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"so unpredictable, so out of control"
Happy first day of spring, Northern Hemisphere! There is no longer snow in the ten-day forecast for Nashville; it was merely bitterly cold during parts of my ride this afternoon.
As I approached the Forrest Green trailhead, I passed a group of musicians coming in. It's not every day you see a double-bass (uncased) being hauled toward the marshes. Some minutes later (after taking a brief water and write-things-down break), I rode west on the loop and heard them playing on/around a bench a couple hundred feet off the main trail. There was a white umbrella open -- the kind used to manipulate light during photo shoots. A woman and her dog stopped to listen to them.
The subject line's from Linda Pastan's "Misreading Housman", which begins, "On this first day of spring, snow / covers the fruit trees..." Last night's bathtub reading was the May 2001 issue of Poetry. The poem that grabbed me the most this time was Albert Goldbarth's "Maypurés" (which includes Brahe, parrots, dead stars, and travel journals in asking "What does one say / to a friend whose sorrow is somebody gone / beyond the level of breath, beyond / the bonds inside the atom?"). The pages I dogeared back in 2001 include page 100, which has this "fugitive piece" from Christian Wiman (this is before he became editor in chief):
On related notes, this week's reading has also included Jessica Burstein's essay on academic envy and (via Mary) Terri Windling's collection of quotes on forgiveness and inadequacy.
ETA [6:18 pm]: Tweeters in Green Hills, Madison, and East Nashville are reporting snowflakes. @NashSevereWx has this to say:
As I approached the Forrest Green trailhead, I passed a group of musicians coming in. It's not every day you see a double-bass (uncased) being hauled toward the marshes. Some minutes later (after taking a brief water and write-things-down break), I rode west on the loop and heard them playing on/around a bench a couple hundred feet off the main trail. There was a white umbrella open -- the kind used to manipulate light during photo shoots. A woman and her dog stopped to listen to them.
The subject line's from Linda Pastan's "Misreading Housman", which begins, "On this first day of spring, snow / covers the fruit trees..." Last night's bathtub reading was the May 2001 issue of Poetry. The poem that grabbed me the most this time was Albert Goldbarth's "Maypurés" (which includes Brahe, parrots, dead stars, and travel journals in asking "What does one say / to a friend whose sorrow is somebody gone / beyond the level of breath, beyond / the bonds inside the atom?"). The pages I dogeared back in 2001 include page 100, which has this "fugitive piece" from Christian Wiman (this is before he became editor in chief):
As tired as I am of hearing mediocre poets praised and rewarded, I am more weary of hearing poets, especially good ones, lament their own neglect. The real work of poetry has almost always occurred outside of whatever inner circle of ordained poets and critics happens to hold sway at the moment. Poets should just shut up and work. Including this one. Or poets should think about giving it all up and going into the world in some different way. Including this one.
On related notes, this week's reading has also included Jessica Burstein's essay on academic envy and (via Mary) Terri Windling's collection of quotes on forgiveness and inadequacy.
ETA [6:18 pm]: Tweeters in Green Hills, Madison, and East Nashville are reporting snowflakes. @NashSevereWx has this to say:
A few of you are seeing snow. You aren't hallucinating. It's VERY cold aloft & above freezing at the surface. No cause for snow party/panic.
— NashSevereWx (@NashSevereWx) 20 mars 2013It can get so cold aloft that the precip starts to fall as snow and doesn't have time to melt to rain before it hits the ground. #Science!
— NashSevereWx (@NashSevereWx) 20 mars 2013