A Snowy Day

It's been snowing here in W. MA all day, the same snow JC had in KY a couple of days ago. It's quite lovely, and put me in mind of this poem, which I wrote in 1986.

Snow

The slow, steady creak of my boots sounds
loud in the silent street; until I pause
to raise my hood, and a crystal soft swish
and patter enspheres me, in whose center
I soon grow still. More now, and faster falling
around me; and I walk In a world, without,
yet within, alone, yet one with the sounds
of the waking street: Shouts of playing children,
barking of a dog, ring of an ax on wood.

For hearing has eclipsed sight in the silver-strung
morning, where distance deceives and even gravity stands
still, content to straddle the shoulders of the wind.
And the wind, with a conjurer's hand, sets the snowflakes
dancing in spinning spirals that bewilder the unwary
watcher, winding him - me - in a wandering reverie.

The houses, the trees, the passing people of the familiar
street seem strange through the shifting screen of snow,
unreachable, and yet I could dance with them all, whirling
and wheeling in the wind's hands like the softly sifting
snowflakes. I stop and draw a long breath, blinking
away visions of forbidden freedom in the singing circles
of the stars. Earthbound again, I feel my fingers, nose
and feet chill. Heedless of higher things, they crave
cocoa and curling up in a warm corner. Smiling, I turn
and quietly walk home through the crowded, snowy morning.

First published in Delta Epsilon Sigma Journal

One Year At The DNC

Howard Dean is about to complete his first year as Chair of the Democratic National Committee. How are you going to commemorate the anniversary? Some people are contributing to the DNC. Others are planning tributes, greetings and gifts. Ideas?

Kudos for Edwin: From the HEP blog

Puddle's Edwin was reviewed in today's Wall St. Journal--

The same caveat applies to the acting. Most of the performances in "The Right Kind of People" are cartoonish, albeit agreeably so (Keith Jochim and Evan ******** are especially sharp as an odious pair of arch-snobs). But Edwin C. Owens, last seen in the Irish Repertory Theatre's unforgettable revival of "Philadelphia, Here I Come!," is so believable as Frank, the upper-middle-aged businessman whose 40-year marriage is unraveling, that he seems to have wandered in from another, better show down the street.

AND there was a photo of Edwin and 2 of his co-stars. He's identified as 'Ed Owens.'
Corinne | 02.10.06 - 7:27 pm | #

Valentine's Day Haiku Contest: DEADLINE LOOMING!

I just learned that Breakup Girl is running a haiku contest to be judged by Jason Reich, "Emmy-Award-winning writer for Emmy-Award-winning The Daily Show with Jon Stewart."

You'd better get going, though, the deadline is midnight tonight!

Writing Contests

The NFB Writers' Division's Poetry and Fiction contests are now open. Nonmembers, blind and sighted alike, may enter. Come to think of it, I'm not altogether sure the contests page says so, but the deadline is June 30. See the contest page for all other details.

Join The Team: Donate To Habitat

On Monday, I posted about the team associated with this community to assist Habitat with their Home Delivery project. Checking the team page, I see that the donation total stands at $25.00, the same level it was at when I published that post.

We can do better than that!

I know that $25.00 is sometimes a lot to give all at once. But, can you afford $5.00 this month? $5.00 to help people who have nothing regain some measure of security and dignity with a new home. $5.00 that will mean as much to the family you help as it means to you, maybe more.

When I check the team page on Saturday, please let me see a total higher than $25.00. Do it for The Arty Blog. Do it for Howard. Do it for our brothers and sisters who are in such desperate need.

Get Involved In The Arty Blog Community

Since I am *not* the only person with keys to the blog, it would be extremely helpful if other members would post here. Thoughts, news items, anything at all related, however vaguely, to the Arts, handycrafts, politics, Howard Dean - ideally some sort of synthesis of two or more of these, but not necessarily. Also, if anybody has time on their hands and just wants to update us on their doings, that would be great too.

I simply can't maintain this blog alone. Besides, it's supposed to be a community. Please, friends, get involved in this community, or it will wither and die.

Posting Hints
To post a main blog entry, click the orenge "Blogger" button in the uppermost left corner of any of the blog's pages. This takes you to your "dashboard," a control pannel displaying (as hyperlinks) the titles of the blogs you own/participate in. Click the green plus sign marked "Create New Post. You'll be taken to the post entry page.

