a treasure

Today I visited Resource Depot, a place for artists that are three-dimensionally inclined and people like me, who make treasure of old junk. However, from stacks of home editions of medical encyclopedias and Scandinavian travel guides, I found a surprising jewel. To be honest, I grabbed it merely for its name: Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle. I did shriek when I read the spine and waved it above my head in exultation. A second shriek escaped when I read further ...and other modern verse. Oh, thank you, Universe!

It turns out this ridiculous collection from the mid 1960s is a treasure chest. In the past hour I have scanned it through, smiling and smirking and experiencing the sort of catharsis only modern verse can induce.

I didn't notice at first but the compilation sneaks big names like Ezra Pound, Langston Hughes, and William Carlos Williams. However, their presence does not dominate, and I think the joy of these pages is their sundry nature. Here is one poem about trains (which I love), by Philip Booth:
http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/philip-booth/crossing/

Six-Word Memoir

I feel older than everyone else.

Whitman Blacks Out

DRUM SONGS

O songs

stretched

How she     gave the

superb! O

hour      truer

sprang—costumes of

opera music            and

you led to

my        parading

of this teeming

city,

amid

clinch’d

electric

daybreak

a smaller crane

pale
erect
carrying a
title

Arm'd
struggle
mental love

No
music

Wednesday crane

turbulent
pensive

old Manahatta.

red
welcome

an arm'd race
     business

begin
all
guns
  and
           frown


sing it well!

arming
limber
service

crane mail

Horses feeding

Fading away

Over the universe

thought

hastening towards

call’d Evil

and dead

the air then

that is

with itself

form pinions

parting again

back rub

her shoulders are a marble arc
stiff and straight, scarce sitting

my hands turn cold trying to hold her

I fail to slacken stone

Instead she waits for the great artist
to mold her, smooth her

Oh, but, M****,

I want to see you crumble

women: authors and activists

Before I begin, I want to apologize for my more than a month long hiatus. My blogspiration was hindered by the tedious demands of high school and a primal hunger for sleep.

But, blogspiration has struck today!

The recent conflict between Hamas and Israeli forces has been giving me an unappeasable itch, and I blame Pamela Olson. In November (I know, a long time ago) I read her book Fast Times in Palestine. Pam, an Oklahoma girl, has found herself in the midst of the strife of the region, and she tells the story from the Palestinian side, where she worked as both a "journalist and foreign press coordinator for a Palestinian presidential candidate" in the mid 2000s. As a half-Oklahoma girl myself, the idea of diving two-heads deep into this area of the Middle East leaves me both jumpy and starry-eyed. I watch as my Jewish friends effortlessly vacation to Israel with youth groups, with their family, and visit frequently. I look on at their Facebook photos enviously. I want to go! Take me with you! But so far, no luck, unfortunately.

But Ms. Olson's story told me that I didn't need luck or to be Jewish to experience the Holy Land, and it inspired me to be more openminded about the situation there. However, I do not have an answer (obviously) to anything, and I am not taking sides. But as fellow world citizens and literary gurus, I encourage you to read her book and/or check out her blog: http://pamolson.org. For any Oxbridge readers here, check out the school library, because I donated my copy!

Of course I am not done, because just yesterday I finished a book called Cry of the Giraffe. Now, I'm not a book critic, but I basically know a really good book from a meh level book. Cry of the Giraffe I place in the latter category, but I cannot say so without acclaiming the author, not for her writing skills, but for her incredible activism. Judie Oron writes about the true story of her adopted daughters, Ethiopian Jews who struggled to escape slavery and discrimination to reach Israel. Oron journeyed into a conflict-stricken Ethiopia to rescue them, a people that was in fact her own. It is a fascinating moment in recent history that I was previously oblivious to (that of the Ethiopian Jews), but I believe that it is an inspiration for persons of all faiths. Please read about Judie and her experiences here: http://www.judieoron.com.

words of the day

"filial"
             Of or pertaining to a son or daughter.           
...Of sentiments, duty, etc.: Due from a child to a parent.

"anechoic"
             Free from echo

Definition from the Oxford English Dictionary a.k.a. by best reference friend

crane material

WANTED:

An unwanted copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Babylon Revisited and Other Stories. Or any edition containing "The Ice Palace." This story, which can be found online, is delightful. I can barely resist the urge to tear the pages from my copy, fold away the day, and have a nice Sunday conversation with the universe. 

{crane} the races of rapt

lustrous aspiration
Or Time
Or shape
Or some
wondrous
worship
best I see,
the races
of rapt

throw this in your poetry

Word(s) of the week!

nacre - a shellfish that yields mother-of-pearl; mother-of-pearl
nacreous - pearly or iridescent like nacre

Courtesy of Kurt Vonnegut and Billy Pilgrim's son's "nacreous pink guitar"



It is simply not happenstance that I painted my fingernails a lovely shade of nacre this week. If anyone was wondering.

Monday crane: the universe speaks on God

streams,
callous heavenly
flesh



Life has served
my God
content
my God

Perfect Comrade
invisible yet, but certain

Today's message from the Universe

"Great breath. Perhaps you should finish your physics homework."

Friday's crane

the red robes lifted
over
Those corpses of
Those martyrs

the
motionless
train

those hearts
elsewhere with
vague
scarlet
men

aloud
they are good.

blackout poem

wanderlust {fragment}

Lingering
As on the road
    window,
Pausing,
To draw and
Then travel

inspiration

I am currently reading A Tree Full of Angels by Macrina Wiederkehr, which has proved to be one of the most beautiful, spiritually insightful books I've ever read. I was so thrilled to happen across Macrina's blog Under the Sycamore Tree on Blogster, and yet again I get goosebumps from her poetry about the colloquy between us and the Creator.

I've been reading about a chapter a day of Macrina's book, so that I can dwell on the words and ideas, and think about how I can apply it to my own spiritual life and growth. There are two ideas so far that I have pondered most:

1. That prayer isn't about the words you say to God. It's about opening your heart to Him and letting him in to fill all the spaces. Prayer can actually be reading a story or a poem to God, singing Him a song, dancing for Him! When I think of prayer, I am kneeling, head bowed, listing off my thank-you's and please-heal's and please watch-over's. But God has no limitations, so why should we? Time to take the boring out of prayer!

2. Gathering up the crumbs. This means feeding our ache for the holy with all the little crumbs God leaves us: moments, people, rainbows, words, silence, loneliness. We as humans cannot grasp the whole loaf of God at once; we're too little. But God made us great in our littleness, to recognize He is all around us and giving us infinite opportunities to embrace Him.


I encourage you to go to the link for Macrina Wiederkehr's blog and also read more about her. Whether you are religious or not, I hope you can take some inspiration from her words!

http://www.macrinawiederkehr.com