In Which I am Starry-Eyed

I've stumbled across a Sylvia Plath poem that makes my heart clench and stars my eyes:

Poppies in October

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly--

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.


Could there be anything more beautiful than the lines "O my God, what am I/ that..." I have never hear wonder expressed so aptly, the overwhelming feeling that sweeps through you, makes you throw your head back, look at the sky, open to everything.

In Which I am Generally Very Busy

In general, I am Very Busy. There is so much to read and so much to write about what I am required to read. And then all of the Ghana paperwork. And NaNo. All in all, I will have less time to post here for the next month or so. Maybe things about poetry that particularly strikes me (I am loving Rita Dove at the moment) or about the novel attempt. But Very Little, generally. Perhaps more over Thanksgiving and over Christmas... have to start thinking about Christmas gifts (ahhhhhhh). Yikes!

In Which I am Once Again Overly Ambitious

So... I have started another blog. Not just me, though. My friend Kristen and I went to a reading tonight. Two poets corresponded by prose poem for a year or so. Neither Kristen nor I intend to write prose poems exclusively, but the idea of a call and response, building on the work of a peer, a friend, is tantalizing.
To put this in perspective, a few lists...
Almost as tempting: the second season of Sherlock, owl stickers, the cat (Martha!) at Murphy's.
At least as inspiring as: Frank Lloyd Wright , my new obsession with Natasha Trethewey, snowdrops.
Still overshadowed by: Virginia Woolf, Chagall windows, elephant-poop paper.
This is terrifyingly indicative of my overall world view.

In WhichI Fall in Love with Hushpuppy

Just saw Beasts of the Southern Wild. It was one of those movie experiences where the theater falls away (except for the popcorn) and you are totally immersed in the story. I was enthralled. It is the story of a young girl named Hushpuppy and her life in a Louisiana bayou (The Bathtub). She lived with her father, a volatile and complex--but also affectionate--man. As the film progresses, we learn that he is sick, dying. This is where a wonderfully magical, playful, ironic symbolism comes into play. The Bathtub is in danger because of rising water levels and increasingly violent storms. In school, Hushpuppy learns about global warming, the melting of the icecaps that will eventually flood her home. And far away,  we catch a glimpse of a beast, frozen in a glacier, trapped outside of time. But the time is coming when the beast will be released and The Bathtub will be threatened, and with it Hushpuppy's entire world. I cannot believe how amazing this movie was. There was so much hype (Sundance), that disappointment was almost inevitable. But Hushpuppy proved me wrong. She stood tall and showed the world--and the beast--just how strong she is.

In Which I am Overly Ambitious

I have agreed to participate in National Novel Writing Month. This is a time in which all of the amateur, would-be writers of the world sit down and write every single day for a month. And theoretically produce novels. I'm not quite sure that writing every day equates a novel. But it sounds like fun! More later, perhaps.