what a fabulous . . .

. . . book! Just finished reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith. It is completely worth your time to read! I'm still thinking about it. It has such an abrupt ending, which is completely apropos for the theme of the book, that I want more. I want to know that Howard is okay, that Kiki gets what she needs, that Levi stops being so Levi, that Carl is doing better things, that Zora gets to take a moment to dismount that high horse of hers. I feel okay about Jerome though. He'll make it.

I think one of the things I so loved about this book was how incredibly close you can get as a reader, so involved in these small/big issues that they are dealing with - and yet you are forced to stop and see each of these characters from the perspective of another character, which lends so much insight into what it really means to be human. Everyone's flaws are there to be judged, and there is never resolution to what it means to get at the truth of who a person is. People are so complex! This is something I try to convey in class, but I'm not sure it ever gets across. It is easy to write stock - it is hard to write original.

So I am onto another book as of this morning: The Epicure's Lament by Kate Christensen. So far, so good. She's whipping around language like scrambled eggs. Reading these two women writers makes me wonder why on earth anyone needs me on the scene. Some seriously beautiful stuff going on here. I'm in awe.

okay, so here . . .

. . . is an interesting post over at Harriet. D.A. Powell brings to our attention the question of poetry readings. I'm always excited to see certain poets read, because I am always entertained or deeply moved: Gerald Stern and James Tate are two of my favorites. I think they certainly fit the "poet greats" category. Every semester when it comes time for Writer's Week and I have to send my young and impressionable students out to see their first reading, I always balk. It's instinctive. Will all of my energy and enthusiasm for the written word die upon the proverbial boring poetry reading? Well, cripes. It can't always go well. I've been bored at readings before. But not for lack of depth or anything. Usually the boredom is a result of poorly planned events. Ten readers in two hours is enough to bore anyone. Or one reader for over forty minutes is pushing it. (Unless we're talking about a reader who likes to pontificate and happens to be gifted at doing so.)

It seems that there should be a happy medium in all this. Everyone has an off night. I'm willing to hear a poet twice before judging. But after that the judgment will be swift and mocking.

Lots of writing going on, but they are all starts. Half starts. No ends. No middles. No real progress. Just a lot of . . . potentialities.

dakota, mid-yawn. . .

. . .

yes, it is. . .

. . . true: my summer class was cancelled. I've had two former students email me about it, lol. Okay then. Let's just say, that enrollment seems to be down all over the board. The economy isn't so great, lots of students who previously were considered credit-worthy are no longer making the grade with lenders, and it goes from there. All I can say is that I am glad I wasn't counting on this job for my bread and butter this summer, otherwise times would be very, very tight.

Other news: mourning George Carlin, of course. Smart, smart man. One of the most astute people of cultural phenomenons and the general tomfoolery of humankind.

I am gathering words, so if you have any good ones, send them my way. This is my new attempt at poetry making - taking words I like, and starting there. Starting anywhere. Current words in the works: gravitas, sequention, and looky-loo.

I am also writing some other stuff. This is good. Fun, actually. I'm not one of those writers who actually enjoys writing. It's rather like pulling teeth for me, so anytime I look forward to writing as a verb it is indeed a grand occasion. Writing is like exercise - when I am disciplined about it I tend to enjoy it more (or dread it more, whatever). I like the afterwards effect of feeling accomplished though, so perhaps that is impetus enough to get back in the groove.

two cheers for . . .

. . . the best book I've read so far all summer: Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. It was superb, and I highly recommend it. It is the kind of book that makes me want to be a writer.

And here is a tribute picture of Yummy, who did pass away and was finally buried this past weekend. (It was an extended wake, held in the freezer; hold your horror there.)

changes and stagnations. . .

. . . which I just spent twenty minutes writing about and Blogger lost. So instead, I will simply tell you that there is a very naughty squirrel messing about my flowerbed in the front window. He likes to dig around my mulch and store things. But he doesn't but the mulch back. And now he is looking at me as though I should be happy to see him, tail all aflicker.

Humph.

the drought extended . . .

. . . to the blog. Well, really it is more of a time issue. And then an inspiration issue. And then the issues kept piling up. Neglect, etc. It's all very clear in my head.

I've been absent.

But two days ago, I woke up to the composition of a poem going on in my head. It is a beautiful thing.

Teaching summer session soon. I've picked up two amazing books for the next semester: Poet's Choice by Ed Hirsch and The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry edited by J.D. McClatchey. I can't open one without wanting to consume the other. The Vintage one in particular is as close an anthology I've encountered to what would be in my own if I ever endeavored to compile one beyond the xeroxes I currently live by.

i am officially a little old granny lady . . .

