jh1boise

4/24/08

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 02:15:02 GMT

I'll try to post something before leaving for Portland at 5:45 tomorrow morning...(coff)

Day 23

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 04:52:25 GMT

Men Explain Things To Me (Part II)
437 children being tested for DNA
against hundreds of adults

"'I had a happy childhood,' said Rita Jessop, 27,
who left the sect three years ago,
after being married at 18 to her father's friend
who was 50 and had four other wives."

"'It was a lot of fun,. It seemed to me people
were so happy.'"

"as the investigation continues, some church leaders
seem to be purposefully misleading them"

"one mother named Rebecca
says she saw a young girl walk up to a sign in a shelter
reading 'Guests.' She crossed it out and wrote
'Prisoners.'"

"'There would be people
who would just disappear from the community,
and the leaders would say,

"They were called on a misson.
They went to Zion."'"

"From the start he populated the YFZ
with only the most obedient, hard-core members,
even if it meant breaking up families."

"The Mankins, who often flew over the compound,
say they never saw any toys at Eldorado.
'There's nothing,' says Kathy.
'There's not a sign of a child out there.'"

Day 22

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 04:15:02 GMT

Evening

The light at the Rescue Mission just went on,
red and blue. Jesus Saves. And white lights
from the headlights, not very many,
and the traffic lights that change every minute
regardless.

In the market today, arugula, lettuce,
asparagus, seedling tomato plants.
Hothouse tulips. The French baker's croissants.
So cold and windy we all still wore our mittens.
Babies lay swaddled in their strollers
with their feet hanging out
useless. The mothers saying "Spring?
What spring?"

Let's take our books next to the fireplace.
Open the curtains and watch the houses
blink out their bedroom lights early
as the wind makes the bare trees sing.

Day 21

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 04:11:17 GMT

That Kind of Movie

It's the kind of movie where at the end, you find it's a woman who's murdered all the women
and faked their rapes by hiring prostitutes to sleep with the man she wants to frame
and removes his semen from the prostitutes and places it in the murdered women,
all because the man she loves tells her it's a good idea.

It's the kind of movie where a really good actor is telegraphing "I am doing this for the money"
so as not to be typecast in action roles for the rest of his career.

It's the kind of movie where women fall in love with men who are not very interesting or kind,
but who are in the movie script and available, and the women who fall in love never ask
why the men they love are doing what they are doing and never seem to consider that
what they are doing might be a bad idea.

It's the kind of movie where I can tell that the man I am sitting next to is counting up
the number of plot holes and making lists of questions that the screenwriter ought to have
at least addressed instead of having point-of-view inconsistencies, dei ex machinae, and
extraordinary coincidences coast over the major plot problems.

It's a documentary.

It's the kind of movie that years ago you'd have cried at, before you realized that the writer
doesn't have any idea what people who work all day for a living actually do for their livings, that
most don't have long heartfelt conversations with people with any frequency, and that most
would rather give up than take the huge risks demanded of them in the movie.

It's the kind of movie where everyone has easy access to guns and would rather use them
than think.

It's the kind of movie that makes you come out of the movie blinking because it's staying
light outside later and later, and both the theater and the film's theme were very dark,
and you wonder what your brother's doing down there in Texas, apropos of nothing in the movie,
and you call him on your cell phone & leave a message for him that makes no sense

except that he knows you thought of him.

Day 19 & 20

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 20:44:27 GMT

Marsden Hartley

Gertrude Stein was a cup of tea and the word "Moi."
Hart Crane, a sea full of eyes.

"For once, the galleries are quiet. Like they're supposed to be."

"How will the geese get out of the sculpture garden?"

They look like model ships, but on inspection
prove to be models of shipwrecks.

Nobody tells the elderly woman that they'll fly over the fence.
They probably don't want to embarrass her
but seem rude nevertheless.

The heels of these shoes are low
but click loudly. And echo.

Day 18 (a day late)

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 18:45:05 GMT

I skipped the April 18 poem (too much on Friday's agenda, including a reading by Tony Doerr that filled the Lookout Room in the Student Union). But Al found something while shelving books (finally!) that I thought I'd share. It's in an envelope postmarked Jan. 30, 1981, handwritten with a fountain pen, and is a response to a fan letter.

