrie? A poem published in 2006 called "The Intolerable Nature of Drifting." Worst of all she won an award for it. Thankfully the rest of the poem is completely different but still.... That seems pretty blatant. Mine has not actually been published yet so potentially, when it is, it will look like I jacked her idea. At any rate I was very surprised to find that and more than a little hurt.
Thoughts on this matter are welcome.

Another Reason Why I don't Keep a Gun in the House

This post could be construed as a blatant excuse for me to post a picture of my oh-so-charming dog, Talula. But it's not--really. ok, maybe a little. To be honest, Billy Collins, despite the fact that he was Poet Laureate and is widely hailed as terrific, is not even one of my favorite poets. But this one is fun, and I'm in a light mood so why not?

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark

that he barks every time they leave the house.

They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

I close all the windows in the house

and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast

but I can still hear him muffled under the music,

barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,

his head raised confidently as if Beethoven

had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,

sitting there in the oboe section barking,

his eyes fixed on the conductor who is

entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful

silence to the famous barking dog solo,

that endless coda that first established

Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Billy Collins

Hypnotized

Ok. After much inner turmoil and debate over what to post, I have finally settled on this Ani DiFranco clip. Certainly music plays a big part in my life and is a source of inspiration. Ani especially has had particular influence on me. For those of you that don't know she began her own record label, Righteous Babe Records, in the early 1990s, basically because she didn't want to fold to the whims of major record labels. This chick has oodles of integrity and talent.

I remember distinctly when I was introduced to her music. My buddy Jen and I were taking a feminist art class (very Me right?) with Robin Toler in Baton Rouge (a terrific artist in her own right),and we had gone back to some of the other girls' apartment. They played Ani, and I have been enamored ever since. Other great songs of hers that you should check out if you get a moment are: Swan Dive, Untouchable Face, Superhero, If He Tries Anything, , and the list goes on really.