Pink Shoes in my Mind

Obama Expectations

2008-11-06T18:44:00.001-08:00

The bloggers at FT have been painting a dismal view on an Obama presidency. Not that he's all that bad, they say. But in the wake of a brilliant campaign, expectations are running so high as to be impossible to meet in good times. Let alone these times.

Generally, I enjoy Financial Times' dry take on the world. But I think that the "expectations running so high" bit is just another serious miscalculation by a, yes, mainly older generation. The same generation who miscalculated the effects of race, facebook groups, and fluffy stuff like hope.

As contrast to how FT bloggers believe sentiments run, my expectations of my country and all it can do for me go like this: Health care? Pfff. Stable job? Pfff. Any job? Pfffff. Retirement? You got to be kidding me.

What I expect from an Obama presidency is to kick back some nights and listen to the highest official in the land talk with great depth, accuracy, sincerity, and eloquence about the importance of education, science, open-mindedness, helping the unfortunate, and freedom. I expect him to back this up by appointing qualified officials in these disciplines. I am dearly hoping for brilliantly crafted legislation that will initiate long-term trends in all these fields.

But in the meantime; jobs? Blogging will totally start supplementing my stagnant retail wages soon, like totally. Awesome health care tomorrow? Only by my own actions, I'm going jogging. Retirement? From what? Part-time pay and writing poetry?

So you see, my expectations are actually very limited. Even if at the same time they are over the moon.

Pink Shoe Economic View

2008-10-08T12:31:00.000-07:00

Image via Tara

I have spent too much time this week surfing the news and should be prepared to pundit knowledgeably. But instead my views on the economy go something like this:

Down baby down. 777? Is that all you can do? Yay, 800. Okay, absorb the rate cut and then head further south. Oh my gosh I'm so thrilled that the economy is going down, I'm so thrilled. What better use could be found for Obama's soothing voice? It will be perfect coming out of a radio in a room where the heat and electricity have been cut off. And how else are we going to realize that the money we have been spending isn't free, but Chinese? And how else are the world's brilliant minds to be persuaded to do something besides stroke algorithms. Geez people go--discover a new a new world or something. Write poetry. Study sweet peas. As much as I enjoy cheap thrills, this could get old.

See. This is why I should write about poetry and not economics. I need to stop surfing the news and instead read something deep and obscure. I'm thinking Goethe?

Goat Cheese and High-topped Sneakers on the Roof-top

2008-10-01T21:11:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of updates lately, I've been rearranging my life. My scientist-aunt took off from her Columbia job and headed for an emerging science project in the mid-west. This left me scrambling to find alternatives to her upper-west-side Columbia-funded apartment I'd been camping out in. I've ended up in a place in Brooklyn. My roomy is a startling combination of being smarter than me, nicer than me, and loopier than me. She free-lances for major newspapers and has a job managing a fashion web-site at ridiculous midnight hours. Last night she had friends over for goat cheese and wine on the rooftop, where you can see the glimmery lights of the city all around.

My roomy's friends are all as nice and smart as she, although not as loopy as either of us. They wear high-topped sneakers and say things like: "But how do you FEEL about skimming the quote unquote 'smart' kids off the top and putting them into 'honors' classes?" By this time, having lived in NYC for 9 months, and have vociferously pitched Obamadoctrine to my independent, conservative-leaning family all the while (a task I've been woot! largely successful at) I consider myself a Democrat. I even (shockers!) put myself down as a Democrat on my register-to-vote form (first-time registering too). That is, I check-marked the Democrat box without thinking. Then I saw the Independent option, said "crap" and tried to erase the Democrat check-mark. Then I thought of Palin and put a large, strong, unmistakable double check-mark next to "Democrat". So yes, it's official, I'm a Democrat.

But give me 5 minutes on a Brooklyn roof-top with goat cheese and liberals and you would think otherwise. I start uttering irresponsible things like "I love Narnia" and "Doesn't Giuliani just crack you up?" The conversation turned to Bloomberg and how the little cultural NYC neighbourhoods are being leveled over by un-conscientious billionaires. But all I could think of was how much I love this city, and not because of its "culture" but because of its bigness, its irresponsibleness, the what-the-hell greed of its sky-scrappers and lights. Yes there couldn't be a worse time to trumpet such qualities. But as much as I love goat-cheese on Brooklyn roof-tops, giving TLC to a fragile culture can get a bit lame as well.

dead ends and weekends

2008-08-29T21:51:00.000-07:00

Some pics to keep things going. I'm in the middle of a six day work week after a one day weekend and have decided I'm at a dead end in so many places. I'll reflect on such cheerful topics until my next weekend, when I have many wonderful posts planned.

pics via Tara

Managing Mischief

2008-08-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite quotes is from Einstein: "Always remember that in addition to 8 hours for work, there are also 8 hours for mischief."

Einstein of course developed his famous relativity theories while clocking hours at a low-level job in a patent office. The idea that you can work a sensible, stable job while concocting revolution in odd hours on scrap paper has always appealed to me.

Lately, though, my mischief hours have been disappointing. No startling space and time bending insights. No lyrical verse. Spotty record on the blogging front.

So I made a list of things I can do to revamp my mischief hours:

--buy a new poetry book
--study math on the subways
--date a cute guy
--start a new scribbling notebook

Let me know if you have any other ideas. I already know one thing: the new notebook is going to be pink. :)

On the bright side...

2008-08-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

Why can't there be two bright sides? You know, like the sun? Not every astronomical object has to be a moon.

To Die in a Beautiful Dress

2008-08-20T06:00:00.001-07:00

Working as a sales girl in Special Occasion Dresses is a wonderful way to listen to the drama of life. The other day, I had an elderly lady break down and tell me she wanted to be buried in the dress she was buying. I patted her on the shoulder and told her "Aww don't cry it's a beautiful dress." In retrospect this may not have been the most sensitive thing to say. But hopefully she understood what I was trying to get at. At any rate, she bought the dress. :)

Tough Girls, NY

2008-08-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

Image via Tara

Don't tell me you can't be cute and tough at the same time. :)

Keira Knightley Berlin!

2008-08-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

The new September Vogue has Keira Knightley on the cover. And, she's in Berlin. In the Berlin art scene no less. I am thrilled. I have always been in love with Die Brücke. And apparently east/west tensions continue to fuel Berlin out the the merely picturesque affair the rest of western Europe sometimes seems.

Images via berlin.unlike and Vogue

Skimming the web for pictures to post, I notice a recurring theme. Her hair. What hair? The blogs are bitching about Keira's hair. I flip to the cover. Ah, her hair. Yay, her hair looks like my hair when I get out of bed in the morning. Being that one of my many doomed aspirations in life is to look like Keira Knightley, I am even more thrilled. Seriously people, what do you expect from an artist in Berlin. Or any city, for that matter. :)

Images via Vogue and Tara

Would you notice if a bridge led nowhere?

2008-08-17T09:24:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

This is me, recently enlightened by a passerby that the structure behind me is a bridge to nowhere. I had been leaning over the railing taking pictures and thinking about technology vs. nature and the spirit of 19th century capitalism. I completely failed to consider the structures purpose, or lack thereof. Tell me, would you notice if a bridge led nowhere?

Portrait

2008-08-11T19:13:00.000-07:00

Image via Tara

I decided to try my hand at portrait photography. Or rather, I got up the spunk to walk up to someone and ask to take their photograph. Actually, I just couldn't get over this elderly gentleman's combination of white shirt, zany hat, sketchbook, chess table, and coffee mug. I wish I'd figured out a way to work the light better (it started raining shortly after I took the shot). But he gave me his views on art: "You're not an artist unless you promote your work" and on writing: "You're not a writer unless you write." Which I guess is not bad for a rainy day's insight. :)

I got a poem for my birthday!

2008-08-10T06:23:00.001-07:00

I had best birthday ever! I've been busy and apt. searching, so didn't really plan anything. Thus nearly everything I got came as a surprise. Not only that, but my sisters copied out a poem for me! Thus giving me a legitimate reason to blog about my birthday. Here it is. I think 26 is going to be a great year.

The Music Makers, by Arthur O'Shaughnessy

We are the music makers
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lonely sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
Word losers and world forsakers
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory;
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And these with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing
And Babel itself with our mirth,
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth:
For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth.

I especially like the line "Babel...with our mirth." I will have to research Arthur O'Shaughnessy. I would include pictures of the cards I got, just in case anyone here tires of "deathless ditties." Especially as one of the cards had a picture of a little pink shoe! But my camera won't take close-ups.

