Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.
- Stanley Kunitz
who turns 100 this July
Monday, June 27, 2005
Sunday, June 26, 2005
What do I find interesting? The top words in Saying the World are: first, life, father, mother; which I guess makes sense in a book that has a lot of family and medical stuff in it. The top three colors: blue, white, red (my, how patriotic). The top three body parts: face, eyes, hand & hair (tie). Most frequent time of day: morning. Why does "car" appear so often! jeez. I thought there would be more "blood" and "baby."
Saying the World
Unique words = 3144 Total words = 9541
rank word freq
43 First 25
52 life 19
60 say 17
68 father 14
69 mother 14
70 open 14
72 room 14
77 face 13
78 light 13
79 long 13
80 remember 13
81 time 13
82 up 13
84 years 13
86 blue 12
87 Car 12
88 eyes 12
89 morning 12
90 perhaps 12
91 red 12
93 white 12
94 door 11
95 dead 11
98 hand 11
99 hair 11
100 last 11
101 Next 11
105 three 11
106 way 11
107 wonder 11
108 Yet 11
109 amid 10
110 blood 10
111 baby 10
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Friday, June 24, 2005
You are the Sun card. The light of the Sun reveals
all. The Sun is joyful and bright, without fear
or reservation. The childish nature of the Sun
allows you to play and feel free. Exploration
can truly take place in the light of day when
nothing is hidden. The Sun's rays fill you with
energy so that you may live life to its
fullest, milking pleasure out of each day. Such
joy and energy can bring wealth and physical
pleasure. To shine in the light of day is to
have confidence, to soak up its rays is to feel
the freedom of a child. Image from: Stevee
Which Tarot Card Are You?
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Wednesday, June 22, 2005
and like a dog in a manger I am living a dog's
portion of a dog's life in this dog-eat-dog
town, dogging it in a doggery, a salty
dog in my hand, drinking the hair
of the dog that bit me.
Dog-tired, dog-faced, the dog ends
of my dog days in a dogged heap;
dog-cheap in my dog collared shirt,
my dog Latin would make a damn dog laugh,
or at least a blue dog blush.
Dressed like a dog's dinner, walking
like a dog in shoes while you top dogs
put on the dog, my dog feelings tell me
the smell of the dog is upon me —
I've been given the dog to hold.
An easy thing to find a stick
to beat a dog. But dog on it! This dog's
body is hanging on till the last dog is hung.
And I'll walk the black dog on
till you blow your dogs off.
These are the dog days of summer.
Sirius, the dog star, rises over
this dog's breakfast as if to ask:
Whose dog is dead? Next time,
let's let sleeping dog's lie.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
He swore he would read them all — 54 hefty volumes, plus
a yearly update, each with its own gold-embossed author.
They’re better than encyclopedias, he would say. It’s like
having all the world’s geniuses at your fingertips.
He was going to follow the Ten-Year Plan, begin with
Hamlet, for instance, or St. Augustine’s Confessions, before
diving into The Decline and Fall — finally get the good
liberal education he never had. Sunday afternoons
he’d pick one color-coded volume: pale yellow for Literature,
dark green for Science, red or blue for History or Philosophy,
and promptly fall asleep in his recliner, the dog-eared first page
folded upon his chest. During the week, my brothers
and I would pile Descartes, Spinoza, Cervantes, Darwin,
to bank the tracks of our electric racecars; my sisters
would practice balancing Herodotus, Thucydides, or Galen
upon head-banded heads, see how solemnly they could posture
around the house, return the prized volumes to their case
before father came home to check for any mischief. Before long
he had collected glossy paperbacks to learn himself
Contracts & Finance, Home Remodeling, Do-It-Yourself
Haircuts. His Great Books moved to a spot in the hall,
holding up a vase of plastic geraniums. The pair of Indexes,
with their intriguing titles: Angel to Love,
Man to World, stacked with the only update my father
ever bought: 1961 — as if time and history had stopped
with Kennedy’s Election, Seventeen New Nations in Africa,
Mass Culture, and The Youth Explosion.
Friday, June 17, 2005
AN OLD WOMAN having lost the use of her eyes, called in a
Physician to heal them, and made this bargain with him in the
presence of witnesses: that if he should cure her blindness, he
should receive from her a sum of money; but if her infirmity
remained, she should give him nothing. This agreement being
made, the Physician, time after time, applied his salve to her
eyes, and on every visit took something away, stealing all her
property little by little. And when he had got all she had, he
healed her and demanded the promised payment. The Old Woman,
when she recovered her sight and saw none of her goods in her
house, would give him nothing. The Physician insisted on his
claim, and, as she still refused, summoned her before the Judge.
