"Eleven Addresses to the Lord"
by John Berryman
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting.
Forsake me not when my wild hours come;
grant me sleep nightly, grace soften my dreams;
achieve in me patience till the thing be done,
a careful view of my achievement come.
Make me from time to time the gift of the shoulder.
When all hurt nerves whine shut away the whiskey.
Empty my heart toward Thee.
Let me pace without fear the common path of death.
Cross am I sometimes with my little daughter:
fill her eyes with tears: Forgive me, Lord.
Unite my various soul,
sole watchman of the wide & single stars.
'Eleven Addresses to the Lord' by John Berryman, from Love and Fame. © Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1971. Reprinted with permission"
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Ole and Lena
"When Ole and Lena were young and in love they would got to their favorite spot to park. One night while parked, hugging and kissing Ole asks Lena, 'Lena how would you like to go in the back?'
'No,' she replies. So they hug and kiss some more. Again, Ole asks Lena to go in the back. Once again, Lena says, 'no'. After some more hugging and kissing, Ole asks Lena to go in the back. Lena replies, 'Ole, why are you always asking me to go in the back, I want to stay in the front with you!'"
'No,' she replies. So they hug and kiss some more. Again, Ole asks Lena to go in the back. Once again, Lena says, 'no'. After some more hugging and kissing, Ole asks Lena to go in the back. Lena replies, 'Ole, why are you always asking me to go in the back, I want to stay in the front with you!'"
Chance Meeting
Chance Meeting
by Susan Browne
I know him, that man
walking- toward me up the crowded street
of the city, I have lived with him
seven years now, I know his fast stride,
his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
deep in his jacket pockets, hands
that have known my body, touched
its softest part, caused its quick shudders
and slow releasings, I have seen his face
above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
I have silently watched him lying beside me
in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
steam rising from the manhole covers,
gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
he sees me, we are strangers again,
and a rending music of desire and loss —
I don't know him — courses through me,
and we kiss and say, It's good to see you,
as if we haven't seen each other in years
when it was just a few hours ago,
and we are shy, then, not knowing
what to say next.
'Chance Meeting' by Susan Browne, from Buddha's Dogs. © Four Way Books, 2004. Reprinted with permission."
by Susan Browne
I know him, that man
walking- toward me up the crowded street
of the city, I have lived with him
seven years now, I know his fast stride,
his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
deep in his jacket pockets, hands
that have known my body, touched
its softest part, caused its quick shudders
and slow releasings, I have seen his face
above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
I have silently watched him lying beside me
in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
steam rising from the manhole covers,
gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
he sees me, we are strangers again,
and a rending music of desire and loss —
I don't know him — courses through me,
and we kiss and say, It's good to see you,
as if we haven't seen each other in years
when it was just a few hours ago,
and we are shy, then, not knowing
what to say next.
'Chance Meeting' by Susan Browne, from Buddha's Dogs. © Four Way Books, 2004. Reprinted with permission."
Sunday, December 27, 2009
O Best of All Nights, Return and Return Again
O Best of All Nights, Return and Return Again
by James Laughlin
How she let her long hair down over her shoulders, making a
love cave around her face. Return and return again.
How when the lamplight was lowered she pressed against
him, twining her fingers in his. Return and return again.
How their legs swam together like dolphins and their toes
played like little tunnies. Return and return again.
How she sat beside him cross-legged, telling him stories of
her childhood. Return and return again.
How she closed her eyes when his were open, how they
breathed together, breathing each other. Return and return again.
How they fell into slumber, their bodies curled together like
two spoons. Return and return again.
How they went together to Otherwhere, the fairest land they
had ever seen. Return and return again.
Friday, December 25, 2009
December
December
by Gary Johnson
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
"December" by Gary Johnson. Used with permission of the poet
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
My Favorite Christmas Song
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord!
Then ever, ever praise we, His power and glory ever more proclaim!
O Holy Night...
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord!
Then ever, ever praise we, His power and glory ever more proclaim!
O Holy Night...
Monday, December 21, 2009
Things I Know
"Things I Know
by Joyce Sutphen
I know how the cow's head turns
to gaze at the child in the hay aisle;
I know the way the straw shines
under the one bare light in the barn.
How a chicken pecks gravel into silt
and how the warm egg rests beneath
the feathers—I know that too, and
what to say, watching the rain slide
in silver chains over the machine
shed's roof. I know how one pail
of water calls to another and how
it sloshes and spills when I walk
from the milk-house to the barn.
I know how the barn fills and
then empties, how I scatter lime
on the walk, how I sweep it up.
In the silo, I know the rung under
my foot; on the tractor, I know
the clutch and the throttle; I slip
through the fence and into the woods,
where I know everything: trunk
by branch by leaf into sky."
by Joyce Sutphen
I know how the cow's head turns
to gaze at the child in the hay aisle;
I know the way the straw shines
under the one bare light in the barn.
