alt.lit.blog

[UnderYourSpell]

I didn't even know there was a Festival and I'm only 33 miles from London

 

[vampiredust]

I didn't even know there was a Festival and I'm only 33 miles from London

Here's a link

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Here's a link

Thanks I googled it yesterday and read all about you! Can't see the other half attending something like that though it's just not his thing sigh

 

[Tzara]

Here's a link

Excellent stuff, Mr. C. Congratulations.

I don't remember you mentioning the Pushcart nomination or the Plough thingie, but I am getting older and my mind just can't quite hold onto, you know, uh...

Sorry. I forgot what I was talking about.

Excellence from you, anyway. As usual.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I wish you two wouldn't keep disappearing for weeks on end

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Here's an interesting link for a site a friend of mine runs. It's math poetry. It'll either send you screaming from the room or you'll dig it, probably.

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

 

[bflagsst]

Here's an interesting link for a site a friend of mine runs. It's math poetry. It'll either send you screaming from the room or you'll dig it, probably.

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

Wow, this does not float my boat. I took a bunch of math in college too.

 

[Epmd607]

I think I may have written a math poem a few years ago. I liked it, maybe I'll send it to that guy.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

Here's an interesting link for a site a friend of mine runs. It's math poetry. It'll either send you screaming from the room or you'll dig it, probably.

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

Interesting site. For me doesn't seem like either much in the way of mathematics or poetry. But who knows, I may find some new tangent.

Good luck with your poetry reading! I'm sure you'll be fine once you get started.

 

[StepStransky]

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

You're going to be great, I just know it.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Here's an interesting link for a site a friend of mine runs. It's math poetry. It'll either send you screaming from the room or you'll dig it, probably.

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

Good excuse to buy all new! Good Luck honey you'll be great

 

[Angeline]

You're going to be great, I just know it.

Yes she is, and I told her as much a few days ago. Sometimes I think our Dora doesn't realize how good she is. And she's really, I mean REALLY, good.

 

[Angeline]

Here's a link

Ah you look good Chris. Fatherhood hasn't slowed you down at all, it seems. The poetry on your page is wonderful. God, I just hate it when you people make me feel like a proud mama. Lol.

 

[Tzara]

I'm in San Francisco, preparing for a poetry reading at a happening on Saturday. I'll be reading some of my poems there. Gosh I'm nervous. Suddenly I hate all of my clothes.

You'll do wonderfully well, I'm sure, Ms. D.

And if you simply discard your clothes, you'll not only free yourself from any clothing-related judgment silliness, you'll likely find a raptly attentive audience.





Just a suggestion. Take pictures if you do.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

You'll do wonderfully well, I'm sure, Ms. D.

And if you simply discard your clothes, you'll not only free yourself from any clothing-related judgment silliness, you'll likely find a raptly attentive audience.





Just a suggestion. Take pictures if you do.

It did in fact go pretty well. I wore gold lamé and there were some pictures taken, but I don't have any, yet. I'll consider a more stripped-down approach next time, but San Fran is too chilly for that. Maybe a poetry reading in Florida?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

It did in fact go pretty well. I wore gold lamé and there were some pictures taken, but I don't have any, yet. I'll consider a more stripped-down approach next time, but San Fran is too chilly for that. Maybe a poetry reading in Florida?

Well done Dora glad you had a good time

 

[Teloz]

I sometimes wonder who fucked up my mother so much that she felt the need to pass on the favour to me. Hers was a like a different world when she was younger. She left school at 14 with not a lot of education under her belt but that was the normal thing to do in England in those days when you were working class. She went straight into service (that is being a maid in a big house belonging to gentry or upper class) and it's hard work rising very early in the morning for bed and board and not a lot of money in your pocket. About the only time they got to go home was on Mothering Sunday (now completely mixed with Mothers Day) but originally the day all the maids got to go home and see their mothers. When she met my Father he was chauffeur to a vicar (horses in those days) and before that he was on the fishing boats but I only remember him working on a farm as a shepherd. I know times were hard with not a lot of money and at one time my father lost his job because he talked trade unions. With the job going so did the tied cottage we lived in making them homeless with three children. It was allowed to happen in those days circa 1958 with no come back to employers. My mother worked the fields picking potatoes from the mud, picking what ever vegetable or fruit was in season to make ends meet ........ I did too when I was old enough. It didn't seem strange everyone did it not a lot of love around just hard work in bitterly cold conditions it was expected of us to toil the fields. I reckon where I went wrong was to have brains not brawn and with whatever else she had to endure she couldn't cope.

