Just in under the wire...

…of the fiscal year, I’m finally going to take my long-delayed grant-funded writing retreat. Essentially, I’m going out in the woods for a week and locking myself in a room with a pile of belligerent, unruly poems, and I’m going to wrestle them to the death or until they turn themselves into a proper book, whichever happens first.

It sounds terrifying but fun. I like “terrifying but fun.” It’s good for me.

Okay, I said “going out in the woods” but in reality I’m going to be staying in a rather nice little suite at the Clifty Inn, in Clifty Falls State Park. I will have internet access (all the better to run around checking various publishers’ page requirements as I cobble this thing together), a fridge and a microwave AND a restaurant (but I’m a cheapskate so will probably only eat in the restaurant a couple of times), and even apparently a whirlpool bath. People, I know how to rough it in the woods. *grin* The woods are an important piece of the puzzle, though. I want to be able to go out and tromp around when my head gets too full of words.

I hope that in the process of whacking the poems together into a coherent manuscript (is “coherent” too much to hope for…?), I’ll also manage to do some serious revision on some of them. I definitely want to go back and look at a lot of my titles. I have boring titles.

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I did, last week, manage to revise a chapbook manuscript & sent it in to a contest just hours before the deadline (email submissions, o how I love thee). Feeling pretty good about that, as I think I improved the original manuscript significantly and by the time I hit send I rather liked what I had. It is definitely more thematically structured than the chapbook I’ve got coming out this summer, which is fun. We’ll see what happens.

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This past weekend I attended a reunion for alumni of the dorm I lived in as an undergrad. It’s not just a regular dorm – it’s the “Living-Learning Center” on campus and has always been known as the hippie, social-activist, artsy, happening dorm. Certainly it’s the only one I would have willingly lived in for three full years. There were a lot of people younger than me there, a few older, and a handful from “my era” – some of whom I hadn’t seen since the early eighties. (I lived there from 1979-1982.) Pretty wild. Even though I work just a couple blocks away now, I never go over there anymore – no reason to, really – so it was weird to be back inside those limestone halls.

In the evening there was an open-mic coffeehouse, which was really just like old times with some noisy punk-ish music, some folky acoustic music, a staged reading of part of a script, and some poetry. Yep, I read a few poems (hell, give me a stage and a microphone and I’ll take it anytime). I remembered so vividly the first poetry reading I took part in there, back in the fall of 1979. I was 18 years old and probably read some Terribly Sensitive Poetry. We had snacks set out on tables, and the coffeehouse was lit by candlelight. After I read there was an intermission, and I basked in the glow of having Shared My Terribly Sensitive Soul – for the first time in my life I felt like one of the cool kids. I got a snack, and leaned back against one of the tables talking to someone, basking in the glow et cetera …

…when all of a sudden this guy leaped forward and started whacking me on the back of my head.

Then I noticed the, er, slight scorched aroma around me.

Yep. I’d leaned back against a candle and set my long hair momentarily on fire.

So much for being cool. I think I was cool for about five minutes there, and then never again.

I’m more careful with candles at poetry readings now, I promise. And much less Terribly Sensitive, thank gawd. Still got long hair though.

* * * * *

Headed up to my mom’s for the long weekend and some slightly-before-the-actual-event birthday cake. I’ll probably watch part of the Indy 500 while I’m up there, just to see if Danica can win the thing. I’m not really into car races, but I’d be excited to see a woman win it. Go Danica!

* * * * *

Speaking of cars: "It will answer LIVE FISH OF INDIANA on the phone." You gotta check this out. You can't make this stuff up, people. Even though I live less than 20 miles from where this allegedly takes place, though, I don't think I live in the same state at all. This guy must live in that OTHER Indiana. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Newsy Bits

My "appearance" on WFIU has been rescheduled for Sunday, June 15. Oh, don't worry, I'll remind you! ;) Turns out the file was just temporarily misplaced. Sigh...

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Congratulations to Angela Vogel, whose poem just won the Southeast Review poetry contest!

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Congratulations also to Jenni Russell, whose chapbook Strip is now available for pre-ordering from Finishing Line Press.

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Watching yet another documentary about disaster on Mt. Everest. I don't know why I am so fascinated by this stuff. I don't really understand why people put themselves in such extreme, precarious, life-endangering situations ... and yet, I kinda do.

What would your life be like if every single footstep and every tiny little decision you made mattered so much that your life depended on it?

What would a poem be like if you cared about it that much as you were writing it?

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There's a song that says Only kindness matters. I can't remember what song that is right now, though. Anybody?

* * * * *

Because it's there, silly.

Radio Nowhere

My apologies to anyone who was actually listening to WFIU this morning expecting to hear me ... apparently there was some kind of a technical snafu. Jenny Kander just phoned me to apologize; apparently they can't find the audio file, and hopefully it is just misplaced & can be rescheduled, and didn't get erased or anything like that!

Sigh. Fun with technology.

A very happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there!