. . . with an impending hump on my back. Okay, not really. But it feels like it. I have managed to somehow injure my neck, and this time it was without the help of a horrid hick woman from Polk County running a red light. A very red light. But I'm not still bitter over that. Luckily. Anyway, yes, I can barely move my head. My body is protesting the schedule that my mind thought would be good for the old psyche - keep busy, engage in my surroundings, volunteer to do extra things.

Enough whining. So I got the house, and am moving. Or, at this point, soliciting help from large burly men who will be able to pick up my little green velour loveseat circa 1970 in one beefy hand. I'm excited. The house has a yard. The house also has the ugliest door in all of Wilmington. I like to joke about there being an Ugly Paint Store, but this door only proves that there is one, and I have never shopped there. Anyway, the door will be painted. And there is a yard. A yard! A huge yard. I'm very stoked about having this. The only downside to leaving the apartment is losing the pool. Whatever. I'll live. (Maybe.)

Dakota is sleeping on my lap right now. She managed to get herself locked in the closet under the stairs the other night when I had to pull out the vacuum. Spent all night in there and when I got up to feed the kitties, it took me several minutes of picturing her lifeless body in the jaws of an alligator before I figured it out.

So how about this political process? I am still torn between Obama and Clinton. Super Tuesday didn't help me any. NC doesn't vote until May - by then, hopefully I will have some idea of who I want, although I want them both. Can we have co-presidents? Neither of them can be the VP. It simply cannot be. But this is such a polarizing event, and people are actually interested, and if nothing else, at least the terrible presidency of Bush has pushed people into some sort of action. That is his legacy. Not a bad one - getting people to care and vote - but he will go down as one of the worst presidents ever. And he earned it.

the worst . . .

. . . week ever. Included being sick, a bleeding bird, falling down a flight of stairs, and turning in my notice to my apartment. Hah! Take that apartment living! No longer will I be subjected to the randy behavior of my once-a-week neighbors. No longer will I be irritated at 3am by your cacophonous flow of inexplicable traffic past my window. No longer will I be subject to your domestic housecalls by burly police officers in triplicate. No longer will I suffer the neglect of beige carpet on my psyche. No longer!

Assuming, of course, that I get the house.

So the bird. Buddha picked a blood feather. He had blood dripping off his beak, all over his foot, and there it was, a huge (bird-sized) flow of blood on his wing. I, naturally, freaked. Called vet.

Me: My bird is bleeding!

Office Person: Do you have any corn starch?

Me: Who the hell cooks with corn starch these days?

Office Person: Better bring him down right now.

Once at vet's office, he'd stopped bleeding. Of course. He did get a nail trim though. Phoebe got a wing clipping. Vet told me not to worry about the feather plucking. Not much I can do about it, despite my new Bird Talk magazine that filled me with hope that one day little Timmy would walk again! No - wrong mag. One day little Buddha would let his feathers grow! What can I say? He likes the naked look.

Um, falling down the stairs. Yeah. I have the bruises to prove it. Not going into detail. I think I have told you too much already. Let's just say, it was through no fault of my own, and I wasn't drinking.

On top of being a bit under the weather, this has all basically served to reinforce my belief in long, extended vacations.

(All misspellings are the fault of Blogger. The button won't work. Figures.)

4000 . . .

. . . dead American soldiers and counting. When did we get over 4000? I didn't even know this until I was watching Face the Nation this morning. Seems that the war has dropped off the radar lately with the recession. Carolyn Kennedy endorsed Obama. Just the other day I was mentioning how he reminded me of JFK. The energy, the youthful boyishness with a twist. I still cannot decide between candidates. I doubt I am the only one. The thing is, I would support either Hillary or Barack. Fully. With Hillary we get Bill. With Barack we get to watch those two adorable kids grow up. (Yes, I know, that is not an equal comparison. Get off my back already.) Still interested in the support that Ron Paul has with the general public, and still baffled why on earth this man selected to run in the Republican party. Except that as a GOP candidate he has a better shot. He should just pull a Ross Perot.

Heath Ledger is dead and Amy Winehouse is in rehab. What is it about talent that pulls some people under? (This is a rhetorical question.)

Poem accepted the other day. A fabulous publication. Two friends in it as well, and honestly, I have no idea who else. Will announce shortly. What pleases me is that it is a poem that I took huge experimental risks on in workshop last semester. Then I switched it back to a more Jenesque style. But they accepted the wild version. Giving them the option of the other, and we'll see which they prefer.

