tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70414062028349596322012-01-26T18:03:59.082-05:00perhaps the truth depends upon a walk around the lake —notes toward a supreme fictionPamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.comBlogger2731100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-53341029191503056502012-01-26T17:49:00.004-05:002012-01-26T18:03:59.089-05:00

Done. Finished. Submitted. Wait. Whatever.So whatever, if it's accepted or not, I figuredit out. In school I loved algebra, which isn't to sayI was good at it. Working through clausesof Xs and Ys and stacks of parentheses wasa satisfying/frustrating endeavor. This poemseemed like an algebraic equation. Butwithout a final exactly correctonly-answer-there-could-ever-be answer.In other news, I've

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-82922544848295568322012-01-24T18:18:00.002-05:002012-01-24T18:26:34.625-05:00

Beat back that sucking beast of a poem finally. Readyfor submission to a performance type reading series.Hopefully it will be accepted, but for now I'm gladthe thing got made. I wrangled more with the selfthan the poem. Yesterday the suck; today I'm perusingNEA fellowship applications. Not to mention that I found the just-purchased salad dressing in the band-aid drawer. So it goes usually.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-66064453418157827322012-01-24T12:26:00.003-05:002012-01-24T12:30:29.570-05:00

Anselm Kiefer's Alexandria, 1987Ash, original and picmented photographs on treatedlead in glazed steel frame67 X 90.5 inchesA fragment of the work

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-25370718480040981322012-01-23T15:27:00.005-05:002012-01-23T16:07:37.283-05:00

It's rainy and gray and I've written the worst poem everand it's due tomorrow -- or not, if I can'twrestle it into some kind of shape, so here I am after a longtime away and with no readers here (thankfully I hope, althoughif there is anyone out there that's okay too) to read this. I think the problem with the poem is I'm stuffingtoo many ideas into it because I want it to contain some bigideas

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-64853557557840498072012-01-13T15:35:00.002-05:002012-01-13T15:43:15.939-05:00

there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I’m too tough for him,I say, stay in there, I’m not goingto let anybody seeyou.there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I pour whiskey on him and inhalecigarette smokeand the whores and the bartendersand the grocery clerksnever know thathe’sin there.there’s a bluebird in my heart thatwants to get outbut I’m too tough for him,I

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-34356072646297592292012-01-01T21:47:00.004-05:002012-01-01T22:10:55.307-05:00

"Impatiently, I launched myself out of the chair, too angry, too confused, to sit any longer; despite the heat, I stalked the floor, childishly desiring to kick all the odd objects that cluttered it--artifacts, footstools, paintings--out of my path-- what can you gain by showing me these photographs?" From Alice I have Been by Melanie BenjaminMy fortune for 2012 via Radish King wonderwoman

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-21194229945817068132011-11-11T17:02:00.003-05:002011-11-11T17:05:17.996-05:00

I've been thinking about soldiers for awhile now.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-71901892362366322172011-04-23T18:59:00.001-04:002011-04-23T19:01:43.523-04:00

Diary (2010) from Tim Hetherington on Vimeo.Tim Hetherington1970-2011

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-12882277752313634832011-04-12T09:55:00.004-04:002011-04-12T09:59:05.001-04:00

Roland BarthesBy Carol Ann DavisThe boy with his mother in the photo,the boy with riding boots and a long path behind himleading to the seashore in fall,whose legs tangle below the knee his mother's skirts—wisteria stitched in into twill—he is in some difficultynow that world is mostly gone. Everyone has a mother, sure.But does everyone creep into the crook of her armas if to live there, does

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-90557600089237545442011-04-04T16:59:00.004-04:002011-04-04T17:17:10.657-04:00

self-exam (my body is a cage)Do this: take two fingers, push them intothe spot behind your ear, the spotyour skull drops offinto that valley of muscle& nerve-this is the muscle that holds upthe skull, that nods the dumb bonethis way & thatwhen you think you under-stand, when you think you get it-press deeperinto the gristle, find that little bundle ofnerves-the nervesthat make you blink at

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-47572340423257794472011-04-03T14:46:00.003-04:002011-04-03T14:54:52.639-04:00

Looking again and revising is what I'm aboutthis month. That's the work: to return againand again and look and shape and rearrangeadd subtract add back take away multiplyI've a plan and a list and folders so it'shappening it's spring and the typewriterabove is from Shakespeare & Co Parisa little confessional of revision where I'll go in my mind to finish what's been started.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-26294191261763662892011-03-22T06:38:00.004-04:002011-03-22T06:46:06.871-04:00

