& thus we see

what i wore to my reading last friday night.

i love fall, so julie inspired me to throw together an impromptu rosh hashanah dinner last night, in honor of another new year.  we talked about how fall is so much more appropriate for celebrating new year's than january.  i made anna's brisket, 

if i had a jewish grandmother, would she approve of my fancy sterling silver?

and quickly tried to learn about the 100 shofar blasts. turns out it's not a quick learn.  i'm still thinking about this:

tekiah, moan-ululation, tekiah
tekiah, moan-ululation, tekiah
tekiah, moan-ululation, tekiah

tekiah, moan, tekiah
tekiah, moan, tekiah
tekiah, moan, tekiah

tekiah, ululation, tekiah
tekiah, ululation, tekiah
tekiah, ululation, tekiah

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apples & honey=sweet new year

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i'm in a fight with myself, or my body, or mind, or sickness or a big black dog.  the good thing now is that i know we'll make up and be at peace again someday, because i've been through this so many times before.  

thanks to julie's coaching, i've managed to stay fairly productive, and keep reading and writing every day, working on projects, and keeping up with teaching, kids, etc.  

i'm still reading susan howe's the birthmark and for fun, a book of essays by nora ephron, i remember nothing.

re-reading adrienne rich's blood, bread, and poetry.

working on mormon lady times essay and moby dick poems, mostly, and it's time to start on the third installment of the moby dick puppet opera libretto.

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i'm excited for the weekend.  we're going to see brecht's galileo tomorrow night, then leaving for l.a. on saturday to hear anthony braxton play.  

it's good to have things to look forward to.

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here's a little ditty from the moby dick project.  it's silly, and entirely lifted from moby.  i have a lot of other new poems, but they're still in process.  i don't know if this is anything, but i thought i'd try a concrete poem of sorts.  it's from the chapter on the measurement of the whale's skeleton.  ishmael talks about how unlike the whale its skeleton is.  he looks at the spine tapering into marble sized bones, and says that the priest's children stole the smallest pieces to play marbles with.  i wanted the poem to look like it's subject. so i tapered it.  

just a silly bit of fluff.

dead attenuated skeleton stretched in the peaceful wood
(chapter 103 “measurement of the whale’s skeleton”)

even the largest

of living things

tapers off

at last to

child’s

play

mellow'd my harsh

anne hutchinson.  foremother.

rough day yesterday.  luckily some cool collaborators helped me mellow my harsh when i had a little melt-down during moby dick puppet opera rehearsal.  i remember now why doing guerilla experimental opera is for the young.

queequeg and ishmael are married.  photo from hannah johnson, aka the coloratura.

tonight, the deseret experimental opera collective (DEXO) is performing part two of the god fugitive, "a bosom friend", my moby dick puppet opera.  

late night rehearsal last night, up early to get kids to school, took a morning nap.

not super productive today except:

1) break-through on essay for this journal that i've been trying to figure out for weeks.

2) reading about anne hutchinson via susan howe.

3) off to practice and get some last minute stuff ready for avant-garawge tonight.  have to come up with an outfit!

xo

CHARGES AGAINST HUTCHINSON:  "the Flewentess of her Tonge and her Willingness to open herselfe and to divulge her opinions and to sowe her seed in us that are but highway side and Strayngers to her"

a bit like kate kelly, right?

flooding

today i'm wearing a nightgown. still. at 1.59 p.m.  friday i wore my two favorite colors (as ingrid says):  leopard and red.

i hear it's flooding in arizona, where my family lives, and where i grew up.

it's also flooding up in provo, utah, where i have more projects on my plate than i can handle this week.

& i will handle them, although.

friday got crazy.  i read and wrote a lot, but had no time to report in:  finished olson's call me ishmael, a worthy, worthy read, and read some other stuff.  lots of psalms.  both kjv and robert alter translations.

most notably, i finished the second installment in the god fugitive, my moby dick puppet opera that everyone seems to think is just a gimmick BUT IT'S SUPER NOT--it's my current spiritual home.

gave the libretto to christian on saturday morning at 11.30 am.  he spent the day and night composing, and stayed up most of last night writing.  we rehearse this afternoon, perform on wednesday night at the avant garawge.

sunday i sang with the raddest musicians i know.  a dream team of people who love creative music and early music just as much as i do.  we sang machaut, hildegard, and asplund.  all thrilling.  it's seriously celestial.  splendid gems in those manuscripts.  and my soul feels like it's back in my body now that i'm doing music again on a more regular basis.

one of the things that struck me hard during the reading phase of my doctoral program was how inseparable musical and poetic practices are for me.  and the question of how they became so opposed to each other is one i haven't really answered, but wish to explore for a long time yet to come.

today i'm writing in my nightgown, still.  just finished my lunch of cheese & tomato sandwich and diet coke.  no more pecan sandies with dark chocolate chips.  i'm trying to wean myself from those, so i made do with a spoonful of nutella for dessert.

began susan howe's the birth-mark, recommended to me by this fine poet, and i'm gobbling it up.  i wrote a stupid poem based on "the candles" chapter of moby dick (i may have already told you that christian's mom, aka bammy, the funniest woman i know, calls it "mobile dick," right?).  i was quite taken with the image of the crew of the pequod frozen during a scary typhoon in which the ship is struck by lightening "in enchanted attitudes" like the skeletons of pompeii--in mid-stride, or jump, or run, or walk.