Please make use of the "Title" field near the top of the post entry page. Adding a title makes identifying the post easier for everyone.

If you want to include a pic in your post, look for the "Add Image" function on the post entry page. This will allow you to upload or enter a link to an image resource already on the web. You must know the exact URL (web address) of the image to link to it.

Proofread your post for grammatical errors, omitted words, and the llike. It's probably best to compose long posts in a word processor, where you have the benefit of spellcheck and grammarcheck. You can also use the spellcheck function on the post entry page.

The length of the post is *not* important. Your participation is what's important. A community is only as strong as its members. We're Deaniacs. We're strong; we can do anything!

Arty Bloggers For The Gulf Coast

You may have seen the NBC Nightly News report (Jan. 23, 2006) on Habitat's project to build a Musicians' Village in the Upper Ninth Ward of New Orliens. This seems to me an ideal project for us to pitch in and help with. Doing so is easy. Just go to this online donation form. If you do not use the Address Line 2, as for an apartment No. etc., use it for Artists For Dean.

In addition, I have created a "team" to help with Habitat's more general Home Delivery project. Having created the team, I'm the team captain. Don't worry, though; I won't be breaking out the cat o nine tails. *grin* I do, however, ask that all Arty Bloggers and friends join the team and give as generously as possible.

Additional Links
"Through building with Habitat, Bon Jovi helps ‘make volunteering hip'"
Some of the world’s leading songwriters and singers are supporting Habitat for Humanity's hurricane response efforts with their lyrical talents
Harry Connick Jr. Addresses Lawmakers, Urges them to Help Rebuild the Gulf Coast

Purpose and Project

With her usual acumen, listener nutshells our problem and suggests some solutions.

We need a common purpose, a short-term project perhaps. What do the Poets Against the War need by way of support from kindred blogs? Or do we simply want to choose our own "project" and go for it?

One idear is to link with some of the people who visit veterans, such as Anne*from*Vermont and see if there are some vets who have written poetry about their struggles.

In addition, are there some among us who have written poetry during this difficult time? Or who have painted, or created music, or whatever OUT OF their sorrow or hope related to the war and/or the state of this country?

What if we all tried to create or uncover at least one item to share with one another by...Valentine's Day?

~ listener

In Memoriam: Columbia

Crossposted at Disabled Americans for Democracy

The STS-107 crewmembers strike a flying pose. From the left, bottom row, wearing red shirts, are astronauts Kalpana Chawla, Rick Husband, Laurel Clark and Ilan Ramon. From the left, top row, wearing blue shirts, are astronauts David Brown, William McCool and Michae Anderson. --NASA

We remember that terrible Saturday morning, three years ago today when, rather than reporting on the safe return of Columbia, audibly shaken newscasters reported the Space Shuttle's destruction during reentry into Earth's atmosphere.

May they rest in peace.

Columbia
STS 107
February 1, 2003

Seven souls released in fire,
Vehicles sublimed between air and Earth,
Their courage and love set free to fill
Our hearts and the universe.

God takes his own in his good way and time,
Not for us to fathom the emptiness behind the taking
Or the mind so vast its love looks like death.
For us is only grief and, looking up,
To reach again for the stars.

Published in Slate & Style: Magazine of the NFB Writers Division

Additional Links
Space.com Special Report
BBC In Depth Coverage
NASA's Columbia Site

In Memoriam: Wendy Wasserstein

Pulitzer and Tony award winning playwright Wendy Wasserstein died Jan. 29 at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in Manhattan at the age of fifty-five.

The New York Times' Obituary
In Memoriam: Wendy Wasserstein

Related Links
Stage Scene

CodePink Antiwar Petition

Crossposted at Disabled Americans for Democracy

CodePink Women for Peace has an international petition to end the war/occupation in Iraq, endorsed by leading women writers and artists. Please join me in signing it.

For More Information:
CodePink Women for Peace
"Women's Anti-War Petition Circles the Globe"

Poets Against War Newsletter

Dear Friends:

It is three years since we began Poets Against War. It seems altogether appropriate to note the occasion with three comments from Walt Whitman. It was, after all, Whitman to whom I turned that cold January afternoon after reading my invitation to the White House. The real war is not in Iraq or Afghanistan, but in the hearts-and-minds of people around the world. I turned to Whitman. And I knew in that instant my life had been changed forever. I could go play nice with a murderous establishment or I could live as I have tried to live all my adult life-by the revolutionary path I first glimpsed in Whitman when I was still a boy.

