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.

4/30/2015 The Light of Day

Aleathia says:

Life is such an interesting journey.  It is just as hard to navigate if you have a good head on your shoulders than if you don't.  One can never foresee all the possible permutations of each decision of each moment.  If you break it down, if you really were cognizant of each decision you might go insane.  This is awareness.  This type of awareness of every thing in this moment, every choice, every breath is what is supposed to move you forward to enlightenment.

I have been sick since Saturday and I am the first to admit that I am a miserable cuss when I am ill.  My poor family has had to suffer my own personal suffering this week.  In hindsight I feel bad about it.  I could have been more aware of my verbal actions and a little less "misery loves company".  But an interesting thing happened.  I walked the dog and came back miserable and short of breath and feeling a little angry that Michael didn't walk the dog for me because I was ill.  Yes, it was my turn, but I was looking for sympathy.  I came back to him watching a documentary on The Buddha.  It was the story of Siddhartha's journey to enlightenment.

I remember learning this story when I first started studying Buddhism in 1997.  It is a great story of struggle and understanding and of finding balance.  Michael is our resident theologian.  He is a man of deep thought and over his lifetime has explored more religions than I knew existed.  He has practiced some of them as well.  He is a fountain of wonder and knowledge to me.  After the documentary was over we started talking about the Dalai Lama and how he has people in the world who hate him.  We both could not understand the reasoning for it.  Maybe those people have their own struggles which bring these types of feelings up.  Michael was interested in the Dalai Lama's journey from Tibet though he wanted a perspective other than what I had to offer, but he gladly started reading the Dalai Lama's autobiography about his exile and his life.

I woke up today in severe pain after only sleeping 4 hours.  My chest didn't hurt as bad but my hip was so painful I could barely move.  I started thinking about how insignificant that pain is compared to what is happening in Nepal and Baltimore or any other place engulfed in suffering in the world.  I cried in the shower, not from pain, but from the fact that I have let myself ride on the wheel of suffering so easily.  The last year and a half has not been easy.  So much was left without closure with my mother's sudden death.  I have been fighting this battle by myself because I won't let anyone else stand by me.  I have gotten so out of balance.  I get angry easy, frustrated, and fly off the handle.  I cry without warning.  I have let myself go physically which causes two kinds of suffering.

This morning I said the refuge prayer and did prostrations and a mala of compassion prayers.  I feel like I found an old friend.  I feel like my best friend gave me back something wonderful when I needed it most.  Maybe I was just ready to hear it again.  Maybe I was tired of spinning uncontrollably.  Whatever it may be, it is a start.

"When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that because of our noble intentions everything will be okay.  In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all.  Instead, we are encouraged to simply look deeply at joy and sorrow, at laughing and crying, at hoping and fearing, all all that lives and dies.  We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness."--Pema Chodron

4/26/2015 Friends of the Library Book Sale and discovering I'm an Empath

Aleathia says:

Yesterday I took my daughter to the pre-sale for the local library book sale.  We pay an extra $10 to get to go on this day for both sales.  In the last few years it has been plagued with internet sellers who come and take over the whole area.  They block off sections and have out their phone scanners and hoard the books.  I overhear them saying "oh we can get $15 for this book" and it really nauseates me.

I love these small town book sales....the smell of old library and old ladies, the musty volunteer fire department hall, the dust of ancient books, strangers having conversations over the stacks, and the long lost art of treasure hunting.  The atmosphere has been ruined by these people that flood in and take the books that I WANT TO READ, not resell for a profit.

I understand to a degree that this is how it goes.  I have heard people complain about this in reference to other book sales as well, but I can't help but get upset over it.  I love books.  They comfort me, they teach me, they give me a perpetual sense of wonder.

This morning while I was trying to wake up (I slept an ungodly 9 hours) I was reading an article on empaths.  Something clicked in me and I am not sure why I had not thought of this before.  I identify with all the qualities an empath possesses.  I have had these feelings for all of my life.  I have been called "too sensitive" and a "cry baby".  I cannot stand large crowds unless I am drugged or drinking which explains how I made it through all those Grateful Dead concerts.  I thought I was agoraphobic for a long time except for the fact that I find people fascinating.  I don't think you can admire the human condition while being an agoraphobe.  I just don't think it is possible.