What Should We Do?Gratefully, I acknowledged that my doubts had kept me from going all aswim incontentment over such givenness as prevailed everywhere one turned. MARCEL TOULETSince everything had gotten so much worse,I tried to take in at least some one thingto make out how we came to where we were,with the

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-80464873238665102612011-03-14T07:54:00.000-04:002011-03-14T07:55:00.366-04:00

Staff Sgt. MetzMetz is alive for now, standing in lineat the airport Starbucks in his camo gearand buzz cut, his beautiful newcamel-colored suede boots. His handsare thick-veined. The good bloodstill flows through, given an extra surgewhen he slurps his latte, a fleck of foamcaught on his bottom lip.I can see into the canal in his right ear,a narrow darkness spiraling deep inside his headtoward

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-21656581584725080222011-03-08T14:21:00.004-05:002011-03-08T14:43:50.415-05:00

MONDOTEQUEWhen I'm like zig zagging among stuffand I can't find things in which pilewhere/ on the desk, in the kitchen,bed table/ car/ some place/the work station above is what I yearnfor, with lots of drawers and com-partments for different sized papers,notebooks, postcards and photos,binders, flashdrives whatever,this man imagined it/a data-managingcollecting searching device/containerpersonal

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-44382824115054851082011-02-24T10:45:00.008-05:002011-02-24T11:32:09.463-05:00

Last year I helped put together an exhibition of writingand art. One of the writers I solicited was Nick Flynn.I've long admired his work -- poetry, memoir. He wrotethe poem hello, birdy based on the Motherwell printabove. And now that poem is included in his newcollection, The Captain Asks for a Show of Hands.I'm reading this book now. It's a collision of forms,voices and images. It has some

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-52662265637126000122011-02-21T19:47:00.003-05:002011-02-21T19:56:28.353-05:00

Sorrow, with Some Eye ContactMostly you just disappear. When I don't see you dead I know you're alive, I can see you by the clothes you're wearing,by your boot print on the unloved grass. We make an ugly street ugly, a giant room stripped,its high wood beams and bed big enough for six of me or three of us. You swear we have no roof.One morning we counted chickens and ate their eggs for breakfast.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-33618240639063362862011-02-17T23:29:00.004-05:002011-02-17T23:35:02.130-05:00

It's on the way, I tell you I smelled the mudthe melt, the thaw. Spring is out theretonight behind the moon. Go now.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-76535314039992186302011-01-28T06:43:00.011-05:002011-01-28T06:57:06.422-05:00

In the Room of Glass BreastsBy Brenda HillmanAround each word we're hearing,there spins an original flame;the unborn wait in a circle of commas,upright robins wheel to Wheeler& termites with arms in their headsdig under the chairs—It is impossible to describe the world;that's why you get so sleepy listening to poetry.The writer skates but spring takesthe gold (ooo don't let her fall in sequins)—

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-63501643735823082552011-01-26T22:21:00.000-05:002011-01-26T22:21:14.353-05:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-74640993415373615322011-01-18T10:09:00.003-05:002011-01-18T10:18:43.563-05:00

I will be seeing this film.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-86378379925318342932011-01-13T18:30:00.002-05:002011-01-13T18:37:03.525-05:00

The brain is on my mind. Trauma and otherwise. Saw this movie coincidently last night. Go see it.Netflix it if possible or whatever. Weirdly wonderful.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-75578092951181779762011-01-11T18:25:00.015-05:002011-01-12T09:50:00.357-05:00

The past few days I've been thinking alot about Tucson,the city where my grandparents, cousinsand other family have lived. About the saguaro cactus, Mt. Lemmon hummingbirdsand the White Dove of the Desert,Mission San Xavier del Bac. My grandfather sketchedand painted the church throughout his life. My grandmother's piano music, the quaver of her voiceas she sang Alice Blue Gown. Her guest room

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-77229722914607827812010-12-31T16:29:00.004-05:002010-12-31T16:46:22.034-05:00

I've been thinking about this story, listening to Cynthia Ozick read it, pondering how to sink beneath the crust of the visible, spreading out some plans for the new year all over the floor,preparing to assemble.Listen to In the Reign of Harad IVAnd happy new year.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-28179029809105045302010-12-27T00:03:00.004-05:002010-12-27T00:11:12.475-05:00

how the snow looks like chalk marksagainst the slate night as I shovelfoolishly/joyfully into the wind

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-20631900149882771742010-12-25T21:59:00.004-05:002010-12-25T22:17:15.541-05:00

Gone but not forgotten...Coney Island's boardwalk. Some photos from last year. It's the holidays of course. Food, family: good stuff. Merry New Year, Happy Xmas!