Dear Janet,

Thank you very much for your letter. Since you write yourself, I need not tell you how gratifying it is to me to know and be assured that my book has been meaningful to a reader. It seems to me, in fact, that a book is, ideally, so purely communicative that its being is completed in a receptive reader's experience of it. A theory that makes you into a species of collaborator.

Since you do write, I am pleased by your consciousness of prose as such, of imagery, and precision. It seems to me that the resources of this wonderful language have been generally unexploited for a long time--there has been the long domination of a notion of realism that ignores the very profound roots in experience and consciousness of the sensuous properties of language. Emerson is exactly right--every word was first a poem.

Thank you for your good wishes for my current work--my best wishes for yours.

Marilynne Robinson

* * * * *
Funny to think that the book that so impressed me is set not far from where I now live...

Day 17

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 15:24:19 GMT

I can hardly believe it, but with this poem I actually have FINISHED my sequence of erasures of Dickinson's 1861 and 1862 poems.

I have no idea what I'll write for tomorrow! Pray for me.

1862.67 (494-498)

                    His business
                has been

To

          fling Sand

                         "Get out of the Way, I say"
Who'd
Would you -
                     be the fool to stay?

The Day
                                   of Gold
                             of Purple
                                old

                   as the World
And yet

Too near


        Candle
       Flickering

                          in the Cold
                                        Trudging
                                World -

The Cruel - smiling -                 World -
                   it's

                                forgotten -

                    Hands
Lifted

       supplicate


           be finished



The
   Danger
Is

                               opon the Soul

To go without
           challenging Despair.

Day 16

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 16:40:55 GMT

1862.66 (491-494)

We want
Honors -

Flags -

                      a friend's Hand -

                  the Ministry
                                            -

To offer brave
     Lives

                              Divine

                                 Benediction

Not a
                                cool
Hope
Not

                      lying                      -
Yet         Nature

            was still -

          forget
               that
                      -

Memory

                 did'nt come

                                         Declare -
Were you            there?

Day 15

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 00:04:41 GMT

1862.65 (485-490)

   it came
                          by degrees -

         reprieves

         long enough for

                                            rallying
                                             -

               a

                     kiss
                                                  with

Mother
Or Father -

                                                                       on the Lawn
Indicative that

          Darkness is about to pass

I deemed

            therefore

That I                            adjust

My Faith
when
My Faith

                       steps

                  abroad
To do His                 Will

How dare I

                                           fail

The
                                     Men -

Day 14

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 15:23:58 GMT

1862.64 (482-484)

                            the
General

Rendered
"Sweet"
Liberty

                 won       by

                                              possession
                                  in the land -

Could I

Not opon         knee      thank

And

               Praise

           the

              Benefactor
Making

                              Blank
A                         Way

To                                        advance

    ends
                                        -

Ad badness

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 15:08:18 GMT

Apparently the content of my postings has placed a banner ad for a candidate I do not support at the top of this blog.

Let me just say this: Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama. Barack Obama.

Thank you.

[Great: now I've got Pur-lov.com & the Love Calculator. But at least it isn't a Republican.]

Day 13

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 01:04:15 GMT

I'm not sure "Recess" fits the meaning I mean for it (the end of a deployment), but I think Adamant is a good name for this administration (or for Cheney, or Rumsfeld, or Bush...).

1862.63 (478-481)

                Adamant

                      put
          agonizing terms

      down

                   I could not stop

My labor

We passed the
     Recess -

                         He passed Us
The                                                        Chill
        on

                                      the Ground -

Since then - 'tis

                                  Eternity -

He              like those Who've nought to lose
Bestowed                 to

                                 Us

             Men,


His Comrades

                     left alive
to die

                                 to justify

This                                honorless
    futile Diadem -

Day 12

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 00:29:59 GMT

A shortie today.

1862.62 (477)

He

       stuns you by Degrees -

          the                    Blow
                                               - further
Then nearer - Then

           your naked soul -

                                                in their Paws

Day 11

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 15:46:55 GMT

For Maj. Stuart A. Wolfer (Emmett, ID), 36, killed Sunday in Baghdad's Green Zone, and Sgt. Michael T. Willey (Boise, ID), 23, killed Monday in Sadr City.

1862.61 (473-476)
I was

stationed

    -
       just
           think
That        was all -

   never spoke - unless addressed -

The Racket shamed me    -

               had not been
                one I knew

                          I

                                            cannot see -

        further

              pretending

To

                                              toil
Against        Man
                             - I

Relate
                           to
                  them -

Day 10

Thu, 10 Apr 2008 23:54:05 GMT

With this poem I get farther along in NaPoWriMo than ever before. Thinking about Nuri al-Maliki, Bush, & Cheney today.