A huge thank you to everyone for a great birthday! Also, thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to comment on this blog. It's been really encouraging.

shop art

2008-08-07T19:35:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

I have become addicted to shop window photography. To justify this addiction, I need to start gathering material for a long, academic, dreadfully boring article on how the art of museums is dead and the real art is being produced in commercially driven store front windows. Or, I could just go out and take more pictures.

Wild Fashion

2008-08-07T19:24:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

Stalking fall fashion at Lord and Taylor.

Poetry Carla Bruni Style

2008-07-31T20:20:00.000-07:00

Image via New York Sun

The most exciting thing I did today was snatch up the latest copy of Vanity Fair from my local drugstore. Usually, I do not buy magazines. I buy a cup of tea at Barnes and Noble instead, read the week's magazines in one fell lunch hour swoop, and call this budgeting. But occasionally a magazine cover will make me draw my breath in sharply. How could I resist the title "Carla Bruni: The New Jackie O?"

Carla Bruni entered my consciousness this January, when a particular nude print began hurdling off the walls of the small photography gallery I was working at. I remember one immensely awkward conversation with a client, who demurred that our particular print had a slightly different hip-to-under-arm angle than the pose he was most fond of. Apparently Carla Bruni was a subject of frequent study by him, as he had her as his screen saver.

In following the news I've been vaguely aware of Carla Bruni's power perch beside the French president Nicolas Sarkozy. The Vanity Fair article delivers the heady, dense history behind this. Following the love affairs of the two of them required all of my concentration for a full 40 minutes. Yet what makes the story so fascinating is the character of the subjects. Carla Bruni, independent, violinist, lyricist, won me over by the end of the article, as had her amazing outfits.

But it was a Google search for Bruni after reading the article that brought the full implications of the subject to my attention. It appears that her latest album, No Promises, is no less than a musical rendition of poems by Yeats, Dickinson, Auden, and Rossetti. I'm super-excited and putting it on my wanted list. See, I was right to catch my breath at the Vanity Fair article. Even if my original reason for knowing the subject was some guy's screen saver.

Planetarium Pictures

2008-07-30T19:27:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

Kids and planets--I had so much fun with these pictures.

Mutton Sleeves

2008-07-29T09:59:00.000-07:00

Subway stop image via Tara

Today I had a productive day off. I went to a Calvin Klein seminar hosted by my job, got my hair cut, went to the Natural History Museum, and had a discussion with my boss about whether or not I should get paid for the time I spent at the Calvin Klein seminar. To my mind if, on your day off, you're going to go into work at 9am to eat croissant and strawberries, drink coffee, gossip with co-workers, and watch a Project Runway model demonstrate Calvin Klein dresses, you should get paid for it, right? Besides, I learned valuable information, such as what a mutton sleeve is, which I will shortly be dispensing to customers. The discussion went well, my boss threw his hands up in the air, waved them around, and smiled.

Serious Calvin Klein demonstration via DFR

Art in Action Window

2008-07-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

Image via Tara

Why, why, why, am I still up? I am going to regret this, seriously regret this, as I worked late shift tonight and am working early shift tomorrow. But somewhere I must fit poetry in. And that's why I'm still up.

Borders on 59th Street Columbus Circle

2008-07-14T19:50:00.000-07:00

Images via Tara

I adore bookstores. Where else you can travel around the world by turning a corner?

She was really into it. I wish I'd asked her where she was going. Oh wait, I think I know ::studies book and map:: Germany.

What's hot in the magazines.

Power of Art.

Starbucks moment.

Two awesome kids. They were reading the books aloud to each other with vivid commentary. One thing I couldn't help noticing is how the kid on the left is looking up at the picture of the black man on the cover of the book. It reminds me of the whole controversy over the Vogue cover which depicted LeBron James giving a power roar. At the time, I thought the controversy was over hyped. But looking at that little kid, I might have to re-think my position.

Whoa, whoa, whoa

2008-07-13T19:51:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I know. Where have I been going so fast? I'm sleeepy tonight. But must stop and give a passing bit of affection to this blog. It's half-way through July already!

Actually, things have not been going as badly as these past 8 days of blogging silence might suggest. I've been focused on work. And have written up a "spec" piece which I plan soon to be waving at various on-line magazines in hopes of tracking down free-lance work. And I've actually had the gumption to send out a bunch of poems to on-line journals.

I also have a sudden new belief. I'm possessed by the idea that organization is the key to all success. This would seem to bode dimly for me. Lack of organization characterizes everything I do. It's tantamount to the way I write poetry--tripping on ideas strewn across the floor, walking in through the wrong door, catching the wrong train, obsessing over the wrong idea.

But I think like most things, if you want to excel, you need to possess both sides of all equations. Be impossibly social and solitary. Traditional and cutting edge. Imaginative and grounded. Navigate both organization and disorganization. Yes I'm citing Csikszentmihalyi. So far, I've got disorganization down. And lately, my organization kick has resulted in me stacking up my books and papers, laying my clothes out for tomorrow, and finding time to go for a run. Woot!

Bits and Bytes of NYC

2008-07-05T18:31:00.000-07:00

Some more snippets of photography. I think I'm in love. :)

Bryant Park: Where great conversations are born on lunch breaks.

Gigabyte kids.

View into Whole Foods on Columbus Circle.

Intruding on someone's smoothy.

Making myself part of the art. A Central Park South Gallery I need to research further.

Stripes in my Mind, Part 2

2008-07-03T17:23:00.001-07:00

Image via Tara

I got a camera! It is possibly the cheapest camera on earth, and I paid way too much for it. But am as happy as if it were Canon. I have been taking photographs in my mind for forever. Here they are in real life for the first time! :)

I knew immediately what I wanted to photograph first. The Louis Vuitton Store on 5th Ave. I am not terribly obsessed with Louis Vuitton bubbles themselves. But I've always been intrigued the way the store teamed up with artist Takashi Murakami. And the way the store windows are themselves a work of art.

I did not realize there was a mirror behind the florescent tubes until I started taking pictures. So the picture at the very top of the page is my first, unwitting, self-portrait.

Go to: Stripes in my Mind, Part 1

A Freelancing Plan of Business, Part 1

2008-06-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

Holbein's Erasmus via Wikamedia

I want to start taking writing seriously. To this end, I read Margit Ragland's book, Get a Freelance Life. It begins by attempting to puncture the hot air out of a writer's dreams. Writers are not destined to wealth or greatness. Writers need to be able to endure solitude, sell themselves, flip over backwards for people, and operate without the encouragement of a boss. And God forbid you contemplate quiting your day job.

The thing is, I'm fine with all this. I adore being alone, love promoting my ideas, am flexible to a fault, and get motivated without rhyme or reason. And I don't want to quit my day job. It's a endless source of new experience. Besides, I like the idea of having writing as sort of a second, secret life. Reading, thinking, and writing are what I do with my free time anyway, so why not make an extra living out of it?

This decided, I'm going ahead with Ragland's next point, which is to combat writerly vapidness by applying deadlines and operating off of a Business Plan. So, here is my Freelancing Plan of Business, Week 1:

--read chapters 1-6 of Learn HTML in 24 Hours. I've decided keeping abreast of technology is crucial and there are all sorts of things I want to do with this blog that I can't because of lack of tech wizardry.
--write blog entries for an outside, paying blog.
--apply to day jobs that relate to writing
--get name cards
--get a camera (some of the paying blogs require original photos)
--write 6 blog entries
--read a lot and start tossing around ideas for longer articles
--pin-point readings and such to go to
--interview other writers

All this of course needs to be fitted into a larger scheme of things (Ragland preaches the virtues of the 5-year-plan) that I'll get to in my next post. I will however insert a very unbusinesslike deadline here. My birthday is August 9th, and what could make for a better birthday than having a fledgling freelance business started? I'm going to work at getting something published by then.

If anyone knows of blogs that are looking for authors, or other venues a start-up free-lancer should look into, let me know! :)

My God has a bigger Forehead than Yours

2008-06-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

Image via Skeptic

Posted in We Op-Ed

One of my favorite authors is acclaimed scientist and famous atheist Richard Dawkins. His latest book, The God Delusion, reads like a psychological thriller. An earlier book, Unweaving the Rainbow, sends me into paroxysms of poetic delight every time. On a scale of 1 to 10 of whether you will write a poem after reading his books, I bet you a 10. You should go buy them both now.