What does this have to do with the library sale?  I think it has a lot to do with it.  I could feel the distress in that room, not just my own, but for all the local people who love to linger and ponder over books.  Now there is a feeling of panic and frantic looking.  We have to try and get the books we want before those scanner fools get to our section and buy up all the books.  I couldn't stay there very long because the sad feeling was overwhelming.    Michael went to the sale today by himself.  I just couldn't really build myself up to do it.

I did find something nice for Michael there yesterday....a collection of trade paperback "Bone" series which he loves.  I found some collected stories from Carol Shields and a Murakami book.  Chloe found a few fantasy books and dragon books so it wasn't a bust, but my heart felt a little broken at the feeding frenzy it has become.  So today I am going to relax, read so more biography on Van Gogh, and sew.  This is going to be a "few people as possible day"

4/22/2015 When is Your House a Home? and more poems.

Aleathia says:

We have lived in this house for over a year.  I loved it the moment I stepped inside with all it's early 20th century charm, dark wood detail, French doors, and gorgeous view.  It screamed home and possibility to me.  I liked that it was lived in by generations of one family.

Since we have lived here we have made friends with the neighbors and gotten to know the good and bad parts of the neighborhood.  We have fallen in love with the river again as we see it everyday burgeoning with the hills behind.  At night we can see stars and the tracts of lights in the city.  We have enjoyed the 5 minute walk downtown to any event we choose or to just window shop.  We get more date nights being able to leave the car in the driveway.

The other day Michael brought up something very interesting that I had not really thought of.  He mentioned that both of us have spent our lives living in apartments since we went out on our own. This consists of white walls and fixtures and amenities beyond your control.  There is no landscaping or upkeep.  You pay your money and leave the space the way the owner wants it until you move on to the next place.

Both of us have done very little to this house.  We have not painted yet or fixed the plaster.  We haven't started upgrading any of the rooms.  The upstairs needs a lot of overhaul as it is the oldest part of the house.   The carpets look like they are from 1970 and the wall colors too:  baby blue, mint green, and oh dear sweet Jesus peach.  The kitchen still has 80's wallpaper and the master bathroom is grandma pink.  None of these things speak to our personalities.  Why haven't we changed anything?

I have had some time to think about this since it was presented to me and I think I know why.  First of all, we aren't used to the freedom of being able to change the environment in a drastic way.  Then there is the sheer enormity of things that need to be done versus the things that we would like to get done.  They cost money, but mostly they cost time.  Our schedules do more conflicting than anything these days which makes it hard to think about starting a big project.

Having a home also requires understanding who you are as an individual and who you are as a partner.  Having a home is much like starting a new relationship.  There is the honeymoon period where everything is awesome and you feel invincible which slowly gives way to something more livable and comfortable....something that needs re-inventing every so often.  Michael and I have lived together for nearly 4 years, but the bulk of that was in the apartment.  It is hard to understand a person's aesthetic in a place that is sterile and unchangeable.

Now we have lived in the house for almost a year and a half and the patterns of who we are are starting to emerge better.  This is our place, not my place where he moved in to.  We each have our OCD problems and sometimes they overlap.  Most of the time we have to laugh about them and find creative solutions on where to put things.

Last week we started making changes.  We had all the existing items left over from the previous owners hauled away in addition to garbage that we created over the winter.  Michael ripped out a 20 foot section of wood and saw horses to reveal a dirt floor that needed filling and most likely the source of the musty/moldy smell in the basement.  He started fixing up his workshop.  I am letting go of old items and slowly changing them out for upgrades in the style of my choosing.  We have made plans to landscape the yard and he is going to build me a garden box for the spring.  It feels good to be finding our way, to be growing together.  This grace period where we did nothing has helped to let ideas set in and take root.  I look forward to a productive summer.


Here are some more poems from the month.  I have fallen gravely behind:

Honest Abe

for Cat

We have never met
or even talked on the phone
but somehow we can see ourselves
as neighbors; the kind of neighbor
that shares sugar and kids stories
and heartache over a sewing machine.

