5/22/2015 Poetry: Charles Simic, Angela Jackson, Aleathia Drehmer

Aleathia says:

Once in a blue moon the library has new poetry books come in.  It affords me the rare opportunity to hold a poetry book in my hand and sate my curiosity if the words on the page are any good (for me). Today I am going to share a poem from Charles Simic's book "The Lunatic" and Angela Jackson's book "It Seems Like a Mighty Long Time".  I'm throwing one of my own in there for good measure.

"So Early In The Morning"

It pains me to see an old woman fret over
A few small coins outside a grocery store--
How swiftly I forget her as my own grief
Finds me again--a friend at death's door
And the memory of the night we spent together.

I had so much love in my heart afterward,
I could have run into the street naked
Confident anyone I met would understand
My madness and my need to tell them
About life being both cruel and beautiful,

But I did not--despite the overwhelming evidence:
A crow bent over a dead squirrel in the road,
The lilac bushes flowering in some yard,
And the sight of a dog free from his chain
Searching through a neighbor's trash can.

Charles Simic


"Fuchsia"

On the boat she reclined
In a fuchsia bathing suit.
While he sat
And watched her.
Enticing creature that she was.
Mellow from being
Out of the bottomless water,
In love with him.

Quick-limbed,
He made fun of her,
Fearing the deep, cold ocean.
She flapped her wings
Like a chicken
And squawked.

She was right to have been so afraid.
Think of the years they spent
Wandering, plowing
Through deep water.
Losing sight of each other,
Seeing, now and then,
A bobbing head.

Angela Jackson


"Different Nights, Different Mornings"

In the morning we compare our nights.
He tells me about over-priced beers
at our favorite bar and later
how his friend left him alone
with his drunk father;
how he tried to get him
out of the backwoods strip club
and saw one of the dancers
giving hand jobs at the bar.

My night was less entertaining
filled with patients rife with anxiety,
low blood sugars and chest pain.

And then there was the baby,
innocent and dead when the ambulance brought him,
but we worked on him with medicine and hope.

My fingers cramped after 45 minutes
of compressions, my back screaming
in agony and my heart breaking.

We had different nights,
different mornings.

He is always quick to change
the subject in the face of grief.

It makes me feel alone.

Aleathia Drehmer 

5/18/15 Mark Z. Danielewski & The Concept of "The Artifact"

On this quiet, cloudy, maybe humid Monday morning, Joe says:

Last night, my wonderful girlfriend Kaylee and I took a trek out to Boston for Mark Z. Danielewski's book tour in support of his newest novel, The Familiar, Vol. 1. Being a git from western Massachusetts that doesn't do big cities too often, Boston was a challenge, and I probably won't make the trip again any time soon. We arrived hungry, so we stopped at Dunkin Donuts and grabbed some food, all the while listening to some crazy old guy spout out that he'd buy us some hamburgers or hot dogs if we wanted, and a slew of other ramblings that I couldn't decipher. We left as soon as our food was ready. This particular block had no seating anywhere, so Kaylee and I simply huddled in front of the bookstore wherein the event would take place, Brookline Booksmith. While eating, I noticed a used copy of The Black Unicorn, a poetry collection by Audre Lorde, in the window. I'd never heard of her or her work, but the cover caught my eye, and it was only five bucks. I kept that nugget in mind for later. There was already a line for the event when we got in, but we got seated nearly immediately, with good seats to boot. For the most part, Boston was sucking, but the event was worthwhile.

Anyone familiar with Danielewski's work likely has an idea of what to expect of this: a massive brick of a book with beautifully eccentric formatting, full-color pages, and wonderful writing. To those not familiar, this likely isn't the best entryway into his work, since this is the start of a twenty-seven (27!) volume epic. His debut novel, House of Leaves, is a labyrinth of a tome that challenges more than any other work I've ever attempted reading (attempted being highly accurate: I've started House of Leaves on three different occasions and have yet to finish it) and I highly recommend it to every single human being on this planet.

During the Q&A I had the chance to present a little bit of my motives for being there, and ask of him (in summation)...

It is humbling meeting you and seeing where your work springs forth from, since each time I encounter one of your books, they feel to me as if they're literary Artifacts, that no human hand could conceivably put them together, that they've simply always been there. Are there any such Artifacts in your life, that they simply blow you away such that it's impossible to conceive that they were made by a human being?

MZD's first remark was that was one of the highest compliments he's ever received on his work, and that it deserved to be a blurb on the back of volume 3 (which is probably one of the highest compliments I've ever received). He quoted a friend quoting someone else, something to the effect of "a piece of art is finished when it devours its point of origin" and I don't think he could have responded better had he said anything else. He cited the haiku of Bashō as such an Artifact for him in literary terms, but went on to discuss music. He admitted having a rudimentary knowledge of music (as most of us do) but he said he wasn't fluent in the language of music, so he couldn't quite rationalize the ability for Beethoven, Shostakovitch and John Cage to put together the pieces that they did, to sit down and actually write the music that we hear. MZD was eloquent and thoughtful in his response. It was a pleasure to hear him read from his book (two, actually: he started the whole thing off with an excerpt from House of Leaves).