However whenever I do a google search on Dawkins to gather material for a seasoned, researched article, I keep getting distracted by one thing. The size of Richard Dawkins' forehead. Seriously. Refer to the pictures. I have never seen anything like it. It beats out the forehead of a typical religious practitioner by at least two or three times. I compared it to my own frontal lobe and came out a chastened and humbled being.

I think I will go now and and do worship on the alter of Rich-Ard Daw-Kins, in hopes that I may gain access to that divine region, His Front Fore-Head.

Richard Dawkins' forehead is so big it won't
even fit on the page:

Image via BBC Blogs

The Pope: Not even close.

Image via Katie Halper

First Chirrup

2008-06-29T01:25:00.000-07:00

Image via Jeff's Weather Blog

It is 4:25am and the first bird of the day just started chirruping. Now, the killer question: Why am I up at 4:25am? The blogger's answer: I woke up at 3:00am thinking about my blog...

This is well and fine. But the next time I wake up at 3am I want there to be a more exciting reason. Like, jetting to Indonesia or something. I missed out on a chance to go to Vermont this weekend. For a vegetable contest or something. Would the birds in Vermont have chirruped prettier?

I have plans to take writing a lot more seriously than I have been. But in the process need to remember not to spend all hours of my life blogosphered. I should take friends up on their weekend ideas. And sketch out plans to jet to Indonesia to hear the birds chirrup. Now, that would be a reason to wake up at 3am.

Poetry Bestiary

2008-06-26T21:10:00.000-07:00

Image via The Aberdeen Bestiary

Modern life is great

You get to imagine,

All in one day,

What it took other cultures

Centuries to create.

I have a new idea for a poetry book. It's going to be a Bestiary of Animals, A-Z. It started with the Turtle poem below. Then I remembered I had written an O for Owl poem. So far, I have written 4 more animal poems, and am particularly happy with the "A" one, for which I invented an animal, the Argote. 6 down, 20 to go. If anyone has any favorite animals you want poems written about, or thoughts on the Bestiary idea, let me know! :)

Friends, Family, and the Poet Blogger

2008-06-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

Image via jean paul's myspace

On the phone with my family, there is always that moment when we have exhausted all their juicy tidbits of family gossip, love life, and work drama that don't make it on to this blog. At that moment, the family member usually exclaims: "But what about you? I feel like I don't know anything about what's happening with you, in your life."

Looong silence. I'm waiting for it. I'm sitting on the edge of my chair. I'm waiting for the family member to continue by saying "And, I was on your blog, and read your incredible, new, POEM!"

The moment never happens. Instead, we discuss my desultory job search attempts, my vague dreams, my latest date--the German kid with spiky hair. I'm not sure what it is about family and poems, but there is a sort of awkwardness there. A need to tip-toe around the subject. To be fair, I have an amazing supportive family and it is largely due to the encouragement of one of my sisters that I am starting to take my writing seriously at all.

But to anyone who is a friend, family member, or acquaintance of someone who blogs, trust me. The blogger doesn't want to know what you think about their work drama, job search, or love life. The blogger just wants to know what you think about their blog.

The Impossibility of Time

2008-06-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

Thinking about all the time I waste and all the things I want to do:

Some things were meant
To be written slowly
Some things are hatched
Like a turtle
Out of eggs laid in sand
Carrying on their backs
Eons of a rivlet swam daily
Now an ocean.

Images via Marine Conservation Society

Lust

2008-06-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else read books hind foremost? --

The last poem
Is always the one
I flip to first
Just at the
Moment I suspect
Things might
Get good; shattering
The effect of
Love.

Andy Warhol Lips via Retro To Go

"It's always your lucky day"

2008-06-22T18:57:00.000-07:00

Image via Legally Blonde in London

I've been having a dull and discouraging last couple days at work. But on my lunch break at Barns and Nobles today I found an article in Entrepreneur Magazine that gave me a bit of new vim. It's called "It's always your lucky day" by Barry Farber and contains the usual handshake, eye contact, and smile recommendations for how to succeed in business. Two pointers however stood out to me: "Find something about them that's interesting" and "put them in a better mood than when you found them."

I think I already do some of this unconsciously, because I find everyone under the sun (and their dog) to be interesting. But now I'm going to take it to a new level. From now on, everyone I work with in Special Occasion Dresses is not only going to be fitted with the most perfect dress possible, but are going to leave in a better mood with the affirmation that they are indeed an interesting person to work with. Also, I will continue to take time to pet their dogs. Yes, in case you're wondering, people bring along their chiwawas and terriers as they get fitted for their bridesmaid dresses.

On The Edge of Love

2008-06-19T16:45:00.000-07:00

Image via BBC News

There is a new film, The Edge of Love, which gives me an excuse to research a poet and post pictures of Keira Knightley. Dylan Thomas, the subject of the film, has puzzled me ever since I read a piece on him claiming that he was a popular poet merely. This puzzles me because I find his poem Fern Hill to be as daunting a piece as any. I tried to read it as a teenager and it always seemed like a closed book. Then one day I had an epiphany and got the most beautiful image and meaning out of it. Unfortunately shortly thereafter I forgot the epiphany and to this day struggle with Fern Hill.

What interests me as much as Dylan's poetry is the dynamic image he built up around himself. Especially, the way he harnessed his voice and the medium of radio to promote poetry. Having suffered through many poetry readings in New York City (poet clutches podium, reads in monotone without looking up) I could appreciate a bit of such promotion. Also, I enjoyed Keira Knightley's take on Dylan Thomas, in an interview about the film, where she stars as Thomas's childhood sweetheart and lover. According to Keira: "Dylan Thomas did s**g around but you look at pictures of him and he was no hunk. However, his poetry is extraordinary. He's a mischief-maker, a puck. He just wants to prod and see what happens." (via M&G People)

I am still unsure why Dylan shouldn't be considered a major poet and why his poems are read outside of the usually meager circle of poetry readers. But I do understand why Keira Knightley could come on to Dylan Thomas.

Images via The Cillian Site

Pink Shoe Plans for a New Job

2008-06-18T20:00:00.000-07:00

Image via Shoe Blitz

I'm kind of in limbo land right now. I'm happy with my life, work, and writing. But I need to make some definitive moves if I'm going to give any of these purposeful direction. First off, get a (real) job. I've never really gone after all the options properly. I need to:

--Network with friends
--Talk to current boss
--Apply the hell out of craigslist
--Pick a couple companies I like, and approach them randomly.

I'll post updates in each event. Advice and encouragement more than welcome! :)

Auden and Blogging

2008-06-17T20:53:00.001-07:00

I got a lovely little book by Auden at the library. The unfortunate thing is that I have not had the patience to read it. Was there ever a poet so bookish? Or so moved by dusty paintings in art history books? I know, I'm bookish, and an art history major. Auden's poetry should be like a charm to me. Okay I'll make one last sleepy attempt before midnight strikes.

...12:03am. I was searching for a little, easy Auden poem to round off this blog post with. But am not finding Auden easy or bloggable. I did find the reason I know Auden in the first place. His poem Unknown Citizen, from my old high school English anthology. The obedient citizen, "found by the Bureau of Statistics to be/ One against whom there was no official complaint....Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd: /Had anything been wrong, we should certainly/have heard."

But had the Unknown Citizen been living in this century, we actually would've heard from him, right? Every little foible, regardless of whether or not there was anything wrong. Cause he'd be blogging...

Frustrated 1am

2008-06-15T21:51:00.001-07:00

Image via Tim Harford's Flickr

This is one of those frustrated 1am posts. I have lots of ideas for posts, but they won't come together properly after I've spent 8 hours zippering up old ladies into Special Occasion Dresses. And trying to restore order to the fitting rooms when the prom queens have been trying on hundreds of dresses. I did however have my lunch break at Barns and Nobles, and discovered a wonderful new book called the Logic of Life: The Rational Economics of an Irrational World by Tim Harford. On how elementary logic underlies people's seemingly spontaneous and irrational decisions. Better yet, he's got a blog! The Undercover Economist.

Red Herring Update

2008-06-14T20:46:00.000-07:00

Image via Sketched Out

So far, the red herring has gone to the park, taken the B train to work, and sighted a mermaid (she snubbed him). I am having a couple of problems with these poems though. The red herring is doing rather banal things. Also, every poem in the series so far has started with the line "The red herring..." This could get old. Finally, I wanted to continue playing with ideas of art and how the mind works. The problem is I don't really know anything about this. I know there must be tombs of scholarly literature out there on the subject. Mrrrr does this mean I actually have to think? I think I'll cheat and start with Alice in Wonderland.

