Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Crossroads (Joyce Sutphen)
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
On The Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love ( Jennifer Michael Hecht)
Sometimes I think
we could have gone on.
All of us. Trying. Forever.
But they didn’t fill
the deserts with pyramids.
They just built some. Some.
They’re not still put there,
building them now. Everyone,
everywhere, gets up, and goes home.
Yet we must not
Diabolize time. Right?
We must not curse the passage of time.
we could have gone on.
All of us. Trying. Forever.
But they didn’t fill
the deserts with pyramids.
They just built some. Some.
They’re not still put there,
building them now. Everyone,
everywhere, gets up, and goes home.
Yet we must not
Diabolize time. Right?
We must not curse the passage of time.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Anatomy of a Bookshelf
Shelf 1, back row: "Making of" movie books, plays, comic anthologies/graphic novels
Shelf 1, front row: poetry, London guides
Shelf 2, back row: Harry Potter, His Dark Materials, Sherlock Holmes, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, In Cold Blood, The Other Boleyn Girl, The Complete Edgar Allen Poe
Shelf 2, front row: The Peggy Lane Theater Series, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Amnesiac, The Woman in White, Dracula, The Alienist, Gone with the Wind, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Little Women, Peter Pan (11 copies)
Shelf 3, back row: Shakespeare lit crit and historical context
Shelf 3, front row: Shakespeare plays (38 volumes)
Shelf 4, back row: young adult and children's (mostly published 1960's), foreign language textbooks
Shelf 4, front row: young adult and children's (mostly published 1980's)
Shelf 5: picture books, shooting scripts, theater programs, half filled notebooks
So, basically, something like 70% of my bookshelf has a reading level of 12 or younger and the rest is Shakespeare. Sounds about right.
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