Friday, October 27, 2006

Par for the Course

061027 MP Friday, October 27, 2006; 9:24 AM

I wanted to get up earlier today, but I slept late again and missed Graham and a getting another late start on my day.  I think I slept late because I didn't sleep "at all" the night before last.  I actually slept poorly for about two and half hours and lay wide awake the rest of the night.  I did wake up and lay awake last night, too, but not as much.  It's pretty par for the course.  They say you can't catch up on sleep, but I seem to sleep longer after having missed some sleep, when I finally do sleep some.

The bird is downstairs screeching his squeaky toy sound.  I answer with "hello, pretty bird," because I am not fond of the squeaky toy sound and do not want to encourage it.

Someone leaving a "mean" comment suggesting I should go back where I came from and stop being so "insensitive" upset me yesterday.  I wondered if it might be AS or G leaving the comment since someone from P had just visited E.  I'd feel much worse if it was AS than if it were G.  Because G can say insensitive things or be upset about something and still come and sit on my lap or ask for a chocolate shake or tell me he loves me abut AS might be genuinely resentful and mean what she said.  I tried to put a site meter on the site, but the whole works froze up so I don't know if it worked.  I don't know if I should delete the comment or all the comments or make it so only registers users can comment.  Keith thinks it was just a random meany, but I'm not so sure.  Anyway, it was the last thing I thought about last night when I went to bed and the first thing I thought about this morning when I got up, very upsetting.  I don't think of myself as mean or "insensitive," generally.  The Unbearable Darkness of Being is my complaining blog.  It's for fibromyalgia and other complaints. 

I finally did order Christmas presents last night for Sara and Erin.  It was a long time coming.  Phew!  It seems like I am always so busy, and so slow it takes forever to get things done. 

And I got a call from Toshiba last night saying the credit card didn't go through and I was worried it was a scam call but I gave the a different credit card (Discover!) and then Keith spent more than an hour on the phone trying to find out why HIS credit card was rejected and got cut off twice and never found out.  He did find out that it was in fact rejected and they read him the previous purchases, which were groceries and other mundane things.  And they cleared the card to be used again, but without ever saying why it was rejected.  What is the point of a card if you can't use it?  It caused a 24-hour delay in the making and shipping of my new computer, which almost guarantees it won't get here before I leave for NY.  It is coming from China.  I'm sure this is disturbing to Keith.  He prefers American made items.

It's raining again, dark and grey and rainy.  Wet yellow leaves on the lawn and sidewalk.  It looks like late fall, which I guess it is.  Keith rode his motorcycle, so it must not have been raining at 5:30 when he left.  But it is now and looks rather dismal out.  We had one fairly sunny day yesterday, but I was sick and never got out in it.

My fibro (FM) is still pretty bad, much better than yesterday or the night before.  Still stiff and painful, though.  9:44 AM

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Exploding Thought-train

061016MP Thursday, October 26, 2006; 10:23 AM

I get to do a ten-minute MP this morning because I already wrote two other things.  YAY!  Ok though, I'd better get going.  I feel written out, as if I no longer have anything to say for the MP but of course there is always a ton more in there once I let it out.  I would also like to work on some of the pieces that I wrote today (Essences, from a dream, maybe that could be a poem).  And the dream piece from yesterday about the chickens.  I actually finally ordered myself a tablet PC, it was very expensive and I hope it works well and that I don't regret the purchase!!!  I need to put some money in Keith's account to help cover the cost.  Oops, I stopped to correct an errors and I am not supposed to do that, bad me!  LOL!  OK, now I lost my train of thought and all the cars are falling off the track and rolling down the hill and something is banging and bumping outside and I wonder what it is and am curious and want to go look out the window and meanwhile the cars of the thoughts are crashing into the rocky gorge and exploding and sending their cargo shooting upwards in clouds of smoke.  Boy I make a lot of typos.  It's sunny today.  Yesterday it was sunny in the morning and clouded right up so I never got to go out in it.  I need some sunshine!  I am cold sitting here in my sleeveless tank-type nightgown brrr!  I always get so hot at night, even when it is cold in the house, I don't understand that mechanism.  Keith has taken to keeping the heat much lower than he used to which makes sense to e.  It is bothersome to the CPAP though and spews water on my face, half drowning me so I have taken to not turning on the water heater for the CPAP and this seems to help.  Less water evaporates that way.  My back really hurts; my fibro is bad today.  There is a huge mess in here and it is getting worse because I have so much I need to do that I haven't been cleaning up and the monitors still need to be moved more and I was digging stuff out from the left slide of the monitor in order to move the monitor over to make space for the second the idea being that I can have the picture I'm working on on one monitors and the toolbars and palettes on the other and this have a bigger pictures to work on.  I need to get up and go do my sit ups because that will help my painful back and go eat breakfast and get started on my day good thing this has a better spell checker than the rotten one gmail has.  Lots of typos to correct, LOL!  I need to put more clothes on brrr, and order some Christmas gifts for the girls.  Ok come on, ten minutes must almost be over here, grrr.    I have some stuff on the Psion I wrote that I wanted to post and that was like two weeks ago or more and I still haven't gotten it ready to post.  Not that posting is the most important thing in my life I never posted at all to BP and am falling behind on all my commenting at BP and Blogs AK! 10:35 AM. PS, I spoke too soon about word's good spellchecker, it was on the blink today!  GRR!

