More selections

A snippet from Tommy Pico's "Nature Poem" that I liked:

I look too much into the mirror of my worst self
so life feels like always breakin in a new pair of shoes

This is from a longer work, but I do like these lines.  For me, it describes those days when I don't feel put together right, and nothing seems to be going quite as I might hope.

While clicking about on my laptop, looking for something other than news to read, I discovered that I happened to have "Macbeth" and reading just a bit found:

Malcolm:

My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke

With one that saw him die: who did report

That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,

Implored your highness' pardon and set forth

A deep repentance: nothing in his life

Became him like the leaving it; he died

As one that had been studied in his death

To throw away the dearest thing he owed,

As 'twere a careless trifle.

I really liked the highlighted section of Malcolm's comment, as there is definitely the implication that someone was a total waste of breath.  

Ocean Vuong, from "Night Sky with Exit Wounds"

There is a poem earlier in this book ("Night Sky with Exit Wounds"), Torso of Air, that I liked quite a bit, but I am going to send you off to see if you can actually locate it elsewhere, since I wanted to quote from a different poem, Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong, right now:

... The most beautiful part of your body
is where it's headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. ...

I did finish up the book tonight, and for whatever reason, that line about loneliness rather struck me.

My reading has been all over the place.  I actually restarted my kindle unlimited subscription since they were offering me another thirty day free trial.  I cancelled it and removed the books I had downloaded, after totally losing interest in three of the four books I had borrowed.  It occurred to me a day or two after reactivating the service that I really didn't want to spend all summer reading on my kindle.

Speaking of reading, and of poetry, I discovered Tommy Pico's newest effort was released back in May, so I ordered it from my local bookstore.  Upon returning home, I noticed, unlike his earlier work, this one was available in electronic format.  While I have poetry in electronic format, I think it is actually something I prefer in paper, so I didn't cancel any orders or even compare pricing.  What struck me as the funniest thing was that I found the book in the Apple iBooks store, but it never really registered, until after I got home from the bookstore, that it was actually available electronically.  My mind thinks small press and that means no electronic versions.  Obviously, I am wrong, and I am glad such works are available in a variety of formats.

IRL, by Tommy Pico

I forgot to mention in my earlier post that I finished Pico's "IRL" which was a fun read, well as fun a poetry is supposed to be.  It gave all the things a long poem should give you, warm fuzzies, delightful imagery, and the occasional punch to the gut.  On FB, I advised folks to add it to their reading lists, especially if it wasn't something they would normally read, and I will repeat that recommendation here.  It is a good thing I have plenty of books to read from now until April, when the second book is due.

Here is a link that should allow you to order in pdf or print.

What caught my eye recently (Poetry)

Perhaps I should wait until I finish them before writing about books, but I don't really want to, especially with poetry, and especially when I find a bit I want to share.  I should probably transcribe it into some notebook or whatever, but I am not doing that, I am sharing with anyone who cares to read it a few lines I liked:

Books are fallible, towers
of letters with the power
you give them.  It's heartbreaking
to watch your pillars fall
                                (IRL, p.70, Tommy Pico)

I'll keep my views to myself on this one, since I truly think everyone reads poetry differently, even those who claim not to get it, when they read it, may find something, even if that something is confusion.  Poetry is words, and I will be the first to say that I don't "get" all poetry, and if a poem doesn't grab my attention, then I will finish it, but not really look for other poems by that author.

There was something else I ran across sometime late last week.  Amongst other things I am hoping to finish up "The Best American Poetry (2015)" before the year ends.  There are a lot of gems in the book, but I really like "Body & Kentucky Bourbon" by Saeed Jones.  It started evocatively and just continued on:

In the dark, my mind's night, I go back
to your work-calloused hands, your body

an the memory of fields I no longer see.

If I am not careful, I would just type the whole poem (it is that good, and not really that long), but I am not sure the publisher would appreciate that.

Weekends mean work for me, so I don't get things updated here often then, if you are reading, don't get distressed with nothing new on those days.

