Speaking (of) Poetry

Tea: Mixed Berry Green

Music: Evanescence, "Bring Me to Life"

Time: Almost midnight.

I can't sleep. So instead of reading myself into dreamland, I'm going to a late night poetry reading and recital at a friend's apartment.

It starts at midnight. Who knows when it will end?

I need verse more than sleep right now, though. There's a piece, taken from a walk in a vineyard, that hasn't been spoken aloud in years.

I think it's time.

Re-Versifying

Tea: Mandarin Green

Music: A Flock of Seagulls, "Space Age Love Song"

Time: Night.

I've had a lot of words in my life lately -- but precious little poetry. I haven't been reading it much, haven't been hearing it much, and definitely haven't been writing it much.

That has to change. Poetry does things for me that no other form of writing does. Whether I'm appreciating someone else's or trying to create my own, poetry gets my mind working in unexpected directions.

It leaps and fidgets, paces and dances, walks half-lit streets and throws burned-out light bulbs into Dumpsters just to hear the glass shatter.

And I miss that ...

So, today, I started workshopping poetry. Nothing huge, just two writers sending words to each other. Over the coming weeks, we'll play with themes and forms and imagery. We'll tear things up, mix the scraps and stitch them back together.

It won't always be fun. Writing is a joy, but it isn't always fun. But when it works -- especially when poetry works -- it's nothing short of amazing.

So ... let the re-versifying begin.

This Post Could Not Be Completed as Dialed.

Tea: Mandarin Green

Music: Electric Light Orchestra, "Mr. Blue Sky"

Time: Almost midnight.

There's a saying: "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans."

I'd planned a longish bit of musing on the question of whether it's acceptable to give less than full effort on anything. Is phoning it in a needful survival mechanism, to keep one's brain from exploding from constant effort? Or is it a sin -- in the strictest sense of the word -- not to do one's best in everything, as though doing it for God?

So, of course, my browser went blooey for several hours, and I find myself choosing between trying to recreate the full mental text -- which included the names "Jackson Pollock" and "Pele" -- or leaving it for another day.

Would that count as phoning in this post? Or does being tired entitle me to say I gave it what I had, when I had it?

I don't know. But if I don't get to bed soon, I'll be sleeping by half measures.

So, I think, I'm going to hit my pillow with everything I have. After I put my phone on to recharge, of course.

I Should Be So Lucky

Tea: Blueberry

Music: House of Pain, "Jump Around"

Time: Night.

The Chinese New Year has arrived -- the Year of the Ox -- and I haven't done anything auspicious yet.

I can't afford new chopsticks, and nothing I bought at the grocery store today was red (unless the Roma tomato counted, and that might have been offset by the four jars of peanut butter.) Four is an inauspicious number, you see -- but at 45 cents a jar, after the coupon, I can live with that.

I haven't eaten turnips -- but wait. I have some left over turnip bisque in the freezer, and no supper plans tomorrow.

Better late than never, I suppose.

Book Return

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: REM, "Driver 8"

Time: Night.

I think I have a poltergeist. It loves books. Either that, or it decided I was reading too many at one time and should focus my efforts.

See, I have a copy of Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job. I've been reading it, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's Good Omens and Diane Ackerman's A Natural History of the Senses. Yes, concurrently. If I don't have at least two books going at once, I feel something's wrong.

The poltergeist apparently doesn't mind if I have one fiction and one nonfiction piece on my plate at once, because it left me the Ackerman. I'm guessing it decided two whacked-out novels with Death as a character was just too much.

I finished the Pratchett/Gaiman last night. So, of course, the Moore reappeared today. I wonder what would happen if I took up Coyote Blue (also by Moore) while continuing to read A Dirty Job?

Then again ... maybe I don't want to know.

There's Someone You Should Meet ...

Tea: Blueberry

Music: Potato Moon, "Let's Ride"

Time: Night.

It's Sunday. Apparently, I have been granted divine favor and allowed to log into Blogspot.

I have a friend who's an expert matchmaker. Not in the "He's a nice guy, you'll like him" sense. She knows people in all walks of and stations in life, and delights in putting them together in mutually beneficial combinations. It's not schmoozing. It's not name-dropping. It's something far purer and a lot more fun to watch.

I've seen her do it countless times. Each time, I thought, "It would be kind of cool to be able to do that, but I'll never be that sort of resource."

And then ...

Not too long ago, I started talking to a friend at my "regular"church about the church I sometimes attend on Sunday evenings. Yes, the bar church. Before long, my friend had linked up with the pastor of the new church, and now they're jointly recruiting volunteers to do laundry for homeless people.

I write about art and artists, which also brings me into contact with people who book shows. As it turned out, one curator was looking for a fiber artist and I had just written about a fiber artist. Now, she has a show booked for this fall -- and the same curator is looking to book another artist about whom I wrote.

None of this reflects any great level of connectedness on my part. It's a matter of believing in people and promoting them -- which is exactly what my matchmaking friend does. There's a joy in that, which I hadn't felt before.

I kind of like it. More than that, I like for good things to happen to people.

I just wish I'd started sooner.

A Game Worth Forfeiting

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: Real Life, "Catch Me I'm Falling"

Time: Night.

I really like a lot of games.

I like Scrabble, and chess, and backgammon. ("Like" probably isn't a strong enough word for Scrabble.)

But I don't like the "You said something that stung me, so my words have to hit back" game.

I've played it. I'm pretty good at it, which is not a good thing. But it's hard to give up. There's a certain cold satisfaction in swatting a word-volley that hits its mark.

Again, that's not a good thing. The points in this game are poisoned splinters, working their way in long after the sound of the words has faded. The longer they stay in, the more they fester and the more care it takes to remove them. Some never come out. They become part of us.

And it isn't only the scored-upon person who is injured. To hurt another is to hurt oneself, even if the damage isn't immediately apparent.

I don't think it's possible to quit this game entirely. I'm human (on my better days). I know others are, too. We react when we're hurt. But it is possible, I believe, to acknowledge we've been hit without seeking to strike back. That has to be my goal, even if I don't always achieve it

And if I "lose" the exchange, what have I really lost? A chance to damage someone else, and myself?

I'll take that chance.