Primary, Promo, Progress (Plus AWP)

Watching the primary results roll in. So far it looks like most of the local races are falling the way I wanted them to, which is nice (though it's a little early yet on some of them). The networks are still declaring the Obama/Clinton race as "too close to call" here. So bizarre, having the Indiana primary in such a spotlight! I've never seen anything like this. I actually voted early, on Sunday afternoon, because I was scheduled to work the reference desk till 6:00 tonight and didn't trust myself to get there before work today to vote. It felt really weird not voting on Election Day, even though I kept reminding myself that it was OK because I had already voted.

I like voting in a very nerdy sort of way. Since 1979, when I was 18 and registered to vote for the first time, I've missed I think one primary election and no general elections (and that primary was a tiny little all-local one without very many contested races). I try to find out about the local races, like judge and treasurer and assessor and county council and stuff. Sometimes there are some really good people in those races who can make a big difference in their not-so-big jobs.

Indiana cracks me up sometimes. One of our State Senator candidates (District 44) is listed on the ballot as Tony "Big Dog" Van Pelt. I guess people wouldn't recognize the name if they put it down as Anthony.

"Big Dog" is getting whomped, though.

The newspeeps keep mispronouncing the names of places in Indiana. I think Indiana's holding back on the results so they'll keep saying we are Too Close To Call and talking about Indiana for a while longer. Because how often do all the newspeeps spend this much time actually acknowledging the existence of the state of Indiana? Flyover country, my ass! *grin*

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SSP (Shameless Self-Promotion) Department: This coming Sunday, May 11, you can hear me on the radio again.
What: Me! Poems! Three of 'em! Five minutes!
When: Sunday, 11:46 am Eastern Daylight Time
Where: WFIU radio, if you're in Central to Southern Indiana; http://wfiu.org/ (click on "Listen Online") if you're anywhere else in the world. It will be up on their podcast page in a few days, too.

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Plunging headlong into the twentieth century: I finally broke down & signed up for DSL (yes, I was the last person you knew who was actually using dial-up ... what can I say, I get dial-up for free, and free versus "the price of a plane ticket to someplace good every year" has been a powerful incentive. But times change. :) I got my router and stuff today, and the service is supposed to be activated on Thursday. Yay!

If you never hear from me again after tomorrow, you'll know I broke my computer trying to install stuff. ;) (Somehow, though, I suspect I'll be able to manage.)

* * * * *

I'll put it in writing: I have every intention of going to AWP 2009. Chicago isn't that far away, after all! I will probably drive up to my mom's in South Bend and take the South Shore commuter train into the city, so I don't have to deal with a) driving in Chicago and b) parking in Chicago. I may actually splurge and stay at the Hilton; it's horribly expensive and I really can't afford it, and I'm sure there are cheaper hotels within a few blocks of there, but the thought of NOT having to set foot outside in Chicago in February is verrrrrrrrrrry appealing.

See you there?

From the landlocked heartland to the Jersey shore

We've got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels...

I'm a little stalled, creatively, but not in a place where I've ever been stalled before. It's ... interesting.

Went to an Obama rally yesterday evening. Assembly Hall (you know, the big basketball place) was packed to the rafters. As I was waiting (and waiting... and waiting... and waiting... they told us we couldn't bring bags, so I didn't have a book to read, and it was too noisy to make phone calls, and I'd gone by myself so I didn't have anyone to chat with, and I don't own a cute little internet thingahoochie like a Blackberry though I would just about have killed for one at that moment), I observed how thoroughly managed the message was. Even the throngs of students doing the wave around the arena struck me as an exercise in getting 12,000+ people to say and do just what they're supposed to say and do at just the moment they're supposed to say and do it.

And then Obama finally came out to speak, and what struck me more than anything was how completely comfortable he is, speaking. That comes across a little more powerfully "live and in person" than it does on TV, I think. It's sort of like hearing a fabulous singer live when you're used to hearing them recorded, and realizing how cool it is that the sound isn't just a studio trick of some sort.

(And isn't that such a generational thing ... to be amazed that the live sound isn't a studio trick, instead of disillusioned that the recorded sound is. Hm.)

He was comfortable, and as he bounded up onto the stage I was struck by the fact that he seemed to be happy. Like, genuinely happy and loving his work. I don't think George W. Bush does what he does out of joy; I think he does it out of spite, in some ways; and out of insecurity, in some ways; and out of greed for power, in a lot of ways. I've seen glee on his face, but never joy. But Obama's presence feels joyful. I didn't expect that, for some reason.

I grew up during the long hard Vietnam war, and I see how many of those wounds are only barely just beginning to heal. It makes me sad to think that the scars from the current long hard war(s) will probably still be unhealed when I die. And what that does to people, to the condition of our hearts.

You can hide beneath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain...

Little part of me still wants to be a rockstar when I grow up (which won't surprise anyone who's ever gone to a concert with me). It feels both funny and wistful to say that, now.

Forty-seven, later this month. Holy crap.

Behind on everything.

And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest
Stranded in the park and forced to confess...

My best elegies and my best love poems are for people I don't even really know, and for places.

I may come back and delete that line.

Nobody's really a stranger, although everybody is.

And it's true that I raise my hands in supplication, that I fall to my knees, that I rise up shouting: all without an ounce of irony in my bones. I suppose that dooms me.

