rules are, there ain't no rules.
it's to the second bridge and back and whoever makes it first, wins.
though as for that the passing there
had worn them really about the same.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
let it ride
Oh lord, I wasn't ready to go
I'm never ready to go
Let it ride Let it ride easy down the road
Ryan Adams, singing tonite on Austin City Limits (remember: 8pm Friday PBS 20) and get Cold Roses - only $12 double disc from Lost Highways last spring.
az rvw: Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Wilco, Wiskeytown, Bright Eyes, and Ryan Adams. I have to hand it to these wonderful artists who choose to undertake the very difficult task of adding to the Folk/Country landscape of the American sound. It's hard to create a song that sounds fresh yet familiar at the same time. this one is familiar, as I love.
I'm never ready to go
Let it ride Let it ride easy down the road
Ryan Adams, singing tonite on Austin City Limits (remember: 8pm Friday PBS 20) and get Cold Roses - only $12 double disc from Lost Highways last spring.
az rvw: Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Wilco, Wiskeytown, Bright Eyes, and Ryan Adams. I have to hand it to these wonderful artists who choose to undertake the very difficult task of adding to the Folk/Country landscape of the American sound. It's hard to create a song that sounds fresh yet familiar at the same time. this one is familiar, as I love.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Thursday, January 19, 2006
what is getting you so down
dad thinking, not dissuaded, that that must have been a loss. the loss. but it feels, and maybe this does not mean it was not, but it feels, it does, like what I look for, like when I feel better. 'the moment of connection' ( is it an "intervention" when you speak?) -- the girl lying with the goose, menagerie, all of creation offended -all of creation responding- in this distress. the keening of the moon, sometimes, rising. it means this: this miracle among the animals.
mc with his 'what would it mean to...?' to have your formative moment, identification, your formation, be this. it means that I am saying, to Jaime, that I want my government to have in mind the moment when we crawl from the rubble, look around, come together, say: what now.
loss. but when this is that which, if lost, would leave me inconsolable. alone, not understanding that anyone is there or will return, then shall we not call that the loss and find another word for this.
mc with his 'what would it mean to...?' to have your formative moment, identification, your formation, be this. it means that I am saying, to Jaime, that I want my government to have in mind the moment when we crawl from the rubble, look around, come together, say: what now.
loss. but when this is that which, if lost, would leave me inconsolable. alone, not understanding that anyone is there or will return, then shall we not call that the loss and find another word for this.
she would be waiting
She had an air of seeming to wait, as if for a man to get through with something more important than herself, a battle or an operation, during which he must not be hurried or interfered with. When the man had finished she would be waiting, without fret or impatience, somewhere on a highstool, turning the pages of a newspaper.
Mrs. Speers was fresh in appearance but she was tired; death beds make people tired indeed and she had watched beside a couple.
FSF Tender is Night
Mrs. Speers was fresh in appearance but she was tired; death beds make people tired indeed and she had watched beside a couple.
FSF Tender is Night
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
repose
_____
that's what I wanted to tell you.
all the things you could say, you're saying this.
"with all the fish in the sea?" "not like her."
these are what I am thinking when I am at the window. when I wake up. when I brush my teeth.
my mind returning home, says i'm so sorry.
"I want to know things."
why didn't you tell me sooner?
I just wanted to hear you say it.
-so you're not angry? - I'm not done yet -shhh... -just let me get my mind around this. -what is that--that metaphor? -don't do this. -I'm sorry.
I miss you. I'm looking out the window, this is the voice in my head.
To me these are the only real things in the world.
that's what I wanted to tell you.
all the things you could say, you're saying this.
"with all the fish in the sea?" "not like her."
these are what I am thinking when I am at the window. when I wake up. when I brush my teeth.
my mind returning home, says i'm so sorry.
"I want to know things."
why didn't you tell me sooner?
I just wanted to hear you say it.
-so you're not angry? - I'm not done yet -shhh... -just let me get my mind around this. -what is that--that metaphor? -don't do this. -I'm sorry.
I miss you. I'm looking out the window, this is the voice in my head.
