I've got 10,000 songs to render you mute.
Yay, I finished (well, mostly ... you know how it is) a poem I started on New Year's Eve! That's been an emerging pattern lately -- get the basic images, framework of the poem, then let it ferment for a few weeks or months before coming back to it. The only drawback is wondering whether it will be weeks or months before I feel prepared to grapple with it again ... or years, or never.
It's a tsunami poem, which I had no intention of writing, and feel somewhat conflicted about having written (that aspect of corpse-picking that attends every disaster poem). But it came knocking on my skull. Scott likes it; I'm blessed by having a husband who's a perceptive (although perhaps insufficiently critical) reader. He pulls things out of my work I didn't see myself.
The cat has dragged a box of Kellog's "Fruit Harvest" cereal out of the pantry and is making a valiant effort to bite through the cardboard. He is obsessed with fruit in any form; jam or yohgurt sends him into a mild frenzy. If I don't share, he tries to climb my jeans.
Today's title comes from this article discussing the contrast between the superficial friendliness and inherent reserve of Seattleites. Being a native, I can't judge the accuracy from the standpoint of an immigrant, but a lot of it seems well-observed. Except for the part about the merging on freeways. I'd like to see some more of that legendary politesse and fewer near-misses with SUVs.
Counting Crows on Soundstage. I still know all the words to "Mr. Jones".
It's a tsunami poem, which I had no intention of writing, and feel somewhat conflicted about having written (that aspect of corpse-picking that attends every disaster poem). But it came knocking on my skull. Scott likes it; I'm blessed by having a husband who's a perceptive (although perhaps insufficiently critical) reader. He pulls things out of my work I didn't see myself.
The cat has dragged a box of Kellog's "Fruit Harvest" cereal out of the pantry and is making a valiant effort to bite through the cardboard. He is obsessed with fruit in any form; jam or yohgurt sends him into a mild frenzy. If I don't share, he tries to climb my jeans.
Today's title comes from this article discussing the contrast between the superficial friendliness and inherent reserve of Seattleites. Being a native, I can't judge the accuracy from the standpoint of an immigrant, but a lot of it seems well-observed. Except for the part about the merging on freeways. I'd like to see some more of that legendary politesse and fewer near-misses with SUVs.
Counting Crows on Soundstage. I still know all the words to "Mr. Jones".
posted by Jennifer at 9:56 PM
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