House hunting this weekend - there are some really amazing homes in Wilmington. And then there are the not so. . . But it is time to get out of the apartment, to get a house with a yard. Dogs! Lots and lots of dogs! I'm excited. The cats. . . not so much. Dakota would prefer to live a dogfree life. (Speaking of which, I think I may have found a way around that pesky tattoo quandary. More on that later. Maybe.)

Off to write.

trying to write this . . .

. . . without sounding, well, how I can sound. There's this commercial. About how you can pay your taxes if you are an illegal. They give you a "number" and you can file your taxes like the good American you want to be. While still remaining illegal. Am I the only one who questions this?

Oh, and apparently the American dream is to pay taxes.

Twist: I am so for taxes. That's right. I think everyone should pay. I think the poor shouldn't have to, the rich should pay more, and the middle class needs to stop whining (I can't, sniff, afford my four thousand rent and still go out to Olive Garden every night!). Um, socialism, not that bad. You know, caring for thy neighbor. Whatever. It is way too early to start in on the religious right wingers. I haven't even had my coffee. I usually try to wait for the second cup before I intentionally start to offend.

Good morning!

po-blogs . . .

. . . so I was adding websites for my poetry students as additional resources, and it occurred to me that out of all the blogs I frequent, only two are consistent about posting on poetics: K. Silem Mohammad and Reginald Shepard. (Links added to the left.) Surely there are more out there in this vein, and I invite you to kindly send me in their direction. (I should also add that the resources for my students do not include my own blog, but rather Blackboard for those of you in the know of academic networking.)

And, yes, it also discourages me with this blog, because ultimately I want to open discussion of poetical matters as they are pertinent to my own growth. So what am I working on now? Ideally, my thesis. I am halfway through the program, with one full semester before I have to start pulling it together. I am not worried about it the way I was before. Basically, I have a million poems. (Not really.) I figure I'll just pull out the poems that seem to have a conversation going on with each other, arrange in a way that feels conceptual to a mood (am I even writing in English anymore???) and naturally this will all happen the night before it is due to my advisor.

Please, don't burst my bubble. Let me live in this fantasy for a bit.

Seriously though, we are looking at Levis in workshop. (I think Levis is going to follow me the rest of my time here. This is the third time I've been 'exposed' in grad school to his work, and I am not complaining. I wasn't ready for him in undergrad. There was something off putting about his poems and how they think. I couldn't wrap my mind around them. I was too enraptured with Phil Levine.) The difference with this reading of Levis is that we are looking at his body of work, and how he evolves from the first book to the posthumous one. More on that later.

Once again feeling the push and pull of poetry versus fiction. I am very excited about this short story I am writing. Not because it is fantastic and great, but because I am actually enjoying the writing of it. Usually, I dread the act of writing fiction. (But not poetry - it pleases me to write in that frame of mind.) But this story is working well for me in term of pleasure. Which is what it is all about right?

Long weekend. Already need it.

changing . . .

. . . the blog's focus. From now on it is going to center around my failing relationship with my car. The thing is, we've been together for a while now. Going on eight or nine years. And I guess I feel like it just isn't meeting my expectations anymore. Moaning and groaning when I turn it on. (Which is usually a good thing, mind you.) But this new sound is more of a wailing, chuga chuga chuga. The type of sound really old muscle cars make - you know the type. No paint, dents from every angle, the sound of the car arriving ten minutes before the actual visual....

I hate to break up, but these sort of things can happen. When you're on a first name basis with your mechanic, well. . . therapy may no longer work.

Teaching in ten minutes. Komunyakaa. Yes, he rocks. It's okay to say it.

school . . .

. . . has finally started. Thank God. I was about to go out of my mind. As all procrastinators can attest, I do better with structure.

For some reason, I really want an orange.

That's all I've got.

rats! . .

. . . climbing up my chair. They are so cute. Seriously folks. Need to post a picture here. Mason currently going for the wallet. (I'm onto that game - rats know money. That's all I'm sayin'.)

So - one rejection, one acceptance. Will let you know about the acceptance as soon as I send the contract back. My first ever contract, and my first ever acceptance via letter. Was that ever weird. In a so-good way.

Obama won the Iowa caucus! How intriguing. I personally have yet to decide who I will vote for, but you can believe they won't be from the Republican ticket. Not that I fully support the Dems either. But they are way less evil.

