Kweli and Bam Bam are friends for life.
Author: bripike
Saturday (Winter Farmers Market) Musings
The Ming Dynasty exhibit at the IMA was awesome. We were not allowed to take pictures but we bought a book especially created for the exhibit, which showcased all the items in the collection. They had the exhibit divided into three phases and it was interesting to see the change in color and subject matter as you moved between the different sections.

We went to the Winter Farmers Market this morning and bought some goodies. I was lucky enough to get the last Parmesan baguette. Delicious.
We are watching our neighbor’s dog, Bam Bam, this weekend. Here is a vid (courtesy of RJ’s phone) of Bam.
Friday (Cards and Art) Musings
RJ spent most of Wednesday downloading new software to his blackberry. One of the new functions is a video camera, so he took this short vid of Nimbus purring.
We live about ten minutes from the Indianapolis Museum of Art and we’ve only been once. I consider this a disgrace, especially because general admission is free. It so happens that one of our friends was given two free tickets to an exhibit featuring art from the Ming Dynasty. The exhibit is called Power and Glory: Court Arts of China’s Ming Dynasty. Below are some pictures from the exhibit. I’m looking forward to it.


___________________________________________________________________
It’s all there in black and white: a poet’s pain, her suffering, her emotional distress. Turn the page and find secrecy, shock and disappointment. But don’t expect passionate verse. These are lawsuits, not poems.
Edward Hirsch
I came across this post on The Elegant Variation awhile back when I was working on my blog project for my MFA. I made a note of it in my little red moleskine that I carry around with me and forgot about it. Well today, in true procrastinator style, I flipped through my little red book and was reminded of why I loved the following from Ed Hirsch:
Four Subjects for Poetry
(this is a list from William Matthews that appeared in a 2006 NPR interview with Hirsch)
“1. I went out into the woods today, and it made me feel, you know, sort of religious.
2. We’re not getting any younger.
3. It sure is cold and lonely (a) without you, honey, or (b) with you, honey.
4. Sadness seems but the other side of the coin of happiness, and vice versa, and in any case the coin is too soon spent, and on what we know not what.”
In the same set of notes, I wrote “More than Halfway…lovely!”
More Than Halfway
I’ve turned on lights all over the house,
but nothing can save me from this darkness.
I’ve stepped onto the front porch to see
the stars perforating the milky black clouds
and the moon staring coldly through the trees,
but this negative I’m carrying inside me.
Where is the boy who memorized constellations?
Where is the textbook that so consoled him?
I’m now more than halfway to the grave,
but I’m not half the man I meant to become.
To what fractured deity can I pray?
I’m willing to pay the night with interest,
though the night wants nothing but itself.
What did I mean to say to darkness?
Death is a zero hollowed out of my chest.
God is an absence whispering in the leaves.
Thursday (Winding Down) Musings
This could explain why I always look forward to winter:
____________________________________________________________________
I am slowly but surely making my way back to my stack of unread books. This new job and my thesis have kept me away from recreational reading this fall, but I am bound and determined to read more this spring.
I finished Lee Martin’s River of Heaven about a week and half ago, took a brief respite to decorate my Christmas tree and do laundry, and then began Barbra Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.
I love Barbra Kingsolver. I read Bean Trees when I was a sophomore in high school and read The Posionwood Bible last fall. I think her writing is beautiful and this new nonfiction book is no exception. I’m only about 30 pages in, but I’ve already copied some of the passages down so I won’t forget them. This passage is from the opening of the book:
This story about food begins in a quick-stop convenience market. It was our family’s las day in Arizona, where I’d lived half my life and raised two kids for the whole of theirs. Now we were moving away forever, taking our nostalgic inventory of the things we would never see again: the bush where the roadrunner built a nest and fed lizards to her weird looking babies; the tree Camille crashed into learning to ride her bike; the exact spot where Lily touched a dead snake. Our driveway was kist the first tributary on a memory river sweeping us out.
____________________________________________________________________
These days, poetry readings might seem a strange concept. Why would you give up an evening of watching The Biggest Loser or Dancing with the Stars to listen to someone read what you could easily read, and perhaps more easily understand, on your own?
Technical Note
I’ve been having some trouble with my blog since Tuesday’s post. The links were reverting back to typical blue and purple, which was screwing up my color scheme and not making me a happy camper. After researching the problem on Google, I discovered that cutting and pasting online material from a word document is not a good idea in Blogger.
I just thought I’d pass this on in case anyone else encountered a similar issue.
Wednesday (I look like an elf) Musings
This morning I put on navy slacks, a green turtleneck, and my favorite green shoes. As I was leaving the house, I grabbed a red shrug to bring to school in case I was cold. Only now do I realize that I look like an elf.
Oh well.
___________________________________________________________________
I bought this as a “good job you finished your thesis” present to myself. I think it’s lovely.
I found the seller on etsy.com, which is an awesome crafty website. If you love one of a kind handmade items, you need to check out this site. It is fantastic.__________________________________________________________________
A little while back my daughter told me the following depressing joke:
Woman: What do you do?
Man: Me? Oh, I write books.
Woman: How interesting! Have you sold anything recently?
Man: Why, yes. My couch, my car and my flat-screen television.
Tuesday (When it rains…) Musings
I woke up this morning to go to the gym and it was pouring down rain. This did not help my motivation, which took another blow when my beloved informed me (through barely open lips and closed eyes) that he was not coming. He had not fallen asleep until well after 2 am. He was sleepy. Besides, it was raining. With that final proclamation, he pulled my abandoned pillow over his head and resumed snoring.
Damn.
Anyway. I went. I got wet but at least I went.
___________________________________________________________________
Indy Star Photo
Monday (Woke up at 7:18 am) Musings
Poem of the Week (courtesy of The New Yorker)
Master of Disguises
Surely he walks among us unrecognized:
Some barber, store clerk, delivery man,
Pharmacist, hairdresser, bodybuilder,
Exotic dancer, gem cutter, dog walker,
The blind beggar singing, Oh lord, remember me,
Some window decorator starting a fake fire
In a fake fire place while mother and father watch
From the couch with their frozen smiles
As the street empties and the time comes
For the undertaker and the last waiter to head home.
O homeless old man, standing in a doorway
With your face half hidden,
I wouldn’t even rule out the black cat crossing the street,
The bare light bulb swinging on a wire
In a subway tunnel as the train comes to a stop.
Charles Simic
Have you ever read a poem about a subject that you’ve also written about, but the other poet’s poem is far superior to yours? I like Simic’s poem. A lot. I also wrote a poem about a homeless man, “Changing Lights.” It is one of my newer poems and I included it in my thesis, even though I think it still may need some tweaks. While I’m encouraged by the fact that I can find poems inside these kind of subjects, I am constantly frustrated that my execution isn’t as strong as other writers.
Disclaimer: I am not comparing myself to Charles Simic. He’s brilliant but his poem made me think about my poem, which I think is a compliment.
_____________________________________________________________________
General verdicts to date: it’s an archaic, risible, underpaid job; none of the truly major poets (Heaney, Walcott, Hill, Muldoon, Prynne, etc) will be eligible, or considered, or interested; it should go to a woman; that woman should preferably be an accessible entertainer such as Pam Ayres.
Mark Doty calls for Animal poems.
I never knew this existed:
_____________________________________________________________________
Speaking of animals, this article was in the Indy Star this morning. I’ve been saying the same thing for years, but if your kitty tears up your furniture, buy them a scratching post.
The Humane Society and the American Veterinary Medical Association say declawing a cat should be a last resort, because it causes pain
_____________________________________________________________________