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-90052886340134160942010-12-22T22:06:00.005-05:002010-12-22T22:11:53.343-05:00

or Moon Before Yuleor crumpled moon(To Rebecca who comes up with much better names for the full moon)

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-60979888130463205502010-11-21T21:13:00.002-05:002010-11-21T21:20:52.243-05:00

Over the reservoir at dusk, a good chill in the air.And I can see clearly now the leaves are gone...I dreamt about my poem last night; in the dreamI remembered the part in The Iliad about the greatshield of Achilles, and how I should re-read thatpart of the poem again, it could be useful. I can see all obstacles in my way....

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-29239467649634648742010-11-17T21:41:00.004-05:002010-11-17T21:45:47.374-05:00

beautiful

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-7887170986138264512010-10-31T20:38:00.003-04:002010-10-31T20:49:25.727-04:00

When I was awarded the fellowship the dealI made with myself was to get to the officeat Purchase at least one day a week. Well,this week stuff intervened and I never gotthere and that feels pretty bad. Not that I didn'twork on my projects. I did. And I don't haveto go to that office to do the work, to write.In fact, it's a schlep. But it's a good schlep. And I want to schlep there. I'd like to

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-15672018163558203452010-10-30T13:33:00.007-04:002010-10-30T13:56:10.552-04:00

One of the great things about the interwebsis being able to do things like co-edit an onlinejournal with a writer in Scotland as I did lastyear with Anna Dickie and qarrtsiluni.Next month I'll be mentoring women who live in Afghanistan via the Afghan Women's Writing Project.The photos above are of the new office the womennow can use in Kabul.The women will write and I will read and offerfeedback

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-51600295572265346132010-10-22T22:43:00.005-04:002010-10-22T22:55:21.880-04:00

All week I was trying to get to the office where my poems are tacked to the wall, waiting, burning. I barely made it there Friday morningfor two short hours, what with the yadayadayada that fills up a week.The poems waited and waited, like hungry kidswhat's for dinner/where's my shirt/get outthey were whiny and I don't blame them, stuckon a strange wall alone all week with no onelooking after

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-6918046767534048642010-10-19T20:47:00.005-04:002010-10-19T21:02:52.100-04:00

Nic Sebastian has undertaken a pretty wonderful endeavor -- to read other people's poems and postthe readings at Whale Sound. It's lovely to hear my poem in her voice.The poem, Sometimes a bone, is re-imagined as she readsit. And there are lots of other poems over at Whale Sound.Go there and listen.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-32728243071970164442010-10-15T16:38:00.005-04:002010-10-15T16:49:25.130-04:00

It is more difficult to fix on the map the routes of the swallows, who cut the air over the roofs, dropping long invisible parabolas with their still wings, darting to gulp a mosquito, spiraling upward, grazing a pinnacle, dominating from every point of their airy paths all the points of the city. Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-34514067456907293552010-10-14T22:10:00.005-04:002010-10-14T22:19:45.455-04:00

at homeIT'S DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON, MOTHERFUCKERSBy Colin NissanI don't know about you, but I can't wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I'm about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-34324933086306990382010-10-14T21:30:00.005-04:002010-10-14T21:38:36.954-04:00

LIBRAUsually you specialize in having a light touch. You'd rather nudge than push. Nimble harmony is more interesting to you than brute force. You prefer your influence on peopleto be appreciated, not begrudgingly respected. And I certainly don't want you to forsakeany of those inclinations. But I would love to see you add a dash of aggressiveness and a pinch of vehemence to your repertoire in

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-79232451859036265462010-10-10T19:33:00.003-04:002010-10-10T19:43:54.058-04:00

I spent part of the late afternoon thumb-tackingmy manuscript onto the walls of the Writer Centeroffice I'm now inhabiting. I like looking at the poemsfrom this perspective, not always on a screen or page.I've been living with this manuscript for almost two years and am struggling to understand its hodge-podgeness.I think if I can look at it like a curator looking at an arrayof work by one

