Mar. 4th, 2014

zirconium: photo of squeezy Buddha on cell phone, next to a coffee mug (buddha and cocoa)
We have a bit of snow right now. Last week, there was a lot of wind. It flung penny-sized pinecones from a neighbor's tree into my driveway and front yard. They are adorable (but I have in turn been flinging them into the compost pile).

penny-sized pine cone

I wanted some short comfort reads last week, so I brought home a stack of picture books. I ended up discussing a couple of passages from Tomie dePaola's Christmas Remembered with an Italian American friend ("have you ever eaten scungilli?"). Of the rest of the books, the two I enjoyed most were Karen Hesse's Come On, Rain! (1999) and Kathryn Lasky's Georgia Rises: A Day in the Life of Georgia O'Keeffe (2009), respectively illustrated by Jon J. Muth and Ora Eitan.

Come On, Rain! -- Muth's watercolors are terrific, and what's more, the book features a diverse cast without making a big deal of it: Tessie, the narrator, is African American; Jackie-Joyce is maybe black or Latina; Rosemary is white, and Liz is Asian. Also, city!

Georgia Rises -- Eitan's style is interesting. Her choices of when to be precise (as in her spot illlustration of Georgia tugging on a stocking) and when to leave things rough-edged or blurry (as in many of the main paintings) could occupy me for days. (That's not an adequate description, actually -- it's clear that when Eitan decided to let the paper or lower layers of paint show through the upper layers, that was every bit as deliberate as the placement of a crescent moon or the half-circles delineating a dog bowl.) I liked that the illustrator was not attempting to ape O'Keeffe, and -- this is unusual for me -- that the paintings had a folky, somewhat primitive feel to them. Kind of 2.5-D - not quite flat, but not full-bore perspective.

Speaking of artistic choices, Jessi Graustein (whose press, Folded Word, has published some of my micropieces from time to time, has been posting some photos of her calligraphy practice/work on her Flickr photostream now and then. The glimpses of her playing with an Icelandic greeting are nifty.
zirconium: photo of bell tower seen on a walk to the Acropolis (athens bell tower)
I was trying to string together something to do with garnets and gannets, thanks to this thread over at M'ris's LJ. But there was also this...




... so I'll have to give the gannets their due some other night. No, I don't understand my brain either. But stuff like this does have a history of happening after I eavesdrop on M'ris and Elise. (I will also add that some years ago Elise sent me some garnets as part of a gift from Dichroic, the other part being this poem. The world, it teems with treasure...)


The month has started under water --
a sense of too much to shove at or swallow:
sprawling projects, tax returns ...
To wield a spear like an Amazon,
to hammer antique fears into a gleaming bow ---
these aren't skills I can list on my present

résumé, but what's needed at present
is something like. To get out of the water --
to haul my soggy rear back into the bow,
spluttering out what I couldn't help but swallow --
it isn't pretty, training to be an Amazon.
I'm told such pangs will yield happy returns

but some days I think of all the sad returns
I boxed up back in the warehouse -- this unwanted present,
that unhelped self. My wishlist at Amazon
changes by the week, like flavors of water
from a sportsdrink sales rep's cooler. Swallow
this magic pill. Now take your bow

on the Wonderland stage. in the Wonderland court.
Tied up with a bow,
neatly wrapped -- low risk, low returns.
I know that, but the truth's still tough to swallow
when the press of my weariness outweighs the present.
I have to remember how petrels pierce the water,
scaring off sharks with the skill of an Amazon.

I've never longed to sail down the Amazon
but then I never expected each night to bow
my head with such thanks for running water,
schooled by floods and droughts. The returns
of every field, I now regard as a present.
I've watched dying people, how they can't even swallow

the thinnest dribble of water. Oh, when the swallow
nests again by the bell, will we see the Amazon
gliding into harbor as well? Will it present
a dazzlement of gems -- the gold-bright bow,
a garnet-studded scabbard? What returns
isn't always what was cast upon the water --

in some of my dreams, men in swallow-tails bow
to Amazons as their equals. But waking returns
me back to the present. I plunge back into the water.

- pld


ETA 8:40 pm: It never fails -- an edit making itself obvious after I press "post"...

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zirconium: picrew of me in sports bra and flowery crop pants (Default)
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