We have walked a long way together. We have a long way to go. While it remains essential for us to continue to be engaged with fellow groups and individuals working for nonviolent solutions, it is also good to remember that we sometimes accomplish the most by working alone, daily, with a few good words from the heart. In either case, Whitman is good company. Not only are we not alone, but our company, our majority, grows- one by one, day by day. Namaste. We have good work to do.
-Sam Hamill
*
Anyone interested in obtaining a DVD copy of Tim Robbins' utterly brilliant satire, Embedded Live! or Cinema Libre's Peace! may do so by contacting: www.docworkers.com

*
Does anyone wish to offer a few polite remarks to Henry Kissinger? Among his many accomplishments besides Viet Nam, the Nobel Peace Prize winner gets credit for overthrowing the duly elected government of Salvador Allende in Chile on September 11, 1973.

On March 10th and 11th this year the fourteen Presidential Libraries and the National Archives will host a conference at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library in Boston on "Vietnam and the Presidency." Many of the leading U.S. "decision makers" of that war will be present , including former Secretary of State, and National Security Advisor, Henry Kissinger, who rarely makes such public appearances. Unfortunately, perspectives will be limited, as will access to the conference: currently no seats are available. In an effort to address these issues, across the road at the University of Massachusetts Boston, the William Joiner Center for the Study of War and Social Consequences will host a series of events offering those who have lived the consequences of these decisions to make their own testimonies and present their perspectives. In an effort to provide individulas unable to attend the same opportunity we are offering to deliver letters and emails directly to the conference, and to Mr. Kissinger. We ask these letters be addressed to Mr. Kissinger, personnally, since he will be the chief architect of the war who will be present. In a time when the same issues of Presidential power and the abuse of that power we saw in Vietnam are again in the air, we feel this conference offers a unique opportunity to deliver a message.

email may be addressed to joinercenter@umb.edu

*
Please keep us advised of poetry-related events as appropriate for our calendar.

In the coming weeks we hope to find about a dozen volunteers to become contributing editors to our Poetry Matters section. We want to build a library of important links and to be notified of important events.

The Winter edition of Poets Against War Newsletter is on line and features the first installment of William O'Daly's commentary on poetry and torture along with poet-translator-doctor Fady Joudah's memoir of recent work with Doctors Without Borders.

*
Walt Whitman
From Specimen Days
The Real War Will Never Get in the Books
AND so good-bye to the war. I know not how it may have been, or may be, to
others-to me the main interest I found, (and still, on recollection, find,)
in the rank and file of the armies, both sides, and in those specimens amid
the hospitals, and even the dead on the field. To me the points
illustrating the latent personal character and eligibilities of these
States, in the two or three millions of American young and middle-aged men,
North and South, embodied in those armies-and especially the one-third or
one-fourth of their number, stricken by wounds or disease at some time in
the course of the contest-were of more significance even than the political
interests involved. (As so much of a race depends on how it faces death,
and how it stands personal anguish and sickness. As, in the glints of
emotions under emergencies, and the indirect traits and asides in Plutarch,
we get far profounder clues to the antique world than all its more formal
history.)

Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal
background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official
surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the
Secession war; and it is best they should not-the real war will never get
in the books. In the mushy influences of current times, too, the fervid
atmosphere and typical events of those years are in danger of being totally
forgotten. I have at night watch'd by the side of a sick man in the
hospital, one who could not live many hours. I have seen his eyes flash and
burn as he raised himself and recurr'd to the cruelties on his surrender'd
brother, and mutilations of the corpse afterward. (See, in the preceding
pages, the incident at Upperville-the seventeen kill'd as in the
description, were left there on the ground. After they dropt dead, no one
touch'd them-all were made sure of, however. The carcasses were left for
the citizens to bury or not, as they chose.)

Such was the war. It was not a quadrille in a ball-room. Its interior
history will not only never be written-its practicality, minutiæ of deeds
and passions, will never be even suggested. The actual soldier of 1862-'65,
North and South, with all his ways, his incredible dauntlessness, habits,
practices, tastes, language, his fierce friendship, his appetite, rankness,
his superb strength and animality, lawless gait, and a hundred unnamed
lights and shades of camp, I say, will never be written-perhaps must not
and should not be.