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-26861795495982879312010-10-04T10:50:00.003-04:002010-10-04T11:03:52.684-04:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-38142706224863538622010-09-30T14:18:00.006-04:002010-09-30T14:44:50.960-04:00

Someone asked me if I was obsessed with death.He didn't say what he meant by obsessed.I love this painting. Frida Kahlo's "Dream"would be my answer. But, in the moment I was tongue tied. Then the conversation turned, as it does at dinners with people. The wind is wild today and I'm waiting on a storm.Bluster and blow-downs littering the back roads.Power still on. It's fall. All kinds of rot --

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-50165738822457667072010-09-15T13:11:00.007-04:002010-09-15T13:43:53.451-04:00

Finally I've caught up and read last week's New Yorker,especially moved by Roland Barthes' grief notes, which he started writing after the death of his 84-year-oldmother, Henriette. Perhaps these became the stuff of hisfinal book, Camera Lucida, which is a kind of tributeto his 'maman' as he ruminates on photographyand memory and loss.But these sweet, diary fragments are raw, made before theory,

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-63598979427532535062010-09-14T19:21:00.008-04:002010-09-14T20:16:14.008-04:00

Today was filled with fall: the light on the meadow whereI walked late afternoon, the wind that came in and tossedout some leftover humidity, the tree turning away from green.One season is leaving and another's on the way. Change alwayschanging. Time for a new look. I fiddled for a bit.I'm too lazy to ditch blogger, but it's so clunky. I like this okay. What do you think? Before/after?

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-24012778671069258232010-09-05T17:09:00.002-04:002010-09-05T17:11:45.734-04:00

EARL for the good breeze today.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-63564479164774460312010-08-26T14:30:00.008-04:002010-08-26T14:44:21.775-04:00

Libra Horoscope for week of 8/25/10The odometer will turn over soon, metaphorically speaking. The big supply of the stuff you stocked up on a while back is about to run out. The lessons you began studying a year ago have been completed, at least for now, and you're not yet ready for the next round of teachings. These are just some of the indicators that suggest you should set aside time for

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-28394255639146818542010-08-01T14:46:00.002-04:002010-08-01T14:49:23.063-04:00

years ago today. My father. RIP old man!

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-89871993686154844242010-07-21T06:42:00.004-04:002010-07-21T06:56:11.478-04:00

From Fragments of a Broken Poeticsby Jennifer MoxleyVIIWhat does it matter if there are poets or poems?XIIn poetry, as elsewhere, nature isn't what it used to be.XIIThe poem resists. It resists coming into being. It resists eloquence. It resists transmitting unpleasant or embarrassing knowledge. It resists grammatical constraints. It resists moving away from simple utterance. It resists revision.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-66131642009126925812010-07-16T21:41:00.003-04:002010-07-16T21:51:58.148-04:00

I received some good news recently.(but never know quite how to go about"sharing" in here. Write it/duh.)I was selected to be one of three inauguralfellows at the new Purchase College Writers Centerthis coming fall.I'm amazed and pleased and surprisedand have already reorganized my summer reading.Soon a new notebook. Maybe a new pen!I have a manuscript that needs serious fixing.And a new project/

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-86572143930476123712010-07-08T12:07:00.004-04:002010-07-08T12:12:03.371-04:00

by Anthony Discenzasale today. Enough with all this talk about words.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-82637848143598413042010-07-07T16:45:00.004-04:002010-07-07T16:56:12.218-04:00

Bluet or cornflower or centaurea cyanusnevermind it's the color oh and the heat again.How could all the shreds of garbage bags stuckin brambles, or the bright blue tarps flappingover every shanty and fish stand in the world,be, in essence, the fingerprints of God? Maggie Nelson, BLUETS

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-80291555345557718842010-07-06T15:46:00.004-04:002010-07-06T16:12:58.156-04:00

It's hot here-a heat weave,I keep writing.And it's Frida Kahlo's birthday.In her honor this door and her words.I would like to be able to do whatever I want behindthe curtain of "madness." In this way, I would arrangeflowers, all day, I would paint pain, love, tenderness,I would freely laugh at others, but above everythingI would laugh at myself. I would build my worldthat would be mine and

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-21114503637689687242010-06-24T21:53:00.006-04:002010-06-24T22:06:44.492-04:00

