Entangled

"...as we fled,
we unbraided our hair from the fan belt of the exhumed engine."

From "The Skyline of a Missing Tooth" by Sherwin Bitsui

***

This week, I finished a short paper on this person's memoirs, among other things.

And you -- how have you been?

Ventana de borrachos

"...that flaw,
that deathward plunge that’s locked inside all form,
till what seems solid floats away, dissolves,
and these poor bastard things, no longer things,
drift back to pure idea."

From "What Light Destroys" by Andrew Hudgins

***

Keeping the energy up. Keeping the lights on. Keeping cool under a white-hot sky. Keeping the questions coming. Keeping one hand on the keyboard, another on a book. Keeping my ideas, day-dreams, options, wishes, and eyes open. Keeping my topic sentences active, and my coffee topped off. Keep well this week, all y'all.

Changing light at 8am

"The lucky trees, to be able
to stand that close. If we talk
too much, we’ll surely miss it."

From "The Delta Parade" by Susan Stewart

***

Sometimes the memory of early morning light, that beaten-gold haze before the heat burns off the air's moisture, is enough to help me through a week.

Glyphs

"How many years did I
beg it, implore it, not to break?
I knew each nick and scratch by heart..."

From "Crusoe in England" by Elizabeth Bishop

***

More readin' and ritin' to do on a holiday weekend.
The air is thick, still and humid -- Hurricane Alex's expiring breath moving up from South Texas.
Have a peaceful week, all y'all.

Almost

"Well, actually, yes, but I consider play to be

A deeper outside thing, a dreamed role-pattern,
As in the division of grace..."

From "Paradoxes and Oxymorons" by John Ashbery

***

Almost:
Too tired to post.
Completely covered in cat fur.
Ready to head to bed -- must get some rest before BBQ for breakfast at Snow's!

Have a good week, everyone.
Here's hoping I find some nice rusty things for pix.

Drive-by

"In the future, I imitate an imagined trumpet sound
Or the brilliant purple words of a man or woman I haven’t met yet..."

From "Very Strong February" by Bernadette Mayer

***

One big fat dream last night, of myself and a friend bobbing in the middle of the Pacific ocean, nothing to see except water and incredibly tall waves that never crested. We rode the waves up, then down into the troughs, and finally saw a tiny island, an atoll really, far off.

The waves pushed us there, and the island was not much bigger than a small room.
But the very few people on it were friendly.

I hope your week was a good one; I hope this week brings you lots of brilliant purple words and large, benign waves.

Behind Ginny's Little Longhorn

"Wires and pipes, snapped off at the roots, quiver.

Well, that is what life does. I stare
A moment longer..."

From "An Urban Convalescence" by James Merrill

***

I feel a little like this truck. Or is it that I feel more like those clouds? Difficult to say, but I will say this about James Merrill.

A number of years ago, when I lived in New York City, I heard that James Merrill was going to read some of his poems someplace downtown, I can't recall where. Of course I was going -- there was no way I was NOT going.

I was waiting for the bus that would take me downtown when two young men came near. One of them began talking to me and handed me an invitation to a church. He urged me to go to their service that night. I told him I couldn't -- I needed to see and hear a poet read some poems, thank you very much. Besides, wasn't art a form of church?

He got a little huffy, and waved towards the crowd of rush-hour working folks crossing the street, an inimitably world-weary hustle and flow:
"Do those people look happy? They need God to be happy, not art!"

"Ah," I said, "their problem is that they have too little art -- if they only read more poetry and looked at more paintings, they'd all be much happier!"

My unnamed accoster snorted in scorn while his partner-in-proselytization could barely stifle his giggles. The bus pulled up, and I said, "Last chance -- I'll go to your church with you both tonight, but you have to go to the poetry reading with me now!"

I got on the bus; they stayed on the pavement.

Merrill was splendid, magical -- he arrived swathed in an elegant red-lined cape and read his beautiful, ormolu verse in a voice that made them seem the most natural things in the world to say.

And when I left...I was happy.

I hope you're happy. And if not, let's meet here and look for more art.

