tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1614373999041757932024-02-07T22:11:06.284-08:00SelvageLinda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-22214171550762487832011-08-31T17:10:00.000-07:002011-08-31T17:13:35.737-07:00Can't Beg a Post.Since I can't seem to post anything much here, I will point you instead to the guest author bit I did today <a href="http://pasadenadailyphoto.blogspot.com/2011/08/guest-author-linda-dove-and-oh-dear.html">here</a>.
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<br />Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-61739688380009141902011-07-22T21:37:00.000-07:002011-07-22T21:47:32.910-07:00It's Heeeerrrre!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrGRgV7ALg_ICBCsAXh8Y3TCUcJET7xPljvAw_9GKg5aHkawTOS8dt1vN6-wBDUG5-mu1BwgOwVOjz7_zmGEVs4Sc94cgBI1CPYfYHoTndGP3CFRUFsP0mYhX1wu1fZHS4saCSfR5wNg/s1600/IMG_5722.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDrGRgV7ALg_ICBCsAXh8Y3TCUcJET7xPljvAw_9GKg5aHkawTOS8dt1vN6-wBDUG5-mu1BwgOwVOjz7_zmGEVs4Sc94cgBI1CPYfYHoTndGP3CFRUFsP0mYhX1wu1fZHS4saCSfR5wNg/s320/IMG_5722.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632402620648760578" border="0" /></a><br />Available for purchase: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Deer-Linda-Dove/dp/0983396604/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311395951&sr=1-1">Amazon page for O Dear Deer,</a><br /><br />and locally at <a href="http://www.webstersfinestationers.com/seewhatsnew.html">Webster's Fine Stationers</a>.<br /><br />I'm incredibly excited about this book and grateful for everyone's kind words and support!Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-14438236887608854622011-05-01T08:42:00.000-07:002011-05-01T09:11:36.436-07:00Winners of the Big Poetry Giveaway!Okay! It's the morning after, and I have generated randomly. Thank you to my twenty lovely commenters. This was fun. (Sorry for my random generator BIG FONT type on the second one--it's early on a Sunday morning, and I can't figure out how to get the HTML down to normal size quickly. But they were generated fairly and squarely...)<br /><br />The person who will receive a copy of my book, <span style="font-style: italic;">In Defense of Objects</span>, is the twelth commenter, Guy ‘Dhyan’ Traiber. I'll be sending you an email for contact info pronto!<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:16px;" ><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:100%;color:transparent;"><div id="true-random-integer-generator" style="margin: 0px; padding: 5px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 255); outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); width: 148px; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);font-family:verdana,sans;font-size:9pt;"><span id="true-random-integer-generator-title" style="margin: -6px -6px 10px; padding: 1px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: rgb(204, 204, 255); text-align: center; display: block; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:12px;" >True Random Number Generator</span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-min-span" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><label for="true-random-integer-generator-min" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);">Min:</label><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><input name="true-random-integer-generator-min" id="true-random-integer-generator-min" maxlength="9" value="1" style="width: 77px; margin-left: 10px;" type="text"></span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-max-span" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><label for="true-random-integer-generator-max" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);">Max:</label><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><input name="true-random-integer-generator-max" id="true-random-integer-generator-max" maxlength="9" value="20" style="width: 77px; margin-left: 6px;" type="text"></span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-max-button-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><input value="Generate" name="true-random-integer-generator-button" id="true-random-integer-generator-button" style="display: block;" type="button"></span><label for="true-random-integer-generator-result" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent;">Result:</label><span id="true-random-integer-generator-result" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 2px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: rgb(204, 204, 255); display: block; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:11pt;" >12</span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-credits" style="margin: 0px; padding: 1px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; text-align: right;font-size:6pt;color:transparent;" >Powered by<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.random.org/" target="_blank" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 8px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);">RANDOM.ORG</a></span></div></div></span><br /><br /><br />The second person to win, who will receive a copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluets </span>by Maggie Nelson is the nineteenth commenter, Samuel Sargent, who seems to have gotten exactly what he asked for! Hope you love it.<br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:16px;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(119, 119, 119);font-family:verdana,sans;font-size:12px;" ><span id="true-random-integer-generator-title" style="margin: -6px -6px 10px; padding: 1px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: rgb(204, 204, 255); text-align: center; display: block; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:12px;" >True Random Number Generator</span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-min-span" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><label for="true-random-integer-generator-min" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);">Min:</label><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><input name="true-random-integer-generator-min" id="true-random-integer-generator-min" maxlength="9" value="1" style="width: 77px; margin-left: 10px;" type="text"></span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-max-span" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><label for="true-random-integer-generator-max" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(119, 119, 119);">Max:</label><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><input name="true-random-integer-generator-max" id="true-random-integer-generator-max" maxlength="9" value="20" style="width: 77px; margin-left: 6px;" type="text"></span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-max-button-span" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;font-size:12px;color:transparent;" ><input value="Generate" name="true-random-integer-generator-button" id="true-random-integer-generator-button" style="display: block;" type="button"></span><label for="true-random-integer-generator-result" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; font-size: 12px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: transparent;">Result:</label><span id="true-random-integer-generator-result" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 2px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; background-color: rgb(204, 204, 255); display: block; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:11pt;" >19</span><span id="true-random-integer-generator-credits" style="margin: 0px; padding: 1px; border-width: 0px; outline-width: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; text-align: right;font-size:6pt;color:transparent;" >Powered by</span></span></span><br /><br />Just give me a few moments to collect myself, and I will send out the contact emails for your mailing addresses, and your new treasures will be on their way to you. Thanks for participating!Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-23837844217988086912011-04-15T09:44:00.001-07:002011-04-15T10:32:55.415-07:00The Big Poetry Giveaway! 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpSYFgrRVVEkefyA9aORh_X3nhikR1nJTL96dzrR9SDlPw3yI0Eplqf63qYFxwzcMVVDssQ4ApO6b698PMgIDU2Itngmfsvzpom7YkHw18jheTTPvQO7ybO7w6roKFhDFQvkps8BY5FU/s1600/Big+Poetry+Giveaway+2011.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpSYFgrRVVEkefyA9aORh_X3nhikR1nJTL96dzrR9SDlPw3yI0Eplqf63qYFxwzcMVVDssQ4ApO6b698PMgIDU2Itngmfsvzpom7YkHw18jheTTPvQO7ybO7w6roKFhDFQvkps8BY5FU/s320/Big+Poetry+Giveaway+2011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595852431495114946" border="0" /></a>I am excited to participate in the annual <a href="http://ofkells.blogspot.com/2011/03/big-poetry-giveaway-2011.html">Big Poetry Giveaway</a> project in celebration of April being National Poetry Month and, well, in celebration of poetry! The Big Poetry Giveaway was conceived of by poet and editor <a href="http://ofkells.blogspot.com/">Kelli Russell Agodon</a> as a way of making poetry more available to and inclusive of more readers. I am happy to participate.<br /><br />In the spirit of sharing a love for poetry, poets are giving away two books -- one of their own and another they love. All you have to do to be entered in the drawing for free books is to leave a comment on this post (comments here are moderated, but don't worry--I will post them ASAP) that includes your email address, so that I can get in touch with you should you be the winner! On May 1st, I will use a random number generator to identify the winner and will let you know by email that you have won. It is my responsibility to mail you the books, wherever you may be, so really, this is a win-win-win situation for readers! Just make sure you leave your email address so I have a way of getting in touch with you.<br /><br />Now, for the good stuff. As my first giveaway, I am offering a copy of my first book, <span style="font-style: italic;">In Defense of Objects</span>, which won the Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Prize from Bear Star Press in 2009.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCne-hW0hyphenhyphenWzCAVPvErtAzxW3aBwCRWBVP20oBBX_0PB2KJKB9sSoaYywAh-IuKZq4jT8iWKtbrdTQUAYeWs0Rc3io8HK6ADGKmmqaPb5G0Tm3bJg-Sq0vslVaAzjTuqTkXXNAoCljwU/s1600/41b5UNxDnWL._SL500_AA300_.gif.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCne-hW0hyphenhyphenWzCAVPvErtAzxW3aBwCRWBVP20oBBX_0PB2KJKB9sSoaYywAh-IuKZq4jT8iWKtbrdTQUAYeWs0Rc3io8HK6ADGKmmqaPb5G0Tm3bJg-Sq0vslVaAzjTuqTkXXNAoCljwU/s320/41b5UNxDnWL._SL500_AA300_.gif.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595856275962151362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />For my second giveaway, I am offering Maggie Nelson's <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluets</span>, which her press, Wave Books, hasn't even identified as poetry but rather as "Essay/Literature," but which for my money is experimental verse.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGUXfXRy6Hg0U4hayICEJ74HDhK_JKi0XPKFR9pW5GYORJkcIKRL44763FDvajl5oxmgbj6UgEThyS1qQCwIYCtR6-xaALjBD6ICHDA1Ku3Y3kzFmxwwwJ21hskPqBh0XNZxLDiGGiEc/s1600/41wE9Zcs3WL._SL500_AA300_.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGUXfXRy6Hg0U4hayICEJ74HDhK_JKi0XPKFR9pW5GYORJkcIKRL44763FDvajl5oxmgbj6UgEThyS1qQCwIYCtR6-xaALjBD6ICHDA1Ku3Y3kzFmxwwwJ21hskPqBh0XNZxLDiGGiEc/s320/41wE9Zcs3WL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595857459824378642" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Ostensibly an extended rumination on the color blue, <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluets</span> is also an obsessive cataloguing of the loss of love, which includes a total of 240 musings that will have you believing in the power of blue:<br /><br /><blockquote>89. As if we could scrape the color off the iris and still see.<br /><br />***<br />152. Holiness and evilness aside, no one could rightly call blue a <span style="font-style: italic;">festive</span> color. You don't go looking for a party in a color that hospitals have used to calm crying infants or sedate the emotionally disturbed. Ancient Egyptians wrapped their mummies in blue cloth; ancient Celtic warriors dyed their bodies with woad before heading off to battle; the Aztecs smeared the chests of their sacrificial victims with blue paint before scooping their hearts out on the altar; the story of indigo is, at least in part, the story of slavery, riots, and misery. Blue does, however, always have a place at the <span style="font-style: italic;">carnival</span>.<br /><br />***<br />225. Shortly after finding out about the bluets, I have a dream in which I am sent an abundance of cornflowers. In this dream it is perfectly all right that that is their name. They do not need to be bluets any longer. They are American, they are shaggy, they are wild, they are strong. They do not signify romance. They were sent by no one in celebration of nothing. I had known them all along.<br /></blockquote>I had many favorite poetry books this past year, but I chose this one to give away because I've been working on a series of poems myself that are so tightly bound thematically as to be obsessive themselves, and so Nelson's work intrigues me. It is a sort of contemporary sonnet sequence--the amalgamation of ideas, images, words; all the looping back. And my own work has been moving in more experimental directions lately, so I've been reading a lot of hybrid forms. Plus, Nelson is a fellow L.A. poet!<br /><br />This drawing is open from now until the end of the month. Please leave your name and email address in a comment before midnight on April 30th, 2011, to be entered. And check out the other poets who are participating in the Big Poetry Giveway on Kelli's blog. There is a list on the left-hand side with links to their sites. You may end up with a whole lotta free goodness!Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-59660545247981249332011-04-07T09:40:00.000-07:002011-04-07T13:29:03.964-07:00Young Deer Are Fawns.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAa7nw57Cco31k4UGc9_ObQCVh4nwwaIfeX4d98_A1DlkJXmkaNVLD8a_H0-kMKr-IT14nipCLdZDz_OtPPI0kOgWUgnX14l7zqkxQM3Pzo5KwmSOs_CUgUgupaTvQ2Y6GkCPvNafs5k/s1600/finalcover.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAa7nw57Cco31k4UGc9_ObQCVh4nwwaIfeX4d98_A1DlkJXmkaNVLD8a_H0-kMKr-IT14nipCLdZDz_OtPPI0kOgWUgnX14l7zqkxQM3Pzo5KwmSOs_CUgUgupaTvQ2Y6GkCPvNafs5k/s320/finalcover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592893582828018914" border="0" /></a>Long time, no blog. But as this thing is supposed to behave to some degree as a crass platform of self-promotion, we will be concentrating our energies there today.<br /><br />On March 1st, I received word that I had won the first annual <a href="http://epoetryreview.com/index.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Eudaimonia Poetry Review</span></a> Chapbook Prize! And I was thrilled. And completely grateful that my second book of poems was going to be published.<br /><br />I worked on my chapbook, <span style="font-style: italic;">O Dear Deer,</span> , for more than a year. It began in November 2009 as a response to being impaneled on a jury in downtown L.A., on a gang-related murder and attempted murder trial. It is not a retelling of the facts of the trial or even really about my experience as a juror, although the book reflects some of my ambivalence about that job, certainly. It is more like a preoccupation, an obsession even, with the larger questions that were at stake for me during that process, and the questions I imagined might be at stake for the defendant, the victims, the families, the witnesses, the lawyers, the judge, the other jurors. Or not. I don't know. But, for me, the haunting question was about who these people would be if they had never encountered each other on that particular day in the summer of 2007. If they had all walked down different paths to become different people. And the idea that maybe those doppelgangers exist somewhere, out there, just beyond where we can see, leading a life of our own other making. Maybe we live all the lives we make possible to ourselves, even if we live them (only) in our mind's eye, or in our dreams, or in our regrets. Or if our families live them for us. Maybe those other selves keep on walking.