Monthly Archives: January 2007

Place (a poem)

For Amy and Charlotte, composed at Northern Lights Espresso Bar in Scranton, PA. In motion emergestime and space.At rest convergencemakes both possible.And one wondersabout place,which is merely when things stop.And whether we are actually stopping,or seeking to moveagain.

For P, regarding Christmas

I suck at giving you gifts. Part of the reason is that I know if you need it, you’ll ask for it or buy it. I suppose, in a deep sense, that makes you one of the least needy people I know. Many of those to whom I give my best gifts are very, very

Unexpected

She likes to ask questions and think through issues and argue in order to find the truth. Let’s see where this goes. This is a most welcome change from 99% of the women I meet – actually, from most people I meet. Our notion of being educated is that of merely being informed; our notion

Sometimes, you can’t get a poem out of your head: On Dickinson’s "These Are The Days When Birds Come Back"

These are the days when Birds come backEmily Dickinson These are the days when Birds come back –A very few — a Bird or two –To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resumeThe old — old sophistries of June –A blue and gold mistake. Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee

Worrying.

It was bright and warm when I went outside today. Inside there was the turbulence not merely of relationships past, but worries about the future of all sorts, stupid worries based literally on nothing. The worst of these worries occurs when reading, when I don’t feel I’m reading fast enough. Could there possibly be anything

A Personal Reaction to "These are the days when Birds come back," poem #130 by Emily Dickinson

These are the days when Birds come backEmily Dickinson These are the days when Birds come back –A very few — a Bird or two –To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resumeThe old — old sophistries of June –A blue and gold mistake. Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee

The Imaginary Life: "The Lake Isle of Innisfree," W.B. Yeats

The Lake Isle of Innisfree W.B. Yeats I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there,