Massachusetts

Again, I will start with the poem of the day. I picked it special, in light of the news of the day. It is by Sharon Olds (whose most recent book just won the Pulitzer).

originally published July 1980 : Poetry Magazine

Before the news of two bombs at the Boston Marathon, I had been contemplating a way to sum up my long, busy weekend in one tidy blog post. I kept thinking of beginning lines.

I spent the weekend in the Pioneer Valley of Massachusetts and was surprised to find how much it felt like Athens Co. ...

I spent the weekend at a reproductive justice conference and was challenged to begin to rethink my own ideas about gender ...

I spent the weekend at a conference about social justice in the context of sexuality and families and women's wellbeing, interpreted broadly (housing, immigration, queer identity, prisons, gender-based violence, media access, drug policy, food, and on and on, in addition to parenting, pregnancy, abortion, and contraception), and I came away struggling not to be overwhelmed by all that needs to be done ...

Yes, and then, bombs in Boston. At the fucking marathon. Will we be forced to fear public places? Public space is sacred space to me. It is this that hurts me as much as lives lost and people, so many people, injured. Yet, there are so many places where terrible violence is happening, bombs and deaths, the idea of safe public space suspect. My heart is hurting for all of this. It is horrendous when it reaches so close to me -- my husband is a runner, I had acquaintances in the race yesterday, friends in the city, the city is here in my homeland - but the violence is everywhere.

I am overwhelmed by all that needs to be done.

Reading: Read two interesting pieces about food - a book review and a TV review - in recent issues of the NYer. I will post about them on some other, more frivolous day.

Writing: Thought about it. And also read an article about an artist obsessed with one painting for years and years that made me, of course, doubt myself. More on that too, maybe.

Dinner: Monday night pizza was plain white pizza and a green salad. (I like to eat the vinegary salad on top of the rich and garlicky pizza.)

 Soundtrack: My hostesses this weekend in MA, Kat and Jen, went to a Carolina Chocolate Drops concert on Saturday, prompting me to listen to them when I was puttering  in the house today. Among other things, I like their version of this Ethel Waters song:


Random thing: Poem of the Day (for April Poetry Month): See above.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sick Days

Image
I'm on day 2 of being sick, after spending a day with a sick O, and I am fighting terrible feelings of self-doubt and lurking failure. This is a normal way to be when sick, I suppose, but it comes at a time when I was already struggling against despair. Why despair? Because I am genetically predisposed? Because I am working too much and I'm worn out? Hormones? Yes. Yes. Probably. Because the BiP is more a fantasy than a reality at this point? (For those keeping track, NaNoWriMo feels to me more like NoNeGoWriMo ~ Not Never Gonna Write More.) The last is probably the clincher. Whenever I lose track of my writing I get desperate. This is an ongoing dance I do with myself. Commit to the writing ~ do the writing ~ neglect the writing ~ hear the writing whispering recriminations ~ avoid the writing ~ loathe self and others ~ eventually get back to the writing (repeat). Wouldn't it be nice if we could lose steps 3, 4, & 5? Hope in a Prison of Despair , pre-raphaelite painting...
Read more

Bait Fish

Image
David made fun of me when I told him, two weeks ago, that I had "started writing the first post" for this blog. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked, knowing perfectly well that I do. I probably threatened to throw something at him. I erased that fragment of first post. It was too mannered and laborious. It was all about what I want this blog to be about. It was all about my anxiety of influence re certain other writers (namely George Eliot), and about the wonder of coming upon a manuscript of Middlemarch in the British Library about 5 million years ago, and the little paperback reproduction of her quotation-filled blotter I bought in the gift shop. The paperback looks like this. (I haven't actually read it.) Miraculously, I was able to find it in less than 5 minutes, despite the shocking disarray of my bookshelves ... it was on the attic stairs. ( more on bookshelves in some other post ) In the intervening two weeks, I have made a list of possible topics fo...
Read more

Under 20, dammit

Image
Anita Loos photographed by Edward Steichen presence of photo explained below, as though a picture like this requires an explanation. This exercise in blarg-- blerg-- uh, blogging is enjoyable, but I think I have been breaking my 20-minute rule rather regularly. So, the challenge now is to keep it under 20. And, somehow, it took me 2 minutes to write that first sentence. No wonder it is taking me so long to write the tome of tomorrow ... that's my official new name for it. Tome of Tomorrow, or ToT for short. No more of this BiP or E(ndless)BiP or what have you. Reading: Continuing on with the Lurie. Looking forward to beginning something new tomorrow. Also, the writing letters chapter from Bird by Bird Writing: Muchly, at the hospitable Donkey. Dinner: O and I made a nice succotash with shallots and a splash of half and half to perk up the frozen limas and corn. My mom made a second night of Yorkshire pudding, because she could. If you have bothered to render suet, you might as wel...
Read more