Have I ever really written about where I come from?
Have you?

Faith will be rewarded...

I haven't quite been here before, but then again, I think I've been stuck here for my whole life.

Funny, these things. Funny.

Nights like this, I wish I played the piano. And had a piano to play.

Bop bop mwee bop

Fabulous concert last night (and when have I ever had so many amazing concerts in such a short time span -- Carrie Newcomer, Joshua Bell, Bruce Springsteen, and now this?) -- Chick Corea, Bobby McFerrin, and Jack DeJohnette. Jazz fans are probably salivating just at the names, as those are three of the most talented musicians around these days. Collectively, they've performed with everyone from Miles Davis to Yo-Yo Ma; McFerrin & Corea have recorded at least a couple of albums together, and Corea and DeJohnette have collaborated, but the short (9-show) tour they're doing now is the first time these three have all performed together.

Well, you'd think they'd been carrying on this musical conversation for their whole lives, judging from how comfortable they were with one another on stage. But that's the genius of jazz, of course: that it is a conversation, that its foundation rests in improvisation. And improvisation is exactly what we got. The three men walked out on stage (and, from my seat in the very front row -- because that's just how I roll, hehe -- I applauded wildly), acknowledged the audience, and took their seats: Corea at the piano, McFerrin in a chair front-and-center, and DeJohnette behind an enormous and complicated-looking drum set.

Corea's bench squeaked as he pulled it up to the piano, and McFerrin vocalized a funny squeak/creak in response, and we were off. For a little over an hour they just played, in every sense of the word: McFerrin channeling everything from Billie Holiday to, um, possibly some kind of space alien; Chick Corea reaching into the piano to pluck and damp the strings and going over to the other side of the stage to hang out by the drums and play some cowbell; Jack DeJohnette singing and joking around and managing to make the percussion into an entire orchestra somehow. Playing.

After a while the audience began to realize that they weren't going to play a "song," stop, take applause, and then start up again: they were just going to keep going, nonstop. That was extremely cool, actually. Occasionally there was a smattering (or more) of applause for a particularly virtuostic solo. And, as always when Bobby McFerrin is there, the audience got to be a part of it too, singing and improvising right along with McFerrin's expert conducting. I'm not sure who was having the most fun in the room, but most everyone in the audience was spellbound & grinning, and I saw big grins on all three musicians' faces at times.

After they finally brought things to a close and took their bows to a standing ovation, the three musicians did something I would never have expected at a show like this: they came down to the front of the stage, sat on the edge of the stage, and took questions for a little while. One of the first questions was "how much of that was improvised?" And the answer: "All of it." (And then McFerrin went into a Garth Brooks voice and "apologized" for not doing any country-western songs. Hee!) Someone else asked if they were going to be recording together, and the answer to that was sort of noncommittal -- so maybe plans are underway but not finalized yet. One certainly hopes so, anyway. And apparently they have been recording all of their concerts as they go along, and occasionally go back to listen to something to figure out what they did. Because it truly is all improvised, so you just never know. A few more questions, then someone asked if they could play "Spain" (one of Chick Corea's best-known tunes). They agreed, and returned to the stage. Corea played piano and both McFerrin and DeJohnette vocalized, and it was loose and lovely -- the perfect encore.

Afterwards I turned into the fangirl that I can be sometimes, and hung out near the backstage exit. Got to shake Bobby McFerrin's hand, and gave him a copy of a poem I wrote the morning after the last time I saw him in concert -- it's a poem sort of about how singing and listening are part of the same thing, and how it felt to be in the audience singing along with him, how it felt like my whole body was both singing and listening all at once. I guess that's kind of an egotistical-poet thing to do, giving him the poem like that, but I think it's a halfway decent poem (as if I am ever capable of objective judgement about my own work... hehe) and, well, why not. I am such a fangirl sometimes.

The drive home featured a large-ish coyote hanging out by the side of the road, and lightning in the distance. It was dark, but because I'd seen them on the way out, I knew that there were about a billion redbuds glowing their nearly fluorescent purple-pink in the darkness alongside the road. I really do live in a beautiful part of the world. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

(Here's a reviewer's take on the show. He liked it,too)

Draftish

Honoring the spirit, if not the letter, of NaPoWriMo ... here's a drafty draft. I'll take it down shortly.

[it was an elegy thingie. it's gone now.]


In a wistful sort of place, these past few days. Seems like there have been a lot of losses, most of them not immediate for me but second- or third-hand ... still, enough losses to sort of tinge the world with loss for a while. At the same time, spring is exploding: dogwoods, magnolias, daffodils, tulips, flowering crabapples, flowering cherries, flowering pears... the juxtaposition is heartbreaking in a good way, somehow.

Heard that Springsteen & the surviving members of the E Street Band put on one hell of a concert in Tampa tonight, their first show back on the road after Danny Federici's death last week. Reading the setlist and various reports of the show, I'm kind of getting chills. I wish I could have been there. Someone said it was "one for the ages" and it sure sounds like it was.

We witness one another's lives. First and last, that's what we're here for.


Sandy, the angels have lost their desire for us
I spoke to 'em just last night and they said they won't set themselves on fire for us anymore...