The other day she told me
she wished I lived closer
so we could make every dish
that President Lincoln ever cooked.

Inside I smiled like a schoolgirl
making a new friend, smiled
for being accepted into a secret,
as I have admired her style
and conviction and her lack of compromise
concerning ideals in the face of society.

I can see us in the kitchen
with our handmade aprons
and complicated recipes
discussing the merits
of Honest Abe over
great coffee and the sound
of heart felt laughter.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 14, 2015

Straightening

In the still parts
of the night
the smell of the hot
iron comforts the anxiety
flashing through neurons.

The steam lifts up
as the heat makes
geometrics and flowers
smooth like magic.

It is perfection
                         back and forth
steam and heat
                         back and forth
steam and heat
straightening
   my soul
for sleeping.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 15, 2015

Swing Spider, Swing

When she died
I went back
to the park
where my laughter
still lived in the trees.

I used to climb
the giant dome
and she never
seemed afraid
for me, though
I trembled inside
scared of being
a disappointment.

Sometimes she would
let me sit on her lap
our legs in opposite directions
like a spider, she would say,
and we would fly so high
and the world would fade
into sky and birds and trees
and invincible laughter.

When she died
I went back
to the park
where my laughter
still lived in the trees.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

April 17, 2015

4/17/2015 Relay for Life Corning, NY 2015

Aleathia says:

Recently my daughter brought home her nomination packet for the National Junior Honor Society.  It is the first time that her school is participating in this type of society and as her mother I am so very proud of her.  In reading over the material she was a little nervous about the qualities she didn't have and was starting to get down on herself.  She is kind of shy and therefore doesn't have a lot of experience in the leadership department or the service department.

I found out that she and her father participated in Relay for Life last year....how did I not know about this?  It seems like my child has two different lives sometimes.  I feel a bit lost when I don't know about the girl that lives at her dad's three days a week.

Yesterday I had decided that I wanted to put together a team for Relay for Life.  In the last few years I have lost my grandmother, my aunt, and my cousin to cancer.  My boyfriend lost his grandmother to cancer.  My daughter lost her great aunt to cancer.  I have several friends who have battled cancer and won.  This is such a couragous thing.  In 2000, I had pre-cancer of the cervix.  I never considered it having cancer because I didn't have chemo or radiation.  I had a surgery and some follow up and did not have to do much more than that.  I don't feel like I battled anything other than that month before I had the surgery where I felt like my life was altered forever.

I work in the Emergency Room and I see my community battle cancer all the time.  Some are young, some are children, some are my co-workers, some are old.  With their battle comes the battle the family must go through as well.  Being in the healthcare field lends me to have that hope that someday, despite Big Pharma, we will find a cure for cancer....someway, somehow.

Last night there was a meeting for the volunteers (Chloe is helping with the Luminaries) and I attended because Chloe was there.  This group of people is so excited about this project.  They want to spread the word and have as much of the community attend as possible.  Cancer touches all corners of the city you live in whether you are rich or poor.  It's devastation feels the same across the line.  It was inspiring to hear all the great fund raising ideas and community outreach projects that people are thinking up.

After we left the meeting, Chloe and I were brainstorming the different things we could do.  She is going to set up a donation area for gently used clothing for abuse victims that will go to help patient't at the Corning Hospital ER.  Half of the monetary donations collected will go to Relay for Life.  I thought that I could put my fabric scraps to use by making Lavender and Rice Eye Sachets to help soothe tired eyes and tension headaches.  She was very excited and told me that she loves volunteering and that it makes her feel so much better about herself.  I never knew this about her because she keeps a lot to herself and isn't always expressive about what she loves and doesn't love.  It really made my heart happy.  She inspires me to be a better person.

So last night I made a post to my Facebook page to see if a few of my local nurses and friends would like to join the Corning ER and Friends Team.  I was shocked to find that within an hour I had 17 people on my team.  It really made my heart get all warm and fuzzy.  I live in a great community and work with fantastic people.

If you would like to visit my fundraising page and donate you can find it here:  Corning ER and Friends Team.

Thank you for your support.