Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday was beyond wonderful
Poets House sure knows how to put on an open house. The new digs are a thing of simple & spacious beauty (no more the dark cramped quarters of a lib rm). I got there at about a quarter past noon, it wasn't crowded @ all-- plenty of rm & space (can't belabor that point enough) to sit & marvel @ their lib collect'n. Lookg thru the stacks i came across this self-made book called "Pirate's Laughter," by a New Orleans based poet. I liked how it didn't have that mass-produced look;that freedom of choice & indiv personality went into the multicolored pages, the author on the cover dressed like a female pirate & smoking a pipe. The second half of the book was exactly that: The second part of the book-- the spanish version of the poems. Anyway, it was all really interestg & bcuz i've been thinkg of making my own book of poems-- note making, not publishing-- i could take heart that it could be done well.
At about 1pm, I left to enjoy Battery Park's gorgeous stretch of trees & immaculateness, along the waters of the Hudson, that kept tempting me fr the glass-sided overview of Poets House 2nd flr. After watchg the various maritime activities, & the Statue of Liberty in the distance, I wandered down to the pavilion where the evts were to take place later in the afternoon. Eventually, the fact that a band was warming up behind me started to filter into my consciousness. Yep, it was Natalie Merchant, & her guitarists, doing sound check.
Sigh. There are so little words to discribe the indiscribable feelings of finally hrg Billy Collins rd in person. Natalie Merchant described all the poets, who rd before her perf as "Titans": Several of my pesonal favorites, and possibly a coupla new ones. I take back everything i've ever said about Galway Kinnell. It's been, maybe, six yrs since i've heard him rd in person & it was a bit of a shock to see him so grey-haired, lookg like the elder statesman i suppose he is. He had two truly hilarious poems: One about Robert Frost being a chatterbox & the other about how eatg oatmeal is so boring it's advisable to do so w/ company (even if imaginary), aptly titled "Oatmeal."
So many great rdgs: Cornelius Eady did a 9/11 poem he had written just after those events-- which was appropriate, considerg how beautiful & resilient Battery Park City have risen fr those ashes. I was excited to see Marie Howe again, after already hrg her rd @ one of Bryant Park's poetry series this summer. "What the Living Do" is one of her most wrenching poems & it was so symbolic of the feelings of death & renewal that i always feel around this time of yr. Samhain again my friends.
And Natalie Merchant, how to describe my long ago college yrs? In the 90s when Tigerlily, her debut solo album, was on rotation at every college radio station across the country. How "Wonder" had us all convinced we were going to change the world.
At about 1pm, I left to enjoy Battery Park's gorgeous stretch of trees & immaculateness, along the waters of the Hudson, that kept tempting me fr the glass-sided overview of Poets House 2nd flr. After watchg the various maritime activities, & the Statue of Liberty in the distance, I wandered down to the pavilion where the evts were to take place later in the afternoon. Eventually, the fact that a band was warming up behind me started to filter into my consciousness. Yep, it was Natalie Merchant, & her guitarists, doing sound check.
Sigh. There are so little words to discribe the indiscribable feelings of finally hrg Billy Collins rd in person. Natalie Merchant described all the poets, who rd before her perf as "Titans": Several of my pesonal favorites, and possibly a coupla new ones. I take back everything i've ever said about Galway Kinnell. It's been, maybe, six yrs since i've heard him rd in person & it was a bit of a shock to see him so grey-haired, lookg like the elder statesman i suppose he is. He had two truly hilarious poems: One about Robert Frost being a chatterbox & the other about how eatg oatmeal is so boring it's advisable to do so w/ company (even if imaginary), aptly titled "Oatmeal."
So many great rdgs: Cornelius Eady did a 9/11 poem he had written just after those events-- which was appropriate, considerg how beautiful & resilient Battery Park City have risen fr those ashes. I was excited to see Marie Howe again, after already hrg her rd @ one of Bryant Park's poetry series this summer. "What the Living Do" is one of her most wrenching poems & it was so symbolic of the feelings of death & renewal that i always feel around this time of yr. Samhain again my friends.
And Natalie Merchant, how to describe my long ago college yrs? In the 90s when Tigerlily, her debut solo album, was on rotation at every college radio station across the country. How "Wonder" had us all convinced we were going to change the world.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Holy Crap!
Been busy-- w/ rdg, poetry & job related stuff-- & so haven't really picked up the The Village Voice in a while. Wow, there's a sh**loada movies coming out this Fall! Oscar time again, I guess. Anyway, it's bad enough i haven't gotten around to seeing Ponyo-- great reviews are motivatg me-- bcuz i haven't been hangin w/ my usu tween crowd (aka my nieces), but i've been rdg reviews on Michael Moore's, Jane Campion's & also Lars von Trier's newest (controversial of course) films. I figured i wouldn't make up my mind to go see Quentin Tarantino's newest movie, though i'm a huge Kill Bill Vol. I & II fan (I have a lot of self control, & little money, so i'll wait till Inglorious Basterds comes out on DVD). There are a bunch of books that i wasn't too motivated to rd before, but am startg to feel the motivat'n bug now that they're bieng, or have been, made into movies-- superficial i know. No matter how hard Oprah tried, all i know about Cormac Mccarthy's The Road is that it seems to be somewhat similar to Stephen King's The Dark Tower series of books: I (The Gunslinger), II (The Drawing of the Three), III (The Wastelands), IV (Wizard and Glass), V (Wolves of the Calla), VI (Song of Sussanah), & VII (The Dark Tower). I know that both authors ideas are set in a post-apocalyptic world. And both have a man and boy traveling together (eventually King's Gunslinger, Roland, acquires some more traveling companions besides the boy Jake).