The preceding notes may furnish a few stray glimpses into that life, and
into those lurid interiors, never to be fully convey'd to the future. The
hospital part of the drama from '61 to '65, deserves indeed to be recorded.
Of that many-threaded drama, with its sudden and strange surprises, its
confounding of prophecies, its moments of despair, the dread of foreign
interference, the interminable campaigns, the bloody battles, the mighty
and cumbrous and green armies, the drafts and bounties-the immense money
expenditure, like a heavy-pouring constant rain-with, over the whole land,
the last three years of the struggle, an unending, universal mourning-wail
of women, parents, orphans-the marrow of the tragedy concentrated in those
Army Hospitals-(it seem'd sometimes as if the whole interest of the land,
North and South, was one vast central hospital, and all the rest of the
affair but flanges)-those forming the untold and unwritten history of the
war-infinitely greater (like life's) than the few scraps and distortions
that are ever told or written. Think how much, and of importance, will be-
how much, civic and military, has already been-buried in the grave, in
eternal darkness.
Nature and Democracy-Morality
DEMOCRACY most of all affiliates with the open air, is sunny and hardy and
sane only with Nature-just as much as Art is. Something is required to
temper both-to check them, restrain them from excess, morbidity. I have
wanted, before departure, to bear special testimony to a very old lesson
and requisite. American Democracy, in its myriad personalities, in
factories, work-shops, stores, offices-through the dense streets and houses
of cities, and all their manifold sophisticated life-must either be fibred,
vitalized, by regular contact with out-door light and air and growths,
farm-scenes, animals, fields, trees, birds, sun-warmth and free skies, or
it will certainly dwindle and pale. We cannot have grand races of
mechanics, work people, and commonalty, (the only specific purpose of
America,) on any less terms. I conceive of no flourishing and heroic
elements of Democracy in the United States, or of Democracy maintaining
itself at all, without the Nature-element forming a main part - to be its
health-element and beauty-element - to really underlie the whole politics,
sanity, religion and art of the New World.

Finally, the morality: "Virtue," said Marcus Aurelius, "what is it,
only a living and enthusiastic sympathy with Nature?" Perhaps indeed the efforts
of the true poets, founders, religions, literatures, all ages, have been,
and ever will be, our time and times to come, essentially the same - to bring
people back from their persistent strayings and sickly abstractions, to the
costless average, divine, original concrete.

* *
From the 1855 Preface to Leaves of Grass
Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to
everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income
and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience
and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or
unknown, or to any man or number of men-go freely with powerful uneducated
persons, and with the young, and with the mothers or families-re-examine
all you have been told in school or church or in any book, and dismiss
whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem,
and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent
lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in
every motion and joint of your body.

Poetry Matters

I was just looking at the Poetry Matters section at the Poets Against War site.

Yeah, the written word is only one facet of who we are. Still, I think it would be cool - and possibly very useful - to get ourselves sufficiently organized to get linked to from their page. I don't quite know what that would entail. OK, I don't have the faintest idear what it would entail. But, I think we need to begin seriously thinking of ourselves as an organization, a progressive, activist organization with one goal (TBA) striven towards through several means: the written word, music, photography/painting/graphic arts, handycrafts, etc. I'm not a great fan of structure, but I think we need to start seriously considering the structure of this org., its purpose and means.

Any idears?

I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thanksgiving

Crossposted at Disabled Americans for Democracy, Disabled Voters for Dean and Howard Empowered People

As we prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving, that quintessentially American holiday, let us reflect on the blessings peculiar to us as Deaniacs.

We have, not only our own families and friends, but a nationwide, indeed an international, community of friends, comrades, and co-workers, all of whom share the same values, American values: honesty, kindness, love of country, hard work… We share, too, a vision of a just America, an honorable society that cares for its own, especially the most vulnerable and most disadvantaged; that is a good international citizen; and that has earned once more the respect and love of the world. We see a land where young and old, LGBT and straight, black and white, Jew and gentile, disabled and able-bodied, Latino, Asian, Native American and Arab-American all embrace one another as sisters and brothers and all have the same equal rights in fact as in principle under the law.

