The "Kate Gale" Thing (=Cringe=)

First off: it's just a bunch of bullshit that AWP, publishing and the realm of the literary arts (and the greater world) are systemically blatently or latently bigoted--against gender, sexual orientation, sexuality, religion, race, nationality and ethnicity. Period. I'm grateful to every voice who speaks up, calls out, and tries to do something, by whatever means they feel they can.

Now, I want to talk about this particular issue of the much needed shake up we're experiencing to jostle our complacency and improve our community. I've met Kate Gale. She gave a talk at my grad school. I took notes and made a little blog site out of it. It was "How to Be a Publishable Poet." It was a frank, informative talk. I liked the advice. That was many years ago. I haven't ever said more than "Hello" to her. I have one book in my collection of poetry from Red Hen Press.

Her actions and reactions to the response from others, about her really really shitty stupid ignorant post on HuffPo, defending AWP and its infamous lack of diversity, was like watching the worst, most embarassing moment on "Curb Your Enthusiasm" with the added gag reflex and burning hatred one feels when Ann Coulter introduces Donald Trump. Why why WHY are people expending energy defending a lack of diversity in any given forum? Well the answer is obviously because in their core they're bigoted, despite giving lip service to liberal views. So I guess my question is, "Why why WHY can't people see how bigoted they are and straighten the hell up?!" If only.

Anyway, I just wanted to document some of what has come of the saga. The original offending post has been removed but Publishers Weekly kept a screen shot of it, which I'm posting below. Here are other links regarding the issue.

Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo: "Kate Gale, Red Hen, and What Poetry and Community Means to Me" 
LA Times article 
Publisher's Weekly Story 
Inside Higher Ed 
Adroit Journal Open Letter to Kate Gale - this one is the best response I've read because it points out Gale's errors while demonstrating how they illuminate the bigger problems at hand " ...intolerance is silencing the voices of whole communities, omitting the telling of so many stories because of the intensely subjective, largely flawed process that is AWP panel selection..." 
Kate Gale's Updated post, removing original article and posting an apology instead 
Kate Gale's open letter with further apology
The screen shot of the original piece:


A bunch of stuff controversy, misogynyn, speech and threats in poetry and writing. I'll leave the links here, because I don't have time to read through everything right now, but want to note it all.

UPDATE: I've read what I need to and it's just gross. I hate icky people. Thank you to the empowered voices of the world though for speaking up and for standing your ground.

#LaughingWhileBlack The Black Ladies' Book Club Who Got Kicked Off the Train - a wonderfully satirical take on a truly stupid event

I am so so so very incensed that this happened to these women--who, honestly, I want to be friends with really really badly -- because books+wines+laughing= I'm in. This story literally make me scoff, shudder and look aghast all at once. I want to slap the racist snooty complainers AND the racist snooty wine tour people so very hard, in a metaphorical way and for real.

Anyway, instead I choose to read and laugh. Like these awesome ladies. Over at, a hiliarious piece on the incident:

On Literary Activism

The topic of literary activism, on "Poetry Foundation:

BCG "Midnight at the Midway" at Oberon in Cambridge - Last Night Tonight (8/27/15)

I did a bunch of Instagramming for the Boston Circus Guild's "Midnight at Midway" show at Club Oberon in Cambridge. I'll be back to it again tonight, for the final show. If you haven't seen it, go for your last chance tonight!

I'm Reading My Poetry for the "Mr Hip Presents: Reading Series" at UForge Gallery in JP on Sat Aug 29

Join Mr. Hip Presents, one of Boston’s most interactive and engaging poetry reading series at UFORGE Gallery. An evening infused with art, poetry/spoken word and music hosted by Donald Vincent a.k.a. (@Mr_Hip) and some of the hippest folks in the biz!


Afaa M. Weaver
Megan Fernandes
Suzanne Mercury
Jessie Brown
Tom Daley
Bridget Eileen
Christian Rees (Virtual)

UFORGE Gallery
767 Centre Street, Jamaica Plain, MA
6:00 – 8:30 PM
($10 admission) free for the kiddies.
All are welcome.


From UCP: "Jane Austen's Names: RIDDLES, PERSONS, PLACES"

"In Jane Austen’s Names, Margaret Doody offers a fascinating and comprehensive study of all the names of people and places—real and imaginary—in Austen’s fiction.

Another for the "to read" list! Looking forward to it.

#NewOrleans Poems

Just before the five year anniversary of #HurricaneKatrina, my mother moved to NOLA. I helped her move herself down there. She's been there for five years now. This Sunday is the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina touching land. It struck New Orkeans and created disaster on August 29. I go to New Orleans at least once a year, often for almost two weeks. Since I am a poet, I often find myself incorporating this sister city of mine, now that its been adopted by my mother.

Prayer to New Orleans

Help me VooDoo City
help me hurricane ghost winds
blighted streets, mossy trees
patchy trunk myrtles, burdocks, irises
purple green and yellow decorations
Ash Wednesday

For forty days I give up

Giving in to my addiction to escaping
The present for hope of the past
I will hope for the future

I will really love myself
I will really believe
I deserve it all

Live that life
See what comes of it

this isn't how I wanted to feel tonight

oh lady of unrequited love
you malingerer, you harlot
you card, you character, caricature

I'm surrendering to the moon
I'm going to talk about
Uncomfortable things
Like what the floozy wants

This restlessness, this anxiety

Now I am a lady with a feather in her hair
Dry lips and bangs falling in her face
It's black outside and so very snapping cold
No one is around to woo me or charm me or care
And while it is some comfort that the wrong person
Is not here either, still there is no one
Still still an empty restless night

Spell for Detaching

start with a shoehorn
run away from the bridge
catch your breath then
walk along the beach in early spring

it’s frigid but you can think of
what you will do with the rest of your life
what loops you’ll occasion to touch

the sweetness of a bouquet of spices
the trumpets, trombones, multiple ones
impressive and blowing the room away
surprising us all and off we are under a moon
the lights twinkling and who would have thought
of all the places to go the one with you in the corner
was where it all began

Happy 51st Birthday to #ToriAmos

She is 51 today! And going as vital as ever. Thanks for being the important artist you are for all  the people who love and appreciate, and find inspiration, in you work. 

If you haven't given to RAINN for as a gift for Tori's birthday, and you're an earswithfeet or a supporter of their noble cause, you can do so, at this link:

From Drunken Boat: Gray Jacobik’s “The Eleanor Roosevelt Letters,” DB 12

I was thinking about these Eleanor Roosevelt Letter poems that Gray Jacobik wrote as I watched that documentary series "The Roosevelts" from Ken Burns. I heard them from Gray, who was one of my workshop instructors in grad school, back in the late Aughts. I really love them. So did Drunken Boat. You can read them at the link below.

Photo Album for the "Boston Poetry Marathong 2015"

I posted a bunch of pictures in a public album on Facebook for this year's Boston Poetry Marathon. They're available for viewing at here.

