BLOG POSTS
Friday (walking) Musings
This is the second Friday that I’ve gotten up early and gone for a walk on the Monon (a trail here in Indy). I don’t know why I didn’t start doing this earlier in the summer, because it is really good for my head. I feel better and it gives me a chance to get out and commune with nature. I like morning the best out of all the times in the day. There is always a strong sense of renewal.
___________________________________________________________________
“And I believe that poetry is an action, ephemeral or solemn. in which there enter as equal partners solitude and solidarity, emotion and action, the nearness to oneself, the nearness to mankind and to the secret manifestations of nature.”
Pablo Neruda
________________________________________________________________

I heard this story on NPR this morning on the way home from my walk and I almost started weeping in my car. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a bit of an emotional basket case, but there is something about hearing a grown man on the verge of tears:
Thursday (gray and rainy=good grading weather) Musings
I don’t mind rainy days. I find them relaxing and let’s face it, if I have to be stuck in my office (which has no windows) grading end of the semester essays, I’d rather it be gloomy outdoors.
___________________________________________________________________
Those Who Love
Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Francesca, Guinevere,
Deidre, Iseult, Heloise,
In fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile, inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride,
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.
Sara Teasdale
Monday (last week) Musings
This weekend was marked by a massage party, house hunting, and Harry Potter. The first sounds illicit but it wasn’t. A friend of mine organized brunch a three masseuses to come to her home and offer their services. It was a great way to begin my day.
House hunting was more productive this trip out and RJ took some video on his flip. I will be posting some of the video later tonight when I get home. We saw some great places and I’m feeling optimistic about the entire process.
Harry Potter was fun, as always. I’m glad we did not venture to the midnight showing this time. I like enthusiasm but I also like quiet, dark theaters. Watching the Half Blood Prince did prompt me to go home and pick up The Deathly Hallows which swallowed up most of my Sunday. But hey, it was raining.
In literary news:
In other news:
Today marks the 40th anniversary of Neil Armstrong taking those historic first steps on the surface of the moon. On my way to school this morning, I was listening to an interview with Buzz Aldrin on NPR. He was talking about mostly the personal demons he faced after his trip to the moon, and the commentator said something that stuck with me, “So it was easier to map out complex missions into space then to map out one human life?”
I think there could be a poem there…
__________________________________________
Thursday (Tyger, Tyger burning bright…) Musings
I’ve fallen behind in my New Yorkers. Again. There are days when I think I should just cancel my subscription but then I read a piece of fiction like The Tiger’s Wife, and I change my mind.
Occasionally I get down on myself for not reading enough. More often than not I get down on my self for not reading enough prose. I love to read but I find that if I take a break from it for a few weeks, I love it even more when I return to it. As you can probably guess, with the summer semester coming quickly to an end, I’ve begun to delve into back issues of magazines, poetry journals, and books that have been piling up in a steady stack since the beginning of June. Today, while my afternoon class works on journals and essay revisions, I work on reading.
The Tiger’s Wife, by Tea Obreht appeared in the Summer Fiction issue of The New Yorker and it is one gorgeous piece of writing from start to finish. It’s a story that builds itself around folklore and while it is gruesomely beautiful throughout, I think what is most impressive about the story is how much movement Obreht maintains over a short story. We travel with the tiger and as we travel, a complex narrative begins to unravel. I like the mysteriousness of this piece and the supernatural element. It reminds me of The Decemberists album The Crane Wife. This album incidentally is also built around folklore.
The way that The Tiger’s Wife weaves a folk story into the larger conflict of war is also very impressive. For instance, in the opening of the piece when the tiger is still trapped in the citadel, the description is starkly genuine “The tiger did not know that they were bombs. He did not know anything beyond the hiss and screech of fighter plans passing overhead and the missiles falling, the bears bellowing in another part of the fortress , and the sudden silence of the birds.” Then later, ” When a stray bomb hit the south wall of the citadel, sending up clouds of smoke and ash, and shattering bits of rubble into his skin, his heart should have stopped. The toxic iridescent air; the feeling of his fur folding back like paper in the heat…”
The transformation of the tiger into something mythic is slow in this story but vital, because in the end he vanishes and we accept that with no questions asked. Because of this war, he has morphed into legend. Into something beautiful.
