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!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
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.
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.
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.