To me these are the only real things in the world.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
inconsolable 2
all the silver in the kitchen would someday be Carol's and if my mother wanted it more than everything, if she picked the first star in the sky every night of her life and wished, she still could not have it, ever.
p.128 my copy Anywhere but Here
that is not what I meant, at all.
(she still could not have it, ever.)
and if I went to the gym everyday, and I ran and I swam, and I ate no sweets, I still would not have another body. I'd still have this body, this deformity.
Frog Hospital on Page 32: ... for the love that as children they had desired so, sought so, distorted themselves so to get but never got. I once rode eighty blocks with a cabbie who kept saying over and over, "And he never hugged me, and he never kissed me," until by Eighth Street he was weeping and I had to get out. It was unbearable.
on Page 130: ...It is unacceptable, all the stunned and anzious missing a person is asked to endure in life. It is not to be endured, not really.
p.128 my copy Anywhere but Here
that is not what I meant, at all.
(she still could not have it, ever.)
and if I went to the gym everyday, and I ran and I swam, and I ate no sweets, I still would not have another body. I'd still have this body, this deformity.
Frog Hospital on Page 32: ... for the love that as children they had desired so, sought so, distorted themselves so to get but never got. I once rode eighty blocks with a cabbie who kept saying over and over, "And he never hugged me, and he never kissed me," until by Eighth Street he was weeping and I had to get out. It was unbearable.
on Page 130: ...It is unacceptable, all the stunned and anzious missing a person is asked to endure in life. It is not to be endured, not really.
inconsolable 1
...a little boy of two sobbing his heart out, leaning with his face against a screen door of his house. or behind a curtain or a tree; or lying face down on the floor. in our nursery school years ago, a little boy hid in the empty fireplace, unreachable, broken-hearted, his first day away from his mother--two years old, not understanding that she would return.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
inconsolable
the immense, illiterate, consoling angels.
the giraffe with his head cocked petulantly, weeping, hold me.
becominginvolved a woman lies down with a goose. they love each other. bliss, terribly private. quietly deathly quiet. away.
privateness - an oval pond in the park and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks but not for themselves.
privilegeofbeing - somewhere a man and a woman are making love up above the angels my love this morning as much as you...
All of creation in offended by this distress. It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes, rising.
menagerie - although it would mean this, this miracle among the souls of animals. And you.
the giraffe with his head cocked petulantly, weeping, hold me.
becominginvolved a woman lies down with a goose. they love each other. bliss, terribly private. quietly deathly quiet. away.
privateness - an oval pond in the park and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks but not for themselves.
privilegeofbeing - somewhere a man and a woman are making love up above the angels my love this morning as much as you...
All of creation in offended by this distress. It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes, rising.
menagerie - although it would mean this, this miracle among the souls of animals. And you.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
becoming involved
In Golden Gate Parka woman lies down with a goose.They stretch on their sides,they love each other.Rapt goose arches his spinethe way feathers can shuffle.People stop to stare.Bliss is terribly private.
When the woman turns away,the goose starts his odd mouthhonking and snapping at the air.He slowly crosses the moss trail,turns one blue eye back at his woman.Then quietly, deathly quiet,he puts one foot inand paddles away.
oh-
rw: turns one blue eye back at his woman (vDaily-short)
When the woman turns away,the goose starts his odd mouthhonking and snapping at the air.He slowly crosses the moss trail,turns one blue eye back at his woman.Then quietly, deathly quiet,he puts one foot inand paddles away.
oh-
Copyright © 2006 Elizabeth Rees All rights reserved
rw: turns one blue eye back at his woman (vDaily-short)
privateness
Privatenessby Laura Riding
They have a small bedroom. The bed is small, but they are not fat and they love each other. She sleeps with her knees neatly inside his knees and when they get up they do not get in each other's way. She says, "Put on the shirt with the blue patterns like little spotted plates," and he says, "Put on the white skirt that you wear the purple jacket with." They have no prejudices against colours but like what they have.
Their other room is not larger, but it is cleverly arranged, with a table for this and a table for that. He makes the sandwiches at one table while at another she writes a letter to a friend who needs money. She writes promptly to say they have no money a nd sends their love. It is not true that they have no money; but they are both out of work and must be careful with the little money they have. They are thinking of renting an office and selling advice on all subjects, for they are very intelligent people . The idea seems like a joke, and they talk about it jokingly; but they mean it.
