"Felix Crow"

I just heard this one again on the Poem of the Day podcast while out walking in my neighborhood, an activity that always involves some bird watching.

This is one clear case of needing to both hear and see a poem, though, as those terrific short lines don't come across as clearly in the audio version. It's a fun poem ("quid pro crow") with fun rhymes ("rudiments"/"students"). I also love the double "g"s in lines 14-16. And the (sort of) unexpected turn in the last lines. I've written before about (just a bit) about how Ryan can remind one of Dickinson, and I can't help but be reminded of Dickinson's bird, who is ultimately a bit less approachable.

"Felix Crow" 
Kay Ryan

Crow school

is basic and

short as a rule—

just the rudiments

of quid pro crow

for most students.

Then each lives out

his unenlightened

span, adding his

bit of blight

to the collected

history of pushing out

the sweeter species;

briefly swaggering the

swagger of his

aggravating ancestors

down my street.

And every time

I like him

when we meet.

Bing at 11

My favorite orange cat turned 11 on Sunday. That afternoon, as I read the paper, I snapped some photos with my ipod.

Just in time for ENGL 312 tomorrow...

"Is it Whitman? Who hears this voice hears a man. Out of the text, out of the abandonment of song, a living voice arises, transubstantiated. How glorious to hear him, whoever he might be. He reads the first four lines of a six-line poem called “America” (why only four? A revision of the poem? Or was that all the time the wax cylinder allotted? Does this elision itself constitute an abandonment of song?). Decease calls him forth. He reads the poem that is the namesake of the nation in which he had such mystical faith, such metaphysical hope. For the duration of the recording, the tension between orality and text is resolved. He springs from the pages into our arms."

Read the whole thing here!

The 24 Most Important Things We All Learned From "My So-Called Life"

I meant to link to this the other day.

Some quick thoughts:
I say/think (a less dramatic version of) #7 just about every Sunday.

The scene captured in #9 kills me every time I see it.

I'd donate to a kickstarter to develop #16.

#18: Young me agrees with this so very much. And older me kind of does, too, sometimes.

#24 makes you appreciate again the wonder that is Claire Danes acting.

Spring Break at Age 35

What's the craziest thing I did today, on the last weekday of Spring Break 2013? I checked off the last item on my (typed) "Spring Cleaning To-Do List" after cleaning every inch of the refrigerator while proudly and loudly and singing Wham's "Freedom." That's how you celebrate Spring Break at 35.

Also, please appreciate Bing helping by sitting in a vegetable drawer.

Watch this...

I don't care where your political beliefs lie. Watch this clip. It's long, but worth it.

I don't consider myself particularly drawn to Dianne Feinstein or her views of what government should or shouldn't do. But I am sure with her in this debate with Cruz. And guess what, Cruz? The first amendment doesn't protect all books (child pornography, for instance). What a smug idiot he seems to be. But anyway, watch the clip.

Aside from the heartbreaking narrative of Adam Lanza's rampage, Maddow reminds us another depressing reality: "Let the record show that you can be a United States Senator for 21 years, you can be 79-years-old, you can be the chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence and one of the most recognizable and widely respected veteran public servants in your nation, but if you are female while all of other those things, men who you defeat in arguments will still respond to you by calling you hysterical and telling you to calm down."

A couple of quick thoughts on the Veronica Mars movie...

1) I was wrong about this thing never happening (as noted in these two blog posts from 2010). Interesting to note that I was also wrong about Arrested Development.

2) I am so happy to have been wrong! Watching the video on the Kickstarter page made me grin from ear to ear.

Weirdest mash-up ever?

Seeing a production of Spring Awakening last night and then watching the latest episode of The Walking Dead led to some strange dreams. The less said, perhaps, the better.

"Empty Space"

I heard this poem the other day on the Poem of the Day podcast. I am not sure that I completely "get" it, but I have been thinking about it since I first heard it. Click here to hear an audio version of it, which begins with an excerpt in Punjabi.

"Empty Space"
Amrita Pritam

There were two kingdoms only:

the first of them threw out both him and me.

The second we abandoned.

Under a bare sky

I for a long time soaked in the rain of my body,

he for a long time rotted in the rain of his.

Then like a poison he drank the fondness of the years.

He held my hand with a trembling hand.

“Come, let’s have a roof over our heads awhile.

Look, further on ahead, there

between truth and falsehood, a little empty space.”

Before and after

Before I took a shower this morning, I found the boys sleeping on the bed, like this:

"So cute!" I thought, and snapped a picture.

After I got out of the shower (maybe 10 minutes later), I saw this:

Where's Wesley? Very suspicious, Bing.

Don't worry, I found Wesley a bit later. They do this, of course: take each others' spaces as soon as they can.

Snow day

We had what I might call the Platonic ideal of a snow day today, at least for me at this point in my life: snow that was pretty to look at, threatening enough to cancel school, way less than predicted ("Prepare for over a foot!" they said, and we ended up with barely 4 inches), and snow that melted away before I had to shovel it.

Anyway, it's been kind of a lazy day. Did some reading, watched a movie (you should check it out--I liked it!), caught up on some housework.  

I mean, for a snow-phobic person like myself, still traumatized by Snowpocalypse 2010, this was kind of perfect--as perfect as any day with cancelled classes can be for someone like me, who likes to plan everything and hates to fall behind. (Wow--I just clicked on the "snow" label on this post. That series of Snowpocalypse posts is something to behold. What a wreck I was!)

On its way...

"It sifts from Leaden Sieves - " (291)

Emily Dickinson

 

It sifts from Leaden Sieves -

It powders all the Wood.

It fills with Alabaster Wool

The Wrinkles of the Road -

It makes an even Face

Of Mountain, and of Plain -

Unbroken Forehead from the East

Unto the East again -

It reaches to the Fence -

It wraps it Rail by Rail

Till it is lost in Fleeces -

It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack - and Stem -

A Summer’s empty Room -

Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,

Recordless, but for them -

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts

As Ankles of a Queen -

Then stills it’s Artisans - like Ghosts -

Denying they have been -

 

via Poetry Foundation