A recent record of the way we lived. That is our dear Rylka-Twinkie-Pookie (she just attracted those diminutives, being a small dachshund) in the zig-zag collar. At the left, I have Watercolor Magazine open to an article about a painter of landscapes and seascapes. You can see a bit of the fabric of my favorite blouse next to that. Near the top you can see S's exercises ball which lives in the office chair. The round basket in the center is where all the "clickers" for various electronics are supposed to be kept. The book with red covers on the table's lower shelf is the American Heritage Dictionary; I have copies near all the places I work. The pad of small yellow Post-its are what I used to mark the pages with poems for this blog. A little bit of the pretty area rug shows under the dog's chin. There is a scattering of magazines on the table; I keep neatening this up, but that never lasts for long. The bits of light at the top are coming through our sliding patio doors.The drape of blanket with blue is over a dog crate, it used to help keep Sammi from barking all the time when someone visited if she couldn't see them. And both of these little dogs are gone now.
Here is the Michael Palmer poem I have been saving:
Untitled (Three Days)
Yes, I changed the light bulb myself,
so no more jokes about poets and light bulbs,
or poets and ligth,
no more combing the unconscious
for its Corybantic folds, its flows,
and no more talk of "the bitter wind."
It will do what it must
to summon and confound
all at once
and ravel the wings of moths at dusk.
(Did we not, that same night.
carve the voice into parts
and number them one, then one plus one,
and so on?) Tea from the leaves of mint,
the tiny sisal boats, adrift
in shifting currents of air
as if elegy were endless.
Three days, one light bulb, now this.
from Company of Moths,
New Directions, 2005, page 37.
This is one of my favorite forms for poems, disparate statements arranged over two-line stanzas. It is very flexible and elegant, I think.