Also, while searching for a picture for this post I found an interesting definition for a red herring, which I wasn't aware of: (via Sketched Out)

"Most film buffs know that a “red herring” is a plot device used in film noir, murder mysteries and suspense films, to distract the audience away from the more important aspect of the plot. The red herring can sometimes be a character, believed by the audience to be the killer, only to discover later in the film that they are innocent and another character, never even considered is, in fact, the murderer."

All About Op-Ed

2008-06-12T11:45:00.000-07:00

Image via We Op-Ed

I've seen so much good writing since I started exploring the blogosphere. A new site that is putting this to great use is We Op-Ed. It's an interesting spin on the traditional opinion column in newspapers. The web is full of pieces that rival such articles, and it's a wonderful take on the genre to gather them in one place.

A great feature of We Op-Ed is that it seems be built in a way that makes it much easier for a new blogger and author to get noticed. On other blog-forums, technorati for example, it seems that only the heavyweights who have been around for a while have a chance of getting front-page attention. We Op-Ed by contrast has a variety of ways of bringing new articles to the forefront. For instance, it has a column for last article commented on and last article posted in addition to headlining the more prominent authors and most-commented-on posts.

The site's got a great taking-off feel right now and a supportive and interesting cast of contributors. I'm hoping to see some of the bloggers I've been following (see blog-roll to the left) op-eding on it.

The Red Herring Visits the Musuem

2008-06-11T02:28:00.000-07:00

Image via Berry Falls

Result of a recent trip to MoMA:

The red herring
Visited the museum
As soon as he
Stepped inside
The red herring
Lost his mind
He forgot that
Pink was part
Of a flower
And repeated
It over and over
And over. Pink
Pink pink. The
Red herring
Climbed up
The wall and
Stared in
The mirror
For a long long
Time. Was it
Herring he
Saw or Red?

I've been thinking of writing a series of these red herring poems. Focused either on places and past-times in New York City or on exploring art/aesthetics. Ideas or thoughts on this?

MoMA by the way has a wonderful exhibition by Olafur Eliasson. Makes me believe in contemporary art again. His art is interactive in an irresistible and absolutely unforced way. So much of contemporary art is reactive and a little catty. Eliasson by contrast absorbs you (literally) in his art and... it's actually beautiful as well, in the way a glacier, forest, or waterfall is beautiful.

Striped Thoughts

2008-06-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

Image via aboutsomethings

The promised poem about buying a dress. Or not:

Stripes in my mind
Running down the street
In Manhattan
The dress I didn't buy
The man I didn't love
Running down the streets
In high heels
Doesn't slow me down.

My life is a To Do List..

2008-06-10T06:22:00.000-07:00

Image via InfoWorld

...and that's about it. Does anyone else feel like this? I always have 15 new plans ideas, thoughts. But by the time I brush my teeth, clean my room, have family time with Honey, and head for work, all that I've managed to do is write the to do list. A new one every day. Each more glamorous than the last.

On trying to span Fashion and Poetry

2008-06-09T08:32:00.000-07:00

Images via Urban Audrey

I have a new favorite blog. Urban Audrey. It's spunky, draws on a wide range of cultural sources both past and contemporary, and is brightly written and well-pictured. The trouble is trying to bring it under my poetry blanket...

A very kind fellow blogger recently responded to my plea for her to look over my blog. And something she noted was that this blog is a bit diverse in terms of subject matter. She kindly noted that this could be a good thing, as it might help attract a wider audience. Yet at the same time, I've noticed the more successful blogs tend to have a narrow focus. Say--fashion photography. Or poetry writing tips. Or economics by a wall streeter.

The trouble is I'm driven more by ideas than a particular subject matter. I'm convinced we live in telling times and want to write about new ideas across the board. I picked poetry because it's one thing I've kept up with reasonable consistency. But as can be seen, I'm already veering widely off course.

Does anyone know of any awesome blogs that are not driven by a single subject, but manage to produce consistent content, something readers can come back to? I could use inspiration and reassurance. In the meantime, I've been inspired by Urban Audrey to head to Forever 21 and shop for something cute, summery, quirky yet classic. Maybe I'll even write a poem about it. :)

American Optimism

2008-06-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Image via Viator

I keep thinking of an Austrian Cultural Gathering I went to back in February when full impact of the credit crisis was beginning to hit. It was at a little mid-town bar. People showed up in suits and little dresses, while I had on jeans with a black top. I was practically the only American, and everyone was using their very fluent (Austrian) German.

My German is wretched. I murder grammar and get by by employing the all-purpose response wirklich!!!??? (really?! Is that so?) whenever possible. But even I could tell that the main subject of the evening was the American credit crisis. And you don't need fluency in a language to get a reading on the "air" of a room. There was palpable, almost ring-side gladiator, excitement.

At one point, as the American in the group, I was asked for my opinion. I launched into a confused spiel on Science, Technology, Arts, and the Optimism of America's youth. The funny thing was that people took me seriously. And later, even as they lapsed into more arcane Austrian I couldn't follow, I could tell they were referencing back to what I said. They were like "See, she's optimistic." I was shy, ill-equipped to speak on the subject, and murdered the language and grammar. But the world still takes American optimism seriously.

--Posted in We Op-Ed

Links:

German vs. American sales skills

Green Tea and Sleep

2008-06-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

Image via Green Tea

I am drinking a cup of green tea this evening in hopes of waking myself up. The green tea isn't working. This morning I had five awesome ideas for posts. They had beginnings, middles, and ends, referenced useful data, and made original insights. But how to re-ignite them when it's almost midnight, I'm sleepy as hell, and the green tea isn't working?

Giving up, random thoughts instead. I need to swim and work out every day. Would you believe that I have access to a pool and yet have gone swimming a grand total of twice in the past 3 months? I need to figure out how to challenge myself a bit more every day. Dunking in cold chlorinated water early every morning should do it.

I'm going riding this Sunday!!! I actually went and signed up. This was spurned by my volunteering for a Therapeutic Riding Program for disabled kids. It was fun, though I decided I was as much in need of therapy as the kids. They were being taught the difference between left and right, how to pay attention to their surroundings, and how to follow verbal instructions.

I have, of course, been tracking my meager blog stats as if my life depended on it. So far, the posts that have generated the most Google search hits have been Poetry and Law and Frieda Kalo. I want to expand on both of these subjects. Kind of write a series of useful articles on them. Other areas of interest I want to explore: Mind and the unconscious, politics and culture, book reviews of everything I read, reviews of poetry and poets and of course my projected collection of contemporary poetry.

That's all for now. I am seriously nodding off over the keyboard. My faith in green tea wreaked forever...

Vote Poet as President! Obama and the New Cultural Convergence

2008-06-05T07:52:00.000-07:00

Image via CBC News

About a year ago I made a prediction on the elections. I was wrong, and could not be more thrilled. I predicted that Clinton would win the Democratic elections only because she had more (ill-begotten lobbyist) money. The Republicans would elect another Bible-waving idiot. The country would proceed to the general elections firmly resolving to vote Democratic and anti-war. They would, however, be so put off by Clinton that the Republicans would win de-facto. I would spend the next four years diving under the couch when the state-of-the-union address appeared, determined to ignore the mess and humiliation that was politics in our country and focus on poetry instead...

There are two things that particularly thrill me about Obama's rise to securing the Democratic nomination:

1) The means by which he went about securing it. Ever since I was a kid and read a Forbes issue on Convergence just when the possibilities the the Internet started becoming apparent, I've held we are living in exciting, revolutionary times. Up til now, though, I excluded politics from this revolution. Washington was a bunch of gray-hairs absurdly behind the times. Methods by which people were elected were 17th century ilk encrusted by 200 years ensuing complications. Nothing could break through the Washington citadel. This is what I believed until Obama started beating out competition on Facebook, U-tube, blogs, and on-line donations. Yay! Freedom of speech and true democratic participation have returned!

2) Obama's genius for distilling the issues of our times. January 07 I wrote a speech for Toastmaster's in which I wrote about why I ignored politics and focused on art. The right-wing/left-wing stance on all the major political subjects discussed (abortion, war in Iraq, immigration) simply no longer had anything to do with the issues I confronted in life. What concerned me...the surfing the web, education and , were not even noticed by the partisan politics. Politics had become isolated from what was happening in my life, culturally, socially, and economically.