<br /><br />I was likewise grateful for the words of poet Evan J. Peterson, who served as judge for the chapbook contest and wrote the foreword for the book. Here are some excerpts drawn from the press release:<br /><br /><blockquote>While many of the final selections were strong, the winning chapbook is a "stunningly rendered place of violent simplicity. It bewilders me while asking me to be wilder." The author, he said, has created "a hypnotic landscape of image rhyme that is better than surreal -- surrealism tries too hard. This is the dream space, the real dream space, and it feels effortlessly accurate. This collection shaves slivers from my bones."</blockquote><br />That makes me happy. Very, very happy. The press (<a href="http://www.squallpublishing.com/">Squall Publishing</a>) will be releasing the chapbook (which is a short and tightly-thematic collection of poems) on July 1st. It is available for pre-order on Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Deer-Linda-Dove/dp/0983396604/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1302145759&sr=1-1">here</a>.<br /><br />In the meantime, here is an excerpt from the book, a poem that originally appeared in <span style="font-style: italic;">Eudaimonia Poetry Review</span>'s issue devoted to the finalists:<br /><br /><br /><blockquote>Closing Arguments<br /><br /><br />What can we say,<br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">O our dear Deer</span>,<br /><br />but that the bare bodies of trees<br />spring from your head.<br /><br />Their winter shape is all<br />the testimony of the world--<br /><br />fork after fork dividing in dark<br />threads, every possible annex<br /><br />to open sky. From some branch<br />farther on, we must look lucky here--<br /><br />so much slant left, so many<br />yeses and nos--we tangle<br /><br />ourselves in want, even the heart<br />crosshatched with artery.<br /><br /></blockquote>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-7967435543144338282010-07-21T22:27:00.000-07:002010-07-21T22:41:12.164-07:00Fish Boxes.Recently, R. pointed me towards a paragraph from a short-story called "The Patch" by John McPhee that appeared in the Feb. 8, 2010, issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">The New Yorker</span>. He got my attention by claiming that he thought it came close to offering a metaphor for my aesthetic, my muse. That it sounded like the way I think about information, about history, about language, as I write poetry. <br /><br />Okay, so he got my attention. Here's the McPhee paragraph--a story about fathers and sons and fishing, which, in and of itself, does not sound much like my writing. But this:<br /><blockquote>Pickerel have palatal teeth. They also have teeth on their tongues, not to mention those razor jaws. On their bodies, they sometimes bear scars from the teeth of other pickerel. Pickerel that have been found in the stomachs of pickerel have in turn contained pickerel in their stomachs. A minnow found in the stomach of a pickerel had a pickerel in its stomach that had in its stomach a minnow. <br /></blockquote>is fantastic. Must. Now. Write. Poem. About. Pickerel.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-72270415836306135062010-07-07T00:00:00.000-07:002010-07-21T22:27:09.536-07:00Hahamongna Blog Day.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2xX4vdEkcvp9Rdn7GR6j_Ej9TXrSkXgd02afuY9EK4g3jns08f456DH1-eaI3whh5Fa_yrHxb0ge_gVOG1wrZjPbrAeS0p4zyZf_b2d6iPgQwD_HxEete8LeTDufrNVqyPpYcQCHOU8/s1600/JPLfromDG.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2xX4vdEkcvp9Rdn7GR6j_Ej9TXrSkXgd02afuY9EK4g3jns08f456DH1-eaI3whh5Fa_yrHxb0ge_gVOG1wrZjPbrAeS0p4zyZf_b2d6iPgQwD_HxEete8LeTDufrNVqyPpYcQCHOU8/s320/JPLfromDG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491025008947451842" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:100%;">Here Is A Place</span><br /><br />[*excerpted* *cut* *not whole any longer*]<br /><br /><!--[endif]--><br />. . . There is there.<br />All our looking at things<br />should not make there<br />here.<br />There is not here . . .<br /><br />Here is a place, Hahamongna,<br />where two fingers touch.<blockquote><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> </blockquote></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">On July 12th, the Pasadena City Council will decide whether to proceed with a plan to build soccer fields in Hahamongna Watershed Park, between the San Gabriel Mountains and the Arroyo Seco. I may write poetry, but I am also a soccer mom. My daughter belongs to the AYSO (American Youth Soccer Organization) Region 13 (Pasadena, Altadena, La Canada). By definition, by regulation, all soccer fields are the same. Thus there is always an alternative soccer field. Yet Hahamongna Watershed Park is unique. Why would we choose to replace what is rare with what is routine?<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">More information about the proposals to build soccer fields in Hahamongna Watershed Park, the five unique habitat zones that make up the park, and what you can do to protest this proposal, is located at <a href="http://savehahamongna.org/">SaveHahamongna.org</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">and at the following local blogs, all of whom are participating in this online day of protest:<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><style> BODY { font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px; }</style><a href="http://www.altadenaaboveitall.com/">Altadena Above It All</a><br /><a href="http://altadenahiker.blogspot.com/">Altadena Hiker</a><br /><a href="http://athinkingstomach.blogspot.com/">A Thinking Stomach</a><br /><a href="http://eastofallen.blogspot.com/">East of Allen</a><br /><a href="http://margaretfinnegan.blogspot.com/">Finnegan Begin Again</a><br /><a href="http://lacreekfreak.wordpress.com/">LA Creek Freak</a><br /><a href="http://www.mendolo.com/">Mendolonium</a><br /><a href="http://misterearlmusing.blogspot.com/">Mister Earl's Musings</a><br /><a href="http://www.mylifewithtommy.com/">My Life With Tommy</a><br /><a href="http://pasadenaadjacent.com/">Pasadena Adjacent</a><br /><a href="http://pasadenadailyphoto.blogspot.com/">Pasadena Daily Photo</a><br /><a href="http://pasadenalatina.blogspot.com/">Pasadena Latina</a><br /><a href="http://theskyisbig.blogspot.com/">The Sky Is Big In Pasadena</a><br /><a href="http://www.webstersfs.blogspot.com/">Webster's Fine Stationers Web Log</a><br /><a href="http://grrl.wordpress.com/">West Coast Grrlie Blather</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">**Image courtesy of SaveHahamongna.org **<br /></p>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-5829699675121604302010-04-22T15:40:00.000-07:002010-04-22T17:14:13.485-07:00Denver Redux.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0ud9iNkbxyRTfC99IKsEeaPSDVyem0mqhZn61uT5K9DUWh1HbrokFpokoU4yHqQ3wnH5tKPM5BEUHeedmNsloLGlqExA9pB4VOlZvzcVl1Ee8XPxVhAAKnlXWdyY4617ktyrXCorzag/s1600/AWP+DENVER.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0ud9iNkbxyRTfC99IKsEeaPSDVyem0mqhZn61uT5K9DUWh1HbrokFpokoU4yHqQ3wnH5tKPM5BEUHeedmNsloLGlqExA9pB4VOlZvzcVl1Ee8XPxVhAAKnlXWdyY4617ktyrXCorzag/s320/AWP+DENVER.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463095623876282002" border="0" /></a>I went to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">AWP</span> conference in Denver a couple weeks back. Like the big blue bear in front of the venue (the Convention Center downtown), I was mostly peeking in. Less so than I would have been in previous years, since I (1) met up with friends for lunches / drinks; (2) had a book signing at my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">press's</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bookfair</span> table; and (3) went to see a friend read at an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">offsite</span> reading, but, nonetheless, I'm not yet feeling like this is my tribe. Whatever one has to say, positively or negatively, about MFA programs, they do provide communities for their graduates to align themselves with (or against) later on. Having made the leap from literature professor / scholar to full-time writer, I bear the acute sense of having fought for every poet-alliance I've made. Much of the time, this struggle to find voices in sync with mine, or that will challenge mine, translates into an opportunity. At times like these, though, when the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bookfair</span> resembles a medieval marketplace and the lobby bar scene is, well, a <span style="font-style: italic;">scene</span>, it can leave me feeling impoverished. Especially, I might add, at my age, which is, in this context--shall we say--riper than some. Okay, most.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Highpoints</span> included the indecent <span style="font-style: italic;">haul</span> of poetry books and journals I picked up at said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bookfair (I actually paid a total of $48 extra dollars in airline baggage fees on this trip)</span>, some of which I had in mind to purchase before I went (and had been waiting for, so I could take advantage of the friendly price reductions) and some that I came across fortuitously, as I was, for instance, searching for an ingress to conversation at a certain press's table. No, apparently, I'm not above buying my way into an introduction.<br /><br />What I bought:<br /><br />Rick Barot's <span style="font-style: italic;">Want</span><br />Beth Bachmann's <span style="font-style: italic;">Temper</span><br />Aase Berg's <span style="font-style: italic;">With Deer</span><br />Catherine Bowman's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Plath Cabinet</span><br />Susan Briante's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pioneers in the Study of Motion</span> (signed!)<br />Jeanne E. Clark's <span style="font-style: italic;">Gorrill's Orchard</span> (gifted to me by my editor)<br />Oliver de la Paz's <span style="font-style: italic;">Requiem for the Orchard</span> (signed!)<br />Angie Estes's <span style="font-style: italic;">Tryst</span><br />Farrah Field's <span style="font-style: italic;">Rising</span><br />Elisa Gabbert's <span style="font-style: italic;">The French Exit</span><br />Amy Gerstler's <span style="font-style: italic;">Dearest Creature</span> (my favorite cover, maybe of all time)<br />Ernest Hilbert's <span style="font-style: italic;">Sixty Sonnets</span><br />Douglas Kearney's <span style="font-style: italic;">Fear,Some</span><br />Becca Klaver's <span style="font-style: italic;">LA Liminal</span><br />Melissa Kwasny's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Archival Birds</span> (gifted to me by my editor)<br />Karen An-hwei Lee's <span style="font-style: italic;">In Medias Res</span><br />Karyna McGlynn's <span style="font-style: italic;">I Have to Go Back to 1994 and Kill a Girl</span><br />Jim Natal's <span style="font-style: italic;">Memory and Rain</span> (because he now runs the CW program that I used to)<br />Donald Revell's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Bitter Withy</span><br />Judith Terzi's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Road to Oxnard </span>(because I met her on the plane to Denver!)<br />Monica Youn's <span style="font-style: italic;">Ignatz </span>(my second copy!)<br /><br />and copies of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Laurel Review</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Third Coast</span>, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Tin House</span> (because I'd been dying to read two poems by Joseph Fasano that weren't available on line, "Buck Season" and "Fragments"...they also gifted me their Hollywood issue, as I try to keep up with the LA poetry out there [see Becca Klaver's book above]).<br /><br />Anyway. I have a lot of reading ahead of me.<br /><br />I also went to several panels, including the near-epic showdown (hoedown?) between Tony Hoagland and Donald Revell. In sum: Hoagland says we need to pull back our chests and show our primal wounds, all poetry (must/should be) about suffering, and Revell answers with a quotation from Beckett's <span style="font-style: italic;">Endgame</span>: "HAMM: We do what we can. CLOV: We shouldn't."<br /><br />Actually, the idea that most stayed with me was Revell's suggestion that there should be a "conversion, a road to Damascus" between lines of a poem--otherwise, why bother with the turn?<br /><br />I went to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Sparrow Anthology</span> reading, and I'd quote something from that that I really loved, if I could find the scrap of paper I wrote it down on. Note to self: next year, bring a cute moleskin notebook, like every other youngin' around you. Come prepared to class. Duh.<br /><br />Overall, I can't complain. I put faces to names. I did some stealth research (sitting alone at a table at a reading in which I didn't recognize a single soul, except Cole Swensen, who was the only other person past 40 in the room. Hey, I had merlot.). I met my editor for the first time in person. I sold a few books. And, now, I have a lot to brew on.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-91021951172013732412010-01-20T09:49:00.000-08:002010-01-20T09:58:26.842-08:00Blue Dot Real Good Chair Experiment.I found this video through one of my favorite design blogs, <a href="http://kitsunenoir.com/2010/01/20/the-real-good-experiment-by-blu-dot/">Kitsune Noir</a>, which is based here in L.A. The video, which effectively is a commercial spot for <a href="http://www.bludot.com/browse_products/seating/1/">Blue Dot</a>, a high-end furniture store, takes the concept of dumpster diving to a whole new level. I love it. This is what advertising should be.<br /><br />I also have a thing for chairs.<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="400" height="300"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8201309&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8201309&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="300"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/8201309">Blu Dot Real Good Experiment</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2537680">Real Good Chair</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-50714798176130005192010-01-12T14:26:00.000-08:002010-01-12T14:28:15.672-08:00It "couldn't cope with metaphor..."<p class="big">excerpted from the AWP's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Writer's Chronicle</span>:<br /></p><p class="big"><br /></p><p class="big">Computerized Exam Markers Fail Hemingway, Churchill, Golding</p> <p align="justify">Some of the world’s most well known writers have received failing marks when submitted to a new computerized marking system for British school essays, the <em>Times Online</em> reports. Winston Churchill’s 1940 speech exhorting his countrymen to “fight on the beaches” had a style that was too repetitive according to the computer. The speech was rated below average. William Golding and Ernest Hemingway came up short as well, ranking less than standard in the American equivalent of an A-level English exam. A passage from Golding’s <em>Lord of the Flies</em> was docked for its two-word paragraph: “A face.” Graham Herbert, deputy head of the Chartered Institute of Educational Assessors (CIEA), an umbrella body for exam boards and other organizations, said: “The computer was limited in its scope. It couldn’t cope with metaphor and didn’t understand the purpose of the speech. We also tried a passage from Hemingway. It couldn’t understand the fact that he had a very spartan style and (it) said he should write with more care and detail. He was also rated less than average.” This system, already in use in the United States, was created using a range of comments by human graders in response to exam papers. While the program recognizes sentence structure, other elements such as style and purpose are not recognized. According to Herbert, some children in America had “cracked the code” by learning to write in a style that the computer understood. This was called “schmoozing the computer,” he said. “At the moment we do not have a reliable and valid way of assessing English language using a software package, although this is something for which there is demand.”</p>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-57184893198778657042010-01-06T21:45:00.000-08:002010-01-06T21:56:42.659-08:00Vegetable Love.for <a href="http://restlesschef.blogspot.com/2010/01/poetry-corner.html">The Restless Chef</a> . . . a poet after my own turnip heart....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvaJRcw5lnJ-okQaY9m51m2LSTnwiHQ9Aq71iMySkFJbYDzRL3BoBczD_AH7rQ3SwcSa4tFlmgYALzswa9oaEcjIOyD36NUMtk50ZK96MLKHAeFRRJN4IhPUFsTS13bqDAIkW02hZM8Q/s1600-h/turnip+head.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvaJRcw5lnJ-okQaY9m51m2LSTnwiHQ9Aq71iMySkFJbYDzRL3BoBczD_AH7rQ3SwcSa4tFlmgYALzswa9oaEcjIOyD36NUMtk50ZK96MLKHAeFRRJN4IhPUFsTS13bqDAIkW02hZM8Q/s320/turnip+head.jpg" alt="" /><br /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2NY2_N0V8kl04uMT_vNCcBOk-_2r8ReQ449oTfVSSgvDv7PhW2-72xkI_D2Ae5flBpUdv4igM3iVGoKONiv1135Nsz4gX92DidPT1BLMimmDRMP6-nsei0fNK92RQWK32g9AGiLDUkY/s1600-h/onion+head+crying.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2NY2_N0V8kl04uMT_vNCcBOk-_2r8ReQ449oTfVSSgvDv7PhW2-72xkI_D2Ae5flBpUdv4igM3iVGoKONiv1135Nsz4gX92DidPT1BLMimmDRMP6-nsei0fNK92RQWK32g9AGiLDUkY/s320/onion+head+crying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423870318054159714" border="0" /></a>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-20894751478041929902010-01-01T13:41:00.000-08:002010-01-04T14:27:00.195-08:00Resolutions.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l3bb_74ORRZDQ68I7Js-7NDNpTpL7J63FWtA6P4ILe72_hpfod-sBkPBIWVpnSlqK0yl36Vx9ry_SRywN6i4tGts0T3teZw-mKx5EjtssnyfDP85Co8Vm2HZ0uOCNbT4yEKBErpsjzE/s1600-h/IMG_4042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l3bb_74ORRZDQ68I7Js-7NDNpTpL7J63FWtA6P4ILe72_hpfod-sBkPBIWVpnSlqK0yl36Vx9ry_SRywN6i4tGts0T3teZw-mKx5EjtssnyfDP85Co8Vm2HZ0uOCNbT4yEKBErpsjzE/s320/IMG_4042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421890292748664754" border="0" /></a>I know it's fashionable to dismiss the practice of making New Year's resolutions as cliched and token. But I consider resolutions to be like a marriage of a good "to-do" list with the <span style="font-style: italic;">Consolation of Philosophy</span>, and I am never one to look askance at a well-wrought to-do list, nor at Boethius for that matter, so I do engage in this little ritual.<br /><br />Just before Christmas, I found the little white card where I jotted down my resolutions for 2009 last January. Out of six, I checked two completely off (find a church community I can live with and publish more) and made some progress on a couple others. Clearly, publishing my first book of poetry was the professional (and perhaps personal) height of my past year, although learning to put up five-dozen jars of <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Drunken-Fig-Jam-350120">Drunken Fig Jam</a> was definitely a highlight. Too bad it wasn't a resolution.<br /><br />I cringe at the fact that the first thing on my 2009 list of resolutions is also the first thing on my 2010 list--the ole "lose weight & get in shape" goal--not because it isn't a worthy or, lord knows, necessary resolution, but rather because it is the superlative cliche of the entire cliched act of making resolutions, as anyone who has sat through a round of network TV commercials in the past week can attest to. At least I don't smoke.<br /><br />The trick to doing an acceptable list of resolutions is the Boethian half of the model I propose--it's no fair including such whimsies as "straighten desk" or "write thank-you notes" on a list of annual goals. These are the stuff of refrigerators and pocket calendars, not New Year's Resolutions. To have resolve, after all, is to dally with earnestness. One must be philosophical about the passing of time, if nothing else.<br /><br />Nonetheless, I did include "going to the dentist" and "renewing my passport" on my 2010 list. I need at least a couple resolutions I can cross off in a slightly-more-than-philosophical sense.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-3071988614244720402009-12-30T13:50:00.001-08:002009-12-30T13:53:31.402-08:00Pink.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJO__C_rqkJU9PHLq4SPFYBA4EhIjYvoFjUgDbSLSDIxsoH6QVsOPI6nNaf0VPUKEbeW2HCmR0CUSkEPfyNltqT3tucBSWO9ZZOmD5idwDsQu0f4AUyQ15iDyzSCSKvGnFAjvIDcTxuA/s1600-h/IMG_4038-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJO__C_rqkJU9PHLq4SPFYBA4EhIjYvoFjUgDbSLSDIxsoH6QVsOPI6nNaf0VPUKEbeW2HCmR0CUSkEPfyNltqT3tucBSWO9ZZOmD5idwDsQu0f4AUyQ15iDyzSCSKvGnFAjvIDcTxuA/s320/IMG_4038-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421150352133400658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I found him in my Christmas stocking. I expect big things out of my desk this coming year.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-43159020932267160922009-12-24T13:43:00.000-08:002009-12-24T14:05:39.197-08:00Christmas Poem.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHVG9paXVs9-ohu3jFU-cIBXIy9AkfhBHQcu3-x9CTvK_-FZYk7syo0y2vackvdSZRsh9vxG2WMlgAYsDZVnEU6_zcQNGbA-UvF8Pa6u70O4zmDFaB2hTnr17Eliv4WUIzIXe5BoDYEg/s1600-h/church+sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHVG9paXVs9-ohu3jFU-cIBXIy9AkfhBHQcu3-x9CTvK_-FZYk7syo0y2vackvdSZRsh9vxG2WMlgAYsDZVnEU6_zcQNGbA-UvF8Pa6u70O4zmDFaB2hTnr17Eliv4WUIzIXe5BoDYEg/s320/church+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418921915128637058" border="0" /></a>Each year, I write a Christmas poem for the annual card. I do this in the spirit of <a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21232">Robert Frost</a> and <a href="http://facpub.stjohns.edu/%7Eganterg/sjureview/vol2-1/nativity.html">Joseph Brodsky</a>, neither of whom were known for being a Christian poet--or particularly religious at all, for that matter. I started doing it as a way to share a poem with a different audience, and as a challenge. It's hard to write a poem drawn from a biblical verse and the quintessential Christian story that is faithful to the text and contexts without being heavy-handed, literalizing, or dogmatic. I take neither my poetry nor my faith with dogma.<br /><br />Last year, I wrote about the shepherds, and this year our pastors at the church used a line from my poem as the title of their sermon this past week:<br /><br /><blockquote>In the Same Country<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field,<br />keeping watch over their flock by night. (Luke 2:8)</span><br /><br /><br />Night feels like the bottom of the well. He clenches closer.<br />Stars dance between the bodies of sheep, grasses rustle.<br /><br />Against his back, the usual tree wanders with his breathing.<br />When the light comes, it is neither lantern nor stick nor sun.<br /><br />The sky cracks open. His field is ablaze without flame.<br />He presses his face to the dirt, pants, cries out for the others.<br /><br />Feathers graze his skin like a story. It is both old and new,<br />the telling of a memory, the song of a multitude in a single<br /><br />moment. He hears it spoken on the wind, in the lit dark,<br />and, forever after, he will be shepherd to those words.<br /></blockquote><br />Driving down Lake Avenue, I looked over and almost had an accident when I saw the sign for the first time.<br /><br />This year, I moved forward in Luke to the story of Simeon, which is rather a hard spot to find poetry in. He's a withered man, who wants to warn Mary about the crucifixion even as she is a new mother. But I took a stab (sorry for the pun) at it anyway:<br /><br /><blockquote>Simeon at the Temple<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother,<br />Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many<br />in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against;<br />(Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also,)<br />that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.<br /> (Luke 2: 34-35)</span><br /><br /><br />So that the heart may be struck<br />open. So that the piercings may undo<br />a body, running away in long tears<br />to ground itself back in the baby<br />on the straw, who soothes himself<br />to sleep under a star cast<br />into the universe not just for him.<br />So a sign may manifest. So it may.<br /><br />Simeon spoke the words in his old<br />mouth. He saw his old skin, rippled<br />as a surface of water, lift the child<br />under the hewn sky. He felt all<br />his years returned to him<br />in the stares of the parents,<br />who marvelled to hear these<br />new words, from such a new man.<br /></blockquote><br />Merry Christmas to you and yours. Have a wonderful eve, and morning tomorrow! Now, back to some Eartha Kitt.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-24231377967600263662009-12-14T15:39:00.000-08:002009-12-14T15:45:14.316-08:00Lights.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIzuAQzhrZ_FgWhe4ZZyiL41Q9WujI6V80CQ_9oR-gEXFetbOAa08HqpvtdWDN-yBtj_PvhUZ9lY7ZfV4yaZVmZnIgw5Br51dm185n9lwcR7kJlTh2SjoWjXC8Vs86Wly0lqk3KEei-M/s1600-h/IMG_3933-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIzuAQzhrZ_FgWhe4ZZyiL41Q9WujI6V80CQ_9oR-gEXFetbOAa08HqpvtdWDN-yBtj_PvhUZ9lY7ZfV4yaZVmZnIgw5Br51dm185n9lwcR7kJlTh2SjoWjXC8Vs86Wly0lqk3KEei-M/s320/IMG_3933-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415241808837926530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Some of the lights of my life.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-72457501015027929972009-11-12T08:46:00.000-08:002009-11-12T08:54:54.190-08:00In the Eye of the Horse.I was asked by my editor at the press to guest-blog this week and offer some background commentary on my poem, "Eye, Appaloosa," which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. You can find the post <a href="http://theresabearthere.blogspot.com/2009/11/poem-and-commentary-by-linda-dove.html">here</a>.<br /><br />I also want to apologize to folks whose blogs I often comment on, as I'm not having the opportunity to do so of late. I've been on jury duty for almost two weeks now, and the trial will be lengthy, and I'm having a hard time squeezing in my usual pursuits--although I do try and read on my iphone everything everyone's posting during our breaks at the courthouse. I just don't have time to punch out witty and trenchant responses on the little keypad before we're lining up again. I am reading and enjoying, though.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-64668665520824303292009-11-09T07:51:00.000-08:002009-11-09T07:54:04.474-08:00Once and Future Projects.I have a short interview up today at the <span style="font-style: italic;">L.A. Review</span>: click <a href="http://redhen.org/losangelesreview/news/poetry/a-brief-interview-with-linda-dove/#more-268">here</a> to read it. (I have a poem in their current issue.)Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-72677461846600851582009-11-05T21:13:00.000-08:002009-11-05T21:46:45.864-08:00Paths Crossed.I am, in most things, a rank-and-file skeptic. A confirmed cynic. I am certainly not a particular adherent to any philosophies of fate. Except to those that I am. I do, in fact, think that on occasion, or on most occasions even, that we cross paths with those folks whom we are supposed to for one reason or another. For me, it goes something like <a href="http://thepoetryexperiment.blogspot.com/2005/06/john-ashbery-at-north-farm.html">this</a>.<br /><br />In typical Ashberyesqueness, that's not an easy poem. Here's what I have made of it, the far paler rendition:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;">Poem Coming On</span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Ashbery’s sense of it—the stranger, always moving</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">toward you across the next rise, all the people</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">you haven’t yet met, don’t yet know,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">but who are coming on.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">The sense of someone</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">out there, moving in a life, now washing the dishes,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">now pruning the roses, now talking on the phone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">They cry and make love and laugh out loud</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">without you.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Bury their mother.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Stop for coffee</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">at the corner and glance at the morning</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">headlines.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Show up at the family barbecue.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">When you do know them—when the point</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">of meeting finally does arrive—your life</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">and theirs no longer remember difference.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Perspective shifts. </span>You see the two lives<span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">as a painter sees the hay bales sitting in the fields:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">black boxes against green.<span style=""> </span>No dimensions.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p> I do think people--and situations, events--are constantly in an unpredictable line aimed at yours. To flinch from the meeting is perhaps to miss a destiny. (That said by someone who resists the idea of destiny at every turn.)<br /><br />Yesterday, I was sworn in on a criminal jury in downtown L.A. It's at least a month-long trial. It's going to be intense and discomfiting and nothing I can speak of in any detail until it's over. Yet I do feel (in yet a diffuse way) that this experience was put in my way for a reason. Can't explain that. I certainly don't feel like the case needs me in any way. More like I need it.<br /><br />I'll let you know. Eventually.<br /><br />And though I'm not there as a writer first, in any stretch of the imagination, the first poem will undoubtedly be titled, "Voir Dire."Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-72498069348091975292009-10-14T15:06:00.000-07:002009-10-14T15:13:15.000-07:00Keeping It All in the Family.Got palms?<br /><br />Join the <a href="http://palmtreenation.blogspot.com/">PalmTreeNation</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHf1wnvgDni7OaMf9fKcvPwWfPNZM98JCvRx9_rxYEvWYsiRMPWUk-gxR-yrhoUqgoVux0xrXL6ULowBRmk5LcfpwvWYhS1xAqakWHSTrHNOabcKBifJ6aUQ3xNMNo8iTxunx5pd0bbME/s1600-h/IMG_3377.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHf1wnvgDni7OaMf9fKcvPwWfPNZM98JCvRx9_rxYEvWYsiRMPWUk-gxR-yrhoUqgoVux0xrXL6ULowBRmk5LcfpwvWYhS1xAqakWHSTrHNOabcKBifJ6aUQ3xNMNo8iTxunx5pd0bbME/s320/IMG_3377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392582026972717186" border="0" /></a>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-40633317447459168752009-10-09T10:15:00.000-07:002009-10-09T10:54:24.854-07:00Roy G. Biv (sorry, I can't let indigo go)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTdrgZj60tFEMVvoP0FB879ZZTcDrmI9emwO8RDAjIrHyFDEUA0TuSyHD6ck1-Gwr0BW5pCP8qa3E3TF_3_x4mSKO9LrVtZQX_N3NlaP-mSkCC1h1fhsEHsj5hNLbNdXC8gqR67ROCCQ/s1600-h/Rainbow+with+Cliffs.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTdrgZj60tFEMVvoP0FB879ZZTcDrmI9emwO8RDAjIrHyFDEUA0TuSyHD6ck1-Gwr0BW5pCP8qa3E3TF_3_x4mSKO9LrVtZQX_N3NlaP-mSkCC1h1fhsEHsj5hNLbNdXC8gqR67ROCCQ/s320/Rainbow+with+Cliffs.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390650322219137906" border="0" /></a>This is a view of Skull Valley, taken while standing on my front porch at <a href="http://lindadove.com/_wsn/page5.html">Cipher Canyon Ranch</a>, looking east to the <a href="http://www.trailsgalore.com/trails/1000373_Sierra_Prieta_Crest_Trail_Nmber_Two_Hundred_Sixty_Four_Arizona.html">Sierra Prietas</a>. Weather in the mountains of Arizona is a wild thing, often entirely unpredictable--this is a picture of November, an odd time for rainbows, perhaps, which are not a permanent feature of this view but rather an entirely conditional one.<br /><br />I'm missing this desert a bit. Mountains are unique, and memorable and, as such, a little like friends.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-17513437433770442312009-10-07T15:50:00.000-07:002009-10-07T16:03:49.028-07:00Where It's Always 20 to 9.Miss Havisham's Table<br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;">"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You are not<br />afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun<br />since you were born?"<br /> -- <span style="font-style: italic;">Great Expectations</span><br /></span></blockquote><br />She is not the old bat you were taught in school.<br />Her dress is a little loose, a topiary form<br />on a withered yew, rough like cast bandages.<br />On the dresser, a jeweled brooch welters<br />in a bride-to-be's mess, its sunburst pattern<br />impressed in dust. The only clock running<br />is Miss Havisham herself, who sweeps the room<br />on Pip's shoulder, round and round<br />the wedding table. 20 to 9. 20 to 9. 20 to 9.<br />What's different here is simple: loss<br />is fixture. Memory occludes each crystal<br />on the chandelier; her foot is a rag of silk.<br />She has refused to play Time's brunt,<br />triggering a mortal spar: each wrinkle, each<br />sallowed sag of skin, each mouse that rattles,<br />eats away the ordered universe. The cake,<br />a one-time ziggurat of cream and froth, hums<br />with the clicking shells of beetles. Cobwebs<br />drape like aviary nets. She has accepted ruin.<br />She expects to lie down on the dilapidated feast,<br />a pyre of dark and lovely light. What else<br />is there? She's done the best she could:<br />cursed the day, trod on a few young lives,<br />preserved a world that's cantilevered.<br /><br />_________________________________<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">In Defense of Objects</span>, available now from <a href="http://www.bearstarpress.com/">Bear Star Press</a>. $16. No shipping fees.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9wu1xRYhDyToLazgeTQNC-NTtr8s6YllDK7dV2FAs9aAz_Pe7f7EL7FbUONYqKokN7lNG5gIty3yqSRrkp7hjHb1BM7yQac3XQHMm9dJlEkqlqfgDu1-IPu-PxuDU3GljOZxRR0uKgw/s1600-h/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9wu1xRYhDyToLazgeTQNC-NTtr8s6YllDK7dV2FAs9aAz_Pe7f7EL7FbUONYqKokN7lNG5gIty3yqSRrkp7hjHb1BM7yQac3XQHMm9dJlEkqlqfgDu1-IPu-PxuDU3GljOZxRR0uKgw/s320/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389997068610056322" border="0" /></a>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-81740273728529936592009-10-04T21:39:00.001-07:002009-10-04T21:51:01.308-07:00The Itch That Must Be Scratched.I read a <a href="http://poe-query.blogspot.com/2009/10/itchy.html">poet-blogger</a> the other day describe her inability to find the time or opportunity to write as making her itch.<br /><br />I get that. Only I feel like I've gained weight, rather than broken out in hives. I feel bloated. And like my clothes don't fit anymore. Everything is too tight and about to pop buttons.<br /><br />This is a metaphor.<br /><br />I've been retaining words all summer, and I finally intend to shed some serious pounds. I'm meeting my muse in the morning, and we have a bruising work-out scheduled.<br /><br />Tomorrow, my daughter goes back to school.Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-15259345920851112902009-10-01T09:18:00.000-07:002009-10-01T11:51:48.076-07:00Innovative People.I enjoyed reading this <a href="http://blogs.harvardbusiness.org/hbr/hbreditors/2009/09/how_do_innovators_think.html">article</a> from the <span style="font-style: italic;">Harvard Business Review</span> on the five "discovery skills" that distinguish innovative entrepreneurs.<br /><br />They are (I'm quoting from the article here):<br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">associating</span> -- a cognitive skill that allows creative people to make connections across seemingly unrelated questions, problems, or ideas;</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">questioning</span> -- an ability to ask "what if," "why," and "why not" questions that challenge the status quo and open up the bigger picture;</li></ul><ul style="font-weight: bold;"><li>ability to closely observe details, particularly the details of people's behavior;</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">ability to experiment</span> -- the people studied are always trying on new experiences and exploring new worlds;</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">ability to network with smart people who have little in common with them, but from whom they can learn</span>.</li></ul>"You might summarize all of the skills...in one word: '<span style="font-weight: bold;">inquisitiveness</span>'...it's the same kind of inquisitiveness you see in small children...<br /><br />If you look at 4-year-olds, they are constantly asking questions and wondering how things work. But by the time they are 6 1/2 years old, they stop asking questions because they quickly learn that teachers value the right answers more than provocative questions. High school students rarely show inquisitiveness. And by the time they're grown up and are in corporate settings, they have already had the curiosity drummed out of them."<br />________________________<br /><br />Obviously, I'm less interested in this issue for corporate settings and more in terms of the creative act. Does a similar skill-set translate to creative types--artists and writers and poets?<br /><br />It's an interesting question to me, as I've become less and less satisfied with discussions of left-brain and right-brain cognitive dispositions, or handedness, as indicators (or contraindicators) of creativity. Obviously, this list above catalogs behaviors, rather than cognitive function, so we're tracking effects rather than causes. Nonetheless, coming at the issue from the rear, so to speak, could be helpful.<br /><br />This past summer, I attended a lecture given by an aesthetics scholar, who wanted to claim that language (which lives on the "rational," left side of the brain) is an ugly hindrance to the unmediated apprehension necessary for right-brained, artistic creation. Problem is, he couldn't explain poetry. He conceded that poets experience unmediated apprehension, just as other types of artists do; yet he couldn't explain how or why they then use language as their medium, particularly as they're not transcribing the experience at some later moment, but writing exactly as they're creating. Hmmmmm...<br /><br />I did take one of those brain hemispheres quizzes on Facebook. Interestingly, I was *exactly* 50-50, right and left, which I guess is fairly rare. But the real point is, if hemispheric interpretations of creativity don't really work for one medium, why would we assume it works for others?<br /><br />As for this new research into creative behaviors, I can only say that most artists I know (in any medium) would say that they're naturally inquisitive. Yet I'm not sure all or many fall in line with others of these behaviors; for instance, many artists I know are not all that keen observers of other people. They're fairly inept when it comes to reading social situations or understanding the nuances of a particular culture (Facebook, again, comes to mind). Artists tend to stick to their tribes. Now, the "associating" behavior is right-on-the-money with artists and poets--my mind certainly connects weird stuff together. It's the act of metaphor.<br /><br />Nonetheless, a lot of artists simply know what they know. Ya know?Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-74127592170096290912009-09-30T12:22:00.000-07:002009-09-30T12:44:01.929-07:00What do quarks and hoodoos have to do with each other?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:8.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in .5in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">An Astronomy of Things</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in -9.75pt 0.0001pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:100%;">An astronomy of things is established by the perfect knowledge <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in -9.75pt 0.0001pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:100%;">of the space an object should occupy .<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size:100%;">—Giorgio de Chirico, <i style="">Metaphysical Aesthetic</i>, 1919</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Some objects are real only to each other.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">In that cosmic recipe of stardust and heat,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">the tiniest things</span><span style="font-size:100%;">—strangelets and quarks</span><span style="font-size:100%;">—</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">spin and crash unseen under Swiss wheat.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Yet<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">the super-collider lives to know.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Coiled </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">far below the earth’s surface, its copper veins<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">pulse with matter, with a beam of protons </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">that bends time back to its origin:</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">to<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Before Objects, when there was only the space </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">between</span><span style="font-size:100%;">—though chances are, that’s an object<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">too.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">In order to talk about what we can’t see, </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">we invent a charmed language:</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">particles<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">of <i style="">beauty</i> and <i style="">truth</i>, dark energy, strange matter.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Dimensions curl up or stretch into strings.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">It used to be our reach was shorter,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">we told stories to explain the nature<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">out our front door:</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">hoodoos and rivers,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">bugs, seasons, weather.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Stars, too, of course,<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">their habits, features, affairs.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Let’s just get it out </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">on the table, amid the trinkets and dust:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">there is nothing in Nature </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">that isn’t colliding with words.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">_________________________________________<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5G3zikjiUI11fld959jetwOmj5_yGYWcIqW27EfISsd4ShYI7-BLizYy7Iddo9kpQuMhANPtW-BiQOk4BB1HlSYVbZrD9TBEHMfy-jj8ECb9qYe1mQ50-lBWqbvyGxkeE0c-ABwf6cs/s1600-h/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5G3zikjiUI11fld959jetwOmj5_yGYWcIqW27EfISsd4ShYI7-BLizYy7Iddo9kpQuMhANPtW-BiQOk4BB1HlSYVbZrD9TBEHMfy-jj8ECb9qYe1mQ50-lBWqbvyGxkeE0c-ABwf6cs/s320/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387344855211846258" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Winner of the 2009 Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Award.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Available now ($16, shipping is free!) from <a href="http://www.bearstarpress.com/">Bear Star Press</a>.<br /><o:p></o:p></p>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161437399904175793.post-9329489742198770142009-09-28T15:52:00.000-07:002009-09-28T16:19:17.973-07:00at the end, I reveal what I miss from back East...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> 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mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--><br /><br />Lost and Found in the American West<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""> <span style="font-size:85%;">on the </span></i></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:place><i style="">Green River</i></st1:place><i style="">, </i><st1:state><st1:place><i style="">Utah</i></st1:place></st1:state></span><i style=""><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Objects write the river, its surface a tablet </p> <p class="MsoNormal">of leaf, branch, rock, carp, fingers that trail<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">through the green-brown, all those tiny mirrors </p> <p class="MsoNormal">tarnished like saloons.<span style=""> </span>Swallows angle off wind,<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">their huts blooming from cracked canyons, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">and pink brooms of tamarisk tidy the buzz.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first day, our skins turn to what might be </p> <p class="MsoNormal">at the bottom of a puddle.<span style=""> </span>The third day, ritual.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">By then, our eyes can’t hold the river long </p> <p class="MsoNormal">enough for beauty.<span style=""> </span>It’s where we’ve been.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We blink by red rock, streaking varnish down </p> <p class="MsoNormal">its face.<span style=""> </span>Awe proves unsustainable, despite<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">the eddy’s backpedal, its remnant fin.<span style=""> </span>Off </p> <p class="MsoNormal">the river at dark, the Milky Way catches</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">in cottonwood.<span style=""> </span>Night raises smoke.<span style=""> </span>Objects lost </p> <p class="MsoNormal">mean fireflies, that nostalgic flick, which is not<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">the light of stars.</p><br />___________________________________________<br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Winner of the 2009 Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Award, the complete collection is available now by clicking on <a href="http://www.bearstarpress.com/">Bear Star Press</a>. $16. Free shipping!<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBLuIw8jwl1KaUnaMzy_04WSfehhEpI8tpr7bQqRcKP_UVut0fN19bYa53bGkjeh2TLQVHDB9O4njxbofZNa2Dc5V4SGG0tNuNNRH6-1sxMt5HyXjx3sQbbD8HuhaguQH6j2O2gWmUfU/s1600-h/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBLuIw8jwl1KaUnaMzy_04WSfehhEpI8tpr7bQqRcKP_UVut0fN19bYa53bGkjeh2TLQVHDB9O4njxbofZNa2Dc5V4SGG0tNuNNRH6-1sxMt5HyXjx3sQbbD8HuhaguQH6j2O2gWmUfU/s320/Objects+POSTCARD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386655412120479170" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Linda Dovehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02776352090489595324noreply@blogger.com7