The Old Woman, standing up in the Court, argued: "This man here
speaks the truth in what he says; for I did promise to give him a
sum of money if I should recover my sight: but if I continued
blind, I was to give him nothing. Now he declares that I am
healed. I on the contrary affirm that I am still blind; for when
I lost the use of my eyes, I saw in my house various chattels and
valuable goods: but now, though he swears I am cured of my
blindness, I am not able to see a single thing in it."
You have a dominant kiss- you take charge and make
sure your partner can feel it! Done artfully,
it can be very satisfactory if he/she is into
you playing the dominant role MEORW!
What kind of kiss are you?
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Thursday, June 16, 2005
Here is an excerpt from a review in the Miami Weekly News:
"No one should ever accuse Seattle-based writer D. Travers Scott of playing it safe. His latest novel, “One of These Things Is Not Like the Other” (Suspect Thoughts Press, paperback, $16.95), is one seriously fucked-up piece of storytelling. (Please note, that’s said with admiration.) I defy anyone to find the familiar in his tale of quadruplet brothers – all named Jake Barnes.
The identical brothers were raised in isolation by their father (also Jake Barnes), and operate under the family mythology that their mother died when they were born. Their individuality was muzzled until they collectively made a break from their dad and settled into vastly different lives.
When dear ol’ dad commits suicide, he leaves behind the message that one of them is an outsider born to a different woman; and the four boys began unraveling every shred of information about their lives to solve the puzzle. Scott shifts the perspective among the brothers, focusing on each of their differences as he drags them toward a collision with the truth.
Brutal, twisted and sometimes completely frustrating, “One of These Things Is Not Like the Other” is a meditation on identity that requires a healthy suspension of disbelief. While its parts might be greater than the sum, it’s rare to come across a writer this fearless and original."
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I can't swim.
I can't whistle.
I can't dance.
I was the badminton champion of my high school PE class.
I waited tables to put myself through college.
I also recorded textbooks for the blind.
I had two older brothers and two older sisters, two younger brothers and two younger sisters: a true middle child.
I used to write fiction and have published a few short stories.
I prefer Chekov over WCW.
I'd love to write a play.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Sunday, June 12, 2005
The Periodic Table of the Ailments
Hypochondrium, with a toxic weight of 1 and an emotional negativity of +1, is the lightest and least charged of all the ailments. It is believed to be the essential building block from which all the other ailments are created.
Following a row from left to right, emotional negativity increases: for example, from Borin', to Nitpickin', to Arguin'. Descending a column from top to bottom, toxic weight increases: for instance, as we move from Ouchygen to Suffer, or from Antimony to Seizium.
In the middle of the table is a large group of very similar ailments: the Heavy Mentals. These ailments are malleable yet durable, due to their Sea of Charged Emotions, and include the commonly seen Irony, Tension, and Stressium; also Halffullium, Rue & Ruthium, Hysterium, and Migrainium; as well as the more unusual Platitudinum, Valetudinum, and Tungstuckincheekium.
The Nobel Asses are so called because these ailments are so full of themselves they have become inert: Heelium, Begone, Agony, Crypticsighsium, Leavemealoneium, and Rageon.
Finally, the more recently discovered Rare Death Ailments consume a large part of the Periodic Table, as well as a large part of the National Health Budget. These include: Sneezium, Wheezium, Cough and Coldium; Wartium, Rashium, Painium, and Curemeum, as well as many other insidious and persistent - and sometimes explosive! - ailments.
Armed with the knowledge and study of The Periodic Table of the Ailments, physicians are now able to predict the appearance of new ailments, even before they have manifested. One such ailment, Internetaddictium, with a toxic weight of 125 and an emotional negativity of -4, has recently been proposed. Due to its probable extreme instability, research is already underway for isolation and preventive treatment
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Here is the opening poem in the chapbook:
WAKING THE DOZERS
Wherever they are, tripping
and twitching on their morphine drips,
or laid out lax in a dayroom, I squeeze
their feet, sing out their names, fetch them,
Orpheus-like, back to the too-brilliant brim
of the world. There is,
of course, bewilderment. There are lines
and belts and their legs lifted twiglike
and swept out of bed. There are their knees
blocked by my knees, the calibrated
leaning back, and the length of them
levered up to some brief, provisional
perpendicular. Let me see your eyes
I say then, and most, hummingbird-hearted,
do. And we rock a minute
on the linoleum while they reacquaint
themselves with the sheared apart and
strangely wired-back-together world
they’ve been, for the last while,
out of. It’s not fixed yet, they say;
put me back to bed. And I say it is fixed,
really. Let’s try some steps.