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

MP 2

Wednesday, October 25, 2006; 9:13 AM  MP "2"

OK, ten minutes of real morning pages now, after all that fake morning pages.   I'm hungry and I want to get on with my day.  I want to order my computer, the Toshiba Tecra M7 tablet PC and order books on Amazon for the girls and work on my poems for the upcoming reading and walk to the store for food and I have a poem for Deb and a story for Doug to read and critique and boxes to unpack and I'm getting tired just thinking about it!  AK.  It's sunny and I'd like to walk while it's daylight and nice for a change instead of walking at night and what I really want to do is my art—I have an idea I want to try before I lose it which consists of taking a picture of a forest, a picture of a house, and a picture of a person (me? As a witch) and combining them for a Halloween picture which may see to others like a waste of time but what I want to do is work on perfecting a technique I've been working on and test it so that I can write an article about it because I was asked to do so.  I want to send my mother a postcard because she forgets who I am and when she remembers me she forgets where I am so I'd like to send her a postcard every day but I keep not doing it I've only done one so far in the week and a half or how ever long it is I've been here and I also wanted to send one to Erin and a TY to ML for taking us to stomp and I wanted, this is silly, to try scanning Graham's story just to see if the scanner software could transpose it into text and I have those two readings in NY and PA to prepare for and have to look up directions on how to get there.  I need to do that before I leave and I need to get a new doctor and change my name and address everywhere and get a Michigan driver's license and registration and new car insurance and so on, AK!  It feels like too much.  I have all those boxes to unpack and we no food in the fridge.  I need to walk to the store and the sun is shining and I've been doing all my walking at night and I have to run and do my sit-ups and I need a different Psion because the spacebar sticks on the one I have and all the words run together very upsetting annoying and time consuming maybe I could have it repaired if I ever had time to go on-line and look to see if someone repairs Psions and today I am having oatmeal for breakfast but first I have to do my sit-ups.  WOW!  I can write a lot in ten minutes because ten minutes isn't even up yet.  I don't have to worry about writing something creative LOL because this is it just the fluff off the top to clear my mind and besides I already wrote something and whether anyone likes this or that is not the point anyway!  It's not really ever the point exactly but then again, if no one ever reads it what's the point of writing it, I mean a poem or story, not this, there my ten minutes are now up and I can go do my sit-ups and eat breakfast.  LOL! 9:23 AM

Saturday, October 21, 2006

from a note to Debbie Fleri

I'm falling behind on my correspondence.  I had over 200 boxes to unpack, now about 196.  And I have to get all new doctors and change my driver's licence registration and insurance and change my name at all the banks etc and all these things seem to take so long--so I am falling behind.  I apologize, 'cause I never finished answering your last note.

I had lunch with a friend who drives trucks and was stranded at a truck stop yesterday.  We took a break last night and went to see STOMP and so I got nothing done.  STOMP was really good!  We really enjoyed it.  VERY creative.

I'm so happy to finally be moved (though not everything is moved and not everything is settled and I still have to go back regularly to see my Mom.  But I'm here with Keith and out of the house.  YAY! He's such a wonderful loving patient man!  Fun and funny.

I wrote him a poem and made him a card for his birthday, along with a chocolate wafer cake and apple crisp.  I made him Calamari and veggies in a white wine sauce for his birthday, which was the 19th.  I really wanted to be moved here for his birthday, because that was a treat for him, to have me to fuss over him on his birthday, LOL!

My daughter, Erin, got a new dog.  Cute!  But I haven't been able to get any good shots of it.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