EXPLANATIONby Josh KalscheurIt will take a good fight to bring her backand the chief there orders his men to callher in with conch shells, even if it means loveor staying on the beach when the sand hardens.There’s the chance she’ll float like Olofatwho spat blood and broke himselfinto an archipelago. There’s the chanceshe drank the sweet water in Toland poured her body out as a spring.There’s the

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-59897815979939157842010-06-13T22:41:00.007-04:002010-06-13T23:15:22.057-04:00

Up at BigCityLitPhotos from the exhibition at the NYBotanical Garden on Emily Dickinson'sgarden. I read some of her poems there Saturday.Poems on death, bees and roses, my favorite topics.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-14916921558086337502010-05-15T10:42:00.001-04:002010-05-15T10:46:06.932-04:00

writing: the documentary

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-52554784478027012372010-05-06T06:46:00.001-04:002010-05-06T06:46:40.758-04:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-28357870267600250862010-05-04T09:15:00.005-04:002010-05-04T09:28:13.757-04:00

Alcoveby John AshberyIs it possible that spring could beonce more approaching? We forget each timewhat a mindless business it is, porous like sleep,adrift on the horizon, refusing to take sides, "mugwumpof the final hour," lest an agenda—horrors!—be imputed to it,and the whole point of its being spring collapselike a hole dug in sand. It's breathy, though,you have to say that for it.And should

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-6275457899196887582010-05-03T16:39:00.002-04:002010-05-03T16:45:18.007-04:00

linhelen!!Please send me your email so I can contact you and get your address. Thanks all for participating.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-58989037759047822382010-04-30T23:33:00.010-04:002010-04-30T23:55:36.521-04:00

winner is...linhelenAddress needed/books in mail on Monday.Congrats and thanks all for participating!

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-13124311256688730102010-04-29T23:07:00.003-04:002010-04-29T23:30:04.799-04:00

Some things Anne Carson said tonight:I thought a lot about vanishing anyway.My profession is about having an effecton people by making sentences.A real moment of exhilaration camewhen I discovered staples.Overtakelessness.I wanted to fill my elegy with lightof all kinds. But death makes us stingy.Helplessness built a wall in her.Prowling the meanings of a word,prowling the history of a person,no

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-35601088537150069272010-04-27T12:42:00.003-04:002010-04-27T12:48:49.423-04:00

This video is making the rounds. It brought a little liftto another rainy chilly day. Only a few days left to joinin my poetry giveaway. Come on, add your name, youknow you want to!

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-57946635919352737102010-04-21T11:29:00.005-04:002010-04-21T11:44:57.075-04:00

Poetry is the journal of a sea animalliving on land, wanting to fly in the air.-Carl Sandburg

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-29332753338491984412010-04-18T13:18:00.003-04:002010-04-18T13:28:35.265-04:00

The Poetry Book Giveaway is happening here.Send me your name and email -- you haveuntil April 30. Then on May 1 I will selectat random one name and mail you onecopy of the above books, postage paid!And the winner will actually receive eight,yes, EIGHT chapbooks for free. That's becauseToadlily Press features the Quartet Series,four chaps under one roof. My chapbook,The End of the Body, is part of

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-172325871632928492010-04-16T17:12:00.006-04:002010-04-16T17:28:10.503-04:00

This image haunts me. From a book out this month by Siglio Press, The Torture of Women,a series of paintings made by Nancy Spero in the 1970s. I bet the book is expensive.I need to learn more about this artist. (I like that the word haunt is etymologicallyrelated to home.)

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-68015520265661082882010-04-16T08:14:00.002-04:002010-04-16T08:16:31.458-04:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-11083138417594852602010-04-13T17:38:00.017-04:002010-04-13T20:06:02.235-04:00

I've been hemming and hawing. What if no one is out there. What if no one signs up. I missed the deadline, proscrastinator. Then a note on Kelli Russell Agodon's blog that there's still room. A sign. I'm in! And thanks to Kelli for this great idea. Participating bloggers give away two books, their own and one other. The winner will receive my chapbook, The End of the Body, which is part of The

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-91060777134176641592010-04-13T08:02:00.000-04:002010-04-13T08:03:08.322-04:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-17942228117727755372010-03-21T22:49:00.006-04:002010-03-21T23:07:46.583-04:00

the artist is presentmarina abromovic at MoMa

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-75095193138422443022010-03-15T17:39:00.004-04:002010-03-15T17:52:58.823-04:00

