Posted tagged ‘Karin Gustafson’

Public/Private disconnect (Sonnet) (With Elephant)

June 21, 2011

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I hate to admit it but I’m kind of a solipsistic person.  It’s not that I don’t like people–I take a strong interest in trying to help others (particularly if it involves telling them what to do.)

But I am just awful in social situations – parties, gatherings, even sometimes work settings.  To some degree, this may have something to do with not being completely at ease with either my “public” persona or private persona.

At any rate, here’s a kind of gloomy sonnet about this kind of public/private disconnect.

Because I am now linking this post to dVerse Poets Pub Raising the Bar for critiquing, I am going to put up two versions of this poem, an older and newer.  (I think the older may be better, but it’s also the one with which I am more familiar.)   They are both a bit self-pitying, although that may be something that makes them universal.

The first is the older  version:

Pretending

 After years, pretending to be what you’re not
becomes a nature;  a second skin
coating you like a kind of make-up, caught
in your pores, nestled in your grooves, a twin
of features, caked, you need not reapply.
But habits, faces, fail and it wears thin,
until, worn through, you can hardly try
anymore.  Too wary, weary, the word
“cagey” describes so much of what you’ve been,
the opposite of free-flying bird,
while unheard, and hardly there within,
is all you’ve been saving, what you hid, why
you did this, what wasn’t supposed to die.

Newer:

Pretending

After years, pretending to be what you’re not
becomes a nature;  a second skin
coating you like a heavy make-up, caught
in your pores, nestled in your grooves, a twin
of features, caked, you need not reapply.
Sometimes the habit fails, pretense wears thin,
that face that clung is suddenly wrung dry–
you don’t want to re-affix, but the word
“cagey” catches so much of what you’ve been–
the opposite of free-flying bird–
that, though you wish more than anything
to be seen, take wing; fretful, you still try
to keep tight all within.  Oh me.  Oh my.

If you are interested in my poetry, check out my poetry book, Going on Somewhere (by Karin Gustafson, illustrated by Diana Barco, cover by Jason Martin) on Amazon.

If you are interested in my elephants, check out my children’s book, 1 Mississippi,  on Amazon.

Blocking Writer’s Block – Tired of Editing? Next Step (If You Dare.)

June 20, 2011

Pearl is really really tired of editing.

I am still working on finishing the manuscript of a novel that I thought was just about finished ages ago.

By finishing, I mean editing, and re-editing.  Cutting and cutting more, adding teeny bits.

I am not changing the plot at this point, even though it’s a bit silly.  I am just honing.  This needn’t be such a long process, except that, unfortunately, I am not somewhat who carves, but rather, someone who whittles.  Meaning that I have to go over the same surface again and again and again, smoothing and chipping rather than making decisive definitive cuts.

The big problem with whittling is that it feels endless.  (If every time you go through the manuscript, you find more to change, it’s hard to ever feel “finished.”)

Though I am quite sure that at a certain point, I’ll feel pretty certain that I am finished.  This will undoubtedly be before I truly am finished.  It will still feel good.

I am not there yet.

My next step is to read the whole thing aloud.  I shudder at the thought, but reading aloud is truly a great way to edit, especially when you are sick and tired of editing.   When you read a manuscript aloud, all of the habitual acceptance disappears, and you immediately understand that that part you always liked is simply boring, or redundant, or run-on, or (if you are lucky), pretty good.

You can see why I shudder!

Pearl just wants me to get on with it.

(For more on writer’s block, see multiple other posts in this category.)

Poem For Father’s Day (Baby Birds)

June 19, 2011

I’ve posted this poem before, and it doesn’t really go with the picture above, but Father’s Day is almost over, and I would really like to commemorate both it (and my wonderful father), so here goes:

My Father (baby birds)

My father’s voice
when he sang
was deep and cragged and
reminded me of a froggie
gone a’courting.
But this was baby birds.

It was not even a person
who had died.
It was not even a particularly noble dog,
though like all of its species, it was capable
of a self-debasing attachment that could
seem Arthurian.

But after the accident, the rush,
the sad blur home,
my father’s back faced me in my room
with a sound
of birds.
It silenced all gone wrong,
turned me back into a person
who could do things in the world.

(All rights reserved.)

Memorized poetry poem

June 18, 2011

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New experiment today: seeing if I can write a poem on the iPad! (And on the train.)

I love writing poetry by hand. But it is interesting to stretch one’s brain, and, frankly, it’s always terrific to write in a way that does not require transcription.

So here’s my attempt. What I was thinking of was another current interest–memorizing poetry. Followers of this blog know that I was very impressed by memory techniques outlined in Joshua Foer’s recent book Moonwalking With Einstein. My own memorization efforts have slackened recently, but the way in which the memorized poems have stayed with me has been kind of interesting. See below.

The Bits I’ve Got By Heart

In my head the women come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time, time for
the lines to formulate in the brain,
and when they are formulated, to drop like gentle rain
from a heaven that’s not quite consciousness;
to break, but soft, into a waking dream,
to be each morning morning’s minion,
as my head turns from the pillow,
plucking, before day is quite begun,
the golden apples from what might otherwise be
a simple rag and bone shop–too bland for foul,
scuttled by ragged part-my-hair-behind prosaicness.
Instead, those half-remembered verses,
gleaned from a teeming brain,
roll up into one ball all I ken
of poets’ strength
and sweetness, and the
dancer, who is part dance,
pirouettes, keeping time
with a beat that echoes
on the inside.