061003 Walk Radisson, unedited (sorry about the spacebar)

061003 Radisson walk
    LOL,I just saw three cock pheasants running foolishly along the trail, but too quickly forme to capture them "on film" (digital film, as I am noit carrying my film camera.
    The fall colors arelovely!  The drive back from Dodge was beautiful,the drive down too,when itwasn't so hard we couldn't see.  Great fall color, veils of hanging mists, fog overthe rivers andlakes. Lovely.
    It'smuddy here,lots of rain.
    I've got a cold or bad allergies,I often can'ttell which, but itmay be a cold, cause Debbie was complaining of a sore throat.  My nose won't stop running(and I'm not sneezing much, which I wouldbe if it werejustllergies, prolly.)
    I'm tired.  I didn't go to sleep until after 2 AM and was up before 7 and slept poorly and restlessly.  I need a good night's sleep so U cab be more productive. 
    My watch zeroed out and I have NO IDEA howlong I'd walked.  4-7 minutes?  Dunno.
    The fall color is beautiful but is nowhere photogenic.  It all looks messy and dark (dark lighting.)
    That reminds me of the dark matter comment someone made.  I cannot remember thecontext, but they called in during a show on NPR and said that scientists have postulated the existence ofdarkmatter.  It has to exist in order for the universe to function as they think it does.  But no one has seen itor been able inany wayto prove it.  And what about God, the caller asked.  I thought he haad a valid point, whatabout God?
    I believe that God existsin a different part of reality thanthephenomenal world.  God exists in the spiritual world.  The spiritualworld has its own laws,it doesn't necessarily follow what we would consider normal physical laws.
    A frog or something peeps right beside me, loud, and repeating, until I shiftto try ad see it. There is goes again,two songs,a peep and a trill.  It's very close,but I still can't seeit,and there areothers.  Guess I can't really afford the time to look.  Who is it?  A woodfrog, a peeper,a toad.
    I'm having asthma.  There are mean little mosquiotes.  My nose is running.  Something bangsin the woods. Loud, then a gunshot!
    I thinkabout those little Amish girls murdered and feel so sad, and the teens raped and murdered.
    I just sawa deer and then three more, the flags of theirtails bright inthe low light.  boundingaway.  I do have my long lenson,butI juststood and watched.
    Even though I am very tired and have a cold and asthma and my nose is running,sofar, my fibromylagia has been pretty good, better than it ever is in Detroit.  I hopewhenIImove there, Iw on'tbe sick.  Or die.
    In spite ofthe fact thatit doesn't seemphotogenic out here today, it does seem gorgeous,stunningly beautiful and melancholic.Thegoldenrod is fading, butthe New England aandcalicoasters are brilliant and the redleaves of blackberry bushesand the yellowleaves of dogbane and milkweed and the brilliant reds ofredmaples and the yellows of aspens,allsomewhat muted by the lighting except the white asters,but stilldarklyvisid.  Common evening primroseand the vast twitteringsof a mobof blackbirds.   The birds are flocked up for migration. 
    I gotta start back, Iwas looking atthe soapwort/buncing bet, its delicate lavender againt the brilliant saturated yellow of a still florescent goldenrod and neglected to noticethat I'dpassed the halfway turn point.  And Iam trying really hard to stick tomyschedule even though once Imove, I won'tbe able to walk here any more.  WAHN!  ;-(*
    I hope instead tomakelost ofprogress onmy novels and poetry manuscripts.  I still need to walkeveryday,though,and walkingon Moran just doesn'tdo itfor me. WAHN.
    I stopped mywatch at 27:27.  Inadvertantly.
    Stopped to take a shot of redblackberry leaves, even though with this lighting it probablywon't comeout well.
I turn away from the light, pull the covers
in a tent over my head, try to retreat
agian into the good soft light of dreams.
    The sunemerges through a crack in the clouds and an orangehoneylightspills over the landsape, thin,wan and unbelievable, but real.  I consider a picture, turn off the autowhite balance,butalreadythe light is gone again.
    The clouds arecoloring up,pinknow around the edges of the grey.
    I stop mywatchtolook at somesort of large curcubitaceae (sp?), pumpkin or squash or hybrid.  There is onenearly ripe,ornagelike apumpkin andlarge but teardrop shaped.  I'msure itwouldmake a good decoration orpie--and there arelotsof them.  But I amnot carrying a daypack.  Maybe I cancome back and get one anopther day, if Ihaven'tmoved to Detroit.  Itremindsmeof thetime Iwalked outbehind The Nottinghamretirement community before aT'ai Chi class and found a batch of pumpkins in theircompost, tons of huge ones,carried oneback balancedonmyhead and wrote a poem about it.  Butthatwas a while agao, I wasn't as tired then, anditwas abettershape tobalance and Iwasn't carryingcamera gear and iwasn't as far away.
    I zeroedoutthewatch again when I stopped, the watch is faulty, but I knowwhat it said, 35.
    I've walked 5moreminutes sincethen,justwritingabout it, and I amnot going to make itback tothe carin 5 more,darnit. But I knew thatanyway,because I'dzeroedout mywatch earlier and thenaccidentallywalked a little extra.  I'mnottaking too manypictures because the light's so bad, butI did takea few.
    I need to get out earlier atleastsometimes.
    A truck just came down theroad towardme andeven thoughI'vebeen heremanytimes without a problem,I started feelingnervousbecause it's getting dark and all those recent murders andme alonehere. Butthey tured towardthe dumpinggrounds for grass,leaves and clippings andI hope I can getout before thecomeback. Prolly perfectly innocent people, but still.
    I'm redoubling myefforts to hurry and themeanlittle mosquitoes areredoubling their efforts to suckmedry.
    6:33 Iamback at the car, Iwalked53minutes plus whatever Iwalkedbefore the watch zeroed out thefirsttime. Thetrucknevercameback. It's a one-wayroad,so hehadto come back,Imeanadeadend.  Someoneisworking ontheircarright here,hope theyaren'tdraining oil out ontothe ground!

