a constant presence
a constant absence
a veiled sun
an eclipsed moon
a piece of time
that fell from the tiled backwash
of moments created
under clashing stars
a piece of time
ground to dust
that fell into the cracks
between the floorboards
a blackened stain
on an oak table
a dust mark
on an empty wall
a whiff of fragrance
in a dresser drawer
a fading image
trying to break its way out
of a dull silver frame
from another life
a guitar without a pick
echoing songs never sung
on the days when music
should have filled the shadows
the darkness of dusk
the lightness of dawn
a constant presence
a constant absence
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
This Little Space
Is it just me or is time feeling like it’s really flying these days? Somehow I thought January would stick around a little longer. I guess it had some place to go. Oh well. I’ll make do with February instead.
Since I’m not an “established writer,” I guess it falls to me to toot my own horn. For those who’ve been following this space for a while (and my most humble, gracious thanks to those who do), you know that I’ve been contributing off and on to this blog called Six Sentences. Well, the editor there decided to publish a little collection of sorts called 6S, The 6S Review, Issue I and thought to include one of my pieces in there. You can find the book here. Okay, end of plug.
Meanwhile... It’ll be almost three years since I created this space and about a year since I started updating it on a regular basis. And it’s grown quite a bit, my little nook. There were months when I was writing here almost every day and months like the last three when it was tough just to think. In retrospect, though, it was a balanced enough year... 75-25 in favor. That’s not a bad ratio, if you think about it. I was tempted to say 70-30, but then I decided to be charitable about it :-). Either way, it was still a good year. And I’m thankful for it.
I’ve often struggled with the fact that this space doesn’t really have any true purpose or direction. I mean, it’s not like it’s built around a central theme. It’s not a poetry blog. It’s not strictly about my life. It’s not all about the arts. There is no one central idea except what strikes my fancy. It’s quite scattered, in fact. In strictly journalistic terms, that’s a Very Bad Thing. But this isn’t someone else’s newspaper or magazine. I’m done with that for now.
This, then, is little bits and pieces of my mind that I choose to put out there. And as for the lack of structure, that’s kind of like my life so far... can’t stereotype it, doesn’t necessarily follow set rules, doesn’t always conform and if left to its own devices, finds its own true path.
Since I’m not an “established writer,” I guess it falls to me to toot my own horn. For those who’ve been following this space for a while (and my most humble, gracious thanks to those who do), you know that I’ve been contributing off and on to this blog called Six Sentences. Well, the editor there decided to publish a little collection of sorts called 6S, The 6S Review, Issue I and thought to include one of my pieces in there. You can find the book here. Okay, end of plug.
Meanwhile... It’ll be almost three years since I created this space and about a year since I started updating it on a regular basis. And it’s grown quite a bit, my little nook. There were months when I was writing here almost every day and months like the last three when it was tough just to think. In retrospect, though, it was a balanced enough year... 75-25 in favor. That’s not a bad ratio, if you think about it. I was tempted to say 70-30, but then I decided to be charitable about it :-). Either way, it was still a good year. And I’m thankful for it.
I’ve often struggled with the fact that this space doesn’t really have any true purpose or direction. I mean, it’s not like it’s built around a central theme. It’s not a poetry blog. It’s not strictly about my life. It’s not all about the arts. There is no one central idea except what strikes my fancy. It’s quite scattered, in fact. In strictly journalistic terms, that’s a Very Bad Thing. But this isn’t someone else’s newspaper or magazine. I’m done with that for now.
This, then, is little bits and pieces of my mind that I choose to put out there. And as for the lack of structure, that’s kind of like my life so far... can’t stereotype it, doesn’t necessarily follow set rules, doesn’t always conform and if left to its own devices, finds its own true path.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Checking back in...
First, here's wishing you a happy new year. It's still January, and though it's nearly the end of the third week, I still think it's acceptable to wish people a good rest of the year.
It's been a month since I’ve posted anything. It only took that long for me to finish “The Cellist of Sarajevo,” and, as always, it was a nail-biting finish to the deadline (read as: finished the last half 45 minutes before book club began). Not that I’ve read all the book club reads in the two (wow... two) years since I’ve been with the club. Thankfully, it’s not the kind of rabid reader group where not having read the book for some reason or the other morphs you into a lawless outcast. But this was one that I wanted to finish before we all met last evening.