Computer is fixed! This thing I have been dreading (long lines to talk to my own personal geek at Geek Squad, having to leave my precious writing and all the other crap for an extended period of time, getting it back only to find they erased all the precious writing but spared the crap, having to take it back sometime mid-semester and the nightmare goes on. . . ) but it was all fixed in ten minutes. Insane. Seriously. It now works. So here is what I learned: if you have Vista, and you have iTunes, the two do not always work well together. They have a patch. Which you can't find online. Which you must go to a geek to get. But go. Seriously. It takes five minutes. Okay, ten. Whatever.

Must write syllabus! Must get books! Must establish office hours! Must find office! Is there furniture yet? Will I really and truly have a cubicle? A place in which to leave my backpack while I teach so I feel all grown up and not like some impostor? (Funny the things one wants in order to fully do one's job, but never even thought about until one is actually doing the job.)

Must also reorganize apartment. Too much poetry stuff hiding upstairs, too much clutter downstairs. Pointed out to me the other day and I must say, I agree wholeheartedly. There is a well defined pathway around the house. It would help if I could keep my bike outside, but since I am rather fond of it, I think I will keep it inside. Bikes have a way of just walking off in my neighborhood.

Back in Wilmy, by the way. Excited to be so. Things fabulous in Chatty also. Had a lovely Christmas. Very marvelous to see the dogs.

seriously . . .

. . . folks, it's vacation time. I don't think I have done a single thing that I haven't wanted to since I turned grades in. I've shopped. I've read. I've dreamt. Lots going on that I naturally won't blog about (I like remaining the enigma in certain situations, like life), but right now life is simply splendid. Going to see my best friend for the first time in about two years - which is too long of course. Way too long, but that is life. People move away.

I do have pics of the rats, but can't upload them on this computer just now (long story involving a messed up drive and irritation at calling HP's help desk, etc.).

Wolfie is sitting here on the couch next to me, which he knows he is not supposed to do, but really, we don't get to see each other much, so I cut him slack. Such a sweet dog. He doesn't know it yet, but I suspect there is a bath in his future.

Yeah, I know. I don't blog for a while then I do and I dish about dog baths. Fun stuff. I'm off until the new year, unless something earth shattering to report.

Merry Christmas!

packing. . .

. . . the menagerie to head out to Chatty tomorrow. It's eighty degrees outside. In December. Do I need to make the global warming reference? Do I? Huh? (Hello Mr. Bush! Talking to you.)

So, yes, I have acquired two new household residents. Pictures later today, if all goes well. I am so excited to share them with you. I finally found their names: Schooner and Mason. They've been going by The Boys, and I've had numerous requests by various parties to just name them already. They are amazingly cute, and excited to be living here. Such attitudes too.

Oh, did I mention they are rats? Rescues of course. I knew if I held out long enough I would find a rat that needed a home somewhere here in Wilmy. And then I found two. And they are so funny - this morning (and yes, you are going to be subjected to many tales of how-cute-are-the-rats), when I came downstairs they rush to the corner of the cage to greet me as usual, and Schooner kept pushing Mason's head away in his excitement. It was too precious. Seriously. Like first graders pushing each other out of the line to be the first to go to recess. Ah, The Boys!

Okay, back to packing. Can't wait to get to Chattanooga. The dogs! The dogs! I know it - I am giddy. It's disgusting. I am going now, before this gets out of control.

the car . . .

. . . drama continues. The freaking door. Always the door. I should have gone with my original plan, and had them remove the door instead of fixing it. Yes, it would have a bit chilly driving around, but here is a perfect example of how global warming could be working for me.

Going away for the weekend. Luckily, not with my stupid car.

Will possibly have pictures of the thing I was going to tell you about, but haven't yet, soon. Maybe early next week. We'll see. It all depends. On various factors having nothing to do with anything real or even imagined. I just like messing with you.

i should add. . .

. . . that I did something I will eventually blog about, but not just yet. Let's just say that no, I haven't lost my mind, and yes, it was a good decision. Crap. Will tell you shortly. (Definitely.)

so busy. . .

. . . that I haven't had a chance to blog. Or bathe. Or read for pleasure. Or shop for Christmas. Or clean.

Okay, kidding about the bathing thing.

Grading and listening to UNCTV and their pledge drive, which means the horrid crappy pledge pleas in between the programming. Whatever. Right now they are doing the Doo-Wop thing. How is it that I know every single one of these songs? It isn't like I have ever intentionally listened to Doo-Wop. But I love it. All of it. Great stuff.

Okay, back to the grind. And the coffee.