It seems that creativity is adaptive, like anything else. When a space becomes available, work emerges to fill it. The genius, the emergence of a truly remarkable and memorable work, happens when the thing is perfectly suited to its context and is also surprising. And when something works, it strikes us as not just being clever — a good adaptation — but as strongly and emotionally resonant. When

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-19465947510196643232010-03-15T16:05:00.007-04:002010-03-15T16:28:57.627-04:00

sorry about the partial screen-can't figure out how to make it fit in blogger-damn it.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-18116519499098972102010-02-22T20:42:00.004-05:002010-02-22T20:50:04.394-05:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-79770169379373481252010-02-15T16:54:00.005-05:002010-02-15T17:38:46.990-05:00

Before photo shop, there was photocollage. And today I dallied atthe Metropolitan Museum to viewa whimsical little exhibition:Playing with Pictures: The Artof Victorian Photocollege.And my mind returned. It's been missingsince the opening of my exhibition a few weeksago. A drift, a spin, out to sea or something.So it was good to pour over the delicate cut ups.And then on to Surface Tension --

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-79431184673814973132010-02-04T07:02:00.006-05:002010-02-04T07:34:39.525-05:00

the pamela satellite : for Payload for Antimatter Matter Exploration and Light-nuclei AstrophysicsPamelafrom urban dictionary: define then use in a sentenceThe pimpest of the pimp. Everyone wants to bea Pamela. Can conquer anything. Wakes up and pissesexcellence. Indulges and rules in all gangstativities.You never meet anything above a Pamela because it doesn't exist. Man: Pamela you are so

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-23964832659329402142010-01-31T17:48:00.009-05:002010-01-31T17:59:28.418-05:00

Maybe it was the moon or the bitter cold or January or the lack of sea air I don't know but last night was amazing. The art and the text and the typography and the wordsout loud and the band and the crowd.You can get a sense of how the ekphrastic conversation morphed into a visual dialogue in the photo above. Now I'm making soup.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-66109307307926172222010-01-28T06:48:00.004-05:002010-01-28T07:08:37.428-05:00

Time is matter hereBy Jean ValentineTime is matter hereThe freight trainI saw in the morningstill in the eveninginching across the flatlandsword after slow wordtoo many to countAnd you are matter—your eyes, your long legs,slow breath sometimes catchingin your sleep, your headresting against the bus window,tired horse,tired rider

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-24889299880214318432010-01-15T16:02:00.007-05:002010-01-15T17:06:26.810-05:00

Henri Michaux, Narration, 1927. automatic drawing.My Lifeafter Henri MichauxJoe WenderothSomehow it got into my room.I found it, and it was, naturally, trapped.It was nothing more than a frightened animal.Since then I raised it up.I kept it for myself, kept it in my room,kept it for its own good.I named the animal, My Life.I found food for it and fed it with my bare hands.I let it into my bed,

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-89969296252653486922010-01-05T23:12:00.009-05:002010-01-07T19:38:40.554-05:00

I've been having a great timecurating the writing for this upcomingexhibition, which opens at the endof the month. There will be a reading too.And the writings will be renderedso they can hang next to/aroundthe art works. If you're in New Yorkcheck it out.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-77944537550514805932010-01-01T21:51:00.006-05:002010-01-01T22:05:40.972-05:00

from The Story of My TypewriterBy Paul AusterWe have been together for more than a quarter of a century now.Everywhere I have gone, the typewriter has gone with me. Wehave lived in Manhattan, in upstate New York, and in Brooklyn.We have traveled together to California and to Maine, to Minnesotaand to Massachusetts, to Vermont and to France. In that time, I havewritten with hundreds of pencils and

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-10086211725562152792009-12-31T19:19:00.004-05:002009-12-31T19:30:47.839-05:00

My thinking is the same--my three Rs: Reading,Writing, Running. And a vacancy of mind.When you look in your mind you find it covered with a lot of rubbishy thoughts. You have to penetrate these and hear what your mind is telling you to do. Such work is original work. Agnes Martin

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-74757733013761234442009-12-30T20:16:00.001-05:002009-12-30T20:16:12.479-05:00

Interview with Agnes Martin (1997)

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-70611710334659060592009-12-27T23:13:00.010-05:002009-12-29T12:49:13.769-05:00

For Christmas I got a camera and the other day was brilliant so we drove to Coney Island and the wind was there andsea smells and a clarity everywhere I looked.Sometimes there aren't words. I've run out of wordsjust now. Or maybe it's that I'm brimmingwith them and don't know how to use them here.Well, the light was cold like the water. It blewaway the holiday blues and swept me clean.Every one/

