Saturday, June 24, 2017

Saturday Verse: Excerpt from The Lost Son: "5. It was beginning winter"

It was beginning winter,
An in-between time,
The landscape still partly brown:
The bones of words kept swinging in the wind,
Above the blue snow, 
It was beginning winter,
The light moved slowly over the frozen field,
Over the dry seed-crowns,
The beautiful surviving bones
Swinging in the wind. 
Light traveled over the wide field;
The weeds stopped swinging.
The mind moved, not alone,
Through the clear air, in the silence. 
Was it light?
Was it light within?
Was it light within light?
Stillness becoming alive,
Yet still? 
A lively understandable spirit
Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.

                                          - Theodore Roethke 

Friday, June 23, 2017

June Mix: Brashy Rashy


Back to running in the morning = back to finding and listening to music. Hope you like the results:

1. Progress (feat. Tracyanne Campbell) - Public Service Broadcasting

2. Some Are Lakes - Land Of Talk

3. Glitter - Charly Bliss

4. Moonage Daydream - David Bowie

5. Steppin' Out - Joe Jackson

6. Overdrawn - White Sea

7. Sam Jones - Andy Shauf

8. Paul - Big Thief

9. Dirty Rain - Andrew Combs

10. Mad (feat. Lil Wayne) - Solange

11. Don't Get Me Wrong - The Pretenders

12. Nakamarra - Hiatus Kaiyote

13. All That You Have Is Your Soul - Emmylou Harris

14. No Hard Feelings - The Avett Brothers


1. Thanks NPR
4. His songs still make me cry every time even though they're not supposed to
8. Meet me
10. Here too
12. Thanks to KRCL for introducing me to Haitus Kaiyote and also WHAT
14. Bonus:

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Saturday Verse: "After a great pain, a formal feeling comes - " - Emily Dickinson


After a great pain, a formal feeling comes -
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs -
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before? 
The Feet mechanical go round -
Of Ground, or Air or Ought -
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone -  
This is the Hour of Lead -
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the snow -
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go - 

                                                                          - Emily Dickinson 

Saturday, May 27, 2017

Saturday Verse: "Perfection Wasted" - John Updike



And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market -
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories packed
in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren't the same.

                                               - John Updike

Saturday, May 20, 2017

Saturday Verse: "When Death Comes" - Mary Oliver


When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse 
to buy me, snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox 
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, 
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility, 
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,  
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence, 
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to earth. 
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. 
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real 
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument. 
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. 

                                                                           - Mary Oliver 

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Saturday Verse: Nikki Giovanni - "Mothers"

the last time i was home
to see my mother we kissed
exchanged pleasantries
and unpleasantries pulled a warm
comforting silence around
us and read separate books 
i remember the first time
i consciously saw her
we were living in a three room
apartment on burns avenue 
mommy alway sat in the dark
i don't know how I knew that but she did 
that night i stumbled into the kitchen
maybe because i've always been
a night person or perhaps because I had wet
the bed
she was sitting on a chair
the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through tiny window panes
she may have been smoking but maybe not
her hair was three-quarters her height
which made me a strong believer in the samson myth
and very black 
i'm sure i just hung there by the door
i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady 
she was very deliberately waiting
perhaps for my father to come home
from his night job or maybe for a dream
that had promised to come by
"come here" she said "i'll teach you
a poem: I see the moon
              the moon sees me
              god bless the moon
              and god bless me

i taught that to my son
who recited it for her
just to say we must learn
to bear the pleasures
as we have born the pains

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Saturday Verse: "The Bean Eaters" - Gwendolyn Brooks


They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair.
Dinner is a casual affair.
Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood,
Tin flatware.  
Two who are Mostly Good.
Two who have lived their day,
But keep on putting on their clothes
and putting things away. 
And remembering...
Remembering, with twinklings and twinges,
As they lean over the beans in their rented back room that
is full of beads and receipts and dolls and cloths.
tobacco crumbs, vases and fringes. 

                                                                - Gwendolyn Brooks