
Last tree shot is here. Part 10 was a moon shot, an added bonus.
This being the tail end of National Poetry Month, I thought it apropos to post it. It's hard to read, but let me transcribe the best I can. [ ] marks words I can't quite decipher:
+++++++++++++Cold blew through my hair
ah
what a sight !
Knees quiver as I shiver
what a sight!
It's [ ] [ ]time
[ ] the bells chime
The [ ] [ ] & [ ]
so let the bells chime
I had no problem.
'Cause they were
all word problem.
A 97, A 97 I got a 97
Oh my oh my I've
gone to heaven.
This is folded on 3 x 5 index card. Someone must have done well on a test. Comments and guesses at the missing words are welcome.
Watermelons
by Charles Simic
Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.
from Watch Repair
by Charles Simic
A small wheel
Incandescent,
Shivering like
A pinned butterfly.
Hands
Pointing in all directions:
The crossroads
One enters
In a nightmare.
Higher than anyone
Number 12 presides
Like a beekeeper
Over the swarming honeycomb
Of the open watch.
"Watch Repair" (excerpt) from Return to a Place Lit By a Glass of Milk by Charles Simic. Copyright © 1974
Dana, a modern black woman, is celebrating her twenty-sixth birthday with her new husband when she is snatched abruptly from her home in California and transported to the antebellum South. Rufus, the white son of a plantation owner, is drowning, and Dana has been summoned to save him. Dana is drawn back again and again for Rufus, yet each time the stay grows longer and more dangerous until it is uncertain whether or not Dana's life will end, long before it has even begun.
Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2 |
"Sky falls, you feel like It's a beautiful day Don't let it get away" You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments. And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too. |
The Yankees won 7-1 and Shayna and Jolee experienced their first game in "The House that Ruth Built." Well, Jolee sat in the bleachers for a Tigers-Yankees game in 1997, but she doesn't remember much before her 1st birthday.
In an unrelated matter, I heard this gem today:
Hernandez questions presence of female trainer in Padres dugout
SAN DIEGO -- Mets broadcaster Keith Hernandez's comment that women "don't belong in the dugout" drew criticism Sunday from Padres manager Bruce Bochy, who supported the female member of his training staff and said he was surprised her gender even came up.
Hernandez made the remarks during the second inning of New York's 8-1 victory in San Diego on Saturday night. Mike Piazza homered for the Padres and exchanged a high-five in the dugout with 33-year-old Kelly Calabrese, the Padres' massage therapist.
"Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair?" Hernandez said. "What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout."
Hernandez found out later in the broadcast that Calabrese was with the Padres training staff.
"I won't say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout," Hernandez said.Hernandez, a former Mets first baseman, then laughed and said: "You know I am only teasing. I love you gals out there -- always have."
Bochy said before San Diego's 7-4 win over New York on Sunday that he did not hear first-hand what Hernandez said but was told about it -- and was not amused.
"Kelly is a part of this ballclub," Bochy said. "She's a part of the training staff. I don't know the actual comments, I just heard about it, but she's been here for a while and played a major role with this club in getting guys ready to play a ballgame."
"I didn't think gender was even an issue anymore," Bochy said.
Calabrese said she was flabbergasted by Hernandez's comments. "It amazes me that somebody of that caliber that has obviously played the game before and is in front of an audience of millions of people would say something like that," she said of Hernandez, a former Mets player. "It's a little shocking but you know what, it happens.
"He not only discredited me as a person, but he discredited women," she said.
Calabrese then walked down the hallway to the Padres training room and joked, "Should I go in the kitchen now?"
Hernandez had no comment after the game but said during the second inning of the broadcast Sunday that he was sorry if he offended anyone.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Nice job, Keith!
