Friday, February 16, 2007
9:20 am pst
I went to see Linda Bierds last night at Bryn Mawr. She's an outstanding poet who works in scientific and
historical narrative, and (she said) is even inspired by T.V. documentaries, which have been a big source of material
for me (particularly on those insomniac nights when I flip on an A&E biography or an E! True Hollywood Story or some other
calming, easily digestible infotainment program that often contains some bizzare bit of trivia). Linda also has a harrowing poem
about Zelda Fitzgerald's letters to her husband, which she happened to read last night. I, too, wrote a poem several
years ago about Zelda Fitzgerald, and I think the journal that published it (Black Water Review)
is now out of print. So here it is again: my modest contribution to the Fitzgerald mythology...
Dies in a Sanitarium Fire
Light swells under my door
like a cymbal crash
a chain of gold ripples
in the sea near the south of France
holding its breath.
This life was much too quick
diamond glint dangling
from an ear refracted
through gin and crystal
into a perfect green eye.
My death will not be rushed.
I will smolder. Clouds will lift
to let my gray inscription pass.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The thrill of being listed
10:45 pm pst
Wow, I just found myself on Yahoo. That means that I should probably start posting on my blog. So it
looks like I'm being productive, you know. Problem is, spring semester is in full swing, and as a perpetual PhD student,
I have no life to speak of. Or, to be more specific, the shape of my life is a plateau of dreadful dullness punctuated
by brief bursts of terrible stress. I've also discovered over the years that no one (apart from other grad students)
is interested in listening to a grad student whine. So in future posts I promise to try to keep the school-related
bloviating to a minimum.
But for this post, let me just say that Henry the Fourth Part 1 is one wacky play, that Prince Hal is kind of
an arrogant asshole and doesn't deserve Falstaff (I mean, Hal picks on the kid who's manning the beer taps--why mock the fact
that this boy's life will never amount to a hill of kumquats just because you're the king's son and you're bored?), and I
can see why Ben Jonson criticized Shakespeare for his characters' manic verbal spews. (Oops, did I say that? Harold
Bloom and his cronies will have my head on a pike by sun-up...) On the other hand, the vulgar name-calling smackdowns
that Hal and Falstaff get into are priceless.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Creative work now where it's supposed to be!
1:15 pm pst
I've finally gotten around to posting some content on my "Creative Work" page. This includes some old, old poems
that have been moldering away in my documents folder, and several pieces that have never made it to the Internets before...