Winter makes fragments more appealing than ever.
A scarcity of warmth, a scarcity of words,
a surplus of books-in-waiting.
A surplus of poems
in process.
A surplus of time.
Things that are hilarious (goat-related).
I love farmy catalogues.
Broadsides are important; poems are important (broadside; poem).
I believe that literature is important, and I believe that beauty is important, too. I believe in aesthetics, not for the sake of aesthetics, but for the sake of adding curation to the world. I believe in beautiful books of poems and I believe in broadsides, poems letter-pressed (letter-punched) into thick paper. One day, I will own a small letterpress, and I will make small books, beautiful books, books that have forests in their peripheral vision. They will be for sale, and they will be available for barter, too, because I believe less in money than I believe in beautiful items, a jar of brightpurple kimchi, a set of photographs with thick white borders, a hand-sanded cutting board. I believe in love and I believe in matrimony if you want it and I believe in admitting fault and in feeding oneself and one’s loved ones. In essence, I believe. As a result, I share this stanza that I love (by someone I know), and this whole poem, which I understand completely (by someone I do not know).
In a movie we see a young family live througha tsunami. Sheltering in trees. I think of the man I might expectto find unhurt in a tree above any awful thing. This man whoon Christmas I said I would marry. When I met him I dreamtwe went cheek-to-cheek to the peak of the dome of my room to speakprivately. When something comes true it is like a wreath in your body.
and
(via BLACK LEMON)
I like living (& so did Agatha Christie).
Joe Brainard & White River Junction (writings & photos).
White River Junction is where I live, and work, and eat. It is also where I yoga and latte and gossip and discover treasures. It is where I mail letters & where I show off my extensive hat collection. Joe Brainard passed through here on a bus once (probably more than once), and he wrote about it, and these days I’m reading Joe Brainard again because I think of him as a pick-me-up, even though he was mostly sad and worried about being too skinny and anxious about the concept of being a “painter” and the concept of love lasting. Then how does he make me so happy? Because he enjoyed being alive and wrote a lot just to do it and he drew pictures of things on tables and hung out with James Schuyler, one of my gay dead loves. And he had a good attitude, he did his exercises and illustrated books and drove places with friends. He was one of those charmers, I think. Here’s some of him.
*top image is from The Best American Poetry blog and the bottom image is from my phone’s camera, taken while drinking black tea with milk & honey.
“I’m a flexitarian” (poem) (mine).
I’m a flexitarian
which means
I consume mostly vegetables,
flex a lot,
and eat bacon whenever possible.
My one New Year’s resolution (with help from Miranda July).
Sometimes people you don’t know yet are your friend (poem) (Gina Myers).
Dear Gina Myers,
This poem was delivered to me by the Academy of American Poets. I read it and I knew you were my friend. I sent it to Misha, and said, “Read this poem please?” He read it sitting next to me on the couch, then turned to me and said, “Woah, that girl is your friend!”
Once, I read a tiny chapbook of poems, and I thought the girl who wrote it might be my friend, so I wrote her a letter, and now she actually is my friend. In fact, she’s engaged! I guess that’s neither here nor there. What I’m trying to say is: this poem is how I feel a lot of the time. I think you’re probably already rich with friendships, but if you want another one, hi! Want to get a latte sometime?
With smiles,
Taylor Katz
***
For N & K
Otis on vinyl
carries from
the barn. Blessed
is this day. The camera
captures us youthful
& triumphant.
Blessed be this day,
a celebration
of friends coming
together. Last night,
surrounded by
those I love, I had wanted
to read Berrigan’s
“Words For Love,”
but I didn’t want to say
the heart breaks, even though I know
it’s true & the breaking
can be a good thing
sometimes, like the way
my heart shatters
a little each time
I think of my friends
& how lucky in life
I’ve been to get
to know them, to have
had the time to laugh &
drink & dance & to argue
& feel hurt too.
How can one possibly
say everything
that should be said?
These feelings
just feelings, not
defined by words.
To be overwhelmed,
caught in a whirlwind
& up to one’s
ankles in the creek
as lightning bugs
polka-dot the sky
& Otis, again Otis,
always Otis in my
memory, provides
the soundtrack.
Not every day
can be a good day
but this is one
of them, one
of the best days.
Merry Christmas & Happy Gilmore!
Gilmore is a holiday celebrated by my family. It involves my sister and I watching Adam Sandler’s “Happy Gilmore,” and then we take a nap. Sometimes we skip the movie altogether and go straight to the nap. It’s a great holiday!
Here’s me cutting down our Christmas tree in Vermont.
Here’s a reindeer with bad spelling and holiday joy. Off I go to Austin, TX. Merry days to you!
“It is marvellous