"Get me out of this air-conditioned nightmare
Rots your brain just like a catchy tune
You will hate life more than life hates you
Happiness is your illness in an air-conditioned nightmare"
Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
Damned universal cock, as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos
You Are Midnight |
You are more than a little eccentric, and you're apt to keep very unusual habits. Whether you're a nightowl, living in a commune, or taking a vow of silence - you like to experiment with your lifestyle. Expressing your individuality is important to you, and you often lie awake in bed thinking about the world and your place in it. You enjoy staying home, but that doesn't mean you're a hermit. You also appreciate quality time with family and close friends. |
Previous tree posts are here (earlier this month) and here the Fall-Winter cycle.
Sadly, a neighbor's tree on the sidewalk, two doors down, disappeared yesterday. Last week we saw few sheets of bark come off of it, almost as if it were shedding a skin. Apparently, that indicated to the Parks Department, or some city organization that the tree was ill. And so it goes. This is all that's left:
Along with Jack Kemp and Terry Gilliam, Occidental College's most famous alumnus is probably the great poet Robinson Jeffers.
It is a great regret in my life that I did not come to fully appreciate Jeffers until after I left Oxy, and during the college's centennial year, in 1987, when Jeffers was celebrated with literary events and readings, I was distracted by literally being a sophomore (from wikipedia: "the word is said to mean "wise fool"; consequently sophomoric means "pretentious, bombastic, inflated in style or manner; immature, crude, superficial" (according to the Oxford English Dictionary)."
Let's just say I was heavy on the fool, and light on the wise, but oh what fun!
Suprise! I digressed. The point is, I was late in coming to love Jeffers, and if there was any doubt in mind, the following poem, one of my favorites, clinched it for me:
Cremation
It nearly cancels my fear of death, my dearest said,
When I think of cremation. To rot in the earth
Is a loathsome end, but to roar up in flame—besides, I am used to it,
I have flamed with love or fury so often in my life,
No wonder my body is tired, no wonder it is dying.
We had a great joy of my body. Scatter the ashes.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I found this poem first in a wonderful anthology edited by Czeslaw Milosz entitled A Book of Luminous Things. Click the title to get it from Amazon.com. If you're going to buy one poetry anthology this National Poetry Month, this is a great one to have.
What's so wonderful about this poem by Jeffers is how beautiful it is, in the face of death. It is a celebratory poem, of a life well-lived, and a fully-satisfied soul. And the economy of language is astounding; there is not a word wasted. My poems tend to run longer than they should. This poem is a perfect example of how so much can be said in so little space. The marriage of love and death in the language is exquisite.
Jeffers' wife Una, was the inspiration for this poem. She succumbed to cancer in 1950, a dozen years before Jeffers died in 1962. His ashes were scattered at his home, Tor House, in Carmel.
By "album" I mean an original collection by an artist released in record or CD form.
My list will follow the same guidelines as my book list. Only one spot per artist. You can relax, there won't be more than one Pearl Jam CD, if any at all. Emphasis will be given to albums that were integral to my development and growth, so expect to see some fine metal bands from the 1980s represented.
The list is not complete yet, but will be by the time the list begins meandering through the annals of BillyBlog.
Meanwhile, look for my top 20 Books to appear soon on the sidebar.
On a digression, tonight begins Passover, and I hereby honor the greatest rock song ever written about the important holiday, Metallica's "Creeping Death" from the Ride the Lightning LP.
Metallica's guitarist, Kirk Hammett, was key in composing the song, and as a result of that and a photo I once saw of him wearing a Hebrew Coca-Cola shirt, I always thought he was Jewish. Apparently, I was wrong. Kirk is Buddhist, and the song was written originally when Kirk was with his band Exodus (nice coincidence). It was inspired by the movie
"The Ten Commandments." You can learn all about the song here at Encyclopedia Metallica.
Happy Passover!
Me: Never heard of it.
She: Well, you have to read it. It's an amazing book.
Me: OK
She: No, you don't understand. It's brilliant. By far his best.
Me: (Incredulously) Not better than Garp.
(Somewhere I remember Tino agreeing with me. Garp is classic. It can't be better than Garp.)She: Better.
Me: No. I don't believe it. Now I don't want to read it.