At this point, I am a true Obamaniac. I don't even care if Obama's plans for revising health care and improving the economy actually work. Being the arrogant millennial that I am, I've grown up believing I'd have to solve these problems for myself anyway. What prevents me starting a company, learning languages, living healthily, and improving the community? Nothing but my own indolence. But if we can elect a government that recognizes and articulates the new-found possibilities of our age...if we can elect a president who yay! was a (one)time poet himself, I predict a new age of cultural flowering, scientific invention, and economic prosperity.

...

Did I mention I was an Obamaniac? :)

Why Blogging is better than keeping a Journal

2008-06-03T11:36:00.000-07:00

Image via Sight Center

I just read through Robert Marello's quirky little book Robert's Rules of Writing and the following quote struck me: "If you're serious about writing, burn the journal and get to work."

This quote resonated for me because I'm one of those veteran dedicated journal keepers. My mom got me a (pink) diary for my 5th birthday and helped me keep it. My journal was the major crutch of my teenage years. It's been a major boon and a major drive for me.

But it's got limitations. During the past couple of years I've run repeatedly dry in journaling. I seem to go over the same crappy inner dialogue again and again. I've made repeated resolutions to spend more time writing about books or world events. But when left in a room by myself what I end up thinking about is...myself.

Now some would argue that being able to transfer one's inner venting to the world via blog is even more selfish than sitting at home and keeping it all in a drawer. The blog Textura Design notes that blogging is an ironically "anti-social" medium that "rewards persistence, self-aggrandizement, and talking about yourself all the time."

Now it's true that with blogging, as journaling, what I end up talking about most is that well-worn subject of me. But with blogging, there's this nifty little tool. It's called linking. With one click you jump to another's blog, another world, another subject.

I've found that with blogging I start to organize my thoughts in a different way. I strive to make them clearer (there's an audience, after all). I start thinking of extra little bits of information I can include. I start clicking my way around the world. Blogging is worlds away from journaling in a room by yourself. And worlds better, too.

Why I love my Job (even though I shouldn't)

2008-06-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

Image via Textura Design

I am the proto-type failed college grad. Two years out of college, several internships down the road, and I'm working as a sales girl at a department store (special occasion dresses). I have no business loving my job. None of my barely-graduated-from-high-school co-workers are deluded into believing it will bring anything more than the hardly-above-minimum-wages garnered from it. And yet, I love it, I'm challenged by it, and I work hard at it.

Today I worked with an adorable little French woman. This is the second time I've helped her. The first time she was buying a dress in the afternoon for an evening graduation party from Columbia law school the same day. What impressed me was how perfectly she knew her body, what worked for her and what didn't. What also impressed me was how she managed to be completely tenacious in getting what she wanted while being so sweet and funny about it that it didn't seem to make extra work.

Somehow, I'm going to make this job yield time well spent. I need to make a list of all the (many) things I need to work on. I'm still the slowest salesperson in the building. Future posts in the making...

5 Surprising Rules of Working Retail*

2008-06-01T20:02:00.000-07:00

Manet's Bar at the Folies Bergeres. Image via Georgetown

I was a coddled college kid, given to believe that the world functioned according to justice, accountability, and creativity. If I could just display these characteristics, I would excel at any job and rise quickly to the top. Imagine my surprise, on securing a job, to find that none of these hold true. Instead, the following prevails:

Rule # 1: It's never your fault. Are you the type of person who exclaims "I'm so sorry" and "I take total responsibility" whenever possible? Wrong, wrong, wrong. This will never get you anywhere. Customers and co-workers alike will quickly take advantage of this self-provided scape-goat. Besides, you are working as hard as you possibly can anyway, and management just laid off all the dressing room attendants. You can't possibly do it all. Instead, insert these handy phrases: "I don't know." It's not my fault." "I didn't do it."

Rule # 2: Blame the customer. If it's not your fault, who's is it? Your safest bet is to blame the customer. They'll never be the wiser for it anyway.

Rule # 3: Let everyone know how hard you're working. Your job is to keep the place looking perfect. Of course, no one notices perfection, they only notice when something is out of place. So if you just removed 86 dresses from one fitting room, be sure to tell everyone about it. Otherwise they will assume you were lolling in the storage room playing with your hair the whole time.

Rule # 4: Creativity is out. You think the model on the stand would look better in polka-dots? Guess what? No one cares. You have 3 amazing ideas for making work go faster? Whacha trying to do girl, make us loose our jobs? Your key at this level is to be as flawlessly mechanical as possible. Any deviation from the standard will trip up performance and negatively affect monthly reviews.

Rule # 5: Let everyone know how much you hate your job (even if you don't). Positive attitude is boring and deemed unrealistic. No one else is deceived into believing that this job will lead to anything greater.

*This title reveals that I read way too much msn. Sorry, people.

The Ultimate Starters List in Contemporary Poetry

2008-05-31T18:29:00.000-07:00

I stood in front of the Barns and Noble poetry section for 15 minutes during my lunch break today. And wasn't motivated to buy anything. Most of the poets were old, for one thing (nothing wrong with that but I already have a bunch of anthologies from high-school and the library). Most of the books were bound in black, or greeny-gray. There were two ocher-yellow bound books. Common, tell me there is another poetry-lover out there who also loves pink!

Anyways, for starting my collection of Poetry Books by Contemporary Authors I'm going to abandon Barnes and Nobles. Instead I'll start out with a bunch of books I've discovered and become enthused about through blogging. I'm too sleepy to hunt them down now, but check back later for my starters list. And of course please feel free to post suggestions for your own ultimate starters list in contemporary poetry books!

...

Yay! Justin Evans has well-chosen ideas for starters. I'll add those to the bunch of books I've been mulling over getting. Oddly enough one of them is Justin's. I've been reading his blog.

Two books I heard about via Robert Brewer's blog:
Spare Change, by Kevin Pilkington because he writes about NYC and life in a lucid way I wish I could.
The Amputee's Guide to Sex, by Jillian Weise because she sounds utterly new (and just cause).
Lawrence Joseph's Into It because he's on my lawyer list--thanks Jilly!
Justin's Gathering up the Scattered Leaves because I like his blog.

...

I will decide which books to order first later. I'm sleepy again. Retail does that to you.

$270 Dollars and a Poetry Book

2008-05-30T19:05:00.000-07:00

So today I got my first paycheck from my new job. $270 and 96 cents. Hallelujah! Life is good. Paychecks are good. Money is good. So lets see. I'll put $270 aside for rent, $270 for food, $270 for student loans, $270 for credit cards, $270 for a new dress and those pink shoes I've been talking about. Wait a minute. Is something screwy or are my math skills not working out again?

Regardless. I'll put addition in suspension for a moment and put $10 of the $270 aside for a poetry book. I hope the poetry gods will be pleased. Now I have $260 for rent, $260 for food, $260 for student loans...

Collecting Contemporary Poetry Books

2008-05-30T18:14:00.000-07:00

Image via Colorado Canyon

I have always hated the concept of collecting. Bringing objects together by category seems so pointless. To my mind, you should buy something because of its excellence or usefulness, for instance, buy a painting because it is pretty, not because it is "Picasso". Or buy a sculpture because it fits nicely into a corner, not because it is a Kitty and fits in with your cat potholders, kitten salt shakers, and 50 other catty objects.

Having railed against collecting for years, it falls into the predictable pattern of becoming one's opposites that I should now suddenly want to start a collection of my own. Except, my collection is of course going to be both excellent and useful. I want to start a collection of poetry books by contemporary authors.

I suppose it is a symptom of finally growing up and wanting to settle down that I should suddenly want to own the books themselves. Up til now, I've been focused on living on a minimum. I've been perfectly happy cribbing books off of friends, poems off the web, and maxing out my library card. But now I suddenly want to have the books on a little shelf as all my own. I want, I guess, a collection.

I am going to start making lists and calculating budgets. I'll post updates here. Let me know of your own must-reads and must-haves.

Poems and Dreams

2008-05-30T08:35:00.000-07:00

Image via New York Times

A silly poem about a dream today:

In a dream of mine
The world was an
Underground tunnel
You could live two lives
You could sleep on the
Speeding train or
Jump off the train into
A wonderful underground
Lake and there play
All day with silver vessels
Making vegetable
Soup splashing in
The warm water.
I love speeding trains
And splashing in
Underground lakes but
Was glad on waking
Up that I had more than
These two choices in life.

I really did have that dream, complete with vegetable soup. It got me thinking about invention, memory, boundaries, and how the mind works.

