Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Sorry I've been a bit MIA for the past few days -- the Martian Death Flu has more or less melted my brain. I've been crashed-out on the couch, drinking lots of orange juice, and watching lots of football. Football. That's how you can tell I'm really not myself.

Better soon, I'm sure.

For those who commented on the new profile pic -- it was taken by Laine at the Five Women Poets reading last October. I believe I was reading "Hold," one of my Provincetown poems, and I was being a big nerd and waving my arms around as I read the line about cormorants' wings.

Really, I just want to be a rockstar. They can get away with waving their arms around and all kinds of other grand gestures that poets mostly can't manage without looking pretty silly. On a scale of one to Bono, I mostly just stand there boringly while I read.

My poem "The Swarm" is now posted on Rattle's website, for the curious or bored amongst you. Ignore the superfluous last name a few lines from the end -- I think that's where the page break was. Oopsie. :)

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go back to my couch and my football and my Martian Death Flu. Get your flu shots, people. You don't want to feel like this. (Okay, it's probably just a cold and I'm just being dramatic. The flu is probably worse. But what kind of a poet would I be if I didn't exaggerate for effect now and then?)


Lyle Daggett said...

You might recall that back during the '80's, the Beach Boys were scheduled to perform on the Capitol Mall in Washington, D.C., on the 4th of July one year. James Watt, the Secretary of the Interior while Ronald Reagan was president, made a public comment objecting to the Beach Boys performing there: he said they attracted "the wrong elements."

(The bizarre notion that the Beach Boys would attract anybody's idea of the wrong elements could be a whole discussion in itself. But anyway...)

After that happened, I decided that if I ever started a rock band, I would call it The Wrong Elements.

(I've never come close to starting a rock band -- mainly because I've never learned to play guitar, or any of the other usual rock music instruments.)

I think it's perfectly acceptable to wave your arms around while reading about cormorants' wings. If Robert Bly (whose poetry I mostly like quite a bit) can wear animal masks and hold his arms high in the air while he says his poems from memory, or read his translations of the Persian poet Rumi while playing an ud (an Arabic string instrument similar to a lute), then you can certainly have wings.

Carol Peters said...

Am sorry to hear you are so ill, Anne. I picked up that bug in my November travels and was sick for a month -- unbelievable -- and the wheeze still lingers. You will recover. Take me as proof. Love from a survivor . . . or a cormorant, although I wondered if you were being an anhinga.

Artichoke Heart said...

Your Rattle poem is terrific, Anne! And I'm terribly sorry to hear that the Martian Death Flu still has you in its grip. I totally wish poets could get away with more rock star-isms.

David said...

As a thumbnail, I thought the picture was of Jesus.

And your Rattle piece indeed rocks.

Peter said...

Wow, Anne. Terrific poem!

(I'd email them so they can get rid of the silly page-break typo.)

Peter said...

PS: I am hoping this year is the Seahawks' year to win it all. ( . . . home watching women's college basketball).

Pris said...

I love your poetry and blog. Hope that bug leaves you soon!