Hiatus

It's time, I think (anyone monitoring my output lately will agree, I'm sure). I'll be back in Autumn, or sooner if the mood strikes ... and of course I will drop in sporadically on your blogs. Have a spectacular summer, everyone.

Linda Bierds Reading

Linda Bierds reading work from her new collection today around 2:30 PM on KUOW, 94.9 FM in Seattle and environs; also streamed live online, I believe.

Shamefully Slack

Yes, I have been, about posting.

Just finished "Plus Shipping" (Bob Hicok). I'll have to go back and scan it again to collect my thoughts, but my impression is that that it picked up traction as it went along, and that it will be interesting to compare it to his more recent work. I got a sense ... I don't know ... of some of the work being a little too "on the nose", and a few otherwise superior metaphors just don't quite fit where they're placed. But I enjoyed it, espcially the sense of ... possibilities in his work. Not poetic possibilities, I don't mean. Possibility in life, pinpointing the potential for the strange and wonderful all around us. Which is one of the things I enjoy most about poetry, anyhow.

Kelli has baby birds ... my friend Debbie has four baby towhees under a foxglove in her garden ... I have half-grown robins in my poplars. Life is good.

If you're trying to root something, first find a weeping willow, cut some fresh branches, and stick them in water. Something about the chemical makeup of willows makes them exuberant rooters; if you stick your other cuttings in with them, likely they will root as well. I've had spectacular success with a rex begonia ("Miami Storm", see above), african violet, and hydrangea (so far) using this method.

Very interesting article here in The Guardian about deep brain stimulation as a treatment for intractable depression.

Library Renaissance

I think I'm finally grown up enough to get my library books returned in the same calender year they were checked out ... hopefully, even on time. So I've been exploring the big Bellevue Regional library, which is not brand new but fairly new to me. I grew up in the old Bellevue library which is now the headquarters for the Bellevue Police Department ... go figure. The new building is two stories, with lots of computers, wireless access, self-checkout, etc. Some of these things are good. Being able to search the whole collection online and put any book on hold is great ... they send you an email when it shows up at your requested branch, and you just go in and pick it up off the hold shelf. Almost too easy. There's lots of light, wood, and concrete ... the upper story light fixtures are shaped like upside-down urns, spilling light. The carpet is patterned in overlapping concentric circles, just like rain on water ... very Northwest-appropriate.

The haul today was:

"Luck Is Luck", Lucia Perillo
"Animal Soul", Bob Hicok
"Plus Shipping", Bob Hicok
"The Profile Makers", Linda Bierds

Traffic was so appalling on the way home (even the used-to-be-little-known back way) that I was creeping forward with "Plus Shipping" propped up on my steering wheel, the page trembling a bit in time with my decrepit old Saturn engine. (Disclaimer: reading + driving = bad idea. I know.) Even with my attention thusly divided, and only getting halfway through the first poem, I came upon an image that makes me wonder why I even bother. You know, exactly something I wish I'd written ... that made me wonder why I hadn't, or couldn't. I'm assuming this happens to everyone ...

I've been getting weird phrases which are meant to be parts of poems in my dreams lately. This last week, "deconstructed pocketknife" and "lithium snowmen".

Ok, this was somewhat unexpected...

You Are 35% Normal (Occasionally Normal)

You sure do march to your own beat... But you're so weird, people wonder if it's a beat at all You think on a totally different wavelength And it's often a chore to get people to understand you

How Normal Are You?