MRI today

    Wednesday, October 4, 2006,
10:29 AM  Here I am at 4820 West Taft Road for my MRI, a rather upsetting experience for three reasons so far.  First, I got just a little lost getting here because I've only been here once before and I looked up the directions but I don't have a printer so I could print them out and I got worried I'd made a mistake (I had NOT) and turned around (twice).
    That was the first problem.  The second problem is that MRIs are NOT fun.  They are long, uncomfortable and terribly boring.  Also a bit painful because it bothers my fibro and you are not allowed to move at all.  So the pain keeps getting worse and worse.
    And then, it revs up my fear about my brain tumor.
    Plus I have a cold, my eyes hurt, and I feel exhausted.  I went to bed early and got up a little late (but I woke up at 4:30AM and could not go back to sleep.)
    Bleah.
    I had another scare.  Yesterday, my poops were nearly black and slightly greenish and strangely textured and I got nervous because I'd read that that could mean internal bleeding and any number of other bad things (cancer etc.)  I reviewed what I'd eaten and couldn't think of anything unusual.   I was imaging doctor appointments and radiation treatments and death. I was going to try to google it.  But this morning, I remembered I'd eaten some acai sorbet, which is really dark and could possibly have caused the problem.  So I'm going to wait a few days and see if things improve.
    I hate the fact that the spacebar on this computer doesn't work right.  I can't just write, I have to keep going back to fix it.
    I was going to bring Pam's new book with me to continue reading it.  But if course, as usual, I was running late, and ran out without it.
    I'm imagining pain in my belly and worrying again about the unusual poo.  But I have IBS (thought it hasn't been bad lately) and other issues that could be causing pain.
    I'm so tried and yuk.
    It was foggy this morning.  Still not burnt all the way off as I walked here.
    I just discovered I am wearing the shirt that caught on fire when I was doing Reiki at Janine's and part of it is burned away.  I never would have worn it had I realized.  I kept it to wear as PJs. But it made its way into my regular shirt drawer.  How embarrassing.
    DUH.
    I am considering going
    12:02  I'm done.  I am definitely sick.  Not horribly sick, but sick, with a cold or bad allergies.  I had forgotten about the dye injection, and it takes a while and "pinches".  I don't know why they call it a "pinch" when the stab or prick you.  So there was that and the pain in my sacroiliac that seemed to spread throughout my lower abdomen. Luckily, it wasn't quite as long as last time, though long enough.  This time, they knew where they were looking.
    And this time, I asked to see the picture.  The technician said he was very busy and working through lunch.  I told him that last time I was told the doctor would show me the picture.  But he didn't have the picture; he only had the report.  So he did show me, and it looked bigger than I expected, from what I was told last time.  I wonder if it has grown faster than expected. It is NOT tiny, as they had suggested last time.  Also, it's supposed to be in the lining of the brain, but it looks deeper than that to me.  Not real deep, but not right at the edge either. Scary.
    Another "minor" problem is that the air in the room where they did the MRI was very dry. I had trouble breathing.
    I'm so tired.  And "depressed."  Not sure depressed is quite the right word.  Low energy and dazed might be closer.  I don't know how I will accomplish what needs to be done when I feel so sick.
    I am going to Hamlin Marsh/Clay Central to walk because it is on the way.
    What I really wish I could do is just sleep for about 3 days, but of course, I probably couldn't sleep even if I tried.
    12:24 Hamlin Marsh, leaves raining down, flocks of bird, very fall-like.
    It takes 5 minutes to get out my gear and strap it on.  It's overcast, and wet, hope it does no train.  Smells like fall through the left nostril. Muddy
    12:31  I am at the marsh already. I didn't go to Clay Central; I went to the Old Wetzel Road entrance.  Brilliant fall color (but lousy lighting.)  The trails are so narrow you get wet walking through.
    I had to take my hair bands off my braids for the MRI and haven't had a chance to rebraid them, so they are looser than normal.
    I put on clean pants for the MRI but they are getting all wet and muddy.
    I took the same trail Sara and I took from the marsh pond along the marsh.  It doesn't seem at all like a trail until you reach the old decrepit boardwalk and just beyond that, it's mowed. Just when you think it's hopeless and you're soaked.
    Lots of froggies out.  I will clearly have to change my clothes when I get home.
    I need to snowseal my snow mocs (yes, I am wearing them, but only because the tevas smell bad).  Those Tevas are old and in bad shape and not very comfy and I only saved them for emergencies.  I really need a new pair of sandals (and new snow mocs--they are falling apart at the back.)
    12:54, 16:41 I reached the spot where Sara found the cardinal feathers on a mossy leaning willow.
    1:02 PM  I have walked half my designated walk time, but because I took a long roundabout way of getting here and intend to take a shorter way back, I have to walk a little farther than half time in order to get my full complement of time.  But that's hard to estimate.
    My eyes are feasting one brilliant scarlets, oranges, yellows, golds, all shiny with rain and a general autumnal look to the world, but though it seems really gorgeous in a subdued and melancholy way, it doesn't feel photogenic to me and I have not taken many pictures. 
    For one thing, it's dark. Very overcast.  Grey.  And wet.  For another, everything is chaotically tumbled together.  Not a good organized "chaos" like fractals, but a less appealing randomness.  Maybe with a panoramic, like Hal's, you could make something pretty.  But it just looks like a mess when I look through my lens.
    It's starting to rain.  I took a side trail to try to make up extra time and it was a marsh, wet to the top of my snow mocs.  Hamlin Marsh is wet. If I'm going to walk here, I need to be prepared for that.  Mentally, emotionally and physically.
    I think that side trail was probably a little longer than it should have been so I'll be "late" getting back to the car.
    Even the lawn is a marsh, literally, from all the rain. Ridiculous amounts of rain.
    I took a trail I was hoping would be a short cut but it ended up to be a long cut, circumnavigating another swamp.  I encountered a butterfly on a joe-pyeweed and tried to get it but failed.  It's raining harder.
    Hey, check it out.  Just when I thought my walk was over and I couldn't see anything else, I heard a noise in the woods and turned toward it.  I was in a sort of clearing, but ahead of me was dense brush and something was galloping toward me.  It sounded "big", but smaller and different than a deer.  And then it emerged, running straight toward me.  A red fox.  It came on, straight toward me, and then it seemed to see me. It about ten feet, it veered to my left, ran through the clearing, and disappeared into the woods on the other side with that same flick flickflickflick sound it had made approaching.  Dunno why it was running, but it sure was moving fast.  I saw nothing ahead of it or behind it.  I got a very good look at it.  Its red-orange body and black legs and feet slick with rain and slightly matted back.  Wow!  It happened so fast I just stared and didn't take a picture.  But I saw it.
    In Shamanism, it would be "a sign."  I would look up the various meanings for fox and meditate on what foxes mean to me. Foxes are smart, fast, and "sly."  (Tricky, like a coyote.)  They are solitary creatures except when breeding.  I've seen a number of them, and it always thrills me.  One came tome when I was meditating in the swamp at 3 R.  One at beaver lake, on the boardwalk. Several in the winter. One on a trail by a cornfield. I don't remember what I "discovered" when the last one showed up.  But I don't have time to meditate.  I need to go home, put on dry clothes, make lunch, get back to work sorting.
    The rain seems to have stopped, but the wind has come up and leaves are raining down from the trees.  It sounds like rain, but it isn't.
    Oh, here comes the rain again.
    I was going to stop on the way home at Pier One for a gift certificate for Annie Pennisi, but I am literally soaked and covered with mud, dripping and sloshing, so I'd better not drag my sloppy self into the store.  I smell bad, too.  I smell like a swamp.
    4:32 PM  I unpacked and sorted two boxes and packed labeled, taped and carried one largish box out to the garage.  I packed up a bag of stuff for Shari Carter from the IBM, which I paid over $2,6000 in June 1997 and sold in 2006 for $75 to Shari.  I started a load of laundry of my soaked and muddy clothes.  I am very tired and feel sick and wish I could just lie down.  But I'm going to have to break from packing to wash dishes because I've been working so hard on packing the past few days that I've done no cleaning or dishes.  I'm running out.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Dodge 10/4/06

here are my notes from the tony Hoagland talk etc, sorry I ahven't edited them--you cna just delete them if you want.