Pink Shoe Plans for the next 6 Months

2008-05-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

Image via Beauty Daily

Come June it will be 6 months since I've moved to NYC. So far, I've completed an internship job at a photography gallery, started this blog, and I am now working at New York's oldest department store. Never mind that I was termed the the world's worst seller of art by my boss at the gallery. Never mind that that my current co-workers are mostly without college degrees. Never mind that this blog has a resounding readership of 0. In the interest of moving on, I'll call it an fabulous start.

But... in the next 6 months I want to do so, so much more. Namely:

-get an awesome full-time job
-get my very own NYC apartment (currently living with my molecular cell biologist Aunt and her very smart poodle)
-write at least 5 poems a month
-get a poem published somewhere
-start a collection of poetry books by contemporary poets
-take the GMAT
-sign up for a triathlon

Now, I am a quiet, slow person and the only thing I really excel at in life is staring out a window. It is hard to get myself motivated to do anything. So... this is where the pink shoes come in. On completing each one of these goals, I'm going to reward myself with a pair of pink shoes. That should take care of the motivation. Waitttt. That's a lot of pink shoes (7 pairs). In the interest of variation, I'll consider substituting an equally fun and glamorous item that I would not otherwise consider. Like perfume in a pink bottle. Or a pink camera. Or a spa day with pink nails. I'll post updates on each event, I promise. :)

On being Keira Knightley

2008-05-29T02:00:00.000-07:00

Image via Mail Online

It is 1:56am and
I've decided I'm
Going to be Keira
Knightley tomorrow
Morning. This is
Because at nearly
2am, I know I'm
Going to be in
A dreadful state
Waking up for
Work and will
Need inspiration.
Right now my
Thoughts won't
Stop and I don't
Care that each
Moment makes
The morning worse
But if I can be
Keira Knightley
Tomorrow morning
I'm willing to go to
Sleep for that.*

*Disclaimer: I am not Keira Knightley, I'm 5'3'' and have buck teeth.

Poetry and Law

2008-05-27T19:31:00.000-07:00

I have a new theory about poetry. I think that the thought process that goes into poetry writing is similar to the thought process underlying the study and practice of law. To test this theory, I looked into the lives of major poets and came up with a decent handful of scribes who were indeed both poets and lawyers. My findings (via wikipedia and Jilly): William Cullen Bryant, Seth Abramson, Wallace Stevens, Francis Scott Key, Moliere, James Russell Lowell, Lawrence Joseph.

My interest in linking poetry and law comes from a pet peeve of mine: the tendency to view poetry writing as windy emotional venting. Instead, it's more of a mental game, one that should require both precise logical grasp of shades of meaning and syntax, and creativity and innovation in uncovering previously overlooked linkages and possibilities.

Somewhat like how I imagine a lawyer on a good case to work. Though admittedly, I know very little about law and almost nothing about lawyers. In fact, I have had only one experience interacting with a lawyer. This happened shortly after I came to New York when I went on a date with a lawyer from an investment bank. I was still shy of the city and everything in it and it was all I could do to say a word. The guy, however, talked more than I have ever heard anyone talk, and also asked more questions than I have ever heard anyone ask. This was disconcerting, especially when he continued the barrage while trying to kiss me. To be interrogated while being kissed is confounding. Back at home, it took me three days of hard thinking to figure it out. It finally dawned on me. "Oh...he's a lawyer." He was using the same techniques to get a quiet girl to kiss as he would to get an uncommunicative witness to talk.

Why should I be Something rather than Nothing?

2008-05-27T19:22:00.000-07:00

image via hereinstead

A poem about being a little bit lost in the city again:

Sometimes I'm a

Little like the

Nothing that a

Wrathful God stretched

Out his hand to
Disembowel.

Tell me, why should

I continue the upset

That his harsh hand

Began?

New start

2008-05-27T17:58:00.000-07:00

image via Prophetic

So mid-April, exactly half-way through poetry month, I managed to loose all zest for poetry. The reasons were economical. I have always had a Saint Francis sort of ideal that poetry should thive in the absense of regular income. However it doesn't seem to work out this way for me. Now however I have a new job, all sorts of new ideas, and a bunch of new goals. And thus much fuel for future posts. In celebration of this, I'm giving this blog a new title, changing the previous boring Poet's Journal to the current glamorous Pink Shoes in my Mind, courtesy of the below ditty I just wrote.

Pink Shoes in my Mind

2008-05-27T11:44:00.000-07:00

In my mind
I wear pink shoes
With bows
My wardrobe though
Is drab with grays
And blacks and blues
Can anyone see
The pink bows in
My mind? No.

Poetical Economics

2008-04-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

The Burghers of Calais by Rodin, Image via Guardian

I've been neglecting poetry these past two weeks looking for a full-time job. I'm 25, and not proud of never having had a full-time, occupational job. I've supported myself since junior year in college (three years ago) working a bunch of part-time and internship jobs. These have, in the lingo, really *helped me grow*. But somehow I've had neither the guts or the focus to settle down and really start producing--all those grown up things. Wealth, worth, connection.

This is all set into sharp relief living in New York City in a time of a staggering economy. I look at the general state of the country and am not impressed. Since when has a nation run up exorbitant debt, generated insane inflation, thrown itself at a loosing war, and come out the better for it? It has the ring of civilization set-back and empire dismantlement. This is not a reassuring time to sort out a sense of self. Fundamental issues of a healthy society seem to be at stake and I try to figure out which of my fuzzy ideals to chase.

I keep thinking of two articles. One, a USA Today piece on just how many in my age group are in a similar situation. I am not the only full-blown college grad contemplating dog-walking to support poetry-writing. We've been raised to chase passing fancies as a means of income. But on coming (reluctantly) of age, find ourselves, our parents, and our nation sunk in debt with decent jobs on the decline.

So much for doom prognosis. The next article's more optimistically oriented. It's called Youth quack--Millennials fired up over jobs, health care, and debt. I was flabbergasted at how much of it rang true for me. It's about how previously inert young voters are taking a sudden interest in the current presidential campaign, fanning the "change" rhetoric as candidates take notice of their new cohorts. But it's about much more as well, and successfully examines the contradictions of a generation simultaneously "weaned on self-esteem" and raised in the "epic uncertainty" of "the dot-com crash, terrorism, war, and climate change."

Quote: "Given all the pressures...you might wonder why today's twentysomethings don't despair and disengage. There's a simple answer: They weren't raised that way." Instead, "they were the most coddled generation ever" and had the additional satisfaction of "bringing the music and media industries to their knees... providing Gen Yers with the self-confidence for a third-way, post-partisan manner of doing things." Wrapping it up: "Millennials, like many Americans, may have lost faith in the political Establishment, but they have utter faith in themselves and their wiki-inspired abilities to get things done."

This is so close to my way of viewing the world it's uncanny. To some, it may come across as an arrogant sense of "entitlement." But when all the major engines of a healthy society are out of wack, it's all I have to go by.

Anyways, as I continue to look for jobs I'm going to conflate (I think that's the word) the state of society with myself. If a shy, socially challenged, in debt, sometime poet can settle down and start conducting life properly, I'll take it as a sign that society in general is capable of the same. Meh, this sounds so pompous. But is something to start by

Old Glasses

2008-04-27T21:11:00.000-07:00

Image via Vintage Eyeware

Old glasses that I
Wear in private
Covering my face
Like two full moons
Fragments of those
Half-forgotten
Teenage years I
Wept because of
Not being beautiful.
Now I wear contacts
Everywhere, premium
Placed on success
And happy in having
Discovered lip gloss
Except for these
Late nights up
Writing poetry when
My half-forgotten
Teenage years
Come to peer out
Of my glasses
Like two full moons.

This is one of the poems I wrote for Robert Brewer's Poetry Challenge. It is exactly the type of sappy poetry that I am always telling myself not to write. It is also the only one of my poems I've submitted so far that got reposted among the noteworthy poems. I was thrilled. Maybe I should start writing more sappy poetry.

Confidence in an Age of Debt

2008-04-15T19:38:00.000-07:00

Image via CNN

My confidence
Has the steely power
Of tanks disappearing
Into a desert mirage.

My confidence
Has the depth of rent
Food, dress, and tax
Put on a credit card.

My confidence
Has the persistence of
A slot machine still
Blinking after all is lost.

Mornings with Honey

2008-04-12T09:09:00.000-07:00

Image via Sampler

I am taking care of Honey, my Aunt's standard poodle for the next few days. This morning I awoke to Honey giving me a gentle lick on my foot, which was hanging over one side of the bed, then scrambling around to lick my hand, which was hanging over the other side, then dashing back to my foot, and so on. She took this very seriously. In case anyone is wondering, the technique is gentle but effective. I got up.