I Hope AWP Doesn't Message My Job for Sharing These Posts about How Sketchy AWP Is

I don't go to AWP. It's expensive and I'm too poor and on the whole it doesn't appeal to me that much. Other people don't go to AWP, for a lot of the same reasons. I'm a naturally extroverted person, and I love making genuine connections with fellow writers over the work they do, or I do or we both like; however, I don't like officially "schmoozing" with people. And that's kinda what AWP has always felt like to me.

Regardless of that, there's yet another problem with AWP. There's a lack of diversity with panelists and panelist topics. And people are talking about it--merely asking questions about it--and people at AWP are retaliating. Strange things.

From Cosmo: Women Denied Rx for Her Abortion from CVS Pharmacy "and the law says that's OK"

"A CVS Pharmacist Stood in the Way of My Abortion — and the Law Says That's OK"
According to the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), "A pharmacy's or pharmacist's refusal to sell birth control does not violate a woman's federal constitutional rights. The U.S. Constitution imposes no limitations on nongovernmental institutions like privately owned pharmacies. Even if the refusal takes place in a state-owned pharmacy, a woman has no federal constitutional right to receive contraception. Although the Constitution protects a woman's right to contraception, it does not ensure that women can access reproductive health services."

Brain Candy Books -- Louise Rennison

It's all well and good to go about the world reading books on the history of Ireland, great novels by classic authors, books exploring assumptions in education and of course lots nad lots of poetry, contemporary and classic. Which is what I am currently and often currently reading. But it's also fun to indulge the brain in some candy, and that's why I like the YA novel series by Louise Rennison, the Georgia Nicholson books.

1. Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging: confessions of Georgia Nicolson 
2. On the bright side, I'm now the girlfriend of a sex god: further confessions of Georgia Nicolson

3. Knocked out by my nunga-nungas: further, further confessions of Georgia Nicolson

4. Dancing in my nuddy-pants: even further confessions of Georgia Nicolson

5. Away laughing on a fast camel: even more confessions of Georgia Nicolson

6. Then he ate my boy entrancers: more mad, marvy confessions of Georgia Nicolson

7. Startled by his furry shorts

8. Love is a many trousered thing: more mad, marvy confessions of Georgia Nicolson

9. Stop in the name of pants: the confessions of Georgia Nicolson

10. Are these my basoomas I see before me?: final confessions of Georgia Nicolson

I haven't read them all yet but they're a delight. I am not the only adult who likes them. They're so popular with older readers that, like with the Harry Potter series, they made more mature looking covers for them. They're like teenage Bridget Joneses. Silliness, wit, incredulity, ridiculousness with a sweet little story line and a heart of gold to give it that touch of depth that makes it more than just some dumbed down crappy derivitave of the classic sort of literature it was inspired by (lady authors as opposed to chick lit).

Boston Poetry Marathon 2015 - The Poster

Come on by this weekend! I'm reading on Sunday.

Rothko Quotes I Like

color...attains an unprecedented luminosity

alternately radiant and dark

a rare degree of sustained concentration on pure pictorial properties such as color, surface, proportion, and scale, accompanied by the conviction that those elements could disclose the presence of a high philosophical truth

Continued Discussion of Meschonnic on Thom Donovan's Facebook page

Wall post:

Thom Donovan still thinking about Henri Meschonnic's "politics of rhythm" after Lisa Robertson's wonderful presentation this past weekend...


Anyone know how Lisa was using "party" in "manifesto for a rhythm party"? Like a political party? Or like get down & party? ~Kap Harris

I wondered about the reinscription of "voice" in some of what Lisa read . . . Meschonnic was a fairly reactionary figure in France, when I discovered him, doing translation studies in the 90s. He argued violently against écriture (and was in turn rejected by the Tel Quel movement--hence the lack of international attention paid to him) and attacked... See More some of the writers I was working on, like Albiach and Royet-Journoud. Critique du rhythme reads (at one level) like an argument for spoken word, avant la parole, with all the arsenal of the language poets, but without Bernstein's generosity and nuance--an ideological version of Close Listening. He also argued for a different Mallarmé, from the one the poststructuralists had claimed. Definitely an interesting mind. I'll have to look at Critique du Rhythme again and check out his other books. Anyways, Lisa's translations are great. I like Kap's question here . . . ~Jonathan Skinner

given the return to lyric valuables through socio-political committedness of the last, say, ten years I find the notion of rhythm being inherently political (and expressive of a biopolitics) a possibly vital way of reframing the lyric through embodiment without a loss of particularity. Silvia Federici suggests something quite similar through her ... See Morelinking of dance/movement research with rhythms opposed to liberal pluralist mechanisation. does rhythm itself--made visible by linguistic or bodily gesture--than become a site for political-cultural contestation/counter-hegemony? I have not read Meschonnic on any of this, but Lisa's talk got my imagination going...~Thom Donovan

O yes, thanks for articulating that. (Plato also had some strong things to say about rhythm and politics.) Surely interesting! I just wanted to post a flag. (Golston also reminded us of some of Meschonnic's possibly less savoury affiliations, via eurythmics, etc. At the same time, I could see some of the point of Meschonnic's arguing against ... See Morethe "terhorie" of Tel Quel.) It's interesting how authors & thinkers can escape the ideological entanglements of their moment via translation, finding a new, different life in another language, perhaps one they might never have envisioned or even willed . . . ~Jonathan Skinner

Link update for critical thesis project on the close reading of poetry

This blog started out as a place to post the progress of my critical thesis, which was a study on the close reading of poetry.

It covered what it means to read a poem closely, the "parts" of a poem and showed some samples and commentary on close readings.

I closely read the poems of Emily Dickinson, Robert Duncan and contemporary poets Kimberley Lyons (like) and Meghan O'Rourke (dislike).

I studied essays about poetry from a range of poetic outlooks from Harold Bloom to Brooks & Warren (not be confused with Brooks & Dunn! derrr...) to Ezra Pound, Ellen Bryant Voigt to Robert Duncan and Charles Olson. I also consulted the works of critics Jonathan Cutler, "Literary Theory," and Susan Wise Bauer's "The Well Educated Mind."

I took advantage of my luck in having a fantastic advisor, Baron Wormser, and used the introduction to his fabulous teaching poetry book "Teaching the Art of Poetry: The Moves" as a help to sculpting my paper as well. (I used that book a lot this week for our third grade unit on mental imaging and poetry.)

Since I have changed the URL of the site, I hadn't reposted to the link to the project "in toto" so I figured I'd take a moment to do that.

Just a note: the project is posted from end to beginning.

On Henri Meschonnic "Me' Moire et Porosite' Dans L'Oeuvre...'

Below is a rudimentary translation, using Google translate, of an academic article I found about Henri Meschonnic, the poet and poetic critic/philosopher.