My paternal grandmother died this morning and like the last time someone died, my maternal grandfather, I didn't cry. Hell, I didn't feel anything. No remorse, sympathy, anything

Now, I was closer to my maternal grandfather and didn't feel any rush of emotion. My older sister chided me for not crying but I couldn't force myself to. I wanted to grieve in my own kind of way.

But this time it's like there is nothing I can possibly grieve over. My father's side of the family has always been almost alien to me. I was never accepted by them, never had the chance to feel like I was one of the family.

My mother's early life was remarkably similar to that of UYS's mum, but they went in different ways. My father died when I was eight and mum did anything she could to bring up her two sons, from taking in washing to working as a domestic. Later on she got a job as a post woman, out on her bike in all weathers delivering mail.

Despite the menial jobs, she was an intelligent, liberal and loving mother. She was deeply religious, but didn't let her religion blind her to the freedoms of others. She was ninety when her health started to deteriorate, and ninety-two when she died. I loved her dearly.

I nursed her through the last four months of her life, but she'd been having problems for a few months prior to that, including a short hospital stay. When she came out of hospital she knew she was dying and her only wish was to die at home. From having been a truly independent woman she was catheterised and wearing incontinence pads. I was heartbroken to see her deteriorate slowly.

The whole point of telling you this, is that the only time I cried for my mum was whilst I was nursing her, I cried, not because she was dying, but that she didn't die quickly enough. In the end it took her four weeks to die, the last two in a coma, and when the end came I was uplifted, truly happy that her ordeal was over. Tears then would have been tears of self-pity

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Goodness me the way your mother died is nearly an exact replica of the way mine did same age too! Only mine died in hospital and didn't know she was going to neither did we for that matter but when it happened I was left in a very odd place ...... to grieve or not to grieve? She made my life hell as a child the emotional blackmail was the worst even more than the beatings, bruises heal the mind doesn't. She also split the family right down the middle when she went mostly because of not making a will and one bastard of a sister keeping the lion's share, we never talk now. She even gatecrashed the wake and accused me of letting my mother die. I guess as with all things in life you carry on and yes I am a survivor I learnt how to be that a long time ago.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

What I find mildly amusing

I'm no good at doing reviews or giving proper feedback so I don't do it, but what I find amusing is someone piping up with 'constructive criticism' when they haven't the foggiest either! Doesn't this give some poor soul the wrong info?

 

[champagne1982]

So, I'm limited in time these days. It's for good reason, I'm improving my sedentary skills at our local community college. I've been told to get off my feet so, here I am. Anyway, sometimes I get a chance to write poems and the like so I've submitted a new illustrated. Enjoy ... Persistence of Memory

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Wish I could get the hang of illustrated but even with your guide I am none the wiser and my Survivor ones had to go through Lauren

 

[Tzara]

A couple days ago, I found myself looking around the website of my undergraduate college. Why I ended up there, or how, isn't important. (Nor, probably, is much of anything about this post, but blogs are pretty egocentric so I'll tell you anyway, thank you very much.) When I looked at the faculty in my old department—psychology—I didn't recognize any of the names. Not terribly surprising, I suppose, since I graduated almost (yikes!) 35 years ago, but still, you'd think maybe someone would still be there, even if it was only the department admin.

No such luck.

After striking out in psych, I looked at the other departments where I had taken classes—Chemistry, Physics, English, Political Science, Physical Education (I know that sounds bogus, but I really did—honest), Communications, Computer Science. No one. Not one single member of the faculty I had anything to do with is still there. Nor is the president, nor any of the deans. Hell, they've even changed the school colors since I graduated, weaselly little gits that they are.