The Poetry archive online

061001 Dodge



TheWanderingPoet2006@yahoo.com

Dickinson "Poetry is the tooth thatnibbles at the soul."

Jorie Graham "Poetry insists on going through existenceinstead of going around it."

Sunday October 1, 2006, 9:34 AM  Tony Hoagland Craft talk.

                Jorie Graham's brain storms fume out of the beaker of her skull.  Her writing is very much a process, like throwing yourslef against the shore like a wavesover and over.

                Poems have a center of gravity, poems have multiple centers of gravity around which the other elemnets of the poems arrange themselves.  Jorie Graham's poems are encounters, you encounter things and then you release them.

                "A poem makes a wise statement in the third stanza."  TH says we have these terrible preonceived notions about poetry.  Our job aspoets is to let our version of poetry evolve.  Find something you can do well.  Some people have atalent forimage,somepeoplehave atalent for syntax,some people have a talent for sound.  TH has ametaphor talent, a hugemetaphor image claw like a crab.  Start with what you're good at, develop that until you're very good at it, then add other more hard-earned skills.  Don't wallow only in your first talent. Contain a poem, allow a poem to have a wild discovery, have passion and intensity (Duende), strong feeling, magnifying glass. Feel strongly, magnify that feeling.  The journey of craft.

                TH says Emily Dickinson says "art is a house that wants to be haunted."

                TH: The poem must embody the whole psyche.  A lot of poems fail because they don't embody the contrdictoryness of life and humans.  I like things coming in from the side, I like contradictoriness within the poem.  Complicate the narratives. Whether it is a narrative poem or not.  I like for the ID to be in the poem, the angry greedy animal self, the jealosies and meanness and secret greeds.  The walking around civil self.  The super ego with it's principles and moral edicts.  Catalyze, fume, make conflicts with each other.

                TH  The Birthday cake, by someone else but I didn't get who. Paul Goodman.  I think.

                TH  The animal self and the child self need to be brought in.  The vioelnce of self and the vioelence of feeling that breaks through the surface of the poem and thrashes around.  I'm not convinved by all good manner in a poem.  A moment of joy, pain, or sorrow. etc.

                TH  Compare what you are like walking around and talking to your friends. Some of that energy should bein the poem. Poems will always fall short of the full spectrum, but should contain avarietyof experience.  Build the dialectical energy of the poem, the differnet energies of the self talking to each other and conflicting with each other.

                TH A lot of the dialectical energy of the poem  exists in nouns.  The turtle with it's plastic palm, the condom and . . .  (I keep missing things.)  The poem is a snow glob and cannot contain toomany things, but the things it does contain should be disparate in some way.  Adjectives have a dialectical energy. rhetorical energy.  A pem is a little archtectural contruct.  Itneeds a topography.

                TH  A Rotweiler with a bungee cord.  A nuclear device in a border bag.  4 or five conflicting adjectives with dialectal angular energy.  They don't have to stay in a smooth arc.  Filthy beautiful heterosexual shimmering Posaic River.  Add An exclamation.  Oh miserableme,ahthat I wouldnever have seent he sun com eup that day.  Never again will I seea day like that, never again will I walkalong thatriver,never again will I .. .  Collages.

                TH Joining together associative disorder andmaking them work as apoem.

                TH  The only difference between a rut and a grave is a matter of depth.  You don't want to write the same poems all your life.  Look for greater ambitiousness.  Get serious.

                TH  You work repeatedly falls behind your life.  Don't stick with the old news.

                TH:  I'm in danger of being too cautious, where did Eros go in my life that once was so strong, why are feelings so muddy?  What are your current issues? I wanted to have one true moment in each poem.  How to advance? ONE INch at a time.

                TH quoting Lorca:  They fuck you up, your Mom and Dad, they do not mean to but they do,

                TH I want things to appropriate me, I don't want to appropriate things!

                TH Lou Welch, pretty good beat poet.  Draw a circle 100 feet in diamaeter and in that circle are a thousand things that no one has ever looked at.  Look hard, locate those moments.  TH We are the physicists of experience.  Particularity, precision, attentivenes.  Gerald Stern's poems leap around like a cricket on a fryiing pan.  (he says this admiringly.)

                TH A poem cannot be chaos either,it has to happenin stages.  For Grace after a party by

                accusation, rhetorical moment.

                TH Memorize poems to internalize muscular movements.  Don't eat junkfood, eat brilliant poemtry, they turninto us.

                (junk in junk out.)

                You're always being pulled apart.  Bring in an unidentified moment.  Open sewer systems of thoughts and constructs. Most of what's in the river is garbage.  Poets have more ADD than most of us.  Pay attention to the river and every once in awhile, one of the crazy persons in your head says or sees something interesting. The seeds of poems.

                Dialectical energy, close attendnace, looking, adequate intensity.

                TH Exploration of content, adventure in content and technique..  The snowman by wallace Stevens one long sentence.  It grows a muscle and augments your poetry.  Analyzing porty with friends helps.   Helps you learn and teach yourslef. Analysis,give it your attention, it enters you.  Studying technique helps you grow.  But some people over value technique.  It's not all technique,you have to perform openheart surgery on yourself on the wing of a biplane with one engine failing.  You need both duende and technique.

                We have different kinds of talents and also different degrees of talent, but stubornness is a big help.    The three levels of the self and the poem is a forum that integrates them
                TH John Ashburg:  "Everything you know is wrong."  And then from there you can write.  You can open.  It's not about showing how smartyou are or what a good writer you are.

notes from day 4 at Dodge

here are my notes from the tony Hoagland talk etc, sorry I ahven't edited them--you cna just delete them if you want.


The Poetry archive online

061001 Dodge


TheWanderingPoet2006@yahoo.com

Dickinson "Poetry is the tooth thatnibbles at the soul."