How a chicken pecks gravel into silt
and how the warm egg rests beneath
the feathers—I know that too, and
what to say, watching the rain slide
in silver chains over the machine
shed's roof. I know how one pail
of water calls to another and how
it sloshes and spills when I walk
from the milk-house to the barn.
I know how the barn fills and
then empties, how I scatter lime
on the walk, how I sweep it up.
In the silo, I know the rung under
my foot; on the tractor, I know
the clutch and the throttle; I slip
through the fence and into the woods,
where I know everything: trunk
by branch by leaf into sky."
The Loneliest Job in the World
"The Loneliest Job in the World
by Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
'The Loneliest Job in the World' by Tony Hoagland, from Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty. © Graywolf Press, 2010. Reprinted with permission"
by Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
'The Loneliest Job in the World' by Tony Hoagland, from Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty. © Graywolf Press, 2010. Reprinted with permission"
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Starwood
The Temptations.The first concert I went to. I was five years old and it was at Starwood (wow, remember Starwood?!). Herman's Hermits opened for them. I'm tempted to say that they just came out and played "Henry the Eighth I Am" six or seven times in a row-but I also know that it's not true. But it would make the story so much funnier...
So Herman's Hermits opened up for them and all they did was play "Henry the Eighth I Am" six or seven times in a row and then said good night. I guess they realized that as a one hit wonder the audience was only interested in their repetitive hit being played repetitively. That concert started a long time love of live music for me. Hearing "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" over the speakers was like hearing a friend tell a familiar story-one that I had heard before and knew the ending to. The sense of community in the audience was something I had never experienced before-not even at church. People were giving each other high fives and laughing and dancing with perfect strangers.
Ten years later, my dad took me back to see The Temptations and The Four Tops played with them this time. It was just as magical a decade later, even in that weird cynical stage that most 15 year olds pass through-it was awesome.
Starwood. I still remember when they announced that they were going to close Starwood. It was Valentine's Day 2007. Lightning 100 broke the news to me on my way to my patho-physiology class at Vanderbilt. I cried in the car and intermittently throughout the day. It was the saddest Valentine's Day I've ever had. Which is saying a lot because I've never had a good Valentine's Day.
I miss Starwood ever single summer. I miss Starwood in such a specific way that I think most people reserve for missing a lost lover. I miss the curve of the lawn and the way that summer sky felt larger for some reason sitting on the lawn. I miss the elated senses that came with an encore. I miss feeling more beautiful than ever under the stage's overflowing lights. I miss going to sleep after a show and being exhausted from joy. I miss waking the next morning with little tingles in my stomach reliving songs and hard to reach notes. Every July it feels like Dave Matthews Band season-like an anniversary celebrated alone. They played at Vanderbilt recently, but that just seems wrong to cage Dave Matthews Band indoors. They belong outside, playing uninhibited while their audience dances barefoot in an excited thunderstorm. At least that's how I'll always remember them.
Even now, even after two years of grieving and courting other venues and having multiple one night musical stands: I miss Starwood.
So Herman's Hermits opened up for them and all they did was play "Henry the Eighth I Am" six or seven times in a row and then said good night. I guess they realized that as a one hit wonder the audience was only interested in their repetitive hit being played repetitively. That concert started a long time love of live music for me. Hearing "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" over the speakers was like hearing a friend tell a familiar story-one that I had heard before and knew the ending to. The sense of community in the audience was something I had never experienced before-not even at church. People were giving each other high fives and laughing and dancing with perfect strangers.
Ten years later, my dad took me back to see The Temptations and The Four Tops played with them this time. It was just as magical a decade later, even in that weird cynical stage that most 15 year olds pass through-it was awesome.
Starwood. I still remember when they announced that they were going to close Starwood. It was Valentine's Day 2007. Lightning 100 broke the news to me on my way to my patho-physiology class at Vanderbilt. I cried in the car and intermittently throughout the day. It was the saddest Valentine's Day I've ever had. Which is saying a lot because I've never had a good Valentine's Day.
I miss Starwood ever single summer. I miss Starwood in such a specific way that I think most people reserve for missing a lost lover. I miss the curve of the lawn and the way that summer sky felt larger for some reason sitting on the lawn. I miss the elated senses that came with an encore. I miss feeling more beautiful than ever under the stage's overflowing lights. I miss going to sleep after a show and being exhausted from joy. I miss waking the next morning with little tingles in my stomach reliving songs and hard to reach notes. Every July it feels like Dave Matthews Band season-like an anniversary celebrated alone. They played at Vanderbilt recently, but that just seems wrong to cage Dave Matthews Band indoors. They belong outside, playing uninhibited while their audience dances barefoot in an excited thunderstorm. At least that's how I'll always remember them.
