I have been moved to blog for several days now but have not put anything on paper. I make notes on ideas and images that seem to have a poem in them. I will say to myself "There is a poem here." I came across some scribblings to that effect in a note book I keep for that purpose - a place to put the random stuff that shows up. Here is what is bubbling in the stew pot.
On Poetry
How is it that most modern poetry has freed itself from form?
Prose displays itself in patterns. It comes to us wearing the clothes of poetry.
Where is rhyme, music, rhythm?
What to do with this?
It is not about a poem per se but is more a curiosity about how poetry has changed.
What comes up is how much I like change. At first I find I am missing what used to be but I quickly move into the excitement over possibilities - what is yet to come.
And all the while reminding myself that there is really nothing outside this very moment.
Stuff coming up about illusion.
Pretending
You sit on the bank
and watch the swimmers
in the river.
"Come in, they cry to you
but you just watch in silence.
"Just put your toe in!" one demands.
Still you don't move.
You want them to pretend with you
that you are swimming too.
"See me splashing", you say.
Look at how I can kick."
But now they have gone
downstream.
Soon-
out of sight.
You sit there on the bank
waiting for more swimmers
to appear.
To help you keep
pretending.
Perhaps a poem is here in what follows-
The rain is painting my adobe wall
with a tentative brush -
Faint lines appear
sliding hesitantly towards
the garden below.
Is it holding back the storm
or simply waiting for it?
Another attempt at the poem about Martha
realizing how the desert is church.
Martha in the Desert.
Beneath a pale early moon
like a pain dimmed soul
She is
walking, walking, walking.
Ravaged by the pain,
Savaged by loneliness,
raging at God.
Spirit out ahead in a
ceaseless wind.
Calling, calling-
"Follow me."
Can't stop for the
purple lupin stain,
the amber gold sunset,
can't stop to feel the
wind
or the wink of
the first star.
Can't stop.,
Can't stop.
Follow.
follow,
follow.
Being with the pain.
Being the pain.
Driven by the pain.
Running from the pain.
Moving,
moving,
moving.
Enjoying this quiet grey Saturday afternoon. I am TIVOing golf to watch later. I don't like to watch every stroke so when I TIVO I can then pick and choose what I want to see.
Just finished five days back on my eating and exercise program. Will relax over the weekend and eat a bit more and then back at it on Monday. I am very close to the 140's which I have not seen in 20 years. Jen and Phil are my inspiration. He has lost 15 pounds and is doing an intense exercise program and she is absolutely amazing!
I watched the ladies medal skate last night and was very moved by their various stories. I have not been that caught up in the Olympics this time around. I think you have to watch almost everything to get to know the athletes and their sport. Just dipping in here and there does not do it for me. And I have other shows that have priority so don't have the time, or don't choose to spend my time watching hours and hours of Olympics.
I bought Bookworm Adventures and am having great fun with it. It offers a variety of games. I like the word games the best and although I have never liked the pressure of timed games I am playing them and getting better at thinking under pressure.
I have found a sports medicine doctor and will make an appointment for some time in April. His name is Michael Lee. He is the doctor for the Diamondbacks and the AZ Cardinals. He is also a Brophy grad and is the volunteer sports doctor for Brophy teams. I imagine Mike knows him or of him.
I have ordered some new books. I have been without a read for a couple of weeks. I am trying to economize in all areas of my budget. I mean to investigate the book swap that Mary does online but have not as yet done that. I do love owning books. I have my library pretty well organized but have more work to do on it. And I need to cull books out that I don't care to own and donate them to the visiting nurses sale.
Will finish up today with another poem of mine - one of the ones I consider finished.
Rainbow: Here and Not Here
Dylan, Martha's finch,
a bright, feathered rainbow,
has been my house guest
now a week.
Lighting up my winter
darkened dining room
with his cheery presence.
While greeting him this morning
I spied another rainbow
nestled in a corner of the fireplace.
Just a piece, it was, mostly purple
with a splash of blue and green,
tucked there for a moment
while the sun stopped to visit with
a crystal hanging in my window.
Its' visit, transient, like Dylan's
not to be grasped or clung to
Like all our life, a temporary gift,
now here, and then not here.
Love you all,
Jeannie
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Extemporaneous
I had no idea that I knew how to spell that word! And I have no idea what I am going to say in this post. I got up much earlier than usual this morning. At seven instead of eight or nine. It has given me such a nice work day and I have done a lot of different things. I meditated, had a nice breakfast, read one of Adya's poems from My Secret is Silence, read some news, played Farmville and one of my Bookworm Adventure games. For those who enjoyed Bookworm this new version is a lot of fun. I did some dead heading and pruning in my garden. It is time to cut the roses way back - a prickly job at best.
Phil came at eight - my reason for getting up early. We have been organizing the garage and are almost finished. What a difference. I have lots of cupboards and we have been able to put things out of sight that were lying about on the floor in a clutter. And organizing always means I can now retrieve things -no point in having them if you can't find them. He has put up on the walls a series of boards with hooks so that all of our tools are hanging in plain sight - no more trying to pull the hoe out from behind seven other tools.
He is also working on elevating the garden area behind the waterfall so that we can plant things that will spill down over the boulders. And he has put soil in between boulders and we have plants peeking out and spilling down as in a rock garden. In the same area we have the new arbor and will be planting a wisteria come Spring and some other vine that does not require a lot of sun as the area is on the shady side.