also, this from my shero susan howe:

"emily dickinson's writing is my strength and shelter.  i have trespassed into the disciplines of american studies and textual criticism through my need to fathom what wildness and absolute freedom is the nature of expresssion. . . . poetry unsettles our scrawled defences; unapprehensible but dear nevertheless."

aaaahhhhh-men.

long work day, quick blog post

so rad.  literally.

my report for friday 29 august 2014:

reading:

• finished part 2 of charles olson's call me ishmael
• read "resisting amnesia: history and personal life," adrienne rich's 1983 speech at scripps college collected in blood, bones, and poetry
• read audre lorde's poem "afterimages"
• read sandra tsing loh's essay "the bitch is back" from the best american essays 2012, ed. david brooks
• read chapter 83, "jonah historically regarded," and "the doubloon" from moby dick

writing:

• wrote the poem "from the sun. . . " 
• wrote the poem "god's world is nothing. . . "
• FINISHED revising the lapidary's nosegay, and i must never touch it again until it is in press

business:

• submitted the lapidary's nosegay for publication with two days to spare before deadline passes

what i wore & a report

weird picture.  sorry.  i wanted to show you that i cast off my mom clogs in favor of h&m booties (see clogs in background), my proustian bed desk (i must work on making it more sumptuous), and that i'm still wearing tons of leopard.  also, i must get rid of that hideous red polka-dotted phone case. 

today, on thursday 28 august 2014:

• read most of section 2 from charles olson's call me ishmael
• read eula biss' essay "the pain scale" from the best creative nonfiction, vol. 1, edited by lee gutkind
• read chapter 17, "the ramadan," chapter 10 "a bosom friend," chapter 4 "the counterpane," and chapter 11, "nightgown," from moby dick.

here's what olson says about melville, and i find it highly applicable.  if you're a writer, you might also find resonance here:

he [melville] was a skald, and knew how to appropriate the work of others.  he read to write.  highborn stealth, edward dahlberg calls originality, the act of a cutpurse autolycus who makes thefts as invisible as possible.  melville's books batten other men's books.

• wrote the poems "we are all dreadfully cracked. . . ", "but what is worship?",  and "there you lie. . . ."
• wrote blog post
• re-submitted to rad journal who asked for more work
• submitted to new journal, work never before submitted

not done

• manuscript editing on the lapidary's nosegay.  the fourteenth day in a row this has been on my list and has not been touched.  

p.s. in addition to wearing this outfit to blog in, i'll be wearing it to a parent-teacher conference in which we discuss the issue of my child drawing a mustache and beard on his face with marker at school yesterday, to neylan mcbaine's women at church book release at zion's books, and to the opening of tamarack, a new provo restaurant, which i will review if all goes well.  and finally, to watch the dita von teese episode of project runway later on tonight. 

accountable to cyberplace

i wore my favorite betsey johnson nightgown for reading time, and my favorite target merona black dress for writing time.  i think a peignor set would be more inspiring, though.  like proust, i work best in bed.  i'm not going to be ashamed of that no more.  no more.

in an effort to be true to my new schedule of uber-productivity, here's today's report.  on wednesday 27 august 2014 i:

• wrote the poem "oh sweet friends. . . "
• wrote the poem "she was a thing of trophies. . . "
• wrote the poem "this world pays dividends. . . ."
• read part one of charles olson's call me ishmael
• read chapter 15, "chowder" from moby dick
• read chapter 16, "the ship" from moby dick
• read "unconscious came a beauty," "catbird in a redbud," and "gometrid" from may swenson's iconographs
• wrote this blog post

unfinished on today's list (i still might get there)

• re-submit to (great!) journal who rejected me last week but said to send them something else
• spend 45 minutes finalizing edits on lapidary's nosegay

back to school

from <the god fugitive: a moby dick puppet opera>

it feels soooo good.

i love the fresh start of (anticipating) september with all its possibilities, and my perennial optimism that THIS will be the year i become the person i really am.  (as in : : : the girl who gets good grades and exercises and is on time and finishes projects and stops watching so many shows on netflix. . . and finishes her moby dick puppet opera and finds a great job. . .  .)

it's much better than new year's because you're all tanned and rested and excited for regularity and schedules and the sublime mundane.

so, fresh start. or as my kids call it, "my new leafishly way." (they have weird made-up grammar and syntax and words.)

here's a long list of things i'd like to do in my writing and creative life.  it surely won't all get done this fall, or maybe ever, but i feel pretty sure that some of it will come to completion by 2015.

1)  finish book edits on poetry collection, <the lapidary's nosegay>.

2) submit <tln> for publication.

3) write monthly installments of moby dick puppet opera.

4) work on moby poems daily.

5) finish screenplay (not gonna talk about this.  no jinxy.)

6) finish poem for a wonderful publication that asked me to write for them a long time ago but i couldn't get it together until now.

7) finish lyrical essay for another wonderful publication that i've never written for before.

8) apply for writer's residency/retreat.

9) start research on t.v. series.

10) practice voice and violin daily.

tomorrow i'll post my short list--what i'd like to do tomorrow, by the end of the week and by the end of the month.

p.s. here's installment one of the god fugitive.