They go to a large park. It costs little to get there and they know the very tree they want to sit under. It is more like a business trip than a holiday. They eat their lunch in a methodical way and afterwards look through the grass around them as a mothe r looks through her child's hair to see if it is clean. Then they think about their affairs and change their minds many times.
They walk about on the grass and feel sensible, but when they walk on paved paths they feel they are wasting their time. Finally they decide to commit suicide. They talk about it in natural tones because they may really do it--and they may not. There is a n oval pond in the park with solemn brown ducks paddling in it, and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks paddling in it, and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks but not for themselves.
They go out of the park at a different entrance from the one they came in by. There are strange restaurants all around they would never think of eating in. It makes them feel lonely, so they speed home in a taxi, though they can ill afford this. At home t here is the electric light, which makes them look at each other peculiarly. It is worth going out to be able to come home and look at each other in such a way--not a loving way or a tragic way, but as if to say, "It doesn't interest us what our story is-- that is for other people."
reminded by Becoming Involved - looked for Laura Riding Jackson park.
Progress of Stories, by Laura Riding
They go out of the park at a different entrance from the one they came in by
mc
They have a small bedroom. The bed is small, but they are not fat and they love each other. She sleeps with her knees neatly inside his knees and when they get up they do not get in each other's way. She says, "Put on the shirt with the blue patterns like little spotted plates," and he says, "Put on the white skirt that you wear the purple jacket with." They have no prejudices against colours but like what they have.
Their other room is not larger, but it is cleverly arranged, with a table for this and a table for that. He makes the sandwiches at one table while at another she writes a letter to a friend who needs money. She writes promptly to say they have no money a nd sends their love. It is not true that they have no money; but they are both out of work and must be careful with the little money they have. They are thinking of renting an office and selling advice on all subjects, for they are very intelligent people . The idea seems like a joke, and they talk about it jokingly; but they mean it.
They go to a large park. It costs little to get there and they know the very tree they want to sit under. It is more like a business trip than a holiday. They eat their lunch in a methodical way and afterwards look through the grass around them as a mothe r looks through her child's hair to see if it is clean. Then they think about their affairs and change their minds many times.
They walk about on the grass and feel sensible, but when they walk on paved paths they feel they are wasting their time. Finally they decide to commit suicide. They talk about it in natural tones because they may really do it--and they may not. There is a n oval pond in the park with solemn brown ducks paddling in it, and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks paddling in it, and they sit down by it, sorry for the ducks but not for themselves.
They go out of the park at a different entrance from the one they came in by. There are strange restaurants all around they would never think of eating in. It makes them feel lonely, so they speed home in a taxi, though they can ill afford this. At home t here is the electric light, which makes them look at each other peculiarly. It is worth going out to be able to come home and look at each other in such a way--not a loving way or a tragic way, but as if to say, "It doesn't interest us what our story is-- that is for other people."
reminded by Becoming Involved - looked for Laura Riding Jackson park.