It was a very good read. I had no idea it was based on an actual event till I read the author’s afterword. The story centers around a cellist who decides to pay homage to 22 people who were killed in a mortar shelling attack while waiting to buy bread in an already war-torn neighborhood during the siege of Sarajevo in the early '90s. He does this by playing Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor at the site of the shelling every day at 4 p.m. for 22 days. This incident actually did occur on May 27, 1992 and a cellist, Vedran Smailovic, did indeed play the piece of music as described. He was able to leave Sarajevo and now lives in Northern Ireland, according to the author, Steven Galloway’s afterword. The novel Galloway’s constructed is fictional and revolves around this cellist. It was refreshing to read a well-written, well thought out book after a while.
The piece of music itself is beautiful. It is sad yet uplifting in its own way. Interestingly, The Doors also played their version of this adagio and it appears in the 40th anniversary box set album and during ending credits of Oliver Stone’s 1991 movie “The Doors.”
There’s a lot to be said for the power of music. On days when I listen to music I always find a certain peace, as though all is right with the world. Music, to me, is a basic expression of thought and emotion. Sound came before words. Words can describe music. But you don't need words to understand it. A true piece of music comes from somewhere deep within a composer's soul.
It’s hard not to be touched by the sound of someone’s soul.
It's been a month since I’ve posted anything. It only took that long for me to finish “The Cellist of Sarajevo,” and, as always, it was a nail-biting finish to the deadline (read as: finished the last half 45 minutes before book club began). Not that I’ve read all the book club reads in the two (wow... two) years since I’ve been with the club. Thankfully, it’s not the kind of rabid reader group where not having read the book for some reason or the other morphs you into a lawless outcast. But this was one that I wanted to finish before we all met last evening.It was a very good read. I had no idea it was based on an actual event till I read the author’s afterword. The story centers around a cellist who decides to pay homage to 22 people who were killed in a mortar shelling attack while waiting to buy bread in an already war-torn neighborhood during the siege of Sarajevo in the early '90s. He does this by playing Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor at the site of the shelling every day at 4 p.m. for 22 days. This incident actually did occur on May 27, 1992 and a cellist, Vedran Smailovic, did indeed play the piece of music as described. He was able to leave Sarajevo and now lives in Northern Ireland, according to the author, Steven Galloway’s afterword. The novel Galloway’s constructed is fictional and revolves around this cellist. It was refreshing to read a well-written, well thought out book after a while.
The piece of music itself is beautiful. It is sad yet uplifting in its own way. Interestingly, The Doors also played their version of this adagio and it appears in the 40th anniversary box set album and during ending credits of Oliver Stone’s 1991 movie “The Doors.”
There’s a lot to be said for the power of music. On days when I listen to music I always find a certain peace, as though all is right with the world. Music, to me, is a basic expression of thought and emotion. Sound came before words. Words can describe music. But you don't need words to understand it. A true piece of music comes from somewhere deep within a composer's soul.
It’s hard not to be touched by the sound of someone’s soul.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Downside, Upside
Today was the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, the day with the least daylight hours. In the western world they call it the first day of winter. (Maybe they should switch things around and mark Thanksgiving as the first day of winter, but that's just me.)
The downside? It only gets colder from here on out. We've already had a few days with temps in the minus fahrenheits. And there are only more such days to come in the next three months. No respite till March, certainly not up here in the vast desolation of the frozen tundra.
The upside? The days get longer. Minute by minute, they will get longer. And that is a huge upside. At least for me. Call me nuts, I still think the winter solstice should be celebrated as the start of a new year. What better marker than more daylight every day? The sun is out longer, the voices of angels in the air move from whisper to song... and there's definitely more cowbell on the horizon...
The downside? It only gets colder from here on out. We've already had a few days with temps in the minus fahrenheits. And there are only more such days to come in the next three months. No respite till March, certainly not up here in the vast desolation of the frozen tundra.
The upside? The days get longer. Minute by minute, they will get longer. And that is a huge upside. At least for me. Call me nuts, I still think the winter solstice should be celebrated as the start of a new year. What better marker than more daylight every day? The sun is out longer, the voices of angels in the air move from whisper to song... and there's definitely more cowbell on the horizon...