These books possess an overwhelmgly profound wealth of literary feats-- to this day i'm still uncoverg King's literary references. It's not only "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" by Robert Browning, but Rhea of the Coos fr Dark Tower 4: Wizard and Glass, refers Robert Frost's "The Witch of Coos." King's work tend to echo epical poetic traditions themselves, w/ their titanic themes of journey, revelation and finally, sometimes, redemption. (The Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption short story is one of my favorites of the written word-to-movie genre-- O how i love Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman in The Shawshank Redemption!).
Anyway, before this post turns into a love fest to Stephen King, another book w/ a movie version coming out that i've been hesitating to rd is Push by Sapphire-- poet extraodinaire. I've been to see her rd in person (a tiny dynamo!). I may bail on rdg it though (prob the movie too). These books w/ their glut of painful human suffergs, especially the injustices committed against childhood-- because i was a child myself, once-- are just too much to rd sometimes. The written word is alive to me. It took me a while to recover fr such books as Bastard Out of Carolina by Dorothy Allison, The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, When Things Get Worse by Barry Callaghan. Sigh.
Anyway, I'm off to the Poets House grand opening tomorrow, Yay! I'm going to miss the old Soho locat'n-- fond memories of workshop & rdgs. But I love the Hudson River locat'n (even better memories of summers down by the water-- especially those great evts i managed to make it to along that long stretch of the Hudson River Park:
September 25, 11am–5pm Invocation of the Muse: Poets & Musicians Toast the New Poets House
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Finished rdg "Eclipse"
over the wkend-- the third book in Stephenie Meyers teen vampire romance series that started with Twilight. To say these books are addictive is an understatement! I'm long past the teenage stage, but i've been gobbling them down like the most addictive of sweets, since rdg the first book about three wks ago. Since i can't get enough of them & i'm too poor to actually buy my own copies i've been findg them at the public libraries pretty consistently since last wk.
I ended up watchg the Twilight movie, months ago, completely by accident. My sister's boyfriend always get a bunch of random DVDs fr someone he regularly goes to. Since he always has just the most unlikely choices, we ended up w/ it in the bunch he had brought over. A fan of paranormal romances, i fell for the movie and haven't been the same since. I found the book in the lib a few wks ago & rd it in, like, twenty-four hrs! I got my hands on New Moon last Mon. & was done by Tues. It was such a relief to finish it before the movie came out. Things kind of took an uncomfortable turn for me in Eclipse though. I haven't felt so compelled about a book since Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code.
I ended up watchg the Twilight movie, months ago, completely by accident. My sister's boyfriend always get a bunch of random DVDs fr someone he regularly goes to. Since he always has just the most unlikely choices, we ended up w/ it in the bunch he had brought over. A fan of paranormal romances, i fell for the movie and haven't been the same since. I found the book in the lib a few wks ago & rd it in, like, twenty-four hrs! I got my hands on New Moon last Mon. & was done by Tues. It was such a relief to finish it before the movie came out. Things kind of took an uncomfortable turn for me in Eclipse though. I haven't felt so compelled about a book since Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Unbelievable, but after talking to one
of my former co-workers fr my Coney Is job, I started to miss those mornings, hurrying along the boardwalk with only a few minutes to spare before i would be late. Trying not to let the miracle of working so close to the beach pass me by-- the wind flowing across the water in early morning coolness, feeling like an epic, as i look across the so-far empty stretch of sand.
Sand still drains from hidden crevices in the comfortable running shoes that i wore for my marathon days of standing at that job. A Charles Simic poem my friends:
Couple at Coney Island
It was early one Sunday morning,
So we put on our best rags
And went for a stroll along the boardwalk
Till we came to a kind of palace
With turrets and pennants flying.
It made me think of a wedding cake
In the window of a fancy bakery shop.
I was warm, so I took my jacket off
And put my arm round your waist
And drew you closer to me
While you leaned your head on my shoulder.
Everyone could see we'd made love
The night before and were still giddy on our feet.
We looked naked in our clothes
Staring at the red and white pennants
Whipped by the sea wind.
The rides and the shooting galleries
With their ducks marching in line
Still boarded up and padlocked.
No one around yet to take our first dime.
Sand still drains from hidden crevices in the comfortable running shoes that i wore for my marathon days of standing at that job. A Charles Simic poem my friends:
Couple at Coney Island
It was early one Sunday morning,
So we put on our best rags
And went for a stroll along the boardwalk
Till we came to a kind of palace
With turrets and pennants flying.