Beatrice Bonhomme
The poetic work of Henri Meschonnic is a work of displacement, off-centring, porosity as if one put oneself at the place of the other and that from there all takes another dimension, another point of view of, a different angle of incidence allows, shifted: “moved heart dissociated” (PB 12) .1 It me poetic becomes one me which escapes very taken by a constant delocalization and occupies the place which one does not await it, allowing to leave oneself. There is a power of displacement here just as Ulysses thinks always outside. The poet would like to manage to be outside: “word by word I leave me” (PB 62). No clear border between external space and interior space, the two fields remain heterogeneous, one passes from the one to the other without same sometimes realizing some. Like the dancer of Mallarmé, the poet is not where it is awaited. The requirement of this poetry is never to be given but beside itself. Poetry is in exact measurement where it is not, it is thus the different one which lives it. Inversion of the roles and the places. The poet is at side, beside the words, beside time, and this shift makes it possible to see
life differently:
the life is seen
with back (PB 11)
or upside down:
time above time below
us (I 29)
[…] I have a face
a face
inside (I 14)
As so from this off-centring was born the possibility of a new vision, of a true vision. And this position of handing-over in question is not only intellectual, it is physically lived by the body, by giving body; the poet goes there with his body, puts at it his body, it forms a unit with the words:
it there with the hand which passes
in the thought (PB 32)
The body must go from always shifted guingois, bodies and heart, eyes with
place des hands, hands in the place of the mouth and the eyes:
the heart on the hand the heart
in the mouth
heart which overflows
marked déplacédé heart (PB 12)
The poem tries to express this legendary limping because it is in with-côtéque
be likely to be located the unknown ground:
I know
at side
I listen
beside the words
beside time (PB 78)
Weaving of the personnel and the transpersonnel, this word takes place only in one report/ratio of otherness: one goes in you and one is, one goes in oneself and one finds the other: “the other the other the other” (PB 34), “another another” (PB 37),
and there is face
who passes
one with the other (PB 32)
The poem consequently keeps in mind a totality, a whole living with the thousand articulations, a movement of pluralisation, internal plural of the identity. From where the infinitéde the réciprocitéet of the love, in the direction where uses Jacques Ancet: “the love is not a `topic there but the substance even of the word. This poetry does not speak about the love, it speaks it in an intense writing whose insisting it pronominal work […] is one of the essential constants”
(Ancet 74).
Like Holderlin writes it:
What misses with the one
I take it with the other and I animate
While binding (Works 692)
The fraternitéen poetry, it is also this movement which consists in being put at the place of the other. The place of the word inevitably any more did not join the political place of the authority but sometimes the poetic place of the exchange and the division. Starting from a caesura, of a central fault, this double movement, towards ego and the other, creates a true poetic tremor which makes vibrate on the spot and
to start again the rate/rhythm:
now I am each different
me and you him it and him (PB 9)
but I do not know any more if it is
completely mine the tien
and I see of all my eyes
but they are also your eyes (PB 32)
The poet insists on this movement where most intimate (I, you) already widened at the community of “us” does not cease opening with the impersonnality of “one”
(Ancet 79):
in my life
all lives in
all lives my life […] (PB 87)
The poet is not defined any more by his own form but by the totality of the bonds which it weaves with the various reigns of nature, it is this line of intensities and of meetings and to make line is to like. The body of the poet is in the power of continuous, of the inseparation. The poet is in the intensive multiplicity. To be composite, which shows the true nature of the things, bonds
with cosmos, cosmic bonds in complicity:
sometimes I am a tree one
noise in the air a breath a flight (PB 36)
I have world
skin with skin (PB 23)
The poet widens, it covers ground and branches, of sky, rain and birds. The poet is able to impassion his eyes and his ears,
to make pass in its eyes, its ears, its hands a kind of disproportion,
of ubris:
in fact any more the eyes
it sees now are these
hands (PB 51)
Written Ho¨lderlin: “When the poetry is true, it is bond, bond which is tightened until becoming an alive and major whole with the thousand articulations (Works 692)” and “It is necessary that the poets who were born from the Spirit/Them too
are related to the world (Works 865).
Henri Meschonnic feels this same bond with the others and the world. He is any unit. The poem, of its thousand interlaced arms, allows a feeling of the toutensemble, this unitémultiple which connects the intuition of the Whole closely:
and all together we are
a song which is a silence
a silence which is a song (I 34)
and all lives
that I see
in way form
shares of
what goes in me (PB 45)
The poet opens in the world and with the cosmic elements, spreads themselves in the sheets or becomes a house, the history of a house. The head of the poet is a head-world, it gives the arm to the sun and the sun is in its hand. These vicinities, like marsh of life, make to naıˆtre the become-animal, plant, mineral, opened thoroughly, the touffure, the infinite one of the relations: “my face in all the others” (I 12), porositédevenant it highest of qualities. The poet is traversépar flows of exchanges of elements of things or things elementary, it buds, it germine. Invaded in proportions insoupc¸onnables, it becomes itself the source of insistence between us and the things, poet mediator, gifted poet of an essential porosity.
The poet thus turns in a kind of giddiness, of tournis cosmic like the ground itself: “and the head ground turns” (PB 30) “and you in me we turn” (PB 27). The world still made “a turn turn turn” (PB 9)
and the poet is like the beginning of the world:
[…] we have
eyes on what starts
who begins us (PB 25)
As in a horse-gear with this horse which would make the round the world tour at the same time as all turns around (PB 50). Serge Martin speaks about an old story which gives the giddiness, the accomplished one seeing himself unceasingly given to unaccomplished, always of the restarting of the world (93). The infinite one started, the infinite one starts again in the restarting of the world and the body turns, like a world, around a hidden sun. Baudelaire rented the thyrse. At Henri Meschonnic, it is the being even poem which is curved, because its object is infinite which must be presented in finished.
One can evoke the image of the boustrophédon, to convene these old languages where the lines were read alternatively in a direction then in the other, as an ox turns over in opposite direction to any end of field, or like the poet, unceasingly occupéà to return and set out again as if it were an absolute restarting: “I am the recommencement/du world” (PB 9). But at the same time as there is curve, there are angle and rupture.
Jointly, the curve and the angularity gain the poem which, at every moment, turns, mark a rupture and transfers. The poet revirtualise the movement by not letting anything filter which is not from the start rate/rhythm. Nothing end of line, right before the inventive return, is what makes the angulation of the poem, its richness, its innovation, its brittleness. All these lines so finely, so intensely angular, open in us the capacity of reception of the same things, which Novalis calls interior plural. Any cost with the desire because
like Ho¨lderlin says it:
And unceasingly a desire towards what is not
liés' hurls. There is much
to maintain […] (Works 882)
To speak about his poetry, Henri Meschonnic uses the term of “line” and not of “worms”, of line like bond. Lines of the future, lines of orientation, various life lines, the poet must bind, restore the cloud of consonance, become the agreement, go towards the other. Bonds, lines, elements of communication, composition of the agreements, discovered essential fraternity between the beings, the brilliant points by the effect of meeting are suddenly put all to flicker, illuminating the vision (see Villani, “Mallarmé”). The poet is in the angle but also in the round of the world.
Rounds of which we are an end of history and the rate/rhythm holds with the memory by the fact that it is repetition, that it contains a return. Jacques Derrida speaks, in connection with the rate/rhythm, “of a step which always returns, which returns to leave
[…] which always has just set out again” (433).
What remains, the poets found it. A first resource is essential: to overcome time by registering its work in the indefinite time of the oublieuse memory, to seize again the signs, the traces, the vestiges. The poem has report/ratio at time, within the meaning of memory. Time as memory is the paˆte poem, the context of the traces and retentions. The evocation of the passése makes visible image of death, from what, par excellence, escapes the significant representation.
Rate/rhythm as a kind of origin of the language which ensures the bond with a past, negative hands, paintings of hands found in the caves magdaléniennes, the contour of these hands, posed large open on the stone, was coated with color, blue, black or red. The trace is there by the form even, to say the absence. The hand represented by the vacuum is presence-absence, the trace even of the hand does nothing but indicate its absence on a space level but especially the trace of its presence, and returns to the hand which was at a time
Unmemorable memorandum. By the rate/rhythm, forms stable and flow all at the same time, to settle in the unmemorable one, to perceive a deep breathing like bottom of time and mouth even of chaos:
all heads
have my mouth (PB 89)
A knowledge-memory which goes up of a abıˆme in back-form, origin, bottom of the things. It is as if the poet were crossed by a word which is not only his but that of all the others also, deaths like the alive ones. That of a History moving, of a History which goes while sleeping (PB 19), “my words parlent/je do not say anything” (PB 23). The words of the poet speak only a memory, memory
eyes the mouth
will take of a blow
thousand years (PB 18)
And this unmemorable history is the time of an unforgettable wound, which should never be forgotten and which however is lost, is forgotten, among the steles of the old cemeteries and their indecipherable signs, through their closed memory, delivered to a lapse of memory more suˆr that the memory. Pascal Maillard evokes as follows: “this great voyage of inclusion in the voice, which is an allegory of the memory and language, […] passépar stones absent from the Jewish cemetery of Radom” (137).
Strange paradox, written Lionel Verdier (143), of this rate/rhythm which is desire of memory, desire of lapse of memory, active lapse of memory which also Philippe Paı¨ni underlines: “memory work in the poem of Henri Meschonnic is before all the work of the lapse of memory on the subject and on the poem […] this conscience of the place founder of the lapse of memory brings another language, by showing that it is the memory turned towards its unknown” (345-346) because like it says Henri Meschonnic in the Rate/rhythm and the light: To perhaps forget, more important than to remember. Not to lose the memory, but which she works to let make of new. To celebrate
the active lapse of memory.
and how much days
for a word
while the lapse of memory
of a name
a barbed wire
eyes closed for better seeing
the unknown ones
that we carry (PB 55)
This memory is broken clay, cries which did not leave (PB 65), words that one cannot hear any more and that one does not cease any more hearing (PB 52):
since the thought is
a wound which one stops with
and does not have any more
place that deaths (I 18)
Dust, ruin beyond the language:
breaks of time rolled
in the memory (PB 29)
And the lapse of memory is still a memory because this memory became unconscious even words, the words which speak all alone (PB 58):
the history continues it me in
sleeps the day takes care during the night
it is a strange language it me
in secrecy I take start
to write it one even speaks oneself
in this language each day
we are the words (I 111)
Time they is ourselves, it is not only any more the walk of time because little by little between us and time more difference:
and since time that I
am time […] (PB 25)
The poet became this time, this history, the words of the others which “so much took all the place in time” (PB 67). This memory which is
initially memory of the lapse of memory:
because I was learning
that the lapse of memory is more my father
that my memory (PB 69)
And then the direction of the history starts which does not have a direction, which is related to as well pains as it there more words:
[…] I
see pains which do not have
any more words do not have […] (PB 85)
[…] nothing will be able to say
what cannot be said (PB 18)
And that which cannot be said becomes the bottom even life and language. This impossibility to say is said throughout a life, which one cannot hear any more, it is what one does not cease any more hearing, and the poet continues to hear all these cries which did not leave, consequently the memory also is porosity, emboıˆtement of died and of lives, emboıˆtement of the one in the other, deaths and the alive ones, the poet is the receptacle of thousands of deaths, and thousands of lives: “in my life/all the lives/in all the lives my life I pass/their memory” (PB 87).
Leave mnemonic, leaves poetic continuing while reconsidering itself, round of the memory, round of the memory and the lapse of memory, included in the withdrawal even.
The poet would be only the translator of accounts which cross it:
words lie down in the memory
they were emptied of their time
I do not know yet
those which will put to me in the world
tomorrow (I 27)
All is built in this poetry on a beat, a double postulation. Memory and the lapse of memory. Double frénésie.3 Malgréla gravity of the History and the memory, which residence is this glare, this miracle of the life, of the joy:
I meet in you
we are our meeting (PB 39)
I meet us (PB 76)
[…] I met
a small joy […] (PB 77)
This point where the directions of forces are reversed is the turning point, revolving movement, absolute and instantaneous overflight of passed and the future over the point present, so that the two opposite ones are given at the same time. Power of the contrast of two elements held in one, of two couples of opposites crossed, conjunction of two roads which usually are incompatible and abruptly, in front of us, meet in only one. Poet MIME perhaps, in a secret corner of its body, this movement in two opposite directions. Dionysos and Apollon, vibration, dance on the spot, beat, crystal of rate/rhythm.
The poet is that which has a gift of ubiquity and, like Janus, a double head or a head which leaves in two directions, thus supporting the indefinite multiplicity until his dancing detail, that of: “the moment the moment now” (PB 87).


