Lugubrious

Check out this poem from Richard Jones' new book The Correct Spelling & Exact Meaning. I think it is pretty terrific. I love the way this poem interrogates the language we use; and, at a deeper level, leads us to wonder about our various and conflicting motivations for writing poems in the first place:


OED

In the dictionary one finds the word
lucubrate, meaning “to study
by artificial light late at night
that one might express oneself
in writing,” on the heels of luciferous —
“bringing sorrow” — and this immediately
preceded by lucrous, which, of course, is
“pertaining to lucre” and suggests “avaricious.”

To the right of lucubrate is ludibrious —
“subject of mockery” —
and the familiar ludicrous —
all that which is “laughably absurd.”

And in the far-right column, variations
on two small words, luff and lug,
“to bring the head of a ship
nearer the wind,”
and “to pull and tug heavily and slowly,”
two tiny words that describe
what I am doing
writing at my desk late at night,
turning the pages of the dictionary to find
the correct spelling and exact meaning
of lugubrious.


— Richard Jones


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This is the kookiest acceptance speech ever. I just love it. So much I think I'll buy the book!

Rakesh Satyal Goes Gaga @ Lambda Literary Awards from Lambda Literary on Vimeo.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same . . .

— RK

Don't you just LOVE WIMBLEDON!!!!

59-all in the 5th set, and going on three days . . . when will it end?

Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Everything you know
Everything you know
It disturbs me so
Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Oh I'm an outsider outside of everything
Everything you know
Everything you know
It disturbs me so . . .

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Love this song from the old days. But most people who say they are "outsiders" usually aren't.

I received my copy of Diane Martin's new book Conjugated Visits the other day, fresh out from Dream Horse Press. I saw this book in manuscript, and love how it has turned out. Some favorite poems: "Sonhar," "Was You Ever Bit By a Dead Bee," "Two Bad Books," "Gal Friday." And this last poem in the book, just wonderful:

As It Never Was

The orange moon watching the fields
augurs a good harvest. Small children
unfurl ribbons and clap away crows.
The sky is painted lapis lazuli.
Evening: white-throated swifts cut the air
with their tails. They mate, fall,
uncouple right before they would
crash to earth. We drink apple beer
and sleep. In the distance
bell's toll. Summers, we journey
to the mainland. Once, on our return,
pink and silver dolphins leapt
among the long oars as we rowed.


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Seattle Cop Punches Woman in Face

I live not far from the intersection where this occurred. Kids are always jaywalking there and making it very dangerous for drivers to pass. There is a pedestrian overpass built so that people can walk over the street without problem. But there are certain characters who seem to get off on jaywalking into traffic anyway, and trying to cause a ruckus. Both of these young women deserved all they got, in my opinion (if you read the papers, they both have prior criminal records, anyway). This is NOT about racism. I am so tired of out-of-control, poorly-parented teens acting out. If you are breaking the law, and doing so brazenly, provocatively -- I'm sorry -- you deserve to get punched in the face.

I think it's good to have Bill Murray as a poetry fan:

Poems about Brooklyn obviously aren’t lost in translation for comic actor Bill Murray.

The legendary star of stage, screen and “Saturday Night Live” walked across the Brooklyn Bridge on Monday night, reciting works that pay homage to our borough as part of the 15th annual “Poetry Walk.”

With the bridge and East River as his backdrop, Murray entertained a crowd of about 300 people with Yonkers-native Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s classic “A Coney Island From the Mind,” Allen Ginsberg’s “Supermarket in California” and Denise Levertov’s “The Rights.”


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RIP Jerry . . . you will be missed.


Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.


-- Raymond Carver

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The Story of Stuff

This is an amazing video. Every high school student should have to watch it. All of us should have to watch it. Believe me, it will motivate you to change your life.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

Thanks to KF for forwarding me the link.

Scientists identify meteor event in Walt Whitman poem

I love this kind of thing . . .

Scholars have for decades tried to identify a puzzling celestial event in one of Walt Whitman's poems from his collection "Leaves of Grass." Now they've done so, using clues from a famed American landscape painter.

In the July issue of Sky & Telescope magazine, a team that includes astronomers and a literary scholar — all from Texas State University — details the existence and nature of the rare event, in which meteor fragments crossed the sky in a synchronized fashion.

The heavenly display is described in the poem "Year of Meteors (1859-1960)," in which Whitman writes of the tumultuous period leading up to the Civil War. He touches upon the hanging of abolitionist John Brown and the ascendancy of Abraham Lincoln to the presidency, and he makes two references to astronomy: "The comet that came unannounced out of the north, flaring in heaven," and "the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and clear, shooting over our heads."

Holy Sinkhole!

. . . this picture of a giant sinkhole in Guatemala City is the real deal. The region has been battered by a tropical storm, a volcano and now a giant urban sinkhole!

The image comes from the Guatemalan government . . .

