Do You See?
Absolutely no time to blog. The busy-ness does good to me. Pins and points my mind in specific directions.
The EFLU reading — announced in my last post — went very well. I read poems old and new. Hoshang Merchant who was at the reading said later “wish we had more time for poetry”. He even clapped at one of my poems.
Hoshang is a sweetie pie!
Sridala Swami was engaging, having raised some pertinent issues about critiquing poetry.
Giridhar Rao, linguist and editor, was at the event too. He was extremely kind to send me a poem later by email. He said one of the poems I read triggered the memory of it in him. I find it relevant to my whole cause of ‘being’ right now.
Read it below:
“Genetics” by Sinéad Morrissey
My father’s in my fingers, but my mother’s in my palms.
I lift them up and look at them with pleasure –
I know my parents made me by my hands.
They may have been repelled to separate lands,
to separate hemispheres, may sleep with other lovers,
but in me they touch where fingers link to palms.
With nothing left of their togetherness but friends
who quarry for their image by a river,
at least I know their marriage by my hands.
I shape a chapel where a steeple stands.
And when I turn it over,
my father’s by my fingers, my mother’s by my palms
demure before a priest reciting psalms.
My body is their marriage register.
I re-enact their wedding with my hands.
So take me with you, take up the skin’s demands
for mirroring in bodies of the future.
I’ll bequeath my fingers, if you bequeath your palms.
We know our parents make us by our hands.
Trying to finish up my next Prairie Schooner contribution. More on that topic later.
Also, need to compile some manuscript material for an editor to look at. Then, someone requested a poem for inclusion in college-level textbook syllabus. Have to wade through and see what I got. This project could be interesting.
In other news, had excellent smoked “Tuinkruiden” cheese from Banjara Hills at an organic cheese and meat products shop that also makes fresh baguettes. Ate the slices with homemade red wine my prospective landlady made. She simply insisted I have a bottle to taste. At times, life feels rewarding.
Loved this painting (Дейнека Александр Александрович (1899-1969); 1956-57. У моря) from an album about the former USSR. It’s almost like a dance!