Bluegrass Fog

Bluegrass Fog

There’s music in the fog tonight.

From the creek it curls up the hollow
like a soft blanket pulled over a sleeping child.

There’s music in the fog tonight.

Step out on the porch and kiss this dew,
folded into the embrace of strum and pluck.

There’s music in the fog tonight.

Stars dimple one by one in softening air
that sings the lilted rhythm of remorse.

There’s music in the fog tonight.

Unseemly shapes clump and throb
in the mist. Ghosts of sunnier days.

There’s music in the fog tonight.

It comes high and thin, fast and sweet,
sweeping over us as mandolin tears fall on tin roofs.

There’s music in the fog tonight.

The Power of Words

Researchers are proving what we writers have known all along - words are powerful.

No booze needed for beer goggles:
Fast flashes of certain words can affect your libido.

In one study, reading alcohol-related words caused the same effects as actually drinking booze, while in another, subconscious exposure to words like 'old age' and 'bingo' caused research subjects to walk more slowly.

Think about that the next time you're reading (or writing) a poem, short story, newspaper, or magazine article.

Why write?

This past weekend I picked up a copy of the Burnside Review, a new poetry magazine out of Portland. In addition to the poems, which were very good, there is also an interview with Dorianne Laux.

The interview is enlightening and interesting. I think Laux is particularly eloquent in her expression of why she writes - I know.her words ring true for me:

"I don't know why other people write but I write, because I have to. I'm not expecting anything to come from it other than my own self-fulfillment and edification. I'm trying, poem by poem, to figure out who I am and how I belong in this world. I'm trying to make a wholeness from the fragments of my life. I'm trying to find out what I know and where I'm going. I'm trying to see beyond myself and into the lives of others. I'm trying to feel what I feel again, in slow motion, so I can learn from it. I write because I feel compelled to say something back to those who said something long ago and are still waiting for a response, not just from anyone, but from me. I write because it's a form of praise, a form of meditation, elegy, prayer. A way of paying attention, of staying awake in a world that wants to put us to sleep. It's a stay against death, not that the writing will keep me from dying, not that it will live beyond me, but in that it makes me feel more fully alive."

Four of Dorianne's poems can be read in the online archives of Poetry Magazine.

Mandala by Anh Chi Pham

I just read this incredible story, "Mandala" by Anh Chi Pham in the Fall 2004 issue of Hunger Mountain:

"Drivers and motorcyclists honked as traffic slowed. As more monks stood in front of us, my view of the street became smaller and smaller. My mother held my hand tighter and tried to cross into Cho Lon. To my left, I saw a white car stop. The doors opened and at that moment, everyone came onto the street. They crowded around some center that I could not see. She continued to push through and all I saw were backs, arms, legs. As we struggled, people fell silent and still. Something changed like when a cloud covers the sun. My mother felt it too. She turned her head toward the car and something caught her eye.

I poked my head in between a monk and a man with greasy hands, but all I saw was a trickle of water through sandaled feet. Then, I smelled gasoline and a man with a deep voice chanted. I saw an opening, so I let go of my mother's hand and stepped into it. There, a monk sat. His robe was wet, his eyes were closed, and his lips curved into a little smile. He looked like the Buddha at the park near home – the same way of sitting, the same smooth face, the same smile. Then, his smile burst into flames. It was so bright like that day at the park when I ran toward the Buddha and the doves flew away, their wings lit up by the sun."

This story blew me away. There is more than one story here - it's really the intersection of five distinct stories in one wonderfully unifying scene. The language is beautiful and spellbinding. If you haven't read this already, I highly recommend it.

Wordstock

Wordstock, Portland's annual festival of the book, begins today. There will be workshops, readings, and author events throughout the week, culminating in a giant Book Fair this weekend at the Oregon Convention Center.

Over 200 national and regional authors will be participating, including Alice Sebold, Chris Bohjalian, David Shannon, Dr. Andrew Weil, Jean Auel, John Irving, Kent Haruf, Norman Mailer, Phil Lesh, Philip Yancey, Russell Banks, Sarah Vowell, Susan Orlean, and Ursula K Le Guin.

