Friday, November 30, 2007


"...It takes a lifetime for a sigh to take effect..."


This, folks, is Chatoyance post number 1010.
And so I set out through virtual trails to find something interesting for you, using the number "1010" as a springboard.

I discovered (my ignorance is vast) the Shahnameh, written by Persian poet Firdausi around 1010. (BTW, the book is worth a look "Surprise me!" and you may find some astonishingly cool images.)

Firdausi lead me to Mirza Ghalib, the man whose ghazals elude even the most loving translators.

Thank you for walking these virtual wanderings with me, and Happy 1010 Day! If you have other interesting "1010" info to share, please do.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Blue scrimmage

"...We all know,
each of us, what today truly is:
a flatulent gaucho, a convex
caravan, a fortuitous affliction,
a sweat-drenched Caravaggio, a garrisoned
battalion of lunchboxes. ..."

From "Commencement Address: The Institute of Convoluted Speech" by Jon Davis

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


"...Was I not scratched by the shadows? ..."

From "The face has not come" by Iswar Ballav, found here.


Between oversleeping and an early-morning meeting, I must dash, and will post a fresh pic and squib later tonight.

(Now, just what was I dreaming about that kept me from hearing the alarm?)

Monday, November 26, 2007

Pas de deux

"...They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. ..."

From "A Blessing" by James Wright


Happy post-holiday! And there are fresh postings over at the New Book of Hours blog...

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The other side

"...If the body is a temple, surely one's garden is like a mind,
half-seeded by the wind, ready to slip into its own peculiar madness..."

From "Guillotine Windows" by Deborah Digges


I'll see y'all on the other side of the US Thanksgiving...must carve out some time for my final class project! More posts early next week.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Second story

"...sometimes everything I write
with the threadbare art of my eye
seems a snapshot..."

From "Epilogue" by Robert Lowell

Saturday, November 17, 2007

No kinda jump-roper

Oh, my.

John E. tagged me, and it's only on account of his charm that I'll play (I am one of those meme-averse souls.)

The tag? It's for seven random things about myself. Here are the rules of the game:

1. Link to the person’s blog who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. List seven random and/or weird facts about yourself.
4. Tag seven random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
5. Let each person know that they have been tagged by posting a comment on their blog.

And since I like to break rules, I'll play up through 3. I know I've been tagged by this meme before...let's see if I can come up with a fresh seven.


1. I have a faint scar on my right pinkie, about 1/32" lower than where the nail starts along its keratin way. The scar was from a knife slip -- I cut myself when I was cutting down a straight-trunked young roughleaf dogwood (Cornus drummondii) to make a hiking stick. Sap sacrificed, blood given in return.

2. I am a person who makes piles. In other words, I am very messy (note: not filthy, just messy. But very.) You could even ask Shelly. The fact that I have to clean my car out before I can haul passengers has been the subject of much teasing and patient accommodation by my friends over the years.

3. One of my classmates when I was an undergrad is now quite a successful painter.

4. One of my grandmothers taught me to fish.

5. I have played the flute, the clarinet, the dobro, the guitar, and the piano, all terribly. And I can't sing.

6. When I was a child, I could not skip rope (certainly no way I could Double-Dutch) but I could hit a stinging line drive.

7. When I was six years old, I talked one of my younger brothers into joining me so I could run away and live in Texas where all the wild horses were. Of course we returned home -- my brother because he wasn't allowed to cross the street without our parents, me because I lost my nerve without an accomplice -- and I got the spanking of my life once the story leaked.

Treasure chest

"...the end of the day, the close of the shop,
when the work goes back in the box. ..."

From "Work" by Saskia Hamilton

Friday, November 16, 2007

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Fringe benefits

the fringe of presence
when it comes, trying to match
its fervency..."

From "Little Match Box" by Tess Gallagher

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Junk geometries

"...we may never happen on the object hung on
a mere chance
When and where one happens it will surprise us..."

From "Happily" by Lyn Hejinian

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


"...The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact. ..."

From "The White Room" by Charles Simic

Monday, November 12, 2007

Hidden stars

"...still others come from deeper
Hues--leap into air as if seeking a higher realm,
Where hidden stars crown a miraculous
Dome of blue..."

From "Varieties of Flight" by Ellen Hinsey

Sunday, November 11, 2007


"...she knows it halfway through, its wayward layers,
silky and barren or matted..."

From "Mound Digger" by Sarah Lindsay

Friday, November 09, 2007

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

At the end of foot

"...In the dissolute life of my youth
the desires of my poetry were being formed..."

From "Understanding" by Constantine P. Cavafy

Monday, November 05, 2007

Dusty kayak

"...the shallow autumn waters, the three stolen pears,
The horizon edged with chalk..."

From "Light By Which I Read" by Eric Pankey

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Cheap blue lacey

"...the naked here and now
longs for a little
dressing up. ..."

From "Couture" by Mark Doty


Go see the poem for the real line-break waterfalls.
(This one's for my friend Beth -- the day I saw this was the day she and I talked about how my images were getting somehow softer.)

Friday, November 02, 2007

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Reflector honeycombs

"...We were in collusion, this city and I, creating a mythology of desolation..."



Well, how could I not love the title of that poem?