Even now, even after two years of grieving and courting other venues and having multiple one night musical stands: I miss Starwood.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Office: The Great 'Whomever' Debate
This is, in my opinion, the greatest scene in The Office. It made me want to become an English teacher just so that I could use it in my classroom. Be sure to look out for Michael's aside about Oscar not being a 'native' speaker. Classic.
Powerthirst
I feel like this represents every commercial for anything I've ever seen. Marketing is so bizarre.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRuNxHqwazshttp://
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRuNxHqwazshttp://
Monday, December 7, 2009
"After Psalm 137"
"After Psalm 137"
by Anne Porter
We're still in Babylon but
We do not weep
Why should we weep?
We have forgotten
How to weep
We've sold our harps
And bought ourselves machines
That do our singing for us
And who remembers now
The songs we sang in Zion?
We have got used to exile
We hardly notice
Our captivity
For some of us
There are such comforts here
Such luxuries
Even a guard
To keep the beggars
From annoying us
Jerusalem
We have forgotten you.
'After Psalm 137' by Anne Porter, from Living Things Collected Poems. © Zoland Books, 2006. Reprinted with permission"
Lovely.
by Anne Porter
We're still in Babylon but
We do not weep
Why should we weep?
We have forgotten
How to weep
We've sold our harps
And bought ourselves machines
That do our singing for us
And who remembers now
The songs we sang in Zion?
We have got used to exile
We hardly notice
Our captivity
For some of us
There are such comforts here
Such luxuries
Even a guard
To keep the beggars
From annoying us
Jerusalem
We have forgotten you.
'After Psalm 137' by Anne Porter, from Living Things Collected Poems. © Zoland Books, 2006. Reprinted with permission"
Lovely.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
A Marriage
A Marriage
by Barry Spacks
Clear nowof our long struggle
I can hear your voice,
its strength
the sweet coldnessof river water.
And I can see you
And I can see you
as in the photograph
with your father and sister,
tall pretty girl,
pigtailed and freckled,
led, misled,until you doubted
led, misled,until you doubted
your beauty, body,
that you were one among us,
a person, like any other.
And, given distance,
And, given distance,
I think of you
becoming smaller,
but cheerful, the way
the old are
with short white hair
with short white hair
and an easiness
you'd never know before,
and me, incredibly,not there.
"A Marriage" by Barry Spacks, from Spacks Street: New and Selected Poems. © The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
'The Office' PSA
The cast from the office did some spoof PSAs. I really like the one about how the Fugitive is a good movie to watch on cable.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DiXo78XPdKU&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DiXo78XPdKU&feature=related
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Chico Marx "Beer Barrel Polka"
Wouldn't it be great if the actors today were this talented?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6V-l_WJb3s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6V-l_WJb3s
"A November Sunrise"
"A November Sunrise
by Anne Porter
Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there's a donkey grazing.
Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance."
Beautiful.
by Anne Porter
Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there's a donkey grazing.
Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance."
Beautiful.
Wilco, Hate It Here Lyrics
Wilco, Hate It Here Lyrics: "I try to stay busy
I do the dishes, I mow the lawn
I try to keep myself occupied
Even though I know you’re not coming home
I try to keep the house nice and neat
I make my bed I change the sheets
I even learned how to use the washing machine
But keeping things clean doesn’t change anything
What am I gonna do when I run out of shirts to fold?
What am I gonna do when I run out of lawn to mow?
What am I gonna do if you never come home?
Tell me, what am I gonna do?
I hate it
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I caught myself thinking
I caught myself thinking once again
Have to try to keep my mind out of this
Try not to pretend
I’ll check the phone
I’ll check the mail
I’ll check the phone again and I call your mom
She says you’re not there and I should take care
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I hate it
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I try to stay busy
I take out the trash, I sweep the floor
Try to keep myself occupied
Cause I know you don’t live here anymore"
I think this might be Wilco's best song. At least, I like it.
I do the dishes, I mow the lawn
I try to keep myself occupied
Even though I know you’re not coming home
I try to keep the house nice and neat
I make my bed I change the sheets
I even learned how to use the washing machine
But keeping things clean doesn’t change anything
What am I gonna do when I run out of shirts to fold?
What am I gonna do when I run out of lawn to mow?
What am I gonna do if you never come home?
Tell me, what am I gonna do?
I hate it
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I caught myself thinking
I caught myself thinking once again
Have to try to keep my mind out of this
Try not to pretend
I’ll check the phone
I’ll check the mail
I’ll check the phone again and I call your mom
She says you’re not there and I should take care
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I hate it
I hate it here
When you’re gone
I try to stay busy
I take out the trash, I sweep the floor
Try to keep myself occupied
Cause I know you don’t live here anymore"
I think this might be Wilco's best song. At least, I like it.
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