Progress of Stories, by Laura Riding
They go out of the park at a different entrance from the one they came in by
mc
privilegeofbeing
Becoming Involved reminds me of everything...~ somewhere a man and a woman are making love up above the angels my love this morning as much as you-="you could not" angels hass:
Many are making love. Up above, the angelsin the unshaken ether and crystal of human longingare braiding one another's hair, which is strawberry blondand the texture of cold rivers. They glancedown from time to time at the awkward ecstasy--it must look to them like featherless birdssplashing in the spring puddle of a bed--and then one woman, she is about to come,peels back the man's shut eyelids and says,look at me, and he does. Or is it the mantugging the curtain rope in that dark theater?Anyway, they do, they look at each other;two beings with evolved eyes, rapacious,startled, connected at the belly in an unbelievably sweetlubricious glue, stare at each other,and the angels are desolate. They hate it. They shudder patheticallylike lithographs of Victorian beggarswith perfect features and alabaster skin hawking ragsin the lewd alleys of the novel.All of creation in offended by this distress.It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes,rising. menagerie menagerie -although it would mean this, this - amid the -. The lovers especially cannot bear it,it fills them with unspeakable sadness, so thatthey close their eyes again and hold each other, eachfeeling the mortal singularity of the bodythey have enchanted out of death for an hour or so,and one day, running at sunset, the woman says to the man,I woke up feeling so sad this morning because I realizedthat you could not, as much as I love you,dear heart, cure my loneliness,wherewith she touched his cheek to reassure himthat she did not mean to hurt him with this truth.And the man is not hurt exactly,he understands that life has limits, that peopledie young, fail at love,fail of their ambitions. He runs beside her, he thinksof the sadness they have gasped and crooned their way out ofcoming, clutching each other with old, inventedforms of grace and clumsy gratitude, readyto be alone again, or dissatisfied, or merelycompanionable like the couples on the summer beachreading magazine articles about intimacy between the sexesto themselves, and to each other,and to the immense, illiterate, consoling angels.-Robert Hass
Many are making love. Up above, the angelsin the unshaken ether and crystal of human longingare braiding one another's hair, which is strawberry blondand the texture of cold rivers. They glancedown from time to time at the awkward ecstasy--it must look to them like featherless birdssplashing in the spring puddle of a bed--and then one woman, she is about to come,peels back the man's shut eyelids and says,look at me, and he does. Or is it the mantugging the curtain rope in that dark theater?Anyway, they do, they look at each other;two beings with evolved eyes, rapacious,startled, connected at the belly in an unbelievably sweetlubricious glue, stare at each other,and the angels are desolate. They hate it. They shudder patheticallylike lithographs of Victorian beggarswith perfect features and alabaster skin hawking ragsin the lewd alleys of the novel.All of creation in offended by this distress.It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes,rising. menagerie menagerie -although it would mean this, this - amid the -. The lovers especially cannot bear it,it fills them with unspeakable sadness, so thatthey close their eyes again and hold each other, eachfeeling the mortal singularity of the bodythey have enchanted out of death for an hour or so,and one day, running at sunset, the woman says to the man,I woke up feeling so sad this morning because I realizedthat you could not, as much as I love you,dear heart, cure my loneliness,wherewith she touched his cheek to reassure himthat she did not mean to hurt him with this truth.And the man is not hurt exactly,he understands that life has limits, that peopledie young, fail at love,fail of their ambitions. He runs beside her, he thinksof the sadness they have gasped and crooned their way out ofcoming, clutching each other with old, inventedforms of grace and clumsy gratitude, readyto be alone again, or dissatisfied, or merelycompanionable like the couples on the summer beachreading magazine articles about intimacy between the sexesto themselves, and to each other,and to the immense, illiterate, consoling angels.-Robert Hass
also rees - Rain
The cows' colors hurt my eyes—their white and black claims lie. yes. The rain, alone, tells the truth-yes-, the bearing down neutral cryof its gray, clear songsinging just how hard it is to seethrough the falling sky, the threatsand hopes no color at all butinsistent see-through clarity, down,down, so dark despite the early hour-
also by Elizabeth Rees in Verse Daily:
July 4, 2004: "Morning Drive to Ijamsville" "Against overturned cups of rain..."
also by Elizabeth Rees in Verse Daily:
July 4, 2004: "Morning Drive to Ijamsville" "Against overturned cups of rain..."
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
what is the question?
gertrude stein, dying.
or alice to gertrude, at her deathbed.
she may not have meant what I mean, which is
what is the question?
my love, tell me. tell me.
or alice to gertrude, at her deathbed.
she may not have meant what I mean, which is
what is the question?
my love, tell me. tell me.
harmless
you must know, I think, that I'm in love with you.
and Abe at the station seeing off Nicole in Tender is the Night - belly-sick in love with her for years. Page 70 - ... yet up to this morning Nicole had liked Abe better than anyone except Dick—and he had been heavy, belly-frightened, with love for her for years. ...
and Abe at the station seeing off Nicole in Tender is the Night - belly-sick in love with her for years. Page 70 - ... yet up to this morning Nicole had liked Abe better than anyone except Dick—and he had been heavy, belly-frightened, with love for her for years. ...
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