Pearl Moves Up In the World

June 17, 2011

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“But all the food falls UNDER the table.”

Unnoticed Rainbow, James Joyce, Elephants

June 16, 2011

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It’s June 16th, “Bloomsday,” the day in which James Joyce’s ULYSSES takes place. I wasn’t thinking about James Joyce when I did the above drawing, the elephant with a dark cloud over his head who has a hard time seeing a rainbow. I was thinking about the moods that overtake those of the ManicDdaily persuasion, the gloominess that is the dark side of an overly can-do spirit. I was thinking, really, how the gloominess often has little to do with external circumstances, i.e. a rainbow overhead, but more with internal physical circumstances, i.e. a raincloud in the head.

All of which brings me, awkwardly, to James Joyce, since if there was ever anyone who could delineate what was going on in a head, while also depicting the “overhead,” as it were, it was he. Alas, with no elephants.

Late night trains with iPad – no rest for the weary with weird priorities

June 15, 2011

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I’ve done everything wrong this evening and it’s all the fault of the iPad. I took it out at a friend’s apartment to show it off.

A wait for the subway and twenty blocks later, I realize I have left it at his apartment. I get out of the train, climb back to the street (a disorienting place since I’m not familiar with this stop), find true North, take a cab into a lot of traffic, retrieve the iPad, and go back to the subway.

This time (I had a long wait last ride), I walk several blocks to a busier and (I hope) faster station. Thirty minutes later (an hour or so after first leaving my friend’s apartment), I am still waiting for a train.

This is a very annoying station. It is at the intersection of a few different lines, but they are separated by different platforms and stairwells, meaning that you have to exclusively choose which one you will wait for.

I opt for the platform that has two related downtown trains, an express and local, figuring I am doubling my bets, but soon realize that the express train is simply parked about a third of the way down the platform, and the local never comes. Disembodied voices occasionally announce that the express is arriving, and people troop dutifully to that side of the platform, even though we all kind of know that no new train is going to hurtle past the one that blocks the track.

Finally, after much analysis of the light patterns on the stained subway walls on the local track, trying to divine impending traindom, I give up on this line, and follow the signs to another line, the Broadway line. The long stairs lead me to something silver–a train!==whose doors are closing.

This line has a little electrical sign to tell me the next train is 11 minutes away.

I rush back to the stairs to look down to the other platform (the one I’ve just left) where I can just make out a silver roof of a new train, a stopping train, a train whose doors will close before I can ever get there.

Now, finally (more than 11 minutes later) I am sitting on a moving train. It is not exactly my train, but it will take me to a stop in the general vicinity of my apartment.

Ah, and now, mid-trip, we are being held by the train dispatcher. There is another train across the platform, a train that may be better than this one. But I have my iPad on my lap, and I am too tired to re-arrange it, and–wait, that other train is actually a much better train for me (I suddenly remember all the walking and detours this one is going to require when I get off) but its doors have shut now.

Yes, my train, my right train, is moving on, and for some reason, we are still sitting here at a platform, doors open.

But, at least I have my iPad.

Hmmmmm……

A Morning’s Lark in Downtown NYC

June 14, 2011

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Back in New York City, and woke in the early morning (4:30?) to the sound of a song bird. I don’t know if it was truly a lark, but I’m going to say lark because when my mind thinks of birds singing early in the morning, my mind says lark.

Amazing. There it was. Bird song. Trilling, lilting, sliding up and down a piccolo scale, unperturbed by the undercurrent roar of airconditioning units, so much more Debussy than Broadway.

When I actually got up, more toward 7, it was gone. City sounds taking over. Cars. Voices. Forklifts.

Where had the bird gone? How did it happen to be here ? (I thought larks were in meadows, praries. If they came into a city at all, that city was Verona.)

Speaking of Verona, are there two?

Dog in the Clouds – Blogger Not In Damascus

June 13, 2011

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Please don’t be alarmed. The above painting/picture of a dog in clouds is part of my ongoing experiment with iPad Apps and, although it depicts my sixteen year old dog Pearl, is no sign of Pearl’s past or upcoming demise. (At least, I hope not.) I just like painting Pearl and I thought she’d look cool in clouds.

The spectral quality of Pearl in this painting came to mind today when I was reading about Tom MacMaster, a male graduate student blogger, who has, for the last four months, been posing/posting as “Gay Girl in Damascus.” Recent posts, which implied the detainment of the “girl” by Syrian authorities, had led to increased alarm and activism among followers. This, plus some detection work by more suspicious readers, led to MacMaster’s confession and posted apology.

It’s a long, weird story and cautionary tale: http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/06/13/gay-girl-in-damascus-blogger-admits-to-writing-fiction-disguised-as-fact/?scp=1&sq=Gay%20gal&st=cse

MacMaster insists he did not intend to harm anyone but rather to “illuminate” the story of the Syrian uprising. He ended up not only writing 137 posts, but hundreds of emails “in character” to sympathetic followers (a few of whom now feel considerably harmed.)

Hard to know quite what motivated MacMaster. (Hopes of a book deal?)

My point here is assure all that Pearl, above, really is Pearl, and that Manicddaily really is me, manic-d-daily (but not, as sometimes depicted, an elephant.)

Country Nights (With Dog and Elephant)

June 12, 2011

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