Up up and away

I'm on a poetry high right now---check out the photos from last night's Burlesque! And found out that I'll be teaching the poetry workshop at the F. Scott Fitzgerald Festival in Rockville next October! Off to AWP so bye bye blog for now. More rockstar-ness to follow next week. Stay tuned!

A Test

For some reason, I can't find my last post, but I know other people have read it so this is a test for the twilight zone. No news here!

Neglected

Oh blog, how I have forgotten about you---blame it on the week of hazy celebrations or travels, but I've been a bad writer. There were so many things that I wanted to tell you, so many good poetry things---about readings, and then about travel, my mom found a great website about trips women should take though I forget where I put the link (reminded me that yes, I am still a feminist) even though I'm up to my neck in laundry and love finding new recipes in Real Simple. The 18 year old me is cussing out the 28 year old me (where are your values? why are you in the house so much? Do you really like crocheting?). I also realized I can't party like I used to. This new body, while open to yoga and tight bartending outfits refuses to be a temple to alcoholic nights. I have become a puker in my mid-to-late twenties. My body seems to like to expel fun---booze, food---my delicate stomach can't even handle an excess of guacamole. Too much yummy Mexican even cuts a night short. *sigh* Lately I just feel busy---perhaps I've taken on to much. I miss those days when I could just hang out. Though I think that's getting older---just taking on more responsibilities. I feel like I have so much correspondence, press stuff, teaching stuff, that yoga really becomes down time. And there are so many other things that I want to start doing. I'd like to get back to swing dancing and have a regular date with the girls or the poets. Ramola and I are going to try and get something together at GW for us faculty to hang out and share our work. I go back to what Maj has advised. Plant your roots and do the good work. Sometimes I question how much good work I'm doing. Things don't feel as organic as I would prefer. Everything is about a purpose in a way. Rumi has been coming back to me lately---the National Geographic photographer who comes to Rouge between internation stints told me he's working on a Rumi article and they've been reading a lot of Rumi in yoga class. So I'll leave you with Rumi as I ammend my neglects: "Love is a tree with branches reaching into eternity and roots set deep in eternity, and no trunk! Have you seen it? The mind cannot. Your desiring cannot."

PS---Burlesque Poetry tonight!!!

Neglected

Oh blog, how I have forgotten about you---blame it on the week of hazy celebrations or travels, but I've been a bad writer. There were so many things that I wanted to tell you, so many good poetry things---about readings, and then about travel, my mom found a great website about trips women should take though I forget where I put the link (reminded me that yes, I am still a feminist) even though I'm up to my neck in laundry and love finding new recipes in Real Simple. The 18 year old me is cussing out the 28 year old me (where are your values? why are you in the house so much? Do you really like crocheting?). I also realized I can't party like I used to. This new body, while open to yoga and tight bartending outfits refuses to be a temple to alcoholic nights. I have become a puker in my mid-to-late twenties. My body seems to like to expel fun---booze, food---my delicate stomach can't even handle an excess of guacamole. Too much yummy Mexican even cuts a night short. *sigh*

Lately I just feel busy---perhaps I've taken on to much. I miss those days when I could just hang out. Though I think that's getting older---just taking on more responsibilities. I feel like I have so much correspondence, press stuff, teaching stuff, that yoga really becomes down time. And there are so many other things that I want to start doing. I'd like to get back to swing dancing and have a regular date with the girls or the poets. Ramola and I are going to try and get something together at GW for us faculty to hang out and share our work. I go back to what Maj has advised. Plant your roots and do the good work. Sometimes I question how much good work I'm doing. Things don't feel as organic as I would prefer. Everything is about a purpose in a way.

Rumi has been coming back to me lately---the National Geographic photographer who comes to Rouge between internation stints told me he's working on a Rumi article and they've been reading a lot of Rumi in yoga class. So I'll leave you with Rumi as I ammend my neglects:

"Love is a tree with branches reaching into eternity and roots set deep in eternity, and no trunk! Have you seen it? The mind cannot. Your desiring cannot."

PS---Burlesque Poetry tonight!!!

Off to NYC

Find me at the KGB Bar Monday night and for the Alimentum reading Tuesday night!

Found Love Up His Nose

You have to click on the picture to be able to read the comments and they're well worth it. Ah, cliched love! Roses and reservations (that's what's in store for me). I printed some love poems for my students from Poets.org to get them writing---to steal a line from the poem they picked and to free write (then using the author in the title). I love how we can still rift on the holidays...I remember once making a poem of the words on candy hearts!

Here's mine:

Found Object Valentine
(for Peter Gizzi)

These things: leaf, zipper, sparrow, potato chip
moon. Lintel, scarf, window shade. Dildo, collinder,
a spade, a hunk of cheese, slab of bread. Eros.
Mortar and pestle, a long tube, plastic spoon, hair
coiffed, steel coiled. Do I love you or not
today, winter Tuesday. My birthday, tofu
bacon, the locked door. Up, rocks. Both.
Neither. Pathetic swoon.


I had forgotten to blog about Atlanta and how I caught a certain someone with his finger up his nose on the airplane. And today, yellow and orange roses. I'm wondering if those things cancel each other out. Maybe he was digging for roses???

Another Roadtrip

Last night I was talking to Jillian about making more time to read and crochet---I'm going to try and work in 30 minutes a day dedicated to either. I think the problem for me, is that writing work never really stops. I could always write more and read more. And pleasure reading is often also work reading and vice versa. Click here for my latest pleasure job! I was virtually in Connecticut and Nicaragua. On Saturday I actually travel to NYC for readings at the KGB and Alimentum. Who says you can't mix business and pleasure?

An Atlanta Review

Already! Those bloggers don't waste any time!

ATL

Hot-lanta just got hotter!The ladies of Burlesque will be bringing it and who knows, we may slip out of something and give Sandra Beasley cause for another great article!

Crochet

Sarah was in town visiting---this morning we went to Stitch DC and she taught me how to crochet over tea at Ching Ching Cha. There's a lot of women in my family who knit and so now, at least I'll be able to bring my ball and needle around and not feel so un-womanly. I've got the cooking part down and so now, onto some handy work.

Last night I took her to the JCC to hear Myla Goldberg read and perform with One Ring Zero. Reminded me of how back in college, I always brought my non-Jewish friends around to Hillel. What struck me about Myla is how much we have in common---we both love Kundera and Kafka and both lived in Prague. Though I didn't try to talk to her--I thought it might be weird---too much "me too" vibe going on.

Ah well, I can reflect while I loop and pull through--that's our bastard yarn-speak!