Henry Miller's Beauford Delaney piece

Tree decoration isn't going well, but reading is just fine.  My "Art in America" anthology just gave me a refresher on why I enjoy Henry Miller's writing-- that man can convey his enthusiasm, almost like you can feel it.  It probably doesn't help that I also finished a bit more of IRL, and I don't know if Pico has read Miller, but that same sort of urgency is in both of them.  In this case, both of them seem to be saying that regardless of what life tosses you, create, and make something of it.  Too often today, and I am way to guilty of this, if life tosses me lemons, I will go play a video game or get lost in a book just to avoid it.  While I am not sure how much a blog entry is something created, especially a blog entry for a blog with less than a dozen views per entry, this is something.  More of a document of what I have read, what it sparked, what I avoided doing while reading (decorating the tree), or really anything.  Maybe by the end of the year I will actually manage a total of 350 postings, which considering the age of this blog, would be a milepost of phenomenal sorts.  Those years with no postings, just mark those as years when I read or gamed or generally just stuck my head in the sand.  With the way things are going now, that may end  up being the next four years too, unless I somehow manage to keep up with The Donald posts on Google+, since I have, for the time being, stopped posting anything on Facebook, unless it is to share some bit of silliness I posted on Instagram.  Writing is good for me, just to relieve a bit of stress going through my mind.  There are some days when the blog exists side by side with the journal, though that isn't very often now.

The most important thing about social media, and the one thing that will always be my Achilles' Heel is that you need to stay active, because once you stop being active, folks go elsewhere, even friends.

OMG! 1917? Really?

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first use of the OMG acronym was in 1917, in a letter to Winston Churchill of all things.  "Letters of Note" reproduces the letter.  It surprised me that it preceded the internet and texting by so many years.  Since I am still working in "IRL,' mention of modern acronyms and other abbreviated versions of words seems fine.  I am still impressed with the book, and read a brief section tonight, as well as a bit more of "[Insert] boy," but tonight is setting up the Christmas tree, before I procrastinate until after the holiday, thereby skipping the project altogether.

Of poetry, I finally finished Joe LeSueur's "Digressions," whose title I shorten because I am too lazy to type the whole thing (or should that be keyboard the whole thing?).  I enjoyed the look into Frank O'Hara's poetry, as well as the picture of New York at that time.  It took me forever to read because I was only reading it at work, and purposefully only in small bits, like a poem at a time.  This book did do one of my favorite things for a memoir to do, which is spike my interest in other authors active at the time, and now I am contemplating ordering the works of Joe Brainard.

Aside from the tree, which still needs ornaments, today has mostly been reading from Dreamspinner Press' Advent Calendar annual event (which my browser won't open so I can link it).  "Krampus Hates Christmas" and "Matthew's Present" have been my favorites so far, followed by "The Orpheum Miracle."

What a mess of genres and books.  Someday I may actually settle down again and focus on reading those things that are supposed to be good for me (read canon), but that was twenty years ago, and while I will mingle those books in, it will likely never be my main focus again.  There is too much out there, and too many things to sample and explore.

Edited to correct spelling of Joe Brainard's name.

Poetry, again.

I definitely would suggest Smith's "[Insert] Boy" though I do caution that just because I recommend it doesn't make it a pleasant read, rather it is more an insightful read, but one that for me, at least touches on aspects of my that I vaguely remember.  The section I just finished was that which dealt with his grandfather and the cancer that killed him, amongst other things.  It was powerful, perhaps because one of mine was similar, not in cause of death, but in how they lived their life.

On to something brighter, earlier today I also read a passage in "IRL" and the relationship the poet describes with his muse is truly something to read:

The influence of Muse
is not unlike being under
the influence, the way a poem
is spontaneously drunk
on Robert Graves.... (page 30)

Pico runs his lines into these incredible images, and these lines get to galloping along (almost galumphing, but not quite) stopping at unlikely places.

I am not finished with either book, but I am enjoying them, each for their own reasons, and there is probably a good chance I will have another poetry entry on my blog, though it isn't really all I read, just what has grabbed my attention lately.

Poems being read

Over at FB, I tossed out enough junk to show my disapproval of Trump, who I really think is PT Barnum reincarnated.

Anyway, two of the poetry books I am reading right now, "[Insert] Boy" and "IRL" by Danez Smith and Tommy Pico, respectively, are both pretty incredible.  Smith does an gut punching job of connecting the reader with his reality, while Pico, his book being one long form poem, tosses so much to you, some you recognize, some not, because hey, I didn't grow up on a reservation, nor do I know as many dead people Jim Carroll (and Pico).  I have finished neither book, as each has me wanting to take a break, just to process, but both promise to be interesting, and perhaps I will manage to update when I have finished them.