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-29200875422991406492009-12-24T22:58:00.008-05:002009-12-24T23:12:59.842-05:00

Some shots while food shoppingin the Bronxon Christmas Eve

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-33209899710626000812009-12-20T23:10:00.004-05:002009-12-20T23:23:06.901-05:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-41189218589465568002009-12-15T20:25:00.004-05:002009-12-15T20:42:56.002-05:00

So it's time for spice cake, a family recipe, from grandmother to my mother to me. When I was young I hated it. Raisins, nutmeg, pecans weren't my food groups.Now I actually don't mind it. It's eggless, butterless- dense! Not too sweet. Maybe a good kind of cake for the darkening days. I'm listening to lots of medieval Christmas tunes.You can feel the cold seep into the castle. The dark skies

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-34115593757303050852009-12-11T06:12:00.010-05:002009-12-11T22:15:05.313-05:00

Sometimes getting into the Xmasspirit isn't so holly/ivy, this year especially.But there are little road maps to lead onethrough the hardened forest of the heart.Like time in the city. Looking, firstat some art in the painter's studiofor an exhibition I'm co-curating on wordsand pictures. Then at MoMa where I sawand wandered into the water lilies, which nowhave their own room and it wasn't too

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-6888734017118308392009-11-28T10:19:00.005-05:002009-11-28T10:40:16.099-05:00

Faux Self-Portrait of YouYou are a very uneven person.You, on the other hand, the one with not quitefive fingers, are a very uneven person.Look me in the eye I say with conviction and sayyou are a person of complete unevenness.I look away to look for the surface of somethingwhose unevenness is its main attraction.Very uneven person, I address you haphazardly,you are a patchy, jerky lurcher.You

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-19822547216526451892009-11-23T14:41:00.006-05:002009-11-23T15:08:48.958-05:00

Of fern bed:crow feather, shell fragmentchip of bone then petrifiedtennis orb, further downshard of soccer spheretreasures I uncoveredthis morning burrowingthrough the mess and mulchof fall's leavings -the annual excavation of ancientOctobers when the yardwas fodder for kick or hidechase/pretend -thankfully the skeletondays have returnedit's fossil time again

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-60962406264487165752009-11-13T11:51:00.002-05:002009-11-13T11:55:28.569-05:00

Some poems at this cool journal.La Fovea

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-54863408090026655242009-10-31T16:47:00.006-04:002009-10-31T16:55:41.111-04:00

I was here and thereand now am back here.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-82021525195725312702009-10-21T20:07:00.002-04:002009-10-21T20:12:54.254-04:00

Out of sync, off kilterwide awakethough around and aboutis asleep, including I imagineeven the gargoyles of Notre Dame.

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-10796298007464223312009-10-20T17:10:00.005-04:002009-10-20T17:30:36.588-04:00

Even the cats in Paris are aristocratic. One of sights as I walked for about fivehours along the Seine,into Nortre Dame, through the Luxembourg Gardens,also browsing ubiquitous bookshops, book stalls, as well as people-watching in a cafe, got lost finally,figured the route out (I'm directionally challenged) and collapsed.What a sea change from July's red mesa-scapes. Tomorrow I'm thinking

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-72790022587139045852009-10-18T23:19:00.004-04:002009-10-18T23:27:43.057-04:00

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-4892117149828353542009-10-14T06:34:00.002-04:002009-10-14T06:51:32.791-04:00

Horoscope for week of October 15, 2009Were you ever a tiger in one of your past lives? If so, this would be an excellent time to tap into that power. If you have never lived the life of a tiger, would you be willing to imagine that you did? During the coming week's challenges, you will really benefit from being able to call on the specific kind of intelligence a tiger possesses, as well as its

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-41696224819909858552009-10-11T11:45:00.009-04:002009-10-11T12:03:16.664-04:00

I know pretty pictures but it's nearly my birthday and it's playoffseason and all of a sudden all the leaves tumbled off branchesin wind andit smells like decay, which I don't mind in fact asidefrom the smell of the ocean the scent of fall is one of my mostfavorite, and I'm making soup for dinner and will probably go kicksome leaf piles later so there.(I haven't really been away, just from here,

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-17295197909985302102009-09-23T17:18:00.006-04:002009-09-23T17:41:34.038-04:00