Central Park was an interesting spectacle this morning, as warm spring sets in. I witnessed: sleepy-eyed couples sitting on benches, holding hands and drinking coffee; a guy with a backpack and serious hiking shoes perched on a rocky hill, looking like he was about to explore virgin wilderness except he had a freshly made cheeseburger in his hand; runners of every possible size, age, and condition; and an Iranian man trying to settle a heavy ice cream stand on an incline.

I paused briefly to look at this last, as the stand (which was on wheels) kept slipping down. Without warning the guy started speaking to me in a stream of barely intelligible English, the gist of which I was to use a stick to prop the cart while he held it in place. Being an agreeable person, I cast around for a stick, and seeing only ineffectual twigs, settled on a screwdriver that was sitting on the cart. This I first attempted to stick into the hub of the wheel, accompanied by much tisk-tisking by the Iranian man. I finally propped the screwdriver up against the wheel, and it held the cart in place perfectly. The guy again broke into a stream of broken English, saying it was a great idea (the screwdriver) he never would have thought of such a thing, and that he would fix it. The last I saw of him he was searching the bushes for an appropriate twig.

WORDS AND THE POET

2008-04-10T22:07:00.000-07:00

Image via Dinah Bowman

Recent PAD draft:

Words are my natural
Habitat and strung in
Sequences like seaweed
Form everything I
Need to know. Water
Like the air I breathe
Coral caverns stabilizing
The great Katrinas
And little lobster-
Like creatures darting
Amidst. In this second
Creation I swim and
Little care for
The world of men.

Novelettes and Organizing Knowledge

2008-04-10T21:49:00.000-07:00

Image via Google

Possible theme for use in my NaNoWriMo:

I remember my dad with furrowed eyebrows talking about some 18th century Jesuit's system for organizing knowledge. It was one of my dad's (many) ideas dramatically presented at dinner-times. Forgotten by me until surprisingly triggered by this month's issue of the Harvard Business Review, speaking of Googles " mission 'to organize the worlds information and make it universally accessible and useful" (p.60). My dad could have uttered those words. I almost swear he did utter them. And years before Google. One of the themes I'd like to explore in my little projected novelette is how ideas hang around (in sometimes desolate places) before hitting the right medium for growth.

Poetry and Noveling

2008-04-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

Image via About Shoes

I'm having so much fun with April Poem a Day that I thought I'd look into similar prods for the rest of the year. It turns out there is the wonderfully named NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. During November, while the rest of the world readies for Christmas (or whatever the rest of the world does in the 11th month) NaNoWriMoer's churn out a 175-page (50,000-word) draft of a novelette. (Only the NaNoWriMo website calls it a novel because, they say, novel is more impressive.)

Someone told me once that poets and novelists have different minds. I know I've always stood in awe of the feat of inventing characters. Also, my tendencies are all oriented towards cutting sentences apart and balancing out sounds. Not exactly the stuff of plot creation. However looking on novel-writing as some sort of amazing magic has only made me want it more. I've even got a thesis or plot as starters: "Girl goes to NYC and figures out life."

NaNoWriMoer's are forbidden from writing even one sentence of actual novel text before the clock strikes 1am on November the 1st. This leaves me 6 luxuriant months in which to do research, figure out life, sketch outlines and characters, listen for dialogue, read a ton of novels, and explore themes.

What does all this have to do with poetry? I've come up with a terrifically lame connection: Novel-writing should be a poetical pursuit. More seriously (but no less pompously) I think that attempting a novel will help me iron out some problems I have with poetry. I've always been shrinkingly ashamed of my inability to write more than 3 stanzas or so to a poem. This seems so half-hearted against volumes of Longfellow and Browning. Writing 175 pages of anything should help quench this inadequacy.

Also, the more I learn about poetry publication, the less excited I become about sending out my little limping and half-finished thoughts. If by any chance they measured up at all, the pinnacle they could attain would be to languish between the dull inexpensive covers of some journal purchased only by libraries and read only by other poets. I've been thinking I'd like to write a series of poems oriented along a single subject-matter. Two ideas are Girl in Pink Shoes (i.e. fashion) or Poems to America (with Generation Y focus). Again, exploring themes through prose and plot first would probably help.

Frida Kahlo's Deer

2008-04-08T09:38:00.000-07:00

Image via Art is Joy

The latest poem for Robert Brewer's Poem a day challenge. I loved this prompt. Poetry and art history together--how could it get better?

I run forever free

I run forever pinned to a page

By arrows of this sorrowing
World. I never shall be

Truly great. I'm caged

Within a box of pain

And shutters of a

Women's life. However

I furrow my brow in thought

I lack the antlers, thrust

And gait of Diego de

Rivera's work. Never mind.

I put my colors

On the page and there

Create a second life.

I run forever pinned to a page

I run forever free.

FEAR

2008-04-05T08:12:00.000-07:00

There are two things I really want out of April. One is to be hired by this gem of a company. The other is to make poetry blogging work. But it's already 7 days into April and I've been doing everything but. In the case of the company, even though it tallies perfectly into everything I'm good at and want to do, I lack the track record they're looking for. With the blog, I seem to keep weaving my way back and forth along the line that separates pompous spouting of opinion vs. having something genuine to say. In this atmosphere of indecision I wrote the following:

I am the little beast
That rises every morning
And sits by Tara's bed
And ticks off her defeats
And says: "You shan't go farther
Look what you haven't done."

I am the little mole
That crawls in Tara's heart
And digs up trenches there
And bombards her hopes
"No, he'll never look your way
No, your work won't prosper."

I am the little worm
That eats of Tara's soul
In green and cankerous words
"Your dreams weren't made to fly"
I am the first respondent
To each of Tara's plans--I'm fear.

This was written for Robert Brewer's poetry challenge, to write a poem a day for the month of April. So far, I've loved the prompts, as they always manage to take me by surprise. (The prompt for the Fear poem was to put yourself inside another person or object.) I've also loved seeing the work of other writers, and have found some really awesome poetry blogs this way. There's a lot more good poetry out there than I ever imagined.

One thing that worries me though is I seem to be writing rather watered down and simplistic stuff lately. I've been focused so long on trying to tap natural rhythms in a Robert Frost sort of way that I wonder if I'm going too far. I want to take a look at some really good hard stuff (Coleridge?) or maybe tackle some philosophy or something as anecdote to this happy daily spouting of poems.

Spring winds, Spring world

2008-04-01T06:24:00.000-07:00

Image via National Weather Service

The first of the following poems I wrote in my early teens. The second is a reflective ditty I wrote this morning, posted in honor of April and Poetry Month!

Spring Winds
Do you hear
The wind is blowing
Wind, wind, breeze.

All around and
Softly lowing
Wind, wind, breeze.

Bring all to new beginning
Softly, round me, low and lovely
Opening to ages unknown
Wind, wind, breeze.

Spring World
Spring winds stir me
Still, even as they did
When as a child I had
Only started to know.

Yet love in my dreams
As a child is still the same
As the world ever starting
New in spring winds.

Hippies in Central Park

2008-03-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

Image via Knitted Scarves

I went on a walk around the pond today:

By the waterfall
A surprising flock
Of graybeards sit
With bright scarves knit
Meditating on nature
In public.

Poetry Overheard: Job lost

2008-03-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

Image via Money Accumulator

One half of a conversation:

"Why did you ask for help?"--
"No, they never help you."
"Why are you leaving?"--
"Why did you get fired?"--
"Yes, that happens to people."--
"Is it money or ego?"--
"Don't cry because of ego,
Only because of money."

Reading The Sartorialist in a City that doesn't Sleep

2008-03-23T13:12:00.000-07:00

Image via The Sartorialist

Since coming to New York City, I've found myself waking up at early hours of the morning, or staying up late at night. I get unreasonably excited about the new worlds waiting around the corner, the endless shops, the stream of people who pass me in the streets, the unpredictable customers at my gallery job. I've since found a blog that captures this same energy through fashion photography. The Sartorialist is a guy who snaps pictures of fashionable people in the streets. I am endlessly inspired by the examples of excellence and originality he discovers. I was up til 1am last night reading his blog, then until 2am writing a poem about it:

I wish it wasn't 1am.
There is so much
World out there, Sartorial
Moments screen by screen.
My consolation: tomorrow
I'll wear a little orange
Scarf to work
This silken flag will be
My prize for sleeping
A couple hours.

Blogger in the World Wide Web

2008-03-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

Image via Getting things done in Academia

I had off from work, and I spent all day on this blog, and on other's blogs, trying to fish out good poetry. It has left a desperately unsatisfactory feeling. Here is my diagnosis:

The endless reels of words
And on a little crest
A blogger pokes his nose out
In a little spray of froth

Someone's half-hearted soul
Has found a partial birth
Someone's messy underwaters
Find an amphibious crawl.

Tomorrow I am going to do anything but blog.

Poetry Overheard: listening in the subway

2008-03-20T17:28:00.000-07:00

Image via New York Times
Random clips from different people on different trains:

"I don't know what the next stop on this is but at least we're on the right train and headed in the right direction."

"He was a banker, right?--That's great."

Sign: "Do not hold doors."

"I had 2 beers that evening--no, not beers, wines, and that's when I woke up the next morning and I was tipsy."

"This is 59th street."
"Wha?"
"This is 59th street."
"Huh?"
"Dude, this is 59th street, we want 50th." (The previous stop).
"Eek!" (Scamper off through closing doors).

Sign: "Best thing to do is not get on the train."

Publication Strategies

2008-03-20T15:23:00.000-07:00

Image via Red

Careful reading of the Poet's Market 2007 (Poet's Market)reveals an established order to poetry business. I flipped first to the most lucrative section, Contests and Awards, but found that I'm not eligible yet for most, as they require previous publication and a manuscript of at least 50 pages (mine currently runs c.25 pages). Also, most of the contests have hefty entry fees.

So, I've settled back a step and come up with the following criteria for initial publishing attempts:

1)No entry fees
2)Mostly e-mail submission (no funds spent on postage; also allows me to paste this blog into cover letter and thus build readership)
3)Kindred Spirit Factor (I'll apply to journals whose focus appeals to me and thus have fun submitting and fodder for future blog posts if nothing else comes of it.)

Alejandra

2008-03-17T11:34:00.000-07:00

Image via Yahoo Movies

I woke up this morning thinking inexplicably of the word Alejandra. I do not even know what it means. But here is what I came up with:

Alejandra--what the Spanish
language does for humble syllables
No English word would flow thus,
musically, and above all else emotionally
Alejandra--putting emphasis
on that middle soft yet gutteral
Preceded by two quiet dark eyes
and ending in a small smart foot
Alejandra--a Spanish musical
performed on the stage of four small syllables.

Addendum. So, I googled Alejandra and was startled and a little disappointed to find it was a girl's name. I was imagining it was a town's name, or some feature of landscape like a gully or canyon. Disappointed because it makes my human analogies in lines 7-8 less inventive than I thought they were. But maybe that also makes them more pertinent? I think I got the word somewhere out of the movie The Mask of Zorro.

Further addendum. Hmmm reading about Zorro, I see that the main character is Alejandro, a guy. It is funny how memory works. It is sometimes annoying how memory works (or doesn't work). But unpredictable elements of memory can be great fun when they surface as poetry.

Then would my love be true?

2008-03-16T20:26:00.000-07:00

Could I but love you smooth and hard
Then would my love be true?
If I could cut it down to pith
And carve out all the bark and twigs;
If I could smooth it down to bone
And buff it like an ivory charm
Without its wormholes, turns, and twists
Then would my love be true?

Image via Llwyngwril Gallery

Book: Shira Wolosky's The Art of Poetry

2008-03-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

Image via Mountain Photogallery

There are few things more enjoyable than a good poetry guidebook. Sometimes literary criticism seems aimed more at padding resumes than advancing thought. But I've just found a book of poetry interpretation that is a complete joy. Imagine being shown an incredible glittering mountain. Then being given the tools to climb it. Shira Wolosky's The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem is a Matterhorn moment.

I picked up The Art of Poetry yesterday at the New York Public Library. I've only just skimmed it and read the first chapter, but already have a tighter and more precise understanding of how to go about appreciating a poem. The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poemis organized incrementally. It starts with analyzing the most elemental part of a poem--words; and goes on through "Syntax and the Poetic Line", "Images: Smile and Metaphor", on to "Poetic Rhythm" until all elements of a poem have been covered and are seen as fitting into the whole.

Here is Wolosky on words and word placement (this is fabulous!): "In poetry there are multiple reasons for choosing and placing words. There is not one single pattern in a poem, but rather a multiplicity of patterns, all of which ideally interlock in wider and larger designs. There are in fact many designs on many levels, where each meaningful word and element points to the next one, in an endless process of imaginative possibility. These intricate patternings of poetry are what generate the essential nature of poetry: its intense figurative power, to always point beyond one meaning or possibility to further ones. (p.4)"

Wolosky then goes on to say that "This art of selecting words is called diction." (Yay! new word!) She looks at how the use of different levels of language, ranging from colloquial to esoterically philosophical, can be contrasted within a poem to surprising effect.

The Art of Poetry put to use: I want to pay more attention to the levels of language used around me. I want to listen to random fragments of speech on the subway, pay attention to how my Aunt discusses the merits of her adorable poodle, and see how newscasters on TV use language.

Poet of the Moment: Ilya Kaminsky

2008-03-15T22:27:00.000-07:00

picture via Washington Poets Association

I went to the KGB Bar Poetry Reading on Friday. These are my impressions of poet Ilya Kaminsky and his work:

Ilya Kaminsky is really tall. He has a man's walk but when he looks up, a boyish face. Standing over the microphone, at a podium far too small for him, his craned neck has a weird grace. But the most amazing thing about him is his voice. A Russian accent, and I have never heard such mutilated language. His voice quacks and screeches mournfully, chants and crescendos into a harsh whining shout. For closing stanzas, he drops to a low crooning tone that touches you forcefully yet gently. He passed out books of his poetry beforehand, so I read along and don't miss a word. In fact, his wacky voice speaks from print alone as forcefully and strangely as his tones in person, and the two complement each other perfectly.

Ilya Kaminsky troubles me. Troubles me first of all because I have never heard such a voice, and it is disconcerting. And his poetry is of a world I am completely unfamiliar with. What I do know of it I have discounted and brushed off as history past. His poems, at least the ones he read to us, deal with a Russia still stumbling out of the old Stalinist regime, a Russia still reeling from the memories. The way Kaminsky hears sounds, notices things, loves, cries, and sorrows is all completely foreign to me. It is disconcerting and troubling to stumble on a faded page of history book and discover in it senses I never knew. Troubling, but concurrently, wonderful.

Ilya Kaminsky's website: www.ilyakaminsky.com
His books are available here: www.ilyakaminsky.com/books

Obama in the Tulips

2008-03-15T17:35:00.000-07:00

Image via Cheng's website

Speeches, future, hope, and change
Move me not in any way
I'll buy a vase instead
A vase that I can move my fingers round
And fill with tulips; a glass vase plain,
That I can hold in my two hands
Holds speeches, future, hope, and change.

World go Marching by

2008-03-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

Image via Dolce & Gabbana
I moved to New York City very recently (Jan. 08) but already have noticed the gulf between the many who make a living (barely) and the few who get noticed. Thinking about this, I was walking down __Street, en route to MoMA, and it seemed that everyone I passed was more attractive than me. This was depressing. I put the two thoughts (inadequacy in work and looks) together, and this is what I came up with:

World go marching by
On handsome shoulders
Your dark eye
Need not spare me
The slightest glance.

World with heart detached
From hands; flaxen hair
And linen suit
I don't know you.
Not that you would ever notice.

World that lingers
At the doorstep
Handsome jaw and cigarette
Eye trained on the girl behind me
World, I spurn you.

Plans for the next two weeks

2008-03-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

Patch of Weeds by Albrecht Dürer via Science Musings

It is March 15, a quiet Saturday evening, I just returned from the library with a stack of poetry books. It is starting to smell like spring outside. Also, I attended a great little poetry reading on Friday at the KGB Bar, and want to blog about that. All this bodes for a good beginning, for next week and this blog.

Here's the list of books I brought back:
The Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem
Selected Poems And Four Plays
Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass
Poet's Market 2007 (Poet's Market)

Goals for these last two weeks of March are:
1) Getting at least 10 good postings up.
2) Go to another poetry reading.
3) Research reading at a poetry reading.
4) Look into interviewing someone in the poetry world, an author, publisher, or
aficionado.
5) Last but tops, write good poetry. My goal for this is to write 5 good (meaning great) poems
a month. So far for March I have two which seem decent. They will be the subject of the
next two blogs.

...If I can get all this going in the next two weeks, I'm going to spend the first week of April taking this blog public, introducing it to family and friends, etc.