I have managed forty minutes on my bike so far today - again a benefit of getting up earlier. And I watched a half hour of the Pebble Beach golf. My favorite golfer as most of you know is Phil Mickelson. So far in two tournaments he has not played his best golf - coming in nineteenth and forty fifth. And today he is not on the front page of the leader board which does not bode well. He plays his best golf on the golf courses of the west. So far not so good.
I will be going out late today with Christy. Our plan is to go over to Remington's and have appetizers and a drink for dinner while listening to music in the lounge. I am hoping I can prop my leg up somewhere as I cannot at present sit with my knee bent. No bar stool for me for sure.
Amy and Connor and I had a fun Sunday watching the SuperBowl. She made some pigs in a blanket - delicious crust, and some delicious hamburg sliders. We had cookies and Cracker Jacks for dessert.
Connor had become enchanted with the novella Flatland written in the 1800's. It is a social satire of Victorian mores, especially on the status of women and on the British class system. But more importantly it introduces the idea of other dimensions than those that we know. He had printed it up off the internet and had me take it home to read. I did this in the next two evenings and then as is my wont I looked it up on the internet. Turns out there are at least six sequels. I had suggested to him that since he was so excited about it he try writing a third chapter (the book has two chapters). He wasn't sure he wanted to tackle that. And there are films as well and a reading list of books dealing with the idea of other dimensions. Exciting for me was how this all dove-tailed with Adya's teachings which can be seen as being about the fourth dimension. i read an interesting paper on just that. -
Lis had touted a mystery writer who would be new to me for some time. She finally gave me two of his books for my birthday. The writer is James Lee Burke and he is the finest mystery writer i have read - right up there with P.D. James but for entirely different reasons. He is the Michael Ondaatje of mystery writers in that he is fundamentally a poet. His descriptions of place are exquisitely done. After reading the first two books I bought two more and am delighted that he is very prolificic and I have many reading treats ahead.
I will leave you today with a poem - one of mine-
THE WOUND
Is there a woman without the Wound?
That never mattering enough
to father,
to husband.
to lover.
Shrinking daily from the blows
of not good enough.
Yearning for tenderness,
for touch,
for cherishment.
Learning as the years go by
to hug the pain close
as an old, worn coat,
more familiar than joy.
Love you all,
Jeannie
Phil came at eight - my reason for getting up early. We have been organizing the garage and are almost finished. What a difference. I have lots of cupboards and we have been able to put things out of sight that were lying about on the floor in a clutter. And organizing always means I can now retrieve things -no point in having them if you can't find them. He has put up on the walls a series of boards with hooks so that all of our tools are hanging in plain sight - no more trying to pull the hoe out from behind seven other tools.
He is also working on elevating the garden area behind the waterfall so that we can plant things that will spill down over the boulders. And he has put soil in between boulders and we have plants peeking out and spilling down as in a rock garden. In the same area we have the new arbor and will be planting a wisteria come Spring and some other vine that does not require a lot of sun as the area is on the shady side.
I have managed forty minutes on my bike so far today - again a benefit of getting up earlier. And I watched a half hour of the Pebble Beach golf. My favorite golfer as most of you know is Phil Mickelson. So far in two tournaments he has not played his best golf - coming in nineteenth and forty fifth. And today he is not on the front page of the leader board which does not bode well. He plays his best golf on the golf courses of the west. So far not so good.
I will be going out late today with Christy. Our plan is to go over to Remington's and have appetizers and a drink for dinner while listening to music in the lounge. I am hoping I can prop my leg up somewhere as I cannot at present sit with my knee bent. No bar stool for me for sure.
Amy and Connor and I had a fun Sunday watching the SuperBowl. She made some pigs in a blanket - delicious crust, and some delicious hamburg sliders. We had cookies and Cracker Jacks for dessert.
Connor had become enchanted with the novella Flatland written in the 1800's. It is a social satire of Victorian mores, especially on the status of women and on the British class system. But more importantly it introduces the idea of other dimensions than those that we know. He had printed it up off the internet and had me take it home to read. I did this in the next two evenings and then as is my wont I looked it up on the internet. Turns out there are at least six sequels. I had suggested to him that since he was so excited about it he try writing a third chapter (the book has two chapters). He wasn't sure he wanted to tackle that. And there are films as well and a reading list of books dealing with the idea of other dimensions. Exciting for me was how this all dove-tailed with Adya's teachings which can be seen as being about the fourth dimension. i read an interesting paper on just that. -
Lis had touted a mystery writer who would be new to me for some time. She finally gave me two of his books for my birthday. The writer is James Lee Burke and he is the finest mystery writer i have read - right up there with P.D. James but for entirely different reasons. He is the Michael Ondaatje of mystery writers in that he is fundamentally a poet. His descriptions of place are exquisitely done. After reading the first two books I bought two more and am delighted that he is very prolificic and I have many reading treats ahead.
I will leave you today with a poem - one of mine-
THE WOUND
Is there a woman without the Wound?
That never mattering enough
to father,
to husband.
to lover.
Shrinking daily from the blows
of not good enough.
Yearning for tenderness,
for touch,
for cherishment.
Learning as the years go by
to hug the pain close
as an old, worn coat,
more familiar than joy.
Love you all,
Jeannie
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