1 My study rests on Since I am this bush (PB) and I very did not hear
2 According to Marguerite Duras, the Night Ship and other texts (94). On this text,
to see Bernard Alazet (in particular 95-71). See also Bernard Franco.
3 See Arnaud Villani, “gasoline of poetry like withdrawal”.

Works Cited

Alazet, Bernard. The Night Ship of Marguerite Duras. To write obliteration. Lille: University presses of Lille, 1992.
Ancet, Jacques. “Life in the voice”. Naked (E). 21 (2002): 67-87.
Derrida, Jacques. The postcard; of Socrates with Freud and beyond. Paris: Flammarion, 1980.
Lasted, Marguerite. The Night Ship and other texts. Paris: Mercure de France, 1986 (1979).
Free, Bernard. “The Rate/rhythm for the glance: work, space and time”. The Rate/rhythm in poetry and arts. Philosophical and realiteartistic interrogation. Eds. Beatrice Bonhomme and Micéala Symington. Paris: HonoréChampion, 2005. 239-276.
Ho¨lderlin, Friedrich. The Death of Empédocle. 2nd version. Paris: Gallimard Pleiad, 1967.
- - -. Works. Paris: Pleiad, 1967.
Maillard, Pascal. “`I will pass my life to resemble my voix': Henri Meschonnic, the poem, the poetic one”. Naked (E). 21 (2002): 129-140.
Martin, Serge. “A poem of the language relation”. Naked (E). 21 (2002): 89-97.
Meschonnic, Henri. I very did not hear. Paris: Dumerchez, 2000. (I)
- - -. Since I am this bush. Paris: Arfuyen, 2001. (PB)
Paı¨ni, Philippe. “Utopia of the direction. ” The Rate/rhythm in poetry and arts. Interrogation
philosophical and realiteartistic. Eds. Beatrice Bonhomme and Micéala Symington. Paris: HonoréChampion, 2005. 345-358.
Verdier, Lionel. “In this rate/rhythm which is desire of lapse of memory”. Naked (E). 21 (2002): 143-154.
Villani, Arnaud. “Gasoline of poetry like withdrawal. ” Po&sie. 84 (1998): 106-110.
- - -. “Mallarméet the fold deleuzien. ” Tomb of Gilles Deleuze. ED. F. Beaubatie. Paris: North-South, 2000. 159-176.
- - -. “Poetic of Deleuze”. Conference pronounced in Paris-VIIi. April 29, 2000.

Béatrice Bonhomme has off poet and professor At the University Nice where she
teaches off has seminar one poetry and is in load has group off researchers called Poiema.
After her thesis one Pierre Jean Jouve, she specialized in research one contemporary
poetry. With HervéBosio, she founded the re-examined Naked (E) which has published
contemporary poets since 1994 and with Jean-Yves Masson she created the
Societédes Readers of Pierre Jean Jouve. She has published over has hundred works
off literary criticism and original poetry.

Contemporary French and Francophone Studies
Vol. 11, No. 3, August 2007, pp. 351–360
ISSN 1740-9292 (print)/ISSN 1740-9306 (online)/07/030351–10 _ 2007 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/17409290701537522

