Thursday, September 24, 2009

from NYWC workshop. "what I save" 10 minutes.
I save books and the stories, the poems they contain. I save the images they've given me of storms and disaster of heartbreak and birth of war and the morning light through the mist at dawn. I save the smell of spruce and the way juniper always makes me sneeze, the creak of the leather of a horse's saddle. I save the kick of the horse's hoof and the hardness of the mountain trail where I first fell. I save the terror of my first kiss and the pleasure of my first time. I save the brown, the blue, the green eyes - angry and cold or smiling. I save their shoulders and the rhythm of their hearts beating against my ear in the long stretches between sleep and morning. I save shoes I can no longer wear and running in them on midnight streets. I save handwritten phone numbers, directions, maps and borrowed kisses.  I save all the nights I could not sleep and all the mornings I slept in. The sound of pine needles falling on tent roofs, the smell and warmth of an old flannel sleeping bag. I save the smell of libraries and old books and the sneezes they bring. I save the smell of bookstores (I don't mean the coffee) and the smell of new books. I save papercuts and limes in seltzer, paths to the summit and superhighways. I save all the hours down in the depths of the Canyon and all the hours back up. I save the stars at night big as my hand and the shooting stars in Maine and Vermont.  I save Mars big as a quarter and the rain on the roof of the observatory in Flagstaff. I save their smiles and laughter and the shaper pain when each of them died. I save foreign coins and pennies. I save paperclips and manuscripts. I save water damaged photographs and playbills chewed on by the cat. I save the last time and the first and all the days in between. I save the wail of sirens on 2nd Avenue and the smell and the falling ash. I save the taste of a cold beer after a long hike. I save berries picked from bushes along the trail. I save their sweetness.
(c) 2009
another one from NYWC workshop. "I am from..." 5 minutes.
I am from rain and cold ocean from dark fir and sweet cedar. I am from alps and clear skin. I am from wagons winding westward. I am from houses built from stone and the trees of the forest. I am from bankers and bakers. I am from pirates and impatient women. I am from the first white settlement and rain washed streets. I am from bread and chocolate for lunch. I am from hobnail boots and damask drawing rooms. I am from lace factories and laundries, from board rooms and summit camps. I am from wind and water, from dark stolen earth and hard kept mountains. 
(c) 2009
another one from NYWC workshop: "whisper" 10 minutes.
robert rarely spoke above a whisper. he had heard too many loud noises in his life to want to add anything to the general blare. besides, everything worth saying had already been said and put down in books. he wasn't the kind of man who thought his opinions so important that others needed to hear them and he didn't much like having conversations anyway. he'd worked all his life in a factory making radios - he was in quality control and he'd learned to love nothing better than silence. the soft hiss of eggs frying at breakfast. the soft hiss of the radio when it went off the air. the soft hiss of rain against hot pavement. the soft hiss of a whisper, of words of voices barely raised barely speaking barely being heard. 
(c) 2009 
another long weird day after a batch of those this month. Things I've done since last I posted: climbed to the Crown of the Statue of Liberty (talk about confronting my vertigo), visited the "Dutch village" (a/k/a place for Dutch people to hawk their wares) at Bowling Green & got hit on by some guy dressed up as Rembrandt, went to an engagement party in Brighton Beach - 1 hr on the subway each way/no food to eat/no beer/but a friend I've known forever was hosting so...saw some highly motivated Russians dancing, went to a party in Elmhurst & had really odd food/watched you tube on a big screen tv & tried to figure out why people like hookahs & how they live with no a.c., then somewhere in there? went to see Jude Law in Hamlet. stunning. went to see "9" which was much less than stunning. somewhere in there I also read at the Whitman "song of myself" marathon reading on the foredeck of the Peking at South Street Seaport. had a fabulous dinner with the always good company MES @ the Usq Rosa Mexicano - why get anything there other than the guacamole? I successfully missed the brooklyn book festival and managed to see Nick Cave's reading at B&N Usq (thanks to JH for the prime seat). also dutifully attended the launch party for the new issue of NYU's journal Anamesa. A launch party with no readings...hmmm...and then, to cap off the glorious weirdness of the past few weeks: went to Ren Faire at Sterling Forest near Tuxedo, NY.  Went last year & it was fun but this year, the weather was glorious, the entertainment was just the right tone, the jousting was FABULOUS and I really didn't want it to ever end. tonight I went to the lamest reading ever perhaps - Craig Ferguson at (again) B&N Usq. He spoke for about 5 mins and then proceeded to answer questions. ridiculous sychophantic questions. He's a comic genius, of course. But what a terrible way to run a reading.  coming up: Aida @ the Met. Medieval Fest @ Fort Tryon. All's Well that End's Well "live" in HD from the NT, London. LOTR @ Radio City with live orchestral accompaniment. not to mention all those movies & other things.  must get some sleep at some point too.