From Language Log:

Creative work: metonymy

Sex and the City 2 premiered in London last night. Sarah Jessica Parker arrived in a black strapless dress from the house of her favorite British designer, and what she told her fans provided another interesting example of what Mark Liberman noted in a recent post on fashion talk:

There's only one person I could have worn tonight and that was Alexander McQueen.

Ms Parker didn't just say she was wearing Alexander McQueen; she actually used an expression quantifying over persons (only one person) as the understood object of wear (in the sense that she modified person with the relative clause I could have worn ___), and then clarified that the person was Alexander McQueen; and still the metonymic reading survived and was understood by fans and journalists alike.

From Poetry Foundation (check it out, the photos are actually pretty good):

I saw the best minds of my generation… and took pictures of them!

Allen Ginsberg once said, “I do my sketching and observing with the camera.” Now you can see the results – online highlights from the National Gallery of Art’s new exhibition, “Beat Memories,” can be viewed here.

From the introduction:
One of the most visionary writers of his generation and author of the celebrated poem Howl, Allen Ginsberg (1926–1997) was also a photographer. From 1953 until 1963 he made numerous, often exuberant portraits of himself and his friends, including the Beat writers William S. Burroughs, Neal Cassady, Gregory Corso, and Jack Kerouac. Eager to capture “certain moments in eternity,” as he wrote, he kept his camera by his side when he was at home or traveling around the world. For years Ginsberg’s photographs languished among his papers. When he finally rediscovered them in the 1980s, he reprinted them, adding handwritten inscriptions (transcribed for each work in this slide show). Inspired by his earlier work, he also began to photograph again, recording longtime friends and new acquaintances.

OMG: just shoot me if I am still working at this age:

Doctor, 100, Still Working

"Watson is thought to be the oldest practicing doctor in the world and, despite having turned 100 in February, still runs a full-time practice in Augusta, Ga. . . . He was around before beepers -- back then you were either at the hospital, at home or at church."

Had a great time at the Skagit River Poetry Festival yesterday. I was not a presenter this year, so could just enjoy as audience. Such a relaxing day!

Some of the highlights for me:

La Conner itself: such a great little town, with one main street, the Swinomish Channel running by, and lovely old homes with gardens.

Running in to all sorts of poetry friends old and new. The whole town seemed to be populated by poetry people!

Alicia Ostricker saying, in response to a question about poetry as therapy: "Poetry is not therapy; it's diagnosis." I love that notion!

Molly Tenenbaum reading her poems about colors in the art museum, surrounded by paintings.

Mary Cornish's wonderful poem about Chinese footbinding.

Patrick Lane's poem "Details" about the political prisoner in South America, kept standing in a 30x30 foot cell for six weeks, memorizing the details of the wood on the cell door.

Michael Dickman reading so softly and powerfully from End of the West at Maple Hall.

Alberto Rios reading "Refugio's Hair." I have heard it many times before, but it still works.

Lunch at Kirsten's with Kathryn. Amazing heart of romaine salad, tomato bisque soup, and fresh halibut fish tacos. Wonderful light pouring in the window. Scintillating conversation.

Robert Wrigley's poem about being a conscientious objector in Vietnam, and comtemplating the piece of lettuce stuck in his commanding officer's teeth.

Susan Rich's wonderful poem about the death of her mother: "Breathe~!" -- and Lorraine Ferra's beautiful short poems, also about the death of her mother -- read at Methodist Church, the last session of the day.

A lovely drive home, until I got to around Northgate, and the traffic wound up in a knot. Arrrggghhh. I just had to remind myself to remember the poetry, and breathe.

PS: a pic just sent to me by Kelli (from her iphone). I'm sitting on the porch of the Quilt Museum, on a break between sessions, reading Elizabeth Austen's new chapbook: The Girl Who Goes Alone.

I love this poem from Alexandra Teague's new book Mortal Geography. The two parts of the poem are the exact same words, in the exact same order -- only the punctuation is different. But they tell wildly different stories about the narrator's feelings for her beloved. Apart from the technical skill (which is amazing), I admire how this poem says something about the thin line between love and hate, how it can turn on a pin.

Two Drafts Written After a Fight
by Alexandra Teague

I.

Do I love you: yes or no?
The question: Is love a figure of speech?

I do - sometimes. Everyone wonders about our love; still,
there can be no doubt I have been true (almost always).

Happily remembering the start of our romance; it seemed
so promising ...

And is love continual happiness or not?
Is not what matters?

I cannot tell you who I want to spend my life with.
Enough about our love.


II.

Do I love you? Yes or no - the question is, love,
a figure of speech. I do.

(Sometimes everyone wonders.)
About our love, still, there can be no doubt.

I have been true, almost always happily
remembering the start of our romance;

it seemed so promising, and is. Love,
continual happiness or not is not what matters.

I cannot tell you, who I want to spend my life with,
enough about our love.


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