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire in thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art?
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand, and what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb, make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake
Wednesday (two blog posts in a row!) Musings
As the summer semester begins to wind down, I’ve decided to make a few resolutions. I will get back to blogging. I will also get back to exercising, which I’ve been doing fairly regularly but fell into a brief lapse last week. I’ve decided that since I quit the gym and started working out at home, I’m going to go back to sweating in the morning. It’s easier and let’s face it, I am not a late afternoon person. This is why I teach in the morning.
_____________________________________________________________________________
From “Dream”
There used to books of dream:
every dream had a symbolic meaning.
And the old Chinese believed
that dreams implied their reversal:
a dream of travel meant you’d stay at home,
a dream of death meant longer life.
Yes, yes! Surely my beloved in my dream
was saying she loved only me.
The coolness in your eyes, love, was really heat,
your wish to range was you renewal of allegiance;
those prying others were you and I ourselves,
beholding one another’s fealty, one another’s fire.
C.K. Williams
__________________________________________________________________
I love this piece published in Esquire because I often feel the same way about recommendations my students make to me about books:
This type of logic is what prompted me to delve into Stephanie Myer, Jodi Picoult and Mr. Sparks himself. I didn’t get more than fifty pages into any of their books and I won’t pick any of them up ever again. If not reading these authors is being out of touch, well, ignorance is bliss.
__________________________________________________________________
Tuesday (one week and counting…) Musings
Did I mention I’ve been a terrible failure at blogging this summer? The summer semester has kept me running at a steady clip and on top of that, we’ve decided to start looking for a house. We went out on our first “hunt” last weekend and despite the torrential downpours and a few broken lock boxes, the entire experience proved to be fascinating. I hope as we move into fall I’ll have regular updates.
No, I have not forgotten about poetry. Even though I have yet to sit down and draft several poems that are swirling around in my head, I am comforted by the fact that they’re there, if only in scribbled journal note form. As soon as the semester ends (next week) and I get through the grading (next week) I plan to get several poems on paper.
The rejection letters have begun to roll in. I received three over the past few weeks. Hand written note from one and form letter from the other two.
Here are a whole bunch of poems/quotes I’ve been accumulating over the past month.
She Walks in Beauty, Stanza I
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless slimes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Lord Byron
“Poetry didn’t find me, in the cradle or anywhere near it: I found it. I realized at some point–very late, it’s always seemed–that I needed it, that it served a function for me–or someday would–however unclear that function may have been first. I seemed to have started writing poetry before I read any.” ~ C.K. Williams
Geometry
I prove theorem and the house expands:
the windows jerk free to hove near the ceiling,
the ceiling floats away with a sigh.
As the walls clear themselves of everything
but the transparency, the scent of carnations
leaves with them. I am out in the open
and above the windows have hinged butterflies,
sunlight glinting where they’ve intersected.
They are going to some point true and unproven.
Rita Dove
Sleeping in the Ceiling
It is so peaceful on the ceiling!
It is the Place de la Concorde.
The little crazy chandelier
is off, the fountain is in the dark.
Not a soul in the park.
Below, where the wallpaper is peeling, the Jardin de Plantes has locked its gates.
Those photographs are animals.
The mighty flowers and foliage rustle;
under the leaves the insects tunnel.
We must go under the wallpaper
to meet the insect-gladiator,
to battle with a net and trident,
and leave the fountain and the square.
But oh, that we could sleep up there…
Elizabeth Bishop
From “Silence”
There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.
There is the silence of those who have failed;
And the vast silence that covers
Broken nations and vanquished leaders.
There is the silence of Lincoln,
Thinking of the poverty of his youth.