Wordstock will be offering free drop-in workshops during the book fair on April 23rd and 24th at the Oregon Convention Center. They will take place in the “Living Room” where local Oregon writers will lead one hour exercises in poetry, publishing, fiction, nonfiction, children’s writing, graphic novels, self-publishing, subsidy publishing, generating ideas and screen writing. New workshops take place every hour 10am to 5pm.

The Wordstock Children’s Festival will take place inside the book fair 9am-4pm, April 23rd-24th at the Oregon Convention Center. There will be nationally known children's authors, local favorites, music, celebrity storytellers and many hands on activities for children of all ages to enjoy.

This will be a week packed full of literary fun for all. If you're anywhere near Portland, check out the Wordstock schedule and join in!

Writing, life, and other stuff

As of today, I have 50 stories or poems out on submission to a wide variety of print and online journals. Although I've still got several stories under construction and the nuclei of a few poems, I've decided it's time to take a break from writing.

Life is piling up on me very quickly these days:

A week after knee surgery, my mother found out she has three blood clots in her leg. They're taking care of it with blood thinners and she starts physical therapy on the knee today, so hopefully she'll be back at full speed again soon.

My daughter is due to start elementary school next year, and we're currently working our way through the process of entering her in First Grade instead of Kindergarten. She reads at a junior high school level and tests indicate she is 'gifted'. This is both a blessing and a curse. Our main concern is that she does not become bored in school and lose her love of learning, which is so strong the word 'love' does not begin to describe it.

Things are growing, blooming, branching, and I have not stepped out into my backyard in at least six months. I need to feel earth in my fingers.

I have taken up knitting, but in my own perversely independent way, I insist on creating my own patterns and projects. This leads to joy and frustration. Frustration is way ahead at the moment, but I'm too darn stubborn to give up.

My anthropology career has languished too long, and it's time to finish up some articles that should have been published years ago. A colleague and I hope to complete a very interesting article by the end of the summer, reporting on a unique pattern of asymmetry in a skeleton from a Salado site. My 500+ page dissertation on cannibalism in Chaco Canyon is also waiting to become something more palatable - individual articles, a book?

More immediately, I'm dealing with a kidney stone that doesn't want to budge. This is only one in a very long line of stones, and usually they pass pretty quickly. My guess is that this one is stuck somewhere en route. I'll keep pounding the water and hoping.

With all of the above, two birthdays and Mother's Day coming up, this seems like the right time to give myself a two week break. I'm sure I'll be puttering around here fairly often, but I'm also hoping to spend some quality time just plain goofing off, doing nothing particularly productive. Who knows, maybe it'll be fun?!

The Book Quiz

You're The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe!

by C.S. Lewis

You were just looking for some decent clothes when everything changed quite dramatically. For the better or for the worse, it is still hard to tell. Now it seems like winter will never end and you feel cursed. Soon there will be an epic struggle between two forces in your life and you are very concerned about a betrayal that could turn the balance. If this makes it sound like you're re-enacting Christian theological events, that may or may not be coincidence. When in doubt, put your trust in zoo animals.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Frodo Lives!

As most of us have heard by now, a new species of tiny humans, Homo floresiensis, was recently discovered in Indonesia. Dubbed 'hobbits' by their discoverers, the adults of this species stood about three feet tall. Their remains were found in cave deposits, associated with stone tools and the bones of pygmy elephants.

Small stature isn't the only thing startling about these fossils. They had very small brains that were less than a third the size of a modern human, and small even for a chimpanzee. They also date to as recent as 13,000 years ago - yesterday in geological time.

In an earlier post I pointed out the similarity between the genetic history of the Mlabri, a nomadic hunter-gatherer group in Southeast Asia, and the oral tradition passed down among the neighboring Tin Prai group of how the Mlabri came into being.
(Where did we come from?)

Interestingly, local folktales on the island of Flores where the 'hobbits' were found recount a group of diminutive, hairy people with flat foreheads who are said to have lived in caves on the island until the 19th century.

Are they passing on the memory of sharing the world with another species of human? It's an intriguing possibility.

For more on Homo floresiensis:
National Geographic
Nature
Homo floresiensis: A miniature human relation from Flores