Text from my journal:
Nightingale Woman
Birds fly into my face,
birds on my chest beating their wings,
birds trying to escape
my ribcage, from
beneath my dress.
Category: journal entries
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Nightingale Woman
Sketch
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Life on the Edge
I used a hacksaw with my right hand to cut off a piece of plastic from my car. This feat was all the more risky because I am left handed. Halfway through the procedure I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses!
Said plastic seems to have served no crucial purpose. It had been dragging underneath the car, and so I had duct taped it to the bumper, but duct tape needs to be applied copiously in order to withstand wind, rain, and gravity, so the plastic once again had begun to scrape the road.
I’ve driven to the city without the part and all is well. I even managed to arrive on time for a presentation by Andrea Lunsford. She spoke about rhetoric and new media literacy.
The sign above is from November 5–the mayor of Atlanta had already shut down the Occupy camp when this sign was put up. I found it on the inside of a bathroom stall at the university where I’m a TA. There was a whole debate going on in scribbled writing about the American Dream and how it’s dead.Two weeks have passed since streams of police cars, helicopters, and ground troops shut down Occupy ATL.
Since then, protests at Berkley and Davis have produced vile reactions from authorities. Even though the Davis chancellor has so far declined to resign, and though she has apologized, she needs to take stronger responsibility for how the police pepper sprayed the students.
UC Davis Chancellor Apologizes
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Art Is
Freeboarder has been at art school for a month, and already he’s questioning the need for an academy to teach him how to make something.
I’m proud of him for asking the questions. The same debate occurs in the world of poetry, with many wondering if there is a need for the now ubiquitous M.F.A. in creative writing.
One talented student told Freeboarder that “art is dead.” My answer to that statement is that art simply is. The student was probably trying to sound provocative and oracular. Maybe he wanted to psyche out his competition.
Going to art school allows the artist a chance to live within a community of skilled, committed people. Of course, we can create those communities ourselves, outside the Academy.
Atlanta has a thriving arts community that originates with the people. We have wall art, street sculptures, and spoken word events, all outside the ivory tower.
Freeboarder got a little shaken from the statement that art is dead. I told him that if art is dead, human culture is dead, because the act of making is an inborn, human right.
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Third Floor of the Library
Seen while looking for a book of criticism about Stevie Smith, Ann Sexton, and other women poets. The book wasn’t on the shelf.
These photos are a cross section of about five shelves of books on the same subject.
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Napkin Art
My new nickname for Philosopher is Sadhu, Sanskrit for “spiritual seeker.” I think the word might be similar to the Buddhist “bodhisattva.”
My younger son Freeboarder is leaving for art school in a few days. His nickname remains the same. As I write this post he’s somewhere in the city doing ollies with his new board.
Sadhu came over to stain the deck for us, and he left some napkin art in his wake.
Do you notice the resemblance between his doodle and the 18th century headstone I saw recently in the Berkshires? When he was a very young child, we went to this cemetery while we were walking up Cone Hill.
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Poetry Across the Border
Just across the state line from Berkshire County is Austerlitz, NY, the home of Edna St. Vincent Millay, who preferred the name Vincent.
She named her farm house “Steepletop” after the wild flower that grows in the area. The flower resembles the shape of a church steeple.
The Millay family burial grounds are at the end of a path that’s marked with excerpts of Vincent’s poems. It’s a shady trail lined with birch trees and padded with moss.
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Sitting at a Cafe
We’re at an outdoor cafe connected to an artist’s studio and gallery. The Berkshires Mountain area has a long history of attracting writers, musicians, and artists.
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Outdoor Life
Today was sunny, in the mid seventies, perfect weather for a walk on Cone Hill and a long swim in the Stockbridge Bowl.
We’re grilling locally grown zucchini, patty pan squash, yellow squash, eggplant, and corn.
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Great Barrington
We had dinner in Great Barrington to celebrate our anniversary.
I had tagliatelle pasta with oyster mushrooms and egg and a nice red wine.
The photo here is of the street outside.
In the afternoon, the cows were dining in the pasture. They each looked up in turn as I passed by. Very observant of them.
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Breathing Fresh Air All Day
I paid a visit to the Cone Hill Cemetery on my way up Cone Hill Road–I used to be able to run up this hill, but today just walking had my heart rate going.
Some of the headstones in the cemetery were from 1799. The oldest one I found was from 1734!
We swam in Lake Mahkeenac, otherwise known as the Stockbridge Bowl. The wind was blowing and the water was choppy, but I swam breast stroke for a good half hour.
Balanced On the Edge 