And the silence of Napoleon
After Waterloo.
And the silence of Jeanne d’Arc
Saying amid the flames, “Blessed Jesus”–
Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.
And there is the silence of age,
Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it.
In words intelligible to those who have not lived
The great range of life.
Edgar Lee Masters
A Wedding Poem
Bright faces surround the woman in white,
the man in black, the sweetness of their attention
to each other a shine rising high toward the high ceiling.
The men watch the groom, and the women
the bride, as they speak their candle lit vows,
as if there were something in it for us personally.
Worn by the distances we the already-married
have traveled down the road on which these two
are setting out, we leave the dust of the journey
outside the door of this house where tonight no word
is casual, no posture undignified, and each
becomes again handsome in them, beautiful in them.
Thomas R. Smith
I just noticed while I was typing these out that many contain the word ceiling. Interesting.
___________________________________________________________________
Thursday (Half Way There) Musings
Today marks the official halfway point of the summer semester. I am exhausted but so far I seem to be staying on top of grading and prepping. Three of my classes have dwindled down to what I call manageable numbers. I only have one class that remains large, so that definitely makes things easier from a grading perspective.
I’m experiencing the same phenomenon this semester that I experienced last semester and the semester before that and the semester before that…That phenomenon is students showing up to a few classes and then dropping off the face of the earth. This wouldn’t be a problem except that they fail to realize that when they drop off the face of the earth, they also have to drop the class. I’ve considered sending emails to students I have not seen in several weeks informing them that the drop deadline is July 18 and that they should probably fill out the necessary forms. However, I am a professor not a baby-sitter and they stubborn side of me says they need to learn to be responsible for themselves.
I’ve been a miserable failure at blogging this summer. I cannot believe it is almost July. The summer is flying by and while I feel I’ve been productive, I also feel like I could be doing more. I suppose this isn’t much different than how I feel during the rest of the year.
Tuesday (Kohlrabi) Musings

This is why I love my CSA. Today’s goody box included carrots, scallions, cucumber, salad, beet greens, snow peas, cilantro, Kale, and something called Kohlrabi. I’d never heard of Kohlrabi before, but apparently it is German in descent and is related to cabbage, beets, and broccoli. It is best eaten raw on salads or as a sliced up into chips for a snack. I cut some up tonight to include in my salad for dinner. It has the texture of a water chestnut and has a nice crunch. In this picture, the Kohlrabi is the bulb looking vegetable on the left.
Monday (A Week Alone) Musings
It was a busy but fun weekend. My sister came in from out of town and we went to the bar, shopping, and a few other local events around town. She left this afternoon and RJ left this morning for Buffalo. He’ll be gone for a week for work, so I have a quiet week and weekend to myself. It seems a little weird to have all this quiet after the excitement of the weekend, but I kind of like it too.
____________________________________________________________________
Let Birds
Eight deer on the slope
in the summer morning mist.
The night sky blue.
Me like a mare let out to pasture.
The Tao does not console me.
I was given the Way
in the milk of childhood.
Breathing it waking and sleeping.
But now there is no amazing smell
of sperm on my thighs,
no spreading it on my stomach
to show pleasure.
I will never give up longing.
I will let my hair stay long.
The rain proclaims these trees,
the trees tell of the sun.
Let birds, let birds.
Let leaf be passion.
Let jaw, let teeth, let tongue be
between us. Let joy.
Let entering. Let rage and calm join.
Let quail come.
Let winter impress you. Let spring.
Allow the ocean to wake in you.
Let the mare in the field
in the summer morning mist
make you whinny. Make you come
to the fence and whinny. Let birds.
Linda Gregg
____________________________________________________________________
This was one of the local happenings that we enjoyed this weekend. I bought a cool pair of earrings made from all vintage materials. I also bought a cool little denim pouch that can hold cosmetics. RJ also bought an excellent tie and some fun letter press items. Pictures of earrings and pouch displayed below displayed below.

