Tuesday, June 18, 2013
sometimes good
somewhere out there someone just had the best day of their life, could that be you? me, no. i'm just schlepping along. well, it's not that bad. sometimes it's good. like yesterday, i was walking home from the post office and a storm was coming. i could see the sky to the north getting true and a committed sort of blue. it was a color blue that says something, says get ready and also, before chaos, beauty. and there was the wind which makes certain leaves in trees do that thing which is shaking and electric. i was walking down the road and i felt the thrill of it. then it rained, sideways, with big fat drops the kind that soaks you fast. it felt real and good and alive.
...
the above things new in the shop this morning
Friday, June 14, 2013
i will tell about it
I Go Back to May 1937 (from The Gold Cell)
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
...
i got the chance to hear sharon olds read her poems last night. her last book, stag's leap, won the 2013 pulitzer prize for poetry.
I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
...
i got the chance to hear sharon olds read her poems last night. her last book, stag's leap, won the 2013 pulitzer prize for poetry.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
i can't go for that
it's gloomy and raining here today. the garden is water-logged.
the last image is a sample of the new scarf dye color which will be in the shop next week.
and here's a song for you:
x
liane
Monday, June 10, 2013
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