Saturday, January 31, 2009
Redhead...Progress
This one has been sitting in my "to do" pile since September. Finally, some movement on it. I had to readjust my proportions, flesh out the form, give the walls some color, etc. Still need to do some detail work (she needs a face...) and then, when I am happy with it...i will know, and she will be done.
For M
The french toast itself was a bit underwhelming. The pears were cooked in a small skillet with cinnamon, butter, bourbon and some generic maple syrup. And they were good.
Writing Relationships
This week has been in some ways quite revealing. I always wondered to myself whether it was possible or not to have writing relationships, where it may be a long time...or perhaps never...until the two correspondents meet.
Are such relationships, across miles and possibly time zones, any less valuable than those which exist in the flesh? Does the promise or potential of any tangible relationship (not just romance but friendship) make the relationship more important than other writing relationships? Is writing just a door...or is it more?
I do not have answers. I know that I have engaged in a few, and that I enjoy them. I've been inspired by poetry and created a painting. I've been inspired by dialogue and have dedicated a plate of pancakes. I've even dabbled a bit with erotic writing, inspired by these new connections. I've begun, haltingly, to put myself out...to share more, to listen, to learn.
If the end result for each of us is expanded awareness and a greater sense of self through these writing relationships, than so be it. If writing is to be the action of the moment, I shall not let the moment be diminished by the hope or promise of a future meeting...I shall embrace the moment and exist...and value the writing relationship as it is, as well as the partner on the other end of the line.
Are such relationships, across miles and possibly time zones, any less valuable than those which exist in the flesh? Does the promise or potential of any tangible relationship (not just romance but friendship) make the relationship more important than other writing relationships? Is writing just a door...or is it more?
I do not have answers. I know that I have engaged in a few, and that I enjoy them. I've been inspired by poetry and created a painting. I've been inspired by dialogue and have dedicated a plate of pancakes. I've even dabbled a bit with erotic writing, inspired by these new connections. I've begun, haltingly, to put myself out...to share more, to listen, to learn.
If the end result for each of us is expanded awareness and a greater sense of self through these writing relationships, than so be it. If writing is to be the action of the moment, I shall not let the moment be diminished by the hope or promise of a future meeting...I shall embrace the moment and exist...and value the writing relationship as it is, as well as the partner on the other end of the line.
Friday, January 30, 2009
New Poem: Muse's Magic
Muse’s Magic
across a continent
words reach me
and I take the plunge:
the light scratching sound of brush on wood
the delicate stroke of palette knife
to immortalize your gorgeous slinky legs
a phonograph
a pair of bongos
books on a dresser
in an undisclosed location with a view of the old gray square
not having met
(and god knows when)
free verse and blues transcend
through your poem (and other words) I am touched
my muse and collaborator
and friend.
© 1-30-2009, fprm
across a continent
words reach me
and I take the plunge:
the light scratching sound of brush on wood
the delicate stroke of palette knife
to immortalize your gorgeous slinky legs
a phonograph
a pair of bongos
books on a dresser
in an undisclosed location with a view of the old gray square
not having met
(and god knows when)
free verse and blues transcend
through your poem (and other words) I am touched
my muse and collaborator
and friend.
© 1-30-2009, fprm
Thursday, January 29, 2009
John Updike...."Requiem"
I saw this in today's NYT. Loved it.
January 29, 2009
Requiem
By John Updike
It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”
Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
“I thought he died a while ago.”
For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.
— JOHN UPDIKE
This poem is taken from John Updike’s forthcoming collection, “Endpoint and Other Poems.”
January 29, 2009
Requiem
By John Updike
It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”
Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
“I thought he died a while ago.”
For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.
— JOHN UPDIKE
This poem is taken from John Updike’s forthcoming collection, “Endpoint and Other Poems.”
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