Low heaven

"Extravagant
ailanthus, the courtyard’s poverty tree is spike
and wing, slate-blue..."

From "Ornithology" by Lynda Hull

***

Reading for work, then reading for class...from the changing interface of sales and marketing to the Prague Spring to thinking about Spero's helicopters.

Thank goodness there's a cat asleep next to me.

Have a good week, all y'all.

ei8ht

"Certain words and images
or parts of images

have been chipped away..."

From "Disclosures" by Michael Palmer

***

Looking at much work now that the semester is starting up, so back to posting about once a week. But I was so happy to get out and snag some pixels!

Have a wonderful week, all y'all.

Flammable

"I did it, I burned away every last trace, I left nothing, nothing
of any kind whatever."

From "In Order To" by Kenneth Patchen

Rosa rugosa

"No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma."

From "Soneto XVII" by Pablo Neruda

***

It's summer in Central Texas. Slant cumulus clouds and supercells.

Off to the farmer's market tomorrow; maybe fresh eggs and hopefully wandering with a camera Sunday.

As for the rest, petting cats and teasing The Mur, and of course reading for school.

Cab / clouds

"...she asks him to tell her about that place.
She sits facing him.
Waiting for the first vocalic, non-stops,
the push of air from his lips.
He tells her of the place where clouds are formed."

From "The Place Where Clouds Are Formed" by Ofelia Zepeda

Nubby

"The wrought planes and hinges of things
Strange, held-off symmetry, axis of waterline
rubbed, smeared, edge-shifted
What is real then made more so..."

From "Winter Journal: Fish Rises, Dark Brown Muscle Turns Over" by Emily Wilson

There it was

"...a bearded comet moved across the room
breeding no omens, tearing no major kingdoms
into small provinces, but there it was..."

From "The Stars and the Moon" by Grace Schulman

Marquee

"...the heat inside the small towns
of their bodies,
for which they have no words;
obedient to the voice inside which tells them,
'Now. Steal Pleasure.'"

From "Summer in a Small Town" by Tony Hoagland

¡Vamanos!

"...knowing I had everything I wanted,
but like Midas was silent and stiff with the gold I had touched,
felt always as if I had been buried under a ton of diamonds,
still feel the dust of them glinting on me as I drive across country..."

From "The Hitchhikers" by Diane Wakoski

Bamboozled

"...hooked themselves—bamboo diviner
Bent their way
Vigorously nodding
Encouragement..."

From "The Pier: Under Pisces" by James Merrill

***

Hi, everyone!
Slept almost all day.
One more road trip (this week, to Kalamazoo) and then a less intense schedule, or so I hope.

Tiny Hubble

"...causing great sections
of his nervous system—distant galaxies hitherto unsuspected (now
added to International Galactic Catalog)—to LIGHT UP."

From "The Preface" by Philip Whalen

(un)bound

"...she loved worms,
blackening the moon of her nails
with mud and slugs,
root gnawing grubs,
and the wing case of beetles."

From "The Woman Who Loved Worms" by Colette Inez

***

The. Semester. Is. Over.
Am off in San Jose at a trade show, the Mur abides, the cats need more petting.
But beauty is walking in the world...

Dreaming

"For such a man, art is an act of faith:
Prayer the study of it, as Blake says,
And praise the practice; nor does he divide
Making from teaching, or from theory.
The three are one, and in his hours of art
There shines a happiness through darkest themes,
As though spirit and sense were not at odds."

From "The Painter Dreaming in the Scholar’s House" by Howard Nemerov

***

The cat naps, but I can't yet.

Finished (for now) with Preziosi, up to my eyeballs in Poussin's Seven Sacraments, leaving for a business trip tomorrow at 5am, and traveling to work conferences about every other week through late May.

I have until the end of April to write my final research paper, and digest/recall canonical works of art from the Renaissance on until the present moment.

I then have a scholarly conference in May, and need to get that presentation into shape.

So through until at least the beginning of June, my weekends and weeknights are spent studying/looking at paintings and trying to think, and then trying to write; my weekdays and weeknights are spent wrangling business doings.

I miss my playtime, I look forward to time to dream.