Béatrice Bonhomme
Le travail poétique d’Henri Meschonnic est un travail de déplacement, de décentrement, de porosité comme si on se mettait à la place de l’autre et qu’à partir de là tout prenne une autre dimension, permette un autre point de vue, un angle d’approche différent, décalé: « coeur déplacé démarqué» (PB 12).1 Le moi poétique devient un moi qui échappe à toute prise par une délocalisation constante et occupe la place à laquelle on ne l’attend pas, permettant de sortir de soi. Il y a ici une puissance de déplacement de même qu’Ulysse s’imagine toujours dehors. Le poète voudrait parvenir à être dehors : « mot par mot je sors de moi » (PB 62). Aucune frontière nette entre l’espace extérieur et l’espace intérieur, les deux domaines ne restent pas hétérogènes, on passe de l’un à l’autre sans même parfois s’en apercevoir. Comme la danseuse de Mallarmé, le poète n’est pas où on l’attend. L’exigence de cette poésie est de ne jamais se donner qu’à côté d’elle-même. La poésie est dans l’exacte mesure où elle n’est pas, c’est donc l’autre qui l’habite. Inversion des rôles et des places. Le poète est à côté, à côté des mots, à côté du temps, et ce décalage permet de voir
la vie différemment :
on voit la vie
à l’envers (PB 11)
ou sens dessus dessous :
temps dessus temps dessous
nous (JE 29)
[. . .] j’ai un visage
un visage
dedans (JE 14)
Comme si de ce décentrement naissait la possibilité d’une nouvelle vision, d’une vraie vision. Et cette position de remise en question n’est pas seulement intellectuelle, elle est vécue physiquement par le corps, en donnant corps ; le poète y va avec son corps, y met son corps, il fait corps avec les mots :
il y de la main qui passe
dans la pensée (PB 32)
Le corps doit aller de guingois, corps et coeur toujours décalés, yeux à la
place des mains, mains à la place de la bouche et des yeux :
le coeur sur la main le coeur
dans la bouche
coeur qui déborde
coeur déplacédé marqué(PB 12)
Le poème tente d’exprimer ce boitement légendaire car c’est dans l’à-côtéque
risque d’être repérée la terre inconnue :
je sais
à côté
à côté des mots
à côté du temps (PB 78)
Tissage du personnel et du transpersonnel, cette parole n’a lieu que dans un rapport d’altérité: on va en toi et on se trouve, on va en soi et on trouve l’autre : « l’autre l’autre l’autre » (PB 34), « un autre un autre » (PB 37),
et il y a du visage
qui passe
de l’un à l’autre (PB 32)
Le poème a dès lors en vue une totalité, un tout vivant aux mille articulations, un mouvement de pluralisation, pluriel interne de l’identité. D’où l’infinitéde la réciprocitéet de l’amour, dans le sens où l’utilise Jacques Ancet : « l’amour n’y est pas un ‘thèmé mais la substance même de la parole. Cette poésie ne parle pas de l’amour, elle le parle dans une écriture intense dont l’insistant travail pronominal [. . .] est l’une des constantes essentielles »
(Ancet 74).
Comme l’écrit Holderlin :
Ce qui manque à l’un
Je le prends à l’autre et j’anime
En liant (OEuvres 692)
La fraternitéen poésie, c’est aussi ce mouvement qui consiste à se mettre à la place de l’autre. Le lieu de la parole ne rejoint plus forcément le lieu politique de l’autorité mais parfois le lieu poétique de l’échange et du partage. À partir d’une césure, d’une faille centrale, ce mouvement double, vers le moi et vers l’autre, crée un véritable tremblement poétique qui fait vibrer sur place et
relancer le rythme :
maintenant je suis chaque autre
moi et toi lui elle et lui (PB 9)
mais je ne sais plus si c’est
tout à fait le mien le tien
et je vois de tous mes yeux
mais ce sont aussi tes yeux (PB 32)
Le poète insiste sur ce mouvement où le plus intime (je, tu) déjà élargi à la communauté du « nous » ne cesse de s’ouvrir à l’impersonnalité du « on »
(Ancet 79) :
dans ma vie
toutes les vies dans
toutes les vies ma vie [. . .] (PB 87)
Le poète ne se définit plus par sa forme propre mais par la totalité des liens qu’il tisse avec les différents règnes de la nature, il est cette ligne d’intensités et de rencontres et faire ligne c’est aimer. Le corps du poète se trouve dans la puissance du continu, de l’inséparation. Le poète est dans la multiplicité intensive. Etre composite, qui montre la véritable nature des choses, les liens
avec le cosmos, liens cosmiques de connivence :
parfois je suis un arbre un
bruit dans l’air un souffle un vol (PB 36)
j’ai du monde
peau à peau (PB 23)
Le poète s’élargit, il se couvre de terre et de branchages, de ciel, de pluie et d’oiseaux. Le poète est capable de passionner ses yeux et ses oreilles,
de faire passer dans ses yeux, ses oreilles, ses mains une sorte de démesure,
d’ubris :
ce ne sont plus les yeux qui
voient maintenant ce sont ces
mains (PB 51)
Ho¨lderlin écrit : « Lorsque la poésie est véritable, elle est lien, lien qui se resserre jusqu’à devenir un tout vivant et profond aux mille articulations (OEuvres 692) » et « Il faut que les poètes qui sont nés de l’Esprit/Eux aussi
soient liés au monde (OEuvres 865).
Henri Meschonnic ressent ce même lien aux autres et au monde. Il est tout ensemble. Le poème, de ses mille bras entrelacés, permet un sentiment du toutensemble, de cette unitémultiple qui relie intimement l’intuition du Tout :
et tous ensemble nous sommes
un chant qui est un silence
un silence qui est un chant (JE 34)
et toutes les vies
que je vois
en chemin forment
des parts de
ce qui marche en moi (PB 45)
Le poète s’ouvre au monde et aux éléments cosmiques, se répand dans les feuilles ou devient une maison, l’histoire d’une maison. La tête du poète est une tête-monde, il donne le bras au soleil et le soleil est dans sa main. Ces voisinages, comme d’un marécage de vie, font naıˆtre le devenir-animal, végétal, minéral, l’ouvert à fond, la touffure, l’infini des relations : « mon visage dans tous les autres » (JE 12), la porositédevenant la plus haute des qualités. Le poète est traversépar des flux d’échanges d’éléments de choses ou de choses élémentaires, il bourgeonne, il germine. Envahi en des proportions insoupc¸onnables, il devient lui-même la source d’insistance entre nous et les choses, poète médiateur, poète doué d’une porosité essentielle.
Le poète tourne ainsi dans une sorte de vertige, de tournis cosmique comme la terre elle-même : « et la tête terre tourne » (PB 30) « et toi en moi nous tournons » (PB 27). Le monde a fait encore « un tour tour tour » (PB 9)
et le poète est comme le commencement du monde :
[. . .] nous avons
les yeux sur ce qui commence
qui nous commence (PB 25)
Comme dans un manège avec ce cheval qui ferait le tour du monde en même temps que tout tourne autour (PB 50). Serge Martin parle d’une ritournelle qui donne le vertige, l’accompli se voyant sans cesse remis à l’inaccompli, un toujours du recommencement du monde (93). L’infini a commencé, l’infini recommence dans le recommencement du monde et le corps tourne, comme un monde, autour d’un soleil caché. Baudelaire louait le thyrse. Chez Henri Meschonnic, c’est l’être même du poème qui est courbe, parce que son objet est un infini qui doit se présenter dans le fini.
On peut évoquer l’image du boustrophédon, convoquer ces anciennes langues où les lignes se lisaient alternativement en un sens puis dans l’autre, comme un boeuf retourne en sens inverse à tout bout de champ, ou comme le poète, sans cesse occupéà revenir et repartir comme si c’était un recommencement absolu : « je suis le recommencement/du monde » (PB 9). Mais en même temps qu’il y a courbe, il y a angle et rupture.
Conjointement, la courbe et l’angularité gagnent le poème qui, à chaque instant, tourne, marque une rupture et vire. Le poète revirtualise le mouvement en ne laissant rien filtrer qui ne soit d’emblée rythmé. Le rien de fin de ligne, juste avant le retour inventif, est ce qui fait l’angulation du poème, sa richesse, sa nouveauté, sa fragilité. Toutes ces lignes si finement, si intensément anguleuses, ouvrent en nous la capacité d’accueil des choses mêmes, ce que Novalis appelle le pluriel intérieur. Tout revient au désir car