Going into this year, 2015, I made a vow to buy books only by women as a means of broadening my range and exposing myself to more brilliant writers that I may not have considered looking into before. MZD made me break this vow so I could get The Familiar, but it was totally worth it. I got it, House of Leaves, The Whalestoe Letters, and The Fifty Year Sword (a personal favorite) signed and personalized, and even got a picture with MZD. He doesn't look too pleased by my excitement, but I imagine it had been a long night, and I was at the end of the long line of people getting books signed and pictures with him, so I guess I'll let it slide. While getting the books signed, I chatted with him, and joked that my real intention for being there was to steal his wallet for William Pauley III. MZD laughed and said his girlfriend would be relieved, since his wallet apparently needed replacing anyways.

While waiting in line for the signing, one of the employees of the store started talking to me about Raw Dog Screaming Press, the publisher I'm advertising in the above picture. It was neat talking to someone outside of my typical literary clique about a group of literary masters that I'm passionate about. Once he told me he had a few of their books in stock, I asked for a copy of Donna Lynch's Daughters of Lilith, which they unfortunately didn't have, so I picked up The Black Unicorn instead. After exiting the shop, we stopped at Starbucks for a bathroom break before hitting the road again. In there, I took a picture of my own wallet and sent it to Williez, who (rightly) called bullshit. Then we went home. The end.

5/14/2015 Sally Mann, Photographer

Aleathia says:

It is hard to believe that it has been 2 weeks since I last posted.  I haven't been slacking off and watching bad television, believe me when I say that sounds fun, but I have been busy.  This Relay for Life team has taken me over.  I have been making scented eye pillows with almost every free chance I have had.  The team is coming together and it is gearing up to be a great time.  If you feel like donating anything to help fight cancer you can do so here:  Corning ER and Friends.

One of my favorite uses for this vehicle called blogging is to share art.  It seems like there is an endless supply and if I were diligent I would still not see everything there is to see in this world.  I was driving to work the other day and on NPR Terri Gross was interviewing photographer Sally Mann.  At first I was not sure who she was though the name seemed familiar.

Sally Mann is best known for her collection of work called Family.  It was controversial at the time of its publishing and is still able to make some folks squirm today.  The collection is a series of nude photographs of her children and family.  I remember watching a documentary on her about this collection and Michael was with me.  He was appalled and likened it to child pornography.  He can be a bit over the top sometimes when it comes to such things, but I did have to admit it was disconcerting that she would display her children's naked bodies for everyone to see.  I understand it is art, but what about the children.  In this NPR interview she spoke about these pictures and stated that they were done with dignity and the children, now adults, are proud of the work they did in these photographs and were proud of it then.

You cannot, however, deny that Sally Mann is a gifted photographer who is in love with light and shadow and the craft that she has spent her life honing.  To me the artist is most successful when they can make you slightly uncomfortable because it is in this place, this personal discomfort, that one begins to think about themselves and their relationship to the art.  It allows for critical thinking pertaining to what is acceptable to the heart and what is not.

Sally Mann's work is not limited to her family and her other bodies of work deserve just as much, if not more, attention.  I was interested to hear that she has a collection called Body Farm.  I am currently watching a BBC program of the same name.  A body farm is a place where scientists leave corpses in various conditions and study their rate of decomposition for the purpose of forensics.  This is often how they can tell when a person died by identifying the conditions and insects found on the body.  If you are squeamish then this set of photos may not be for you.

Mann grew up in Virginia and her Southern roots show up in her collection called Southern Landscapes.  This collection has a special place in my heart as many of the photographs were taken in Georgia.  I had the pleasure/displeasure of living there in my 20's.  I lived in the ghetto and I walked everywhere or biked.  It gave me the opportunity to become one with the landscape which is slow and green and always ripe with oppression from both history and heat.

Lastly, the collection I would like to display is Sally Mann's Proud Flesh.  This series of photos was done to document her husband's struggle with muscular distrophy which increases over time.  In the interview on NPR she marked this as her favorite body of work and said that it was the most peaceful and wonderful shoot of her life.  She has been with her husband for over 40 years and she stated this opportunity to work with him was a beautiful spot in her marriage.  Her hope was to not show his weakness in these photographs but to document the progression of a disease there is no control over. She wanted to catch his strength of character.

If you would like to learn more about Sally Mann you can visit her website.  If you would like to hear the Fresh Air interview then you can listen here.

Thanks for sticking with my blog even during the long absences.  I hope there won't be too many more of those.