* * * * *

1862.60 (468-472)

              Gulf
                        of solid Blood -
                              the

                    appointed Creature

         bows and

      fetches

And
         could be

                               like

The Minor One    that

                                   cared to please

                    the mighty

         none could see

Day 9

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 14:13:29 GMT

It's weird: snow flurrying down, temps going from 34 to 50 today.

Written while listening to the testimony of Gen. Petraeus & Ryan Crocker...

1862.59 (466-467)

                      Possibility -

Superior -

       for an everlasting

      Occupation -

A Solemn thing
To
                      hang
The Maker

   -
            the
                   Being

You thought was finished -

But
Your               Harvest
                       - Every sun
                        some lives.

Day 8

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 02:13:41 GMT

Dedicated to Gen. Peter Pace . . .

1862.58 (462-465)

The General

                            - dazzling pace -

         makes no show for

An independent           -

Was ever                  like

                  the

       other            s
           the Twitter
              opposite

                                    to
                            the Whole -

    wished a way
                to
           magnify
                            the

                            Blood
                opon
                     the Road

                              far

                                       away

Day 7

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 01:33:00 GMT

1862.57 (457-461)

Sometimes

          they do not die

        who have

                               bared
                                a Bone -

                 Steel's
              grimace in the Flesh -
How

                               - not polite -

                              to

                                      require

         reasons

Therefore -

Transport
          such
              Tent by Tent -
                           Flags

   Cover
Not
                                                  Us -

          notice Us - no more -
                                      turn away
                        o'er and o'er

Day 6

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 23:52:25 GMT

1862.56 (455-456)

They

did not dare
For fear

                                 of

The

   Prison

                   to look
For the
   deal       stated as Our

      Posture

                                      - Not so real
                            Liberty -

      something passiver -

         Liberty
                 like a Dream
                for any             but
    That

Day 4

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 23:28:06 GMT

I'm behind at transcribing these into LiveJournal (blame Ahsahta; blame "Scrabulous" on Facebook) but I have been doing them. I'm determined to finish the last few poems in The ms of my kin before I head to Spain in June.

In the last few days I've been posting erasures, and LiveJournal doesn't like the spacing--it crashes every time. So now I'm trying to post them without the "whiteouts" -- hope it works!

1862.54 (449-451)

Dreams - are                                       better

                        at

                                         confronting

the

                                        Axis

- spin

                    paints

It's      precise
                          Brand

On

The            whole

    feared

                       Destiny

                                         Home

Borne on
                                 a
                     fit

     gain

Day 3

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 03:00:18 GMT

OK, this is a lazy poem, cynical and not to be taken (too) seriously.

After Reading 740 Poetry Manuscripts

About poetry they were never wrong,
the young masters, how well they understood
that its subject lay in their hookups and dumpings,
sad grandparents, lousy jobs, and their tiny apartments;
how, when one had nothing to say one
owed it to us to say so, and how
there were not many images left, so one's poems
need not use them wantonly up. How often
they found that the mention of Nine Eleven
could give a flagging poem a right to despair
and the mention of cancer, an emotion
even if one does not particularly love the person who has it.
In this one, for instance, and in that and that and that one,
we see that the writing of poetry is seen
to be hard, very hard, and the Muse (yes,
the Muse) is a tough cookie indeed. And there,
from the corner of my eye, something amazing,
another editor falling out of a window
who has somewhere to get to and speeds herself along.

Day 2

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 01:46:45 GMT

I wrote this quickly yesterday as part of my Konundrum Engine Literary Review collaboration with Cathy Wagner, which will be up on their website soon. It's one of my translations of a poem she wrote.

Translation #2

Love poem

Your body is mine and then
comes a day it will not be,
mine or yours, its cells back to their
soil, their air, not ours and some
taken back into me private
to age me, like radiation
or lightning, invisible, and if
that is us closer than fucking
made us, if it will be
more intimate if you inhabit
rather than touch, like a special
vitamin or hidden disease, I won’t
close off to it and even thinking
you into me just now like that
like when I hear you say
my name quiet like even now
makes me touch-ready breath-
ready every cell waiting
trigger happy ready to shoot