Jorie Graham "Poetry insists on going through existenceinstead of going around it."

Sunday October 1, 2006, 9:34 AM Tony Hoagland Craft talk.

Jorie Graham's brain storms fume out of the beaker of her skull. Her writing is very much a process, like throwing yourslef against the shore like a wavesover and over.

Poems have a center of gravity, poems have multiple centers of gravity around which the other elemnets of the poems arrange themselves. Jorie Graham's poems are encounters, you encounter things and then you release them.

"A poem makes a wise statement in the third stanza." TH says we have these terrible preonceived notions about poetry. Our job aspoets is to let our version of poetry evolve. Find something you can do well. Some people have atalent forimage,somepeoplehave atalent for syntax,some people have a talent for sound. TH has ametaphor talent, a hugemetaphor image claw like a crab. Start with what you're good at, develop that until you're very good at it, then add other more hard-earned skills. Don't wallow only in your first talent. Contain a poem, allow a poem to have a wild discovery, have passion and intensity (Duende), strong feeling, magnifying glass. Feel strongly, magnify that feeling. The journey of craft.

TH says Emily Dickinson says "art is a house that wants to be haunted."

TH: The poem must embody the whole psyche. A lot of poems fail because they don't embody the contrdictoryness of life and humans. I like things coming in from the side, I like contradictoriness within the poem. Complicate the narratives. Whether it is a narrative poem or not. I like for the ID to be in the poem, the angry greedy animal self, the jealosies and meanness and secret greeds. The walking around civil self. The super ego with it's principles and moral edicts. Catalyze, fume, make conflicts with each other.

TH The Birthday cake, by someone else but I didn't get who. Paul Goodman. I think.

TH The animal self and the child self need to be brought in. The vioelnce of self and the vioelence of feeling that breaks through the surface of the poem and thrashes around. I'm not convinved by all good manner in a poem. A moment of joy, pain, or sorrow. etc.

TH Compare what you are like walking around and talking to your friends. Some of that energy should bein the poem. Poems will always fall short of the full spectrum, but should contain avarietyof experience. Build the dialectical energy of the poem, the differnet energies of the self talking to each other and conflicting with each other.

TH A lot of the dialectical energy of the poem exists in nouns. The turtle with it's plastic palm, the condom and . . . (I keep missing things.) The poem is a snow glob and cannot contain toomany things, but the things it does contain should be disparate in some way. Adjectives have a dialectical energy. rhetorical energy. A pem is a little archtectural contruct. Itneeds a topography.

TH A Rotweiler with a bungee cord. A nuclear device in a border bag. 4 or five conflicting adjectives with dialectal angular energy. They don't have to stay in a smooth arc. Filthy beautiful heterosexual shimmering Posaic River. Add An exclamation. Oh miserableme,ahthat I wouldnever have seent he sun com eup that day. Never again will I seea day like that, never again will I walkalong thatriver,never again will I .. . Collages.

TH Joining together associative disorder andmaking them work as apoem.

TH The only difference between a rut and a grave is a matter of depth. You don't want to write the same poems all your life. Look for greater ambitiousness. Get serious.

TH You work repeatedly falls behind your life. Don't stick with the old news.

TH: I'm in danger of being too cautious, where did Eros go in my life that once was so strong, why are feelings so muddy? What are your current issues? I wanted to have one true moment in each poem. How to advance? ONE INch at a time.

TH quoting Lorca: They fuck you up, your Mom and Dad, they do not mean to but they do,

TH I want things to appropriate me, I don't want to appropriate things!

TH Lou Welch, pretty good beat poet. Draw a circle 100 feet in diamaeter and in that circle are a thousand things that no one has ever looked at. Look hard, locate those moments. TH We are the physicists of experience. Particularity, precision, attentivenes. Gerald Stern's poems leap around like a cricket on a fryiing pan. (he says this admiringly.)

TH A poem cannot be chaos either,it has to happenin stages. For Grace after a party by

accusation, rhetorical moment.

TH Memorize poems to internalize muscular movements. Don't eat junkfood, eat brilliant poemtry, they turninto us.

(junk in junk out.)

You're always being pulled apart. Bring in an unidentified moment. Open sewer systems of thoughts and constructs. Most of what's in the river is garbage. Poets have more ADD than most of us. Pay attention to the river and every once in awhile, one of the crazy persons in your head says or sees something interesting. The seeds of poems.

Dialectical energy, close attendnace, looking, adequate intensity.

TH Exploration of content, adventure in content and technique.. The snowman by wallace Stevens one long sentence. It grows a muscle and augments your poetry. Analyzing porty with friends helps. Helps you learn and teach yourslef. Analysis,give it your attention, it enters you. Studying technique helps you grow. But some people over value technique. It's not all technique,you have to perform openheart surgery on yourself on the wing of a biplane with one engine failing. You need both duende and technique.

We have different kinds of talents and also different degrees of talent, but stubornness is a big help. The three levels of the self and the poem is a forum that integrates them

TH John Ashburg: "Everything you know is wrong." And then from there you can write. You can open. It's not about showing how smart you are or what a good writer you are.

Detours

This is the totally unedited unrevised crappy version

                Monday, October 2 2006, 2:34 PM 

Detours

                I am trying to be as efficinet as possible because I have so few days left before Keith gets here and I was hoping to move when he came.  And I have an MRI and doctor appointsand Ted Kooser Poet Laureate and Annie Pennisi's wedding.

                I also only walked once in the last 4 days and that was Thursday (no Friday?) and I'm supposed to walk every day.  And it's a beautiful day, and supposed to getcold andrain coming up.  so I took a break fromworkingoncleaning sorting and packing to take a walkwhile while the sun was still out.  I could have used thatsame excuse to go visit my Mother, but Great Bear was closer, so I came here.