comme le dit Ho¨lderlin :
Et sans cesse un désir vers ce qui n’est point
liés’élance. Il y a beaucoup
à maintenir [. . .] (OEuvres 882)
Pour parler de sa poésie, Henri Meschonnic utilise le terme de « ligne » et non de « vers », de ligne comme lien. Lignes de l’avenir, lignes d’orientation, lignes de vie diverses, le poète doit lier, restaurer le nuage de consonance, devenir l’accord, aller vers l’autre. Liens, lignes, éléments de communication, composition des accords, découverte de la fraternité essentielle entre les êtres, les points brillants par l’effet de rencontre se mettent soudain tous à clignoter, illuminant la vision (voir Villani, « Mallarmé»). Le poète est dans l’angle mais aussi dans la ronde du monde.
Rondes dont nous sommes un bout d’histoire et le rythme tient à la mémoire par le fait qu’il est répétition, qu’il contient un retour. Jacques Derrida parle, à propos du rythme, « d’un pas qui revient toujours, qui revient de partir
[. . .] qui vient toujours de repartir » (433).
Ce qui demeure, les poètes le fondent. Une première ressource s’impose : vaincre le temps en inscrivant son oeuvre dans le temps indéfini de la mémoire oublieuse, pour ressaisir les signes, les traces, les vestiges. Le poème a rapport au temps, au sens de mémoire. Le temps comme mémoire est la paˆte du poème, le contexte des traces et des rétentions. L’évocation du passése fait image visible de la mort, de ce qui, par excellence, échappe à la représentation sensible.
Rythme comme une sorte d’origine du langage qui assure le lien avec un passé, mains négatives, peintures de mains trouvées dans les grottes magdaléniennes, le contour de ces mains, posées grandes ouvertes sur la pierre, était enduit de couleur, de bleu, de noir ou de rouge. La trace est là par la forme même, pour dire l’absence. La main représentée par le vide est présence-absence, la trace même de la main ne fait que désigner son absence sur un plan spatial mais surtout la trace de sa présence, et renvoie à la main qui a été à un temps
Memorandum immémorial. Par le rythme, forme stable et flux tout à la fois, s’installer dans l’immémorial, percevoir une profonde respiration comme du fond du temps et de la bouche même du chaos :
toutes les têtes
ont ma bouche (PB 89)
Un savoir-mémoire qui remonte d’un abıˆme en arrière-forme, de l’origine, du fond des choses. C’est comme si le poète était traversé par une parole qui ne soit pas seulement la sienne mais celle de tous les autres aussi, les morts comme les vivants. Celle d’une Histoire en marche, d’une Histoire qui marche en dormant (PB 19), « mes mots parlent/je ne dis rien » (PB 23). Les mots du poète parlent tout seuls une mémoire, mémoire
millénaire :
les yeux la bouche
prendront d’un coup
mille ans (PB 18)
Et cette histoire immémoriale est le temps d’une blessure inoubliable, qui ne doit jamais s’oublier et qui pourtant se perd, s’oublie, parmi les stèles des vieux cimetières et leurs signes indéchiffrables, à travers leur mémoire close, livrée à un oubli plus suˆr que la mémoire. Pascal Maillard évoque ainsi : « ce grand voyage de l’inclusion dans la voix, qui est une allégorie de la mémoire et de la langue, [. . .] passépar les pierres absentes du cimetière juif de Radom » (137).
Etrange paradoxe, écrit Lionel Verdier (143), de ce rythme qui est désir de mémoire, désir d’oubli, oubli actif que souligne également Philippe Paı¨ni : « le travail de mémoire dans le poème d’Henri Meschonnic est avant tout le travail de l’oubli sur le sujet et sur le poème [. . .] cette conscience de la place fondatrice de l’oubli amène une autre langue, en montrant qu’elle est la mémoire tournée vers son inconnu » (345-346) car comme le dit Henri Meschonnic dans Le Rythme et la lumière : Oublier, plus important peut-être que se souvenir. Non pas perdre la mémoire, mais qu’elle travaille pour laisser faire du nouveau. Célébrer
l’oubli actif.
et combien de jours
pour un mot
pendant que l’oubli
d’un nom
un barbelé
les yeux fermés pour mieux voir
les inconnus
que nous portons (PB 55)
Cette mémoire est argile brisée, cris qui ne sont pas sortis (PB 65), mots qu’on ne peut plus entendre et qu’on ne cesse plus d’entendre (PB 52) :
depuis que la pensée est
une blessure qu’on bouche avec
des mots
et n’a plus de
lieu que les morts (JE 18)
Poussière, ruine au-delà du langage :
des cassures du temps roulées
dans la mémoire (PB 29)
Et l’oubli est encore une mémoire car cette mémoire est devenue l’inconscient même des mots, les mots qui parlent tout seuls (PB 58) :
l’histoire continue elle m’en
dort le jour veille la nuit
c’est une langue étrange elle me
prend en secret je commence
à l’écrire on se parle même
dans cette langue chaque jour
dont nous sommes les mots (JE 111)
Le temps c’est nous-mêmes, ce n’est plus seulement la marche du temps car peu à peu entre nous et le temps plus de différence :
et depuis le temps que je
suis le temps [. . .] (PB 25)
Le poète est devenu ce temps, cette histoire, les mots des autres qui « ont tellement pris toute la place dans le temps » (PB 67). Cette mémoire qui est
d’abord la mémoire de l’oubli :
car j’étais en train d’apprendre
que l’oubli est plus mon père
que ma mémoire (PB 69)
Et alors le sens de l’histoire commence qui n’a pas de sens, qui est liée à tant de douleurs qu’il n’y plus de mots :
[. . .] je
vois des douleurs qui n’ont pas
n’ont plus de mots [. . .] (PB 85)
[. . .] rien ne pourra dire
ce qui ne peut pas se dire (PB 18)
Et cela qui ne peut pas se dire devient le fond même de la vie et du langage. Cette impossibilité à dire se dit tout au long d’une vie, ce qu’on ne peut plus entendre, c’est ce qu’on ne cesse plus d’entendre, et le poète continue d’entendre tous ces cris qui ne sont pas sortis, dès lors la mémoire aussi est porosité, emboıˆtement de morts et de vies, emboıˆtement de l’un dans l’autre, les morts et les vivants, le poète est le réceptacle de milliers de morts, et de milliers de vies : « dans ma vie/toutes les vies/dans toutes les vies ma vie je passe/leur mémoire » (PB 87).
Laisse mnémonique, laisse poétique se poursuivant en revenant sur elle-même, ronde de la mémoire, ronde de la mémoire et de l’oubli, reprise dans le retrait même.
Le poète ne serait que le traducteur de récits qui le traversent :
des mots se couchent dans la mémoire
ils se sont vidés de leur temps
je ne connais pas encore
ceux qui me mettront au monde
demain (JE 27)
Tout est construit dans cette poésie sur un battement, une double postulation. La mémoire et l’oubli. Double frénésie.3 Malgréla pesanteur de l’Histoire et de la mémoire, ce qui demeure est cet éclat, ce miracle de la vie, de la joie :
je me rencontre dans toi
nous sommes notre rencontre (PB 39)
je nous rencontre (PB 76)
[. . .] j’ai rencontré
une petite joie [. . .] (PB 77)
Ce point où s’inversent les directions de forces est le point tournant, mouvement tournant, survol absolu et instantané du passé et du futur par-dessus le point présent, de sorte que les deux opposés sont donnés à la fois. Puissance du contraste de deux éléments tenus en un, de deux couples de contraires croisés, conjonction de deux routes qui d’ordinaire sont incompatibles et brusquement, devant nous, se rejoignent en une seule. Le poète mime peut-être, dans un coin secret de son corps, ce mouvement en deux directions opposées. Dionysos et Apollon, vibration, danse sur place, battement, cristal de rythme.
Le poète est celui qui possède un don d’ubiquité et, comme Janus, une double tête ou encore une tête qui part en deux sens, soutenant ainsi la multiplicité indéfinie jusqu’à son détail dansant, celui de : « l’instant l’instant maintenant » (PB 87).