Timothy Kelly will read from his newly released chapbook on Tuesday, June 28th, 2005, at 7pm, Richard Hugo House, 1634 -11th Avenue, in Seattle, along with the finalists Nancy Pagh, Bethany Reid, and Annette Spaulding-Convy. A reception and book-signing follows. Admission is free.
the making of a perfect mayonnaise is the Sunday job for Papa
to avoid anti-climax remember
the smooth, rich-looking glisten of hand beaten
don’t try if a thunderstorm is in progress, as it simply will not bind
outdoor enthusiasts do best when they stick to simple methods
separate the leaves and wash thoroughly
try some of the wild as well as the cultivated
place firm ripe bananas between halves
wet ones should be patted between towels
lie down until skilled help comes and keep quiet and warm
if someone is with you, let her remove any loose clothing . . . but do not let her touch
Friday, June 10, 2005
The Red Poppy
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.
� Louise Gluck
from The Wild Iris
Your Birthdate: The 26th
Your birth on the 26th day of the month (8 energy) modifies your life by increasing your capability to function and succeed in the business world.
In this environment you have the skills to work very well with others thanks to the 2 and 6 energies combining in this date.
There is a marked increase in organizational, managerial, and administrative abilities.
You are efficient and handle money very well.
You're ambitious and energetic, while generally remaining cooperative and adaptable.
You are conscientious and not afraid of responsibility.
Generally sociable and diplomatic, you tend to use persuasion rather than force.
You have a wonderful combination of being good at both the broad strokes and the fine detail; good at starting and continuing. This birthday is practical and realistic, often seeking material satisfaction.
Now that you know, there is plenty of time left for shopping . . . hehehe
Thursday, June 09, 2005
. . .
Thought I couldn't breath without ya,
You thought I couldn't see without ya,
You thought I couldn't last without ya,
but I'm lastin'
You thought that I would die without ya,
but I'm livin'
Thought that I would fail without ya,
but I'm on top
Thought that it would be over by now,
but it won't stop
Thought that I would self destruct,
but I'm still here
Even in my years to come,
I'm still gonna be here
. . .
for full lyric click here.
You are Wallace Stevens. You love everything,
especially the sound of things. Too bad you
are so obscure that at times even you don't
understand what the hell you have written.
Which Famous Modern American Poet Are You?
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Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Here is an exerpt from section 14:
. . .
I was set to leave.
Where are you going Mother asked.
I'm going home.
Take me with you she said
and laughed a kind of wreck.
The woman to the left
said take me too
then the six or seven of them all
took the sentence on
like hail taking on a garbage can.
Take me with you haw haw haw.
Take me with you laugh laugh laugh.
Like a headache made of starlings.
I can't I said I have a wife and dog.
A dog haw haw haw.
A wife laugh laugh laugh.
Take me with you take me with you.
Haw haw laugh laugh laugh.
I zippered my coat closed
with a ferocity that shut them up.
Unbalanced silence in the room. Mom
knocked it over saying
you should go.
Saying I've been where you're going.
Anyway go walk your dog.
. . . from Taken With, by J. W. Marshall, section 14
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Do others have opinions on this? Does posting a poem on a blog make it "published?" (I think, of course not!). I suppose if there were any question, I could just delete any poem drafts from my blog, and they would be gone, and any links to them would become dead links, but I like having them in the archives. What do you who post poem drafts think about this issue?
(PS: it so so funny that the spellcheck suggestion for "blogging" is "flogging.")
Monday, June 06, 2005
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
This is such an interesting, arresting little poem. Joyce Carol Oates, of course, used a fragment of it for a title of one of her books. It's very dreamlike and enigmatic. Most readers see it as a metaphor for the self-destructiveness or self-centeredness of depression or addiction. In fact, I wonder if this poem is where the expresssion "Eat your heart out" arises from?
When I read it to my partner, who is a psychotherapist (and a very good one!), he saw it as a metaphor for the process of therapy, where you sit with your pain, your bitterness, and try to understand it in a deep way ("eat of it"), as a way to know yourself, to heal.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
One of the best parts of the wedding was the reading of Raymond Carver's "Late Fragment" by a friend of Sam and Lynn's. I just love this little poem, and that they included this and other poems in the ceremony:
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Friday, June 03, 2005
John Marshall, reading from his new chapbook Taken With, Monday, June 6th, 7:30pm, at Elliott Bay Books.
Sam Hamill, reading from his new and selected, Almost Paradise, Tuesday, June 7th, 7:30pm, at Elliott Bay Books.
Richard Rapport, the Seattle neurosurgeon, reading from his new book, Nerve Endings: The Discovery of the Synapse, Wednesday, June 7th, 7:30pm, at Town Hall ($5 admission).
Why is everything always at 7:30? (rather than just 7 or 8?).
Wouldn't "The Discovery of the Synapse" make a great poem title?