We see America as she should be, and we know that we have the power to bring that vision into reality. Tomorrow, as we give thanks for all the blessings, large and small, with which the Lord has graced our lives, let us keep a special warm thought for Howard Dean and thank him in our hearts for having given us hope, strength and community.

Happy Birthday, Gov. Dean!

It's the birthday of our founder, hero, and general inspiration, Howard Dean. We wish him many happy returns, and a peaceful day today.

Mini News Roundup

Novelist John Fowles, died Saturday at the age of 79 after a long illness. Read a brief article from Reuters.

RIP

In other news, Grokster is out of business. Read a brief article at Wired News.

Group Story

mprov13 said...
so, how's this for an idea:

let's start telling a story. anyone can add whatever they want. bend the plot, create characters, anything. ok. i'll start:

as the door opened, i could just barely see that there was movement in the adjacent room. the voices, almost hushed in a whisper, could just be heard. the woman swept by me, distracting me for only a moment, as i tried to hear what was being said.

"...don't get rid of that guy. there's no point...but, if you do, i'll..."

"mr. santos, he'll be ready for you in a second."

i sat up a little straighter and smiled at her in that manufactured way that was expected. she disappered into the room closing the door behind her.

i refocused on my surroundings: that awful rented office waiting room furniture with the obligatory copies of prints by artists that could have come out of a cracker jacks box. the avacado colored lamps with the 60 watt bulbs that couldn't quite light the room. the industrial carpet that isn't really any color at all. and, that smell that always seems to permediate these places, a whisp of blended somethings that probably came in a take-out box. and me.

Puddle: Chapter 2
Strange, I thought: what kind of doctor wouldn't have a better place than this? I squirmed a little. Still, try as hard as I could, couldn't wipe out that snippet I'd overheard: don't get rid of that guy. . . . Who'd proposed getting rid of anyone? And why? After all, this was a gynecologists' office. I didn't think I'd let Cricket come back here. It wasn't passing the sniff test. At all. And it wasn't me.

I was beginning to mull that over, when they called me to come get Cricket. No, definitely not again. Even if I had to chip in some bucks to make sure she found someone better than this.

"You okay Sugar?"

"Guess so. I think. Don't know if I want to do this again, anytime soon, though."

"Don't worry. You won't have to."

"But --"

"But me no buts, youngster. Papa Jack's got something else in mind. You'll get whatever help you need. So worry not."

She did look worried though. Her face kind of knotted up. And I didn't think it was the anesthesia. God, this place was really giving me the creeps. I was pretty sure I was going to have to hit the 'nets. And damn, I wish I'd done it before I'd let her come here. Well, better late than never. . . . I hoped.


Continued. . . . Nov. 4, 10:15 pm

Jessica said...

Chapter 3 (Segway to catreona's comment from the last thread.)

*************************

I helped Cricket into the car and drove her home. It was a silent ride that seemed to take hours when it was actually only minutes.

I told her I would call her later, thinking that would be a better time to ask about the strange conversation I had overheard at the doctors office, and continued on to my appointment.

I walked into the waiting room and de deja vu hit me. Rented waiting room furniture, cracker jack prints, dim lights, and cheap carpet. "Just a typical waiting room" I said to myself, attempting to brush off the feeling that something strange was about to happen.

Then the door opened and I heard "Don't get rid of that guy. There's no point...but, if you do, I'll..."

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Could I have heard that right or was I just starting to imagine things?

**************************

Chapter 4 (from catreona)

All in all, this was a most unexpected place for me to have been summoned, especially to meet...

The voices increased in volume. It sounded like the stranger - I didn't recognize her voice - was displeased at being questioned. I bristled. Who was this unknown person to raise her voice to Gov. Dean? After all, he was heading this venture. He may, perhaps, not have been perfect, but he was the force that had drawn us all together. His vision and enthusiasm had been enough to bring in doubters, to corral donors, and to form a volunteer corps. I was one of those volunteers. It made me angry and a little queasy to overhear this argument.

National Novel Writing Month

Well, it's only the 2nd ~~ not too late to get in on NaNoWriMo! The hell you say?

I stumbled onto this site a couple of years ago, and it's great fun, even if you decide not to do it. November's never great for me: it contains Thanksgiving. . . .

Check it out!