1 Mon étude s’appuie sur Puisque je suis ce buisson (PB) et Je n’ai pas tout entendu
2 D’après Marguerite Duras, Le Navire Night et autres textes (94). Sur ce texte,
voir Bernard Alazet (notamment 95–71). Voir également Bernard Franco.
3 Voir Arnaud Villani, « L’essence de la poésie comme retrait ».

Works Cited

Alazet, Bernard. Le Navire Night de Marguerite Duras. Ecrire l’effacement. Lille : Presses universitaires de Lille, 1992.
Ancet, Jacques. « La vie dans la voix ». Nu(e). 21(2002) : 67–87.
Derrida, Jacques. La carte postale ; de Socrates à Freud et au-delà. Paris : Flammarion, 1980.
Duras, Marguerite. Le Navire Night et autres textes. Paris : Mercure de France, 1986 (1979).
Franco, Bernard. « Le Rythme pour le regard : l’oeuvre, l’espace et le temps ». Le Rythme dans la poésie et les arts. Interrogation philosophique et réalitéartistique. Eds. Béatrice Bonhomme et Micéala Symington. Paris : HonoréChampion, 2005. 239–276.
Ho¨lderlin, Friedrich. La Mort d’Empédocle. 2e version. Paris : Gallimard Pléiade, 1967.
– – –. OEuvres. Paris : Pléiade, 1967.
Maillard, Pascal. « ‘Je passerai ma vie à ressembler à ma voix’ : Henri Meschonnic, le poème, la poétique ». Nu(e). 21(2002) : 129–140.
Martin, Serge. « Un poème du langage relation ». Nu(e). 21(2002) : 89–97.
Meschonnic, Henri. Je n’ai pas tout entendu. Paris : Dumerchez, 2000. (JE)
– – –. Puisque je suis ce buisson. Paris: Arfuyen, 2001. (PB)
Paı¨ni, Philippe. « L’utopie du sens. » Le Rythme dans la poésie et les arts. Interrogation
philosophique et réalitéartistique. Eds. Béatrice Bonhomme et Micéala Symington. Paris : HonoréChampion, 2005. 345–358.
Verdier, Lionel. « Dans ce rythme qui est désir d’oubli ». Nu(e). 21(2002) : 143–154.
Villani, Arnaud. « L’essence de la poésie comme retrait. » Po&sie. 84(1998) : 106–110.
– – –. « Mallarméet le pli deleuzien. » Tombeau de Gilles Deleuze. Ed. F. Beaubatie. Paris : Nord-Sud, 2000. 159–176.
– – –. « Poétique de Deleuze ». Conférence prononcée à Paris-VIII. 29 avril 2000.

