“I will lose you. It is written
into this poem the way
the fisherman’s wife knits
his death into the sweater.”—Gregory Orr, "The Sweater," from The Caged Owl: New and Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
We don’t know how to say goodbye,
We wander on, shoulder to shoulder
Already the sun is going down
You’re moody, and I am your shadow.
Let’s step inside a church, hear prayers, masses for the dead
Why are we so different from the rest?
Outside in the graveyard we sit on a frozen branch.
That stick in your hand is tracing
Mansions in the snow in which we will always be together.
Anna Akhmatova, from “We Don’t Know How to Say Goodbye,” in The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova (Zephyr Press, 2000)
I keep thinking there’s some weird thing going on with my breath, so I keep cupping my hand over my mouth to see what’s what, but it just now occurred to me that I loaded up the crock pot this morning, and thank Maude I don’t have BBQ chicken breath.
I’m not very good at waiting, especially when it comes to waiting for a communication. This makes sense in light of how off the charts skewed to communication my strengths are in that Gallup thing. Add in some family of origin inability to communicate effectively, gently, or in a timely manner, an emotionally witholding father, a not very affectionate mother who had unrealistically high expectations, and me being a first child who feels responsible for everyone’s success and happiness, and lately also, for everyone having all the best kisses, well… anyway.
Whoa. Just realized that a week from tonight I get to meet one of my favorite poets. Not only meet her, but apparently I have been invited to sing with her. Asked if I might happen to play fiddle (second fiddle, sure, but an actual instrument, not so much - but then reassured that my voice is my instrument, sing, sing, sing).
I was wrapped in black fur and white fur and you undid me and then you placed me in gold light and then you crowned me, while snow fell outside the door in diagonal darts. While a ten-inch snow came down like stars in small calcium fragments, we were in our own bodies (that room that will bury us) and you were in my body (that room that will outlive us) and at first I rubbed your feet dry with a towel because I was your slave and then you called me princess. Princess!
Oh then I stood up in my gold skin and I beat down the psalms and I beat down the clothes and you undid the bridle and you undid the reins and I undid the buttons, the bones, the confusions, the New England postcards, the January ten o’clock night, and we rose up like wheat, acre after acre of gold, and we harvested, we harvested.
Anne Sexton, from Anne Sexton: The Complete Poems (Houghton Mifflin, 1981)
In memory of the lateJason Molina, a new tribute compilation will be out April 22 through non-profit label Rock the Cause. Titled Farewell Transmission: The Music of Jason Molina, it features My Morning Jacket, Murder by Death, Wooden Wand, Sarah Jaffe, the Black Swans, Bottomless Pit, and more. Above, listen to My Morning Jacket’s cover of Songs: Ohia’s “Farewell Transmission”. Frontman Jim James also appears on another track on the album, collaborating with Bro Stephen on a cover of “Almost Was Good Enough”.
Farewell Transmission also features a new song, “Arm in Arm” by Molina’s former bandmates under the name Memorial Electric Company, as well as a previously unrecorded track called “Trouble in Mind (Fade to Blue)”, which was a live favorite of Molina’s.
I keep trying to write about so many topics, but the only thing that comes out in the end is another love poem. For a while that made me feel ridiculous. But it’s been going on for so long now, that I’m just resigned to the fact that I’m mining a deep vein, and I’ll be done once I’ve cashed it all in.
It’s been too many years since we’ve been, and I won’t even have to take time off work.
We want to press our bodies against yours.
Yay! We are spending money we don’t even have! Life is too short, so who cares. Totally worth it to come to see everyone. I will be looking for a drinking partner because it’s also been too long since I enjoyed too many adult beverages. Who’s in?
“We’re each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark.”—Ursula Le Guin, from The Unreal and the Real, Selected Stories of Ursula K. Le Guin Volume 2: Outer Space, Inner Lands (Small Beer Press, 2012)u
I was thinking about getting my hair chopped again, but I’m kinda digging this length, so maybe just a trim. I know. Big whoop.
We only got a couple inches of snow, thank Maude. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why this pleases me. The sun just came out. Guessing you don’t need an explanation for my smile.
My mind is flatlining today. Could be a slight hangover (beer and emotions). I got completely day drunk with my plow girl friends after market yesterday, because I was child-free for once, and I shared some things about myself that left me feeling exposed and accepted. Too much beer. Too much truth. Ah well.
Going to see Les Claypool’s Duo De Twang at the Kent Stage on Thursday with a bunch of friends. Beers first at 101. I’ll be keeping my fat trap shut, however.
Need to keep myself busy this week so I don’t end up all emotionally tweaked again. I’m not very patient about a thing I really have no choice but to be patient about and so easily work myself up into knots by thinking too much. It shouldn’t be too difficult to stay distracted, as I’ve got a shit-tonne of spring market prep to accomplish, and for a board meeting Friday night.
Ever feel like you’re blindfolded going through the day? Yeah? Me too.
My house is so quiet. I should go write something. I think I shall…