Mesa Memo1.Re structures --the horizon and its lackof cluttery maples,turquoise too.Structure and turquoise.A color with vivid glosslike that door in an adobe gatebeat up trucks,the blue car in a driveway's shadow.An abandoned house.And everywhere turquoise.2.Yesterday's weather movedin strokes of rain over the high desert.Blue-gray clouds flung the mesaacross the sky. The Chamaglowed muddy red

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-69305853597299240392009-09-20T17:43:00.003-04:002009-09-20T17:54:56.094-04:00

Stopped by the farm to pick up tomatoes -- the last of the season probably.The place teemed with apple-picking families. The stand was filled with'mums and I could smell the home made donuts. Fall is here. Leavesare turning. It's my favorite time, October especially. I thinkI've finally left summer behind, though for some reason ittook longer than usual to relinquish it. I'd still like one more

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-48541704039766907982009-09-19T14:22:00.004-04:002009-09-19T14:25:51.730-04:00

from my friend Alexandra's treesPeachBY JENNIFER TONGE Come here’sa peach he said and held it out just farenough to reach beyond his lap and off- ered mea room the one room left he said in allof Thessaloniki that night packed with tradersThe peach was lush I hadn’t slept for daysit was like velvet lips a lamp he smiled

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-35183171730360462562009-09-16T13:56:00.004-04:002009-09-16T18:24:44.858-04:00

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo,who writes:Reading a newspaper, I saw a picture of birds on the electric wires. I cut out the photo and decided to make a song, using the exact location of the birds as notes (no Photoshop edit). I knew it wasn't the most original idea in the universe. I was just curious to hear what melody the birds were creating.Here I've posted a short video made

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-82997994858118028852009-08-29T18:16:00.006-04:002009-08-29T18:35:33.149-04:00

On a rainy, blah blah day, it was a treat to discover the workof artist Kate Clark at the Aldrich Museum. Her strangeand wonderful sculptures caught me the instantI walked into the space. Oh this would be the kind of artthat could work perfectly on the coverof a book -- one day in the distantfuture--my book!

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-6288919128692640302009-08-28T17:08:00.004-04:002009-08-28T17:11:42.941-04:00

Dear One Absent This Long WhileBY LISA OLSTEINIt has been so wet stones glaze in moss;everything blooms coldly.I expect you. I thought one night it was youat the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,you in a shiver of light, but each timeleaves in wind revealed themselves,the retreating shadow of a fox, daybreak.We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.In May we dreamed of

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-79178817065429627992009-08-18T23:44:00.006-04:002009-08-18T23:55:52.869-04:00

The Spider's Web Speakeasy, 1920, Pittston, PA Libra Horoscope for week of August 20, 2009An epic treasure hunt will soon begin. Are you ready for it? I don't think you are. To get yourself in shape to perform at a high level, I suggest that you open your mind wider than you ever have before. The clues that will be most helpful won't resemble any clues you've ever valued in the past, and they'll

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-50717816534575230182009-08-11T13:44:00.005-04:002009-08-11T14:06:56.604-04:00

Later I'm going to make golden carrot soup even though it's hotand chocolate chip cookies with pecans because tomorrowmy friend is coming for lunch and I'm tutoring in the morningso can't cook then. And over lunch we're going to talk aboutour manuscripts, which we've been working on for a whileand finally exchanged about a month ago. Hers is furtheralong. Mine is in process, still figuring itself

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-48098701741588450112009-08-10T00:13:00.003-04:002009-08-10T00:33:23.052-04:00

I rain danced during the downpour that caughtme by surprise during this evening's walk.A soaking jig with thunder way off.Then received my tarot reading via email.The word gestation appeared and that's curiousas I've had several pregnancy dreams. Pondering.Then a later email contained the news that somepoems are here at mungbeing, an online journalrecommended by Anna (thanks Anna!).Maybe I should

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7041406202834959632.post-12046914178272964902009-08-05T14:52:00.004-04:002009-08-05T15:02:12.744-04:00

A picture up at Rebecca's blog reminded me of thiswebsite -- Terrible Yellow Eyes. Check it out. Cory Godbey is inspired by the book and all the art at the site swirls around Where The Wild Things Are. It's a book I read over and over to my kids. Soon to be a movie. That worries me a bit because Sendak's illustrations and the cadence of the story are so deeply imprinted in me. I don't know if I

Pamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05674873440135193968noreply@blogger.com3