                Normally it takes 11-12 minutes to getto Great Bear from home.  I was tooling happily along (if you can call crying wildly "tooling happily along," but that's another story) when suddenly the car ahead of me slowed and there has a trucked parked blocking the road and person ina  reflective vest pointing down some tiny side street.  The car ahead of me went and I followed.  Since I had turned left (west) and was headed north, I turned right at firstroad, whichcut back nicely atangle toward 57 (headed north east,which Iway Ineeded to go.)

                But the road ended on another road whichended on another road and after a while I foundmyself in Hinmansville.  This wasgood, I thought, because a road from Hinmansville endsup at Great Bear.  I crossed the one lane Hinmansville bridge.  Everything seemed familiar butsomehow wrong.  I drove out the road "toward 57" (or where I thought 57 should be), andencountered a second detour where they wereworking on wires and had the road blocked off.  but I did not see Hawthorne taking off at an angle to the right.  This was my first clue something was  wrong but I kept on going and came outto a busy raod which I thought was 57.  It didn't look right, but I thought I'd justmissed Hawethorne and that it seemed unfamiliar because Inever gos traight on 46.  I don't know that corner.  I turned left and drove until I saw a sign saying 48.  Now I had asudden bout of confusions anddisorientation and remembered that only a fewnights ago, Debbie and I had been shunted off 80 east on out way back to the hotel and had subsequently driven around for over an hour before wemanaged to find our way backwith the help of a friendly gas stationa attendant.  I pulled over (after driving a ways before I could find aplace to pull over) and studied my map--but themaps,noneofthem, showed the roads I was on!

                I thought that Iwas driving south twoard Baldwinsville,but itnever occurred to meto look at the sun.  Itwas sunny.  But mytheory was I had crossed the Hinmansville bridge in thewrong direction.

                This defied logic, because of the river.  How could I have gotten onto the wrong side of the river? 57 is on the east sideof the river andthat was where Iwanted tobe, but 48 is onthewest side ofthe river.  I turned around and retraced my path back around detorur number 2, back across the Hinmansville bridge in the other direction and drovelonger than it seemed I should have, but there was Hawethorne and there was Great Bear!

                I'd like to see a map ofthe area to see how that could have been passible,to try and retrace my route.  But I believe mymaps of Oswego county are in Detroit!

                I think that 3 or 4 detours in 3 or 4 days.  If thata dream instead  "reality", I would ask myself what my subsconscious was trying to tell me.

                The symbolismis pretty obvious.  I'm taking too manydetours. I'mbeing slowedby detours in getting where I'm going.

                Thenext question is,wheream I going (or trying to go? [clearly not thesamequestion])?  Here are some answers:

          I am trying toget toKeith and Graham.

          I am trying to getmoved to Detroit

          I am trying to getout of the house

          Iam trying to express my creativity'

          Iam trying write and publishnovels

          I am trying to publish a poetry book

          I amtrying to get to a place where I can make a difference in the world.

                Meanwhile, Iamwalking along tje riverwith camera gear slung around myshoulders and I see somemovementin the grass, something large and dun-colored (deer?) so I look thatway and immediately look away again but I've already seen a naked couple engaged inoral sex.  The man is moving his head up and down over the woman's spread legs but the woman has seen orheard me and lifts her head toward me.  I look carefully toward theriver asIwalk.

                Earlier, I had stopped to pee in the bushes and a couple walked by just as I was peeing, talking loudly,and I betit was them.  I'msorry I disturbed their privacy,but I didn'tknow they were there.  I'm certain it setthewoman back in her orgasming.  But surely theymust know other people walk here. They were right next to the trail.  Onetime atclark Iencountered someonedoing that in the center of thetrail,andclarkismorewell-used that Great Bear. Didtheywant to be discovered,or were theysimply not thinking?

                THis diturnedmystory,my littlepersonal essay on Detour.  A detour of sorts from my story of detours.

                It occurred tome that Detours is"who Iam" inasense. I'm a Gemini with multiplepeople living isnide me, and I have ADHD, meaning I am easily distracted.  Distractions are detorurs, are they not?

                I've been on the other end of that sex and the woods encounter more than once.  I harbor them no ill will. But it was, I'm afraid, unfortunately disturbing to both parties.

                The fact that Iw as carryingcameras is alsodisturbing, although of course, I did't point them toward the naked couple.  It remindsmeof thetimeKeith and I,carrying manycameras, walked fully clad down anude beach. We didn't know it was a nude beach, but felt very conspicuousand foolish.

                There wereseveral carsparked atthe trailheader when I came,surely theymust aware howmany people walkhere.  NO?

                I'venamed some places I'm trying to get.  Soemare physical, some are social some are creative, someareethereal. Ihadn't finsihed mylist though.  Iwas also going to name,among other thinngs:

          I want to get to a place of healing,a healed and whole place within myself (emotionally,mentally

          and aphysically healthy place as well, to be and behave as a honorable, honest,open loving human being.

                Of coursethere's more, but the detourpast sexuality (a big detourinmyownlife aswell) has made me lose track of my thoughts. 

                I can't go to all of those places at once.  Some I can do together and some I must do serially if Ilive long enough.  I'd liketo live a longtime, because I ahve so much to do:

          I want to mother Graham and see himgrown

          I want to partner Keith and enjoy his company

          I wantto see myfuturegrandchildren

          I want to writeandpublish books

          I want to do art

          I want to get to a spiritual place where I am spiritually whole and physically, mentally and emotionally healed

                Of course, these are parraellesorredundanciesof where I want to go in asnse (same thing)

                So, then,the next question toask,ifthise werea dream is, what road-blocks and detours am I providing myself?  (and why?)

                (Iwonder if those people checked for poison iny, which is rampant here,beforetheylay down.  What is the right tenseoflay?)