Of course, some professors might have changed schools. Some might have died, for that matter. But all of them? I don't know why, but this kind of creeped me out. Made me feel old in a way I haven't felt before.

I mean, I understand it totally. I'm maybe five years from retirement myself, and even if I'd breezed through grad school and almost immediately gotten a tenure track position as assistant professor (what I started out to do), I'd be close to bang on retirement age right now.

But, understand it or not, it was one of those "hey, things are different" moments that you have occasionally. Like the day after you get married. Like (I am guessing here, since I don't personally know), the day you first hold your child in your hands.

The day you notice those deep lines around your eyes. The day you need reading glasses, or bifocals.

Fuck. It's the day you really can't go back to Your Old School.

You know. Just another day, godammit.

Damn things add up.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

I know how that is - haven't checked BS lately, but a couple of days I was by my school's booth at a trade show and asked which faculty were there - I recognized 2 names from 30 years ago. And one was a classmate at the time. Tried to catch him last year at another show, but he's now dept. chair and had meetings all day. My thesis advisor is emertius now and usually not on campus.
The time does fly by - I've now spent half my life in Houston. Still more time single than married, but that's creeping up, too

 

[sassynyc]

Yesterday, I went to the Who Shot Rock n' Roll exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. A few months ago, Angeline mentioned it in one of the threads. I'd made a mental note to check it out, but just got around to going. The exhibit ends Jan 31, so I was scrambling to get there. I'm very glad that I made it. There are lots of great photographers featured in this exhibit, and their skill stands out as much, if not more, than their celebrity subjects. My favorite among them, is Albert Watson. The Mick Jagger photo featured here, was, imo, the most visually stunning piece in the entire exhibit. (Besides, you have to love a man that can photograph a high heeled boot like that )

I thought of a lot of you guys while I was at the exhibit. There was a photograph of Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley that made me think of Ange, a Led Zeppelin photo that made me think of Tzara. A Pink Floyd photo for NJ, The Clash for Homburg, LL Cool J for LadynS, Bjork for Pandora, Jimi Hendrix for UYS and Chef, and an entire display on Grace Jones that made me think of BJ and Safe_Bet. I know, I sound like the Romper Room lady right now. A little cheesy, but the absolute truth. I felt all warm and fuzzy, remembering a kinder, gentler poetry forum. So, I thought I'd wax nostalgic, and share it with all of you. But I digress....I've met my sappy quota for the day.

Smooches to all

 

[Tzara]

I had an odd conversation with my father this weekend. I normally call my parents once a week (though sometimes I forget, or am out of town, or simply don't want to, and skip a week), and we have the what I expect is the usual for most people my age kind of conversation: How are you? Oh, that's good (or, that's too bad), Yes, M and I are fine, We'll see you in a couple/three/four weeks, You both be well, I love you.

This week was different. Dad seemed down about his health in a way he never has been before (or never has admitted to me before): His kidneys aren't doing well, so the doctor had him stop taking some drug and that made his angina much worse. Then (this is the weird part) he wanted to talk about where M and I would live when we retired (which should be in the next five years or so), and did the stock market problems bother us.

Are you moving to Friday Harbor? You both seem to like it there.

Well, we plan to live right were we are, since the damn house is paid for, and though the uncertain stock market is troubling, no, we don't think it completely dumps manure on our retirement plans, though it certainly is trying to.

So what is that about? Is he worried about us being around for my mother?

This has me all creeped out that my father is, imminently, dying. He might be, of course, as he's 84 and in none too good health, so it would be no big surprise if he did die, but on the other hand all of his three brothers lived (or live) into their 90s, as did his mother, and his father lived to be, I think, 86.

None of this is something that I've wanted to face. Probably like most guys, I have very complex feelings about my father—complex meaning that we never really talk (meaning, I suppose, I find it difficult or impossible to tell him, really tell him, how much he has meant to me and how much I love him).

And then ABC had go and to air that cry-fest end of Lost last night. Bastards.

Why, I guess, I quite liked this Senna Jawa poem. It seemed relevent to me, and timely.

OK, OK. Angst dump over.

Really.

Well, for the moment. Shit.