Saturday, December 19, 2009
A Piece of Auden
Saw “Four Weddings and a Funeral” last night again. (I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve seen it, because I’ve lost count.) It was on Turner Classic Movies. Fitting, I think. It is a classic. Great writing, good performances, wonderful moments... the whole package.
The highlight of the movie for me is the scene in which the character Matthew (actor John Hannah), recites the poem “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden at the funeral of his partner Gareth. If you asked me for a list of favorite poems, this one would be among the top few. And Hannah’s recitation of it is outstanding. (Click on that link and read the poem as you listen to him.)
One would think this was written during moments of indescribable loss. There is speculation that Auden (Feb. 21, 1907 – Sept. 29, 1973) wrote this for a lost partner. However, the documented story is that this was written for the soprano Hedli Anderson and in fact had an earlier version, which was a parody of a poem mourning a politician and was written for a play. I guess we’ll never really know what spurred the poem. I’d like to think it was a good idea brilliantly executed.
On another note, have started reading next month’s book club read, “The Cellist of Sarajevo” by Steven Galloway. It’s turning out to be a good read. Let’s see how it ends up.
The highlight of the movie for me is the scene in which the character Matthew (actor John Hannah), recites the poem “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden at the funeral of his partner Gareth. If you asked me for a list of favorite poems, this one would be among the top few. And Hannah’s recitation of it is outstanding. (Click on that link and read the poem as you listen to him.)
Funeral Blues
by W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
One would think this was written during moments of indescribable loss. There is speculation that Auden (Feb. 21, 1907 – Sept. 29, 1973) wrote this for a lost partner. However, the documented story is that this was written for the soprano Hedli Anderson and in fact had an earlier version, which was a parody of a poem mourning a politician and was written for a play. I guess we’ll never really know what spurred the poem. I’d like to think it was a good idea brilliantly executed.
On another note, have started reading next month’s book club read, “The Cellist of Sarajevo” by Steven Galloway. It’s turning out to be a good read. Let’s see how it ends up.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Men's Fiction
Between keeping the dog out of trouble, cat 1 from licking at her sore and cat 2 from becoming a closet hermit (he sleeps in his cube in our closet... and I really should have thought more before naming the animals... I kind of like cat 1 and cat 2 but then it would have devolved into agonizing over which gets called 1 and which 2... I mean should the girl cat have been 1 and the boy cat 2 but that would be favoring the female or should boy cat have been 1 but that’s patriarchal... I’m rambling...)...
Let’s start that again.
Between keeping the pets happy and myself sane (and that’s a tough job in and of itself), I found this interesting site that calls itself the first and only journal devoted to men’s fiction – Bull: Fiction for Thinking Men. Now, they do confess to not knowing what exactly men’s fiction is and say that it’s probably got to do more with style than content. On their submissions guidelines they solicit stories that “address men's issues, span male perspectives, or otherwise appeal to a male audience.” They “love the off-color but still have some class... it ain’t the place for trash.”
Naturally, one is curious. So I took a look at their current issues online. All the authors appear to be men and most of the stories are definitely from the male perspective. And yet, some of them are stories that you could find anywhere, not necessarily only under “for men.”
Which begs the questions...
What DO men like to read when it comes to fiction?
Can women writers cater to this genre? Or would a woman writer’s name cause the male reader to interpret the writing as female-oriented despite content and style?
Think films for a second... chick flicks, bromances and out-and-out testosterone-filled action movies. An Ang Lee can direct a movie like “Sense and Sensibility” and interpret an inherently female mindset with sensitivity and accuracy and it’s not such a big deal. But when a Kathryn Bigelow directs an action movie (“The Hurt Locker,” “Near Dark,” “Point Break”) based entirely around men, it’s hailed as a great day for women directors.
Conversely, it seems that the literary world’s corridors of contemporary romance fiction are largely dominated by women and a lot of people seem to think men can’t write romance fiction as well as women can. The Telegraph of the U.K. had an interesting debate on the subject three years ago.
But back to the spark behind this particular post... men’s fiction.
Anyone out there have a take on this?
Let’s start that again.