It made me think of a wedding cake
In the window of a fancy bakery shop.
I was warm, so I took my jacket off
And put my arm round your waist
And drew you closer to me
While you leaned your head on my shoulder.
Everyone could see we'd made love
The night before and were still giddy on our feet.
We looked naked in our clothes
Staring at the red and white pennants
Whipped by the sea wind.
The rides and the shooting galleries
With their ducks marching in line
Still boarded up and padlocked.
No one around yet to take our first dime.
Friday, September 11, 2009
These are my thoughts
after lvg the Charles Simic rdg @ Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House last night:
-this is what i'm going to miss about NYC when i finally fly outta here like a bat outta hell next year-- walking thru the streets w/ a little plastic glass of white wine
-i've found a new (haha!) poet to love (Charles Simic writes the kind of poems that appeal to me: proletarian, profound beyond what is actually being said w/ vast stretches of silences in the center)
-this is what i like most about Lilli Vernon Hse-- the wine reception! (I felt better drinkg in the subway than i felt thru my entire day of errand hopping betw Bklyn and Manhattan)
-that girl who asked a question (can't remember what the ques was) sounded so much like Maria-- the Russian girl @ my summer job who told me about Charles Simic-- that i went lookg for her after the talk ended
Let me explain why i've been M.I.A these last few mos my oh-so-indifferent public. I've been workg @ my seasonal summer job out in Coney Is-- a vast wasteland of flaunted labor laws & criminal mismanagem't! But, alas, this soul destruct'n finally ended Mon & i seem to have some free time while my attempts to find somethg that pays above min wage cont to be ignored by this buyers market of a recession economy-- oh joy.
Anyway, Maria who is a Russian-born recent college grad who wrote for & was a staff @ her school lit journal told me about Simic, & right after rdg The L Magazine events sect'n i saw that he was kickg off the rdg season @ one of my favorite haunts.
Turned out he recently joined the NYU Faculty. Alice Quinn was her usu observantly literary self. A snippet fr the eve:
Alice quoted fr an essay where Simic said somethg to the effect that poetry was the orphaned offsprg of silence. Simic then laughingly disabused everyone of the notion of him as a solitary broodg poet walking the moors or-- more accurately it would seem-- the empty darkened wooded areas of New Hampshire. He-- more or less-- said to be careful of taking what a poet says as absolute truth. That he very much loves drinks & conversat'n w/ friends (& fr the hacking coughs throughout the rdg: Smokg?). What a man of words-- to the God of poetry & wine: Oh thank you!
Oops-- nearly fell of the train sta platform as i was transferring trains on the elevated outdoor stop. I stumbled as i was leaning out to look for an oncoming train. I started laughing & this lady who saw the whole debacle said "That wasn't funny." I just laughed some more. All that on a tiny glass of white wine!
-this is what i'm going to miss about NYC when i finally fly outta here like a bat outta hell next year-- walking thru the streets w/ a little plastic glass of white wine
-i've found a new (haha!) poet to love (Charles Simic writes the kind of poems that appeal to me: proletarian, profound beyond what is actually being said w/ vast stretches of silences in the center)
-this is what i like most about Lilli Vernon Hse-- the wine reception! (I felt better drinkg in the subway than i felt thru my entire day of errand hopping betw Bklyn and Manhattan)
-that girl who asked a question (can't remember what the ques was) sounded so much like Maria-- the Russian girl @ my summer job who told me about Charles Simic-- that i went lookg for her after the talk ended
Let me explain why i've been M.I.A these last few mos my oh-so-indifferent public. I've been workg @ my seasonal summer job out in Coney Is-- a vast wasteland of flaunted labor laws & criminal mismanagem't! But, alas, this soul destruct'n finally ended Mon & i seem to have some free time while my attempts to find somethg that pays above min wage cont to be ignored by this buyers market of a recession economy-- oh joy.
Anyway, Maria who is a Russian-born recent college grad who wrote for & was a staff @ her school lit journal told me about Simic, & right after rdg The L Magazine events sect'n i saw that he was kickg off the rdg season @ one of my favorite haunts.
Turned out he recently joined the NYU Faculty. Alice Quinn was her usu observantly literary self. A snippet fr the eve:
Alice quoted fr an essay where Simic said somethg to the effect that poetry was the orphaned offsprg of silence. Simic then laughingly disabused everyone of the notion of him as a solitary broodg poet walking the moors or-- more accurately it would seem-- the empty darkened wooded areas of New Hampshire. He-- more or less-- said to be careful of taking what a poet says as absolute truth. That he very much loves drinks & conversat'n w/ friends (& fr the hacking coughs throughout the rdg: Smokg?). What a man of words-- to the God of poetry & wine: Oh thank you!
Oops-- nearly fell of the train sta platform as i was transferring trains on the elevated outdoor stop. I stumbled as i was leaning out to look for an oncoming train. I started laughing & this lady who saw the whole debacle said "That wasn't funny." I just laughed some more. All that on a tiny glass of white wine!
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