April is National Poetry Month

He said:


I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with a rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.


Billy Collins




She said:


Say my love is easy had,
Say I'm bitten raw with pride,
Say I am too often sad --
Still behold me at your side.

Say I'm neither brave nor young,
Say I woo and coddle care,
Say the devil touched my tongue --
Still you have my heart to wear.

But say my verses do not scan,
And I get me another man!


Dorothy Parker

I Am NOT a Painter

There is a commercial on HGTV that shows a woman standing in front of an gushing toilet while a voiceover says "I am not a plumber". Then there is a man standing under a tilting, spark-shooting ceiling fan while the voice says "I am not an electrician". The last little scenerio is a man lying head downward on a porch roof, limbs akimbo, next to an over-turned paint can, his head in a pool of paint. The voice says "I...am...not.......a painter". I love it! And this week I kept repeating it to myself as I attempted to paint our bathroom.

How hard can it be to paint a room that is only about 5' by 8', of which half is taken up by a shower stall? Pretty darn hard, as it turns out. First I scraped, sanded, primed and painted the ceiling. Do you have any idea how hard it is to negotiate a long-handled paint roller in a space that small? All the while, I'm trying not to get drips on the shower, toilet, sink and floor. Then I remove the towel bars, toilet paper holder, medicine chest and cabinet. This leads to several rather large holes in the walls that have to be patched, sanded, patched again, sanded again, and primed. I remove the door handle and prime the back of the door.

By this time, I have paint all over myself, including in my hair. I get all the paint gear out of the bathroom, strip and take a shower. At this point I discover that once you close a door without the handle in place, the door locks and won't open. So there I am, stark naked, in a stark naked bathroom. I have toilet paper, a box of Q-tips, and a towel to entertain myself until my husband gets home from work an hour and a half later. You can't pick a lock with a Q-tip. Let me say that. My husband was able to get the door open even while laughing his ass off.

Today I removed the light fixture, and put two coats of cream colored paint on the walls. I also put several coats of paint on my body, my jeans, and my feet. Tomorrow I'll paint the trim and put another coat of paint on the ceiling. I'll also clean the paint off the bedroom rug.

I finally found a medicine chest to fit the hole in the wall, and I've ordered towel bars and a new toilet paper holder. When everything is finally done, it's going to look great! 

Maybe I am a painter after all.

The shower incident reminded me of this poem:

Dorothy Parker

Portrait of the Artist

Oh lead me to a quiet cell
Where never footfall rambles
And bar the window passing well
And gyve my wrists and ankles
Oh wrap my eyes with linen fair
With hempen card go bind me
And, of your mercy, leave me there
Nor tell them where to find me
Oh, lock the portal as you go
And see its bolts be double…
Come back in half an hour or so
And I will be in trouble.

It Snowed Today

Snow

Yes it can!


Now you know what they say about snowflakes
How there ain't no two the same
Well, all them flakes look alike to me
Every one is a dirty shame


My ears are cold my feet are cold
Bermuda stays on my mind
And I'm here to say that if winter comes
Then spring is a ways behind




Jesse Winchester

I Am So Bad

I got a new computer this weekend - a Sony Vaio K45 laptop, in case you're interested. My old Sony laptop seemed to be dying. Every time I logged on it wanted to check my "C" drive for about 10 minutes. I'm not sure what it was checking for, but at one point it gave me a message to promptly remove any programs I had recently installed, and never be so rude as to add programs again, or something like that. Some times the computer just apologized, and shut itself down.

My husband had recently installed a program that allowed him to completely back up my hard drive. He said, "Wow, I backed up your hard drive just in time!" I said, "It was your stupid program that messed up my computer!" So he removed the program, and the computer was still pouting, and I decided to get a new one.

Once the new computer was out of the box, my husband turned on the old machine, and it seems to be working much better. It's not right, though. There is still the occasional blue screen of death, but it did allow me to download my files, including my outlook address book and other vital information, and transfer them to my new computer. My husband has this magic aura that makes computers behave better when he's around. He could make a living with it, I'm sure.

My new computer is beautiful It has 3 USB ports instead of only one, and it has a wide screen. I didn't think I'd care about the screen width, but it does make it easier to be in two programs at once and still see both of them.

I have finally transferred everything I wanted, installed a new Photoshop Elements program, registered on-line (just to be sure I get lots of junk mail), and sent in for my rebates. The salesman at MicroCenter was so proud of his rebates. He thinks I bought this model computer because he offered me good rebates. Actually, I bought this model because the USB ports were on the correct side to allow me to plug in my printer without rearranging my office. Men are so clueless sometimes about what women really want.

I finally finished printing out all my poetry collection. If the end of the world comes and the power goes out, I will still be able to read and enjoy my favorite poems.

Here is one that is not really related to anything, but I love it. Where else have you ever seen the word "alnage"?

E. A. Robinson
The Clerks

I did not think that I should find them there
When I came back again; but there they stood,
As in the days they dreamed of when young blood
Was in their cheeks and women called them fair.
Be sure they met me with an ancient air, --
And yes, there was a shop worn brotherhood
About them; but the men were just as good,
And just as human as they ever were.

And you that ache so much to be sublime,
And you that feed yourselves with your descent,
What comes of all your visions and your fears?
Poets and kings are but the clerks of Time,
Tiering the same dull webs of discontent,
Clipping the same sad alnage of the years.

Earthsea

I finished the Earthsea books this week, and I liked them.
I liked that Tenar and Ged got old.
I liked that they didn't have sex the first time they saw each other, but only after they were both older and wiser.
I liked that Ged lost his magic, but got over it, and proved to be strong and courageous without it.
I liked that Tenar went from being a high priestess to marrying a farmer and having a couple of kids (one of whom disappointed her) to being a widow, and finding love at last with Ged.
I liked that the shadow Ged let lose was really the dark side of his own nature, the jealousy and arrogance, and he was only able to control it after he recognized it, and that made him a better person.
I liked that Tenar saved the little girl who became the Archmage, even though they'd never had a woman Archmage before.
I liked the idea that if you never have to die, you never really live.
I liked that living isn't always magic. Sometimes it's just herding goats.

Ursula K. Le Guin is about so much more than good vs. evil. I'm glad I didn't see the miniseries before I read the books.

Of course, I was reminded of a poem or two:



Tess Gallagher
I Stop Writing the Poem

to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.




Wendy Cope
Being Boring
“May you live in interesting times.”
--Chinese curse

If you ask me “What’s new?”, I have nothing to say
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it’s better today.
I’m content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is.
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.

There was drama enough in my turbulent past;
Tears and passion – I’ve used up a tankful.
No news is good news, and long may it last,
If nothing much happens, I’m thankful.
A happier cabbage you never did see,
My vegetable spirits are soaring.
If you’re after excitement, steer well clear of me.
I want to go on being boring.

I don’t go to parties. Well, what are they for,
If you don’t need to find a new lover?
You drink and you listen and drink a bit more
And you take the next day to recover.
Someone to stay home with was all my desire
And, now that I’ve found a safe mooring,
I’ve just one ambition in life: I aspire
To go on and on being boring.