The Strand

If I were to swing
from Luna’s trapeze,
and trace Earth’s ribs
with the quills of
this mane, let my
knees finally give
atop Dolphin’s Smile,
the lip where the
moon suckles foam

I think they call it The Strand.



[Thank you to Christine Eldin for
asking me to write a poem including
the word "Strand." I really enjoyed the
spirit of her Before Sunrise challenge.
This one's for you, Chris!]

Milkshake

Before Sunrise is one of my favorite films. Jesse and Celine meet on a Eurail train, and in the glow of a mutual attraction, disembark at Vienna to spend a day (and night) together, before resuming their regularly scheduled lives in America and France. That one day is a beautiful gift, an unlikely improv, especially for being so sweetly ephemeral.

In the scene above, a poet approaches the couple as they walk the length of the Danube, offering to write them a poem incorporating a word of their choice, in exchange for money. Celine chooses "milkshake." He scratches off something in two minutes.

I love the spontaneity that threads the movie, and the related challenge laid down in this clip. But I'm slow. Which is why I stuck with haiku. It still took me five minutes, though.

Vanilla pulse points
Sweating out summer sunbeams
Milkshake to his brain

What do you think: does time determine a relationship's success? Can such a transient pairing, or poem, attain the kind of "quality" that we respect in longer couplings, or works?

I'm not sure . . . but I know I love this movie.

[Video courtesy of pici1]

The Fugue

Last night,
her believing
in his breath
across the barrens
of white tendon,
black marrow

But it was only the
wild, wild winds.

And this morning
dawning so still,
so sore,
like piano keys
after a
Rachmaninoff storm


[Orphan Girl at the Cemetery, by Eugene Delacroix]

Anticipation

When these
leggy chromosomes
(called our bodies)
fuse upon a
fated spindle
(called our lips),
something nameless
inside of me
will unravelto bind the
something nameless
inside of you


[Photo of chromosomal meiosis
courtesy of Zac Cande.]

D.C. al fine

I know there are coils

still to be sprung from the

Rhapsody of Time, but

this nostalgic bow of

mine can only hook,

and slide


[Family photo, Summer 2004]

Dirty Cello Thoughts, Part 1

If I permit these
knees to drift, like
so, will you pull your
eager string against
my tender bow?



[Yes, I'm learning the cello.
No, I sound nothing like Mischa Maisky.
But please, please listen to this Prelude to
Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, especially from
about 1:55 until the end.
It gets me every time.
Video courtesy of Bacholoji.]

Surfacing

I apologize for being such a flake about the blog during the last month and a half. And, more importantly, for being so entirely absent from your blogs, too. I have had my reasons, but none is good enough to explain the total neglect and silence. I'm sorry!

Anyway, I've missed being a part of this community . . . and I look forward to plunging back in.

Tomorrow. :)