Béatrice Bonhomme is a poet and professor at the University of Nice where she teaches a seminar on poetry and is in charge of a group of researchers called Poiema. After her thesis on Pierre Jean Jouve, she specialized in research on contemporary poetry. With HervéBosio, she founded the revue Nu(e) which has published contemporary poets since 1994 and with Jean-Yves Masson she created the Societédes Lecteurs de Pierre Jean Jouve. She has published over a hundred works of literary criticism and original poetry.

French-speaking Contemporary French and Studies
Vol. 11, No 3, August 2007, pp. 351-360
ISSN 1740-9292 (print) /ISSN 1740-9306 (online) /07/030351-10 _ 2007 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/17409290701537522

Lucid Dreams

"How to Lucid Dream"

 This may be a load of hooey, but it was fun to read and think about nonetheless, especially the "diamond" part:
 Another technique for overall "dream awareness" is the Diamond Method of meditation, which can shortcut the overall learning curve, of Lucid Dreaming.

 When one meditates, try to visualize your life, both awake and dream-life as facets on a diamond. Some choose to call this "diamond" the Universe, others God, and even "your Spirit." The point here is to begin to recognize that life is happening all at once. It is only our "Perception" that arranges our dramas into linear or "timed" order. So just as a diamond just is, each facet if viewed as an individual experience, still is going on at the same time the "Dream Body" experiences as well. This method is also known by Remote Viewers. Remember it is just a slight shift in awareness that this exercise calls for.
Perhaps I'll dream journal for my next adventure.

What Ails the Earth: Humans

Said Dr saturn to the poor Earth, "I'm afraid you have humans."

A Girl with A Book - The Power that You Have

"Extremists have shown what frightens them most: a girl with a book." -Malala Yousafzai

Everything is art

That's why I feel like my style blog is part of my artistic expression: 

Shakespeare's Proliferating Wordsmithing

Things we say today that we owe to Shakespeare.

The timeth isith 420ith: Cannabis discovered in tobacco pipes found in William Shakespeare's garden

"Forensic testing of 400-year-old pipes suggest playwright might have smoked more than just tobacco..."

No duh! I mean have you *seen* "A MidSummer Night's Dream"

Marilyn Monroe Mini Marathon

I watched a lot of movies this weekend, including "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" and "How to Marry a Millionaire."

My allergies were terrible and all I had energy to do after working was sit home and watch movies.

I had seen both these movies before but had not watched either in a few years. I didn't realize it but I had become a big Marilyn fan over the years.

These movies have become iconic over the years, especially since Monroe died so young. I love the costuming the most. Everything is so fabulous! I also like Jane Russell and Lauren Bacall's no-nonsense but still mushy savvy characters.

My mom texted to say she and her best friend were boarding their Alaskan cruise right in the middle of my viewing "Gentlemen," so I made this photo for her.

Then I noticed, during "Millionaire" that Christina Aguilera reminds me of Betty Grabel.

UPDATE: Watched "Niagra", which is not a glamorous romantic comedy or musical but a dark drama set in, of course, Niagra Falls. Marilyn plays a loose lady married to a crazy man (who we'd now diagnose with post traumatic stress disorder). Still, a good movie, a short film to watch on the laptop while making and eating dinner in the kitchen.

Art and the Headlines for the week of June 26 2010

BP Gulf Oil Spill - BP sponsors artistic programs at major art institutions in Britain. Artists and environmentalists are protesting the link between the oil company and places such as the Royal Opera House, the Ntional Portrait Gallery and Tate Galleries. Here is the full article from the Guardian. I read about this via Jonathan Skinner's FB post.

General McChrystal and the Afghan War - A faculty member from Stonecoast, Elizabeth Searle, runs a fantastically fun Pop Culture website "Celebrities in Disgrace," which covers the missteps and tragedies of all manner of celebrities. This week, my friend Kevin St Jarre is a guest blogger on the scandal surrounding now Retired General McChrystal.

I would also like to note that my friends Sarah Kowalski and Tigh Rickman have an ongoing commentary on the hot mess that is The Bachelor/ette series at Celebrities in Disgrace.

ELVIS!!! And the USA

I'm going to Graceland on Tuesday! I cannot wait. The itinerary for my trip with my mom is: Roanoke, Memphis, then New Orleans. In New Orleans we will spend probably two days on camping chairs and air mattresses, then all the furniture (and zillions of photos and knick knacks) arrive. Look for a future picture blog of my 10 day trip, sometime after I come home.

I am taking the following books for the trip: Dover Thrift Edition Selected Walt Whitman, my brand-new-to-me If Not Metaporphic by Brenda Iijima, The Gospel of Mary Magdalene, The Opening of the Field and Real Simple magazine. I started a new notebook today, so I'll be bringing that.

I'm excited to travel through America on her 234th birthday! I really do love this country. Patriotism is not a conservative value! This is the land of John Wieners, Emily Dickinson, Sweet Potato Pie, Mad Men, Rothko, Maine Microbrews, baseball and ELVIS. How can you not love it? (While still hating fat cat oil business, McDonalds, Real Housewives of New Jersey, beef jerky, the KKK, the Modern Day Teabaggers and pragmaticism over bold reform...)

Here's a song from my fellow July 14th Birthday Baby, Woodie Guthrie (70 years apart though).

words and music by Woody Guthrie

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me

As I was walking a ribbon of highway
I saw above me an endless skyway
I saw below me a golden valley
This land was made for you and me


I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me


The sun comes shining as I was strolling
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
The fog was lifting a voice come chanting
This land was made for you and me


As I was walkin' - I saw a sign there
And that sign said - no tress passin'
But on the other side .... it didn't say nothin!
Now that side was made for you and me!


In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Near the relief office - I see my people
And some are grumblin' and some are wonderin'
If this land's still made for you and me.

Chorus (2x)

©1956 (renewed 1984), 1958 (renewed 1986) and 1970 TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc. (

Loretta Lynn's Kitchen and the American Road Trip

Loretta Lynn's Kitchen is just outside of Nashville on the way to Memphis, where I am right now. I looked around while my mom took a power nap. I did not buy the FROG Jam (Fig Raspberry Orange Ginger). We stopped in Nashville for dinner. I had Fried Green Tomato Sliders on buttermilk biscuits with boursin, orange marmalade salsa and hot pepper vinegar at Whiskey Kitchen. I also had a French Manhattan, which is a Manhattan with St Germains. Yum!

Seeing America via road trip is one grand thing, I tell you. Except for the giant Confederate flag on the hill once we crossed the border from VA to TN, it's been really beautiful down here. The Shenandoah Valley is gorgeous and we saw it at sunset, so that was extra nice. Tennessee is very hilly. And you can go 70 MPH on the highway.

Tomorrow is Graceland and then New Orleans.