                There are physical, mental emotional and spiritual roadbloack to each of those goal "destiantions."

          an obvious physical roadblockto themove is the house, and themess in the house and the accumulated junk andmyinabilityto deal with it.  There were physcalmentalemotionaland spiritualreasons for the junk's being there in thefirst.  I have serious shortcomings (otherwise known as faults!) in the departmentof organization and "hoarding" (OCD) and concentration and will toward cleaning.  I've never been neat my whole life.  I've been sick for years with seriousasthma, fibromyalgia, sleep apnea, tiredness, insomnia etc.  Myexcess weightaffects the fibromylagia which in turn affects the weight and the twoofthemaffectmyphysicaland emotionalenergy levels.  If I couldeat less (a lot less) maybeI'd lose weight, but I have a genetic component, myparents were both overweight as wasmy paternalgrandmother,my aunt andotherreltives.  Of coursestudies alsoshowthatrape and abuse victims tend to gainweight too.  None of these arean "excuse" inasense, but I seem to have clearlyfailed to getpast them.

          I amnot all thateager to go to Detroit.

          and while Iwant to be withmy husband and so,there are issues there as well, with rape, abuse, and so much of Susan's stuff still in the house.  It doesn't feel like MY house at all.  I don't think to myself, oh, I'm not going to clean because I'mafraid of Keith abusing me or because Susan's retainer and make up is still in the bathroom cupboard.  But it doesn't ENCOURAGE me to bite the bullet either.

                Well, of course I had more to say, but now I am back to the car and need to go home and do some more work.  I think I will take Hawthorne, Pendergast, River Road etc, and I hope I don't meet anymore DETOURS.

                I walked more than 49 minutes (maybe 52?)

                And I didn'tevenmention the bridge repair.

                4:08 PM Home in the driveway

It was a movement, dun and slow and still and quick and jerky

as an injured squirel, an unexplained shape in the grass

and trees beside the river in the October sun too large

and low and smooth to be a deer, and moving oddly so I looked

and quick away because then I knew.  The softly opened legs,

the head between them, the other head lifting toward me

as I turned to suddenly study the river, the way the yellow leaves

swirled, the way the far shore was a wash of yellow reflected

from the trees.  I saw no breasts, no penis, not even a butt, really,

not that I can bring to mind, no vagina visible, no porn, only

that odd-moving head.  Only the dun color, the soft spread legs

and the head rising toward me.  No eyes, but I wonder

as I try to arrange myself around this double intrusion,

if those eyes were like the deer I first imagines, wide and dark

and startled, or like the coyote who paused to look me

in the face, wild and seemingly unafraid, not running,

not walking into the golden woods, waiting instead for me

to move on.  Every separate hair, grey, black, brown, red,

shone in the low orange sun.  There was the coyote, too. 

There were the lovers, disturbed by me, and me, disturbed

by them and that backpack of memories torn open,

 trying to place those images and lovers somewhere in my heart

and failing, and deciding at last to just leave them in that space,

hanging dun and still, jerking like an injured squirrel

among the flaming poison ivy leaves.

 

Mary Stebbins Taitt

0610021st draft

OK,now Iamsupposed to write beyond the poem,to write whythispoemresonates forme. To addmoreimages.   But unbeknownst tome,Isat here in the car morethanhalfan hour writingthat poem.  Time flies when you're in the zone. Another detour fromhosuecleaning,buthosue cleaning is also a detour from my REAL WORK ofwriting poetry.

                Also unbeknownst to me, I had my sunglasses on the whole time, weird, first poem I ever remember writing with my sunglasses on.

                I forgot to turn off the solar when I left. I rememberedthis while Iwasgone. and wasrelieved thatitwasn't unbearably hot when I gotback.

                I got side-tracked, detoured from my rant on Detours, I wanted to do more it, but ran outof timeand steam.  One thingIwnated to add,among others,is that this was NOT a dream, unless reality is a dream. Sometimes,relaity behaves like a dream, which is both scaryand exciting.  Terrifying even.  Of course the calmrationalselfsays the bridgeconstruction and thedetours arejust aCOINCIDENCE andnot the synchronicity they seem to be.

                I've done a lot of blabbing about all this, but not only did I not finish my explorations, I did NOT ask what, if anything, I should DO about all this. Seeing aproblem does NOT, in and of itself, necessarily solve the problem.

                Why are detours a PROBLEM,are they, i fact,  a problem?

                I have a lot to say on this subject,but IMUST getto work!

                6:34  PM

                It'snotjustthe detour, but the detour casing meto to get lost andlose a lot of timefrom thegoal activity.

                This could be a love poem.  It could be a more ambitious poem.  If I had a life.

                Iam at Wegman's.  I'd run out of everything before Ileftfor Dodge, so I wantedto shop.  BUT, DUH, I forgot the check Iwnatedtodeposit in the bank rightnext door.  Another waste of time--I'll haveto come back to cash the check.  Grrrrr.

                Debbie complained of a sorethroatwhen wewere atDodge. now I have a sore throat.  I didn't KISS her!

                :-(

                I've been cleaning in themidbasementandhave "finished" another corner, the NE cornerofthe south half of the midbasement.  By finished, Imean there isprobably nothing leftinthere Iwant.  I threw away a lot,rescued a few things, and otherthan apairofboots Iwant, that's itthere,butthere are still things thatneed to be dealt with and sweeping etc.

               

This could be a love poem.  How often have I wanted

to lie in the bushes with you? Notice the sudden appearance

of a "you," And no, dear anonymous reader, I don'tmean you,

but you, my love, you.  Would you lie in the grasses with me?

would you lie in the poison ivy?  Would you lie beside the trail

and touch me until I quivered?  If someone with acamera came

walking, would you movelike an injured squirell and keep

on trying?

--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary