Monday, June 29, 2009

Oh, the ghosts of English teachers past!

The Effort

by Billy Collins

Would anyone care to join me
in flicking a few pebbles in the direction
of teachers who are fond of asking the question:
"What is the poet trying to say?"

as if Thomas Hardy and Emily Dickinson
had struggled but ultimately failed in their efforts—
inarticulate wretches that they were,
biting their pens and staring out the window for a clue.

Yes, it seems that Whitman, Amy Lowell
and the rest could only try and fail
but we in Mrs. Parker's third-period English class
here at Springfield High will succeed

with the help of these study questions
in saying what the poor poet could not,
and we will get all this done before
that orgy of egg salad and tuna fish known as lunch.

Tonight, however, I am the one trying
to say what it is this absence means,
the two of us sleeping and waking under different roofs.
The image of this vase of cut flowers,

not from our garden, is no help.
And the same goes for the single plate,
the solitary lamp, and the weather that presses its face
against these new windows--the drizzle and the
morning frost.

So I will leave it up to Mrs. Parker,
who is tapping a piece of chalk against the blackboard,
and her students—a few with their hands up,
others slouching with their caps on backwards—

to figure out what it is I am trying to say
about this place where I find myself
and to do it before the noon bell rings
and that whirlwind of meatloaf is unleashed.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Recent knitting shenanigans....

Hurry Up Spring Fingerless Gloves for Lou,
who (well, come fall) needs warm hands but free fingers
to deal with her two (beautiful!) babies.

Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Quick Guide to the Apostrophe

With many thanks to Teresa for bringing this gem to my attention.
(click image for a larger view)

Monday, June 8, 2009

finding night

Night in Day
by Joseph Stroud

The night never wants to end, to give itself over
to light. So it traps itself in things: obsidian, crows.
Even on summer solstice, the day of light’s great
triumph, where fields of sunflowers guzzle in the sun—
we break open the watermelon and spit out
black seeds, bits of night glistening on the grass.

Friday, June 5, 2009

snow in night

Untitled [Toward night]
by Kevin Goodan

Toward night, frail flurries of snow. Fingernails of willows scratching frost from the edges of the kitchen window where I watch the field beyond the fence where once corn was taller than a man can reach but now I gaze into the kitchen of the next farmhouse and watch the man with a bad leg hobble from sink to table to feed his mother with a spoon. I keep the lights off and study snow to augur from the flakes what fortune I may. The furnace does its duty and cars pass, swirls of flurry captured in fading prisms of red. If I stood on the road it would glow and crackle beneath my feet. The air would be muted, my own breath sounding as though it came from another body, a shadow leaning faintly toward me as though to whisper any comfort. Animals would unshelter themselves to stand waiting at the fence. Snow would settle everything. I would cup my hands, realizing I had become what it was I wanted to be. The body beside me would breathe on. The two of us.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

a little flowery language

Daffodils

by William Wordsworth

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Come Hear Some Fine Acoustic Music


Scott B Adams

Acoustic Guitar Concert
at the
Valatie Community Theatre

Saturday June 6
th
at
8 pm
(doors open at 7:30 pm)



Here’s a quick bit about Scott from his web site:

Scott B. Adams has forged a career out of capturing landscapes and snippets of history from the Adirondacks, The Finger Lakes and New York state, and turning them into lush, acoustic instrumental music compositions. Music from his most recent CDs is featured on the PBS Special, "Adirondack Wild" as well as on various syndicated radio shows such as NPR's "'Echoes" and "The Folk Sampler".

He is also the new director of the Boght Arts Center (http://boghtarts.org/). His official web site is www.orchardbeat.com where you can learn more about him and also hear some samples of his music.

The theatre is under restoration at 3031 Main Street (http://www.valatietheatre.org/). Tickets are $10 (I think) & doors open at 7:30.

Come support locals arts!!