Between keeping the pets happy and myself sane (and that’s a tough job in and of itself), I found this interesting site that calls itself the first and only journal devoted to men’s fiction – Bull: Fiction for Thinking Men. Now, they do confess to not knowing what exactly men’s fiction is and say that it’s probably got to do more with style than content. On their submissions guidelines they solicit stories that “address men's issues, span male perspectives, or otherwise appeal to a male audience.” They “love the off-color but still have some class... it ain’t the place for trash.”
Naturally, one is curious. So I took a look at their current issues online. All the authors appear to be men and most of the stories are definitely from the male perspective. And yet, some of them are stories that you could find anywhere, not necessarily only under “for men.”
Which begs the questions...
What DO men like to read when it comes to fiction?
Can women writers cater to this genre? Or would a woman writer’s name cause the male reader to interpret the writing as female-oriented despite content and style?
Think films for a second... chick flicks, bromances and out-and-out testosterone-filled action movies. An Ang Lee can direct a movie like “Sense and Sensibility” and interpret an inherently female mindset with sensitivity and accuracy and it’s not such a big deal. But when a Kathryn Bigelow directs an action movie (“The Hurt Locker,” “Near Dark,” “Point Break”) based entirely around men, it’s hailed as a great day for women directors.
Conversely, it seems that the literary world’s corridors of contemporary romance fiction are largely dominated by women and a lot of people seem to think men can’t write romance fiction as well as women can. The Telegraph of the U.K. had an interesting debate on the subject three years ago.
But back to the spark behind this particular post... men’s fiction.
Anyone out there have a take on this?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
I'd Like to Thank...
I guess we all have something or the other to be thankful for (the millions of turkeys that made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of gastronomic pleasures aren't thankful, of course, but... you get my drift... and yes, for the record... I'm a vegetarian, but if you like turkey, go for it...)
Among the obvious: loving family and true friends; the grace of God for the roofs over our heads and the walls that keep the elements at bay; good health and the jobs that keep the home fires burning; the sun that warms and the moon and stars that light the dark nights; the dreams that spur us on and the ability to work hard that helps us realize them...
Among the not-so-obvious: the sweet old lady at the checkout counter and her bright, warm smile that makes even the worst day all better; warm puppies and loving cats (yes, they do exist); artists and musicians and the pictures and songs they create that remind us of all that is beautiful in this world; the young man who stopped and held the door open while a mother of four navigated her way out of the store; the weird and eccentric nutters, who can at times challenge our ways of thinking and help us see things differently, or help cement the way we think about things; the Internet; the summer and winter solstices; the four seasons (Vivaldi's, too); the earthy smell of the stables and horses; dry spices; the scent of lavender; the color maroon; sandalwood incense; a good conversation; warm sand; fresh snow; tylenol; coffee; dark chocolate... It's a long list...
What are you thankful for?
Among the obvious: loving family and true friends; the grace of God for the roofs over our heads and the walls that keep the elements at bay; good health and the jobs that keep the home fires burning; the sun that warms and the moon and stars that light the dark nights; the dreams that spur us on and the ability to work hard that helps us realize them...
Among the not-so-obvious: the sweet old lady at the checkout counter and her bright, warm smile that makes even the worst day all better; warm puppies and loving cats (yes, they do exist); artists and musicians and the pictures and songs they create that remind us of all that is beautiful in this world; the young man who stopped and held the door open while a mother of four navigated her way out of the store; the weird and eccentric nutters, who can at times challenge our ways of thinking and help us see things differently, or help cement the way we think about things; the Internet; the summer and winter solstices; the four seasons (Vivaldi's, too); the earthy smell of the stables and horses; dry spices; the scent of lavender; the color maroon; sandalwood incense; a good conversation; warm sand; fresh snow; tylenol; coffee; dark chocolate... It's a long list...
What are you thankful for?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
"This Big Dead End"
So, here's a scene from one of my favorite movies (yours too, go ahead, admit it...) that's been playing around in my head for a couple of weeks. If I can find a video clip, i'll upload it, but for now, try and remember the raw emotion of the moment when Meg Ryan was wailing and Billy Crystal was trying to listen:
Sally: And I’m gonna be 40.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it’s there. It’s just sitting there like this big dead end. And it’s not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73.
Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick ‘em up.
Sally: And I’m gonna be 40.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it’s there. It’s just sitting there like this big dead end. And it’s not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73.
Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick ‘em up.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
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