Courtesy of my girl D:
"O, I'm walking through icky stuff and I think God is close-by."
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Observation
I wouldn't be surprised to learn that God is a black woman with irritating politics and eyes that could melt the most adamantine heart.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Vigils
Good morning, dear readers!
*
Last night, I thought I would order the film The Broken Tower, in which James Franco plays poet Hart Crane, "on demand." I changed my mind, and read the poetry of Hart Crane instead! I don't regret my decision. "March," "Old Song," and "Atlantis." I will edit this post later to incorporate quotations from one, or from all, of these poems.
From "Old Song":
The burden of the rose will fade
Sped in the spectrum's kiss.
But here the thorn in sharpened shade
Weathers all loneliness.
*
I am trying to write at 3.48 in the morning without the assistance of coffee. We'll see how it goes!
*
Lately I've had something of an unrestrained untamed ungracious id, if I'm using that Freudian term correctly, which surfaces whenever the subject turns to progressive politics. I had a post up here for about 24 hours in which I felt compelled to growl about the Limbaugh/Fluke matter. Why? Beats me. I didn't like the tenor of the post, and found it impossible to "moderate" because the whole point of the post was to bitch about progressivism. So I took it down.
And lately I've wondered whether I should be engaged in public blogging at all, apart from matters pertaining to poetry.
Even Twitter. I deactivated my relatively new Twitter account, because I do tire of the sound of my own virtual "voice" -- even in 140-character snippets! (I have just now reactivated the account. Decisive soul, I am.)
*
Four o'clock, and I'm still writing without coffee. It's going fairly well. I typed "waiting" instead of "writing" at a first go.
*
I voted in yesterday's Republican presidential primary here in Massachusetts. My candidate didn't win.
*
The coffee is now brewing. Isn't coffee wonderful?
*
Today at 3.30 I go in for an MRI on my heel spur and Achilles tendon(s). I've been walking with a slight hitch in my step for about 4 months. Finally they took an X-ray, and discovered the bone spur in the left foot. But both tendons are also troublesome. Sigh.
The weight doesn't help. I am, to paraphrase Monty Python's line about Cardinal Richelieu, nineteen stone of pure man.
*
Watched the Rosary on Boston's CatholicTV at 3 this morning. It was one of the old ones with the late Msgr Frank McFarland (d. 2001), who was immensely lovable.
*
That's all for now, dear friends. Until soon!
*
Last night, I thought I would order the film The Broken Tower, in which James Franco plays poet Hart Crane, "on demand." I changed my mind, and read the poetry of Hart Crane instead! I don't regret my decision. "March," "Old Song," and "Atlantis." I will edit this post later to incorporate quotations from one, or from all, of these poems.
From "Old Song":
The burden of the rose will fade
Sped in the spectrum's kiss.
But here the thorn in sharpened shade
Weathers all loneliness.
*
I am trying to write at 3.48 in the morning without the assistance of coffee. We'll see how it goes!
*
Lately I've had something of an unrestrained untamed ungracious id, if I'm using that Freudian term correctly, which surfaces whenever the subject turns to progressive politics. I had a post up here for about 24 hours in which I felt compelled to growl about the Limbaugh/Fluke matter. Why? Beats me. I didn't like the tenor of the post, and found it impossible to "moderate" because the whole point of the post was to bitch about progressivism. So I took it down.
And lately I've wondered whether I should be engaged in public blogging at all, apart from matters pertaining to poetry.
Even Twitter. I deactivated my relatively new Twitter account, because I do tire of the sound of my own virtual "voice" -- even in 140-character snippets! (I have just now reactivated the account. Decisive soul, I am.)
*
Four o'clock, and I'm still writing without coffee. It's going fairly well. I typed "waiting" instead of "writing" at a first go.
*
I voted in yesterday's Republican presidential primary here in Massachusetts. My candidate didn't win.
*
The coffee is now brewing. Isn't coffee wonderful?
*
Today at 3.30 I go in for an MRI on my heel spur and Achilles tendon(s). I've been walking with a slight hitch in my step for about 4 months. Finally they took an X-ray, and discovered the bone spur in the left foot. But both tendons are also troublesome. Sigh.
The weight doesn't help. I am, to paraphrase Monty Python's line about Cardinal Richelieu, nineteen stone of pure man.
*
Watched the Rosary on Boston's CatholicTV at 3 this morning. It was one of the old ones with the late Msgr Frank McFarland (d. 2001), who was immensely lovable.
*
That's all for now, dear friends. Until soon!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Oh, holy mackerel
I really should be more awake when I blog. I accidentally posted something here a while ago, something that wasn't intended for public consumption! Big time oopsie.
More coffee. That is the remedy.
And who knows -- maybe I'll abridge and revise some of my private obiter dicta, and make them fit for public consumption. Or something like that.
More coffee. Now.
Until soon, mesdames et messieurs!
More coffee. That is the remedy.
And who knows -- maybe I'll abridge and revise some of my private obiter dicta, and make them fit for public consumption. Or something like that.
More coffee. Now.
Until soon, mesdames et messieurs!
Monday, February 13, 2012
Cana
To the wedding, Christ, the human, the divine,
Came with his friends, who drank a lot of wine.
The guests at the feast succeeded in draining
Each jar, each clay-cold tank, quite dry. The wine
Disappeared, imbibed by thirsty carousers
Who you would think had never tasted wine!
Mary of Nazareth, mother of Christ, was there,
Spoke to her son frank words: "They have no wine."
"Woman, what's this to me and thee? My hour
Has not yet come." Those gallons of wine,
Would she have him replace them? If so, how?
Costly to purchase, and hard to make, grape wine.
"Do whatever he tells you," Mary said
To the certainly-bewildered stewards of wine.
The lowly, lordly Christ summoned those servants
Who had been helping to dispense the wine.
"Bring me the jars of water." And they did.
But water, though refreshing, is not wine.
Was it a touch, a blessing, or a breath
That changed what came from a well into fine wine?
Sister water, the modest maiden, blushed:
And soon the water-jars were filled with wine.
The guests of the happy couple marvelled, danced
With newfound joy. Where did he find this wine?
They thanked their God, they thanked his unknown Christ.
"At this late hour, we have the choicest wine."
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Light
Bob of Trousered Ape has produced a very fine, a very serious, a very elegant ghazal. This reader, for one, is abashed by the adroit expertise and poignant grace of this most moving poem.
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