She: What?
Me: I hate when people tell you something is the best ever. You go in with super high expectations and then you are disappointed.
Then, she said something that I have often repeated, almost verbatim, when I talk about Owen Meany.
She: No. Better than Garp. I guarantee it.
Me: Whaddaya mean, guarantee it?
She: Trust me. I was just like you when someone told me to read Owen Meany. I couldn't believe it could be that good. I started it as a skeptic. And I won't lie to you, the first 75-100 pages are nothing special, just your basic novel stuff. Then wham! It takes off. It's unbelievable. It keeps building and building and takes you to the very last page. And then it's over. And I was, like, depressed, yet exhilarated. Depressed because it was over. Exhilirated because it was the best book I've ever read.
Me: Really?
She: I hate it when people hype things up: a book, a movie, whatever. But this is the exception to the rule. It will not disappoint. Read it.
Me: I will.
I said I would, but I was still skeptical. But we had planned to go to dinner a week later and I wanted to show I was open-minded. And you know what, dear readers? She was dead on right. The date may have ended in failed expectations, but A Prayer for Owen Meany rocked. I finished it in a few days. She was right, the first sixty, seventy pages were just okay and I said to myself, "Aha! See, she overhyped this!" And then I remembered, she said it would be this way, and then I hit that 100th page, and the world changed, all the way to the last page, and then silence.
She was right. Owen Meany was the best book I had ever read. And whenever I talk to people about books, the book inevitably comes up, and I give them the same speech I received in L.A. in 1992, and they are skeptical, but they all agree in the end. With one exception, someone who worked for me several years ago hated it. She didn't finish it. She just couldn't get into it, she said. I was horrified at the time, but when we had to fire her, I forgave the exception.
"In April 2003 the BBC's Big Read began the search for the nation's best-loved novel, and [they] asked [readers] to nominate [their] favourite books." Owen was #28 (see the complete list here).
Cintra Wilson, on salon.com, says the following: it was "the first book ever to make me cry." She continues:
Owen Meany is simply a great and luminous character, a man whom you wish you knew and hung out with, and the novel is driven by the merits of his palpable soul. This is a book about the interconnectedness of things and the importance of seemingly meaningless details and the yielding nature of true friendship, and how everything plays a part in recognizing a larger force and ultimate plan. There are always pitfalls and disasters, but these too play a part in the eventual logic of events. I think this is what all people want from faith -- a feeling that the seemingly senseless indignities of life ultimately serve the higher purpose of educating the soul. Like life, nothing in this book makes any particular sense until later in the book when it all falls gracefully together into a whole that means more than the sum of its parts.
"Owen Meany" is John Irving's heroic stab at connecting all of the metaphysical dots.
"Like Garp it is unnecessarily prolix and self-interrupting, but where Garp rambled to no purpose A Prayer For Owen Meany is rather too perfectly constructed. It is a book for people who want life to be explicable, who can't bear loose ends." - Stephen Games, The Guardian
"My advice is to run while you can." - Peter S. Prescott, Newsweek
"(T)he thinking behind it all seems juvenile, preppy, is much too pleased with itself." - Alfred Kazin, The New York Times Book Review
Of course, book critics are idiots, unless you happen to agree with them. Then they're brilliant. But in this case, they're wrong, so I wave rotten vegetables at them.
And maybe my emotional response to the book is based less on the quality of the book, and more on what was going on in my life when I read the book. Sure, anyone can say that about any book they've read at an emotional time in their lives. Anyone who's read Peter Høeg's Smila's Sense of Snow may recall the stark desolation of Høeg's prose, which was compounded for me by my reading it on my way back to L.A. from New York, at the beginning of a two and a half month separation from my wife and infant daughter.I can only tell you what I know. If you like John Irving, you should love A Prayer for Owen Meany. If you don't like the author, then you may not like it as much. But I still stand by this being my favorite book. If you don't agree with me, well, obviously there's something terribly wrong with you. But seriously, the book is amazing.