Friday, February 29, 2008

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Checkered, past

"Each evening, the sins of the whole world collect here like a dew.
In the morning, little galaxies, they flash out
And flame..."

From "THERE IS NO SHELTER" by Charles Wright

Monday, February 25, 2008

False nostalgias

Thinking back

The dried-blood smell of
cold iron rusting, the gray-green
dust of frost-broken thorns—
I see your shadow rolling as
you show me how to set a
hand-brake on a freight car
for that long midnight tour.


Missing my friend made me think about other times past.
Thanks to all y'all who sent me comforting thoughts in response to my "A friend moved away" post.

Lone star

"...if I mattered, well then all things did.
O miracles and molecules, dust, rust. ..."

From "Matter" by Sarah Arvio

Sunday, February 24, 2008

A friend moved away

You and I, talking
before you left: clouds caught in
a ragged stick fence.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Better images from "The New Book of Hours" project

I finally have some better-quality images of the prototype page spreads for my last course. Not great, but much better lighting and thus better visibility on the detail.

You can see them here.

No rungs

"...a stairway without landings, a stairway to the sky..."

From "With Mescaline" by Henri Michaux

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Can't sleep, oh well

The Poem

The poem has nothing
to say right now. The poem
wishes it were somewhere
else—stuffed alongside warm
socks in a drawer, or fishing
with a stick, some thread and
a comically cheerful bobber.

The poem and I once spoke when
it was in a chatty mood. It whispered
and winked like some heiress from
a 1930s screwball flick, it nuzzled
my shoulder and whinnied like a pony.
The poem said, “I wasn’t always like this.
You knew me when I was soot, or a
jonquil, or the chalky cracked grout
in your grandmother’s bathroom, you
watched when I painted your name
with crushed abalone deep inside a
cloud, but it couldn’t last, and I
don’t know why it couldn’t.”

We both smiled, the poem and I,
as it folded up into a tight ball,
became an origami of stillness.


Busy work-day ahead, and no poems fit...

Let me know if you find one that might.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Sky in the mud

with dust and mud,

―oh, the breathing mouth of the sky..."

From "We, coated with dust and mud..." by Kiwao Nomura

Note: the first link will open a PDF.

What's left

"...A perfect circle falls

Onto white imperfections. ..."

From "My Mojave" by Donald Revell

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Friday, February 15, 2008

Small mountain

"...I looked it right in the eyes, and I caught it--
I put it, like a small mountain range,
into a knapsack, and I took it out
of the city..."

From "Turtle" by Mary Oliver

Thursday, February 14, 2008


"...It could
be my way of telling you that I too
burned and froze by turns and the face I
came to was more dirt than flame, it
could be the face I put on everything,
or it could be my way of saying
nothing and saying it perfectly."

From "Picture Postcard from the Other World" by Philip Levine


Happy Valentine's Day, all y'all!

Wednesday, February 13, 2008


"...I would like to describe a light
which is being born in me
but I know it does not resemble
any star..."

From "I Would Like to Describe" by Zbigniew Herbert

Monday, February 11, 2008

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Saturday, February 09, 2008


"...Such is the way of wonders: no longer seen
because, being there, remembered merely;

and, no longer there, remembered because
no longer seen. Did they have to be beautiful? ..."

From "Fallacies of Wonder" by Richard Howard

Friday, February 08, 2008


"...the tinware,
the gun-gray curlings of salt-tongue.
Not rainbowed at all..."

From "The Fish" by Linda Bierds

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Wednesday, February 06, 2008


"...this new aperture
Not just a hole to see through but blasted man-sized to step through..."

From "Composition (Template)" by Kara Kelsey

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Warm winter

"Within the year
Spring has come again;
The one year:
What should I say: that it's last year,
Or that it's the year to come?"

A waka by Ariwara no Motokata
Graciously made accessible by Dr. Thomas McAuley

Monday, February 04, 2008

Blue crackle

"...What we are given in dreams we write as blue paint.
Or messages to the clouds. ..."

From "Homage to Paul Cezanne" by Charles Wright
(Note: the poem title link opens a PDF.)

Sunday, February 03, 2008


"Let us begin with a simple line,
Drawn as a child would draw it..."

From "Art Class" by James Galvin

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Friday, February 01, 2008


"...though high in the dry leaves something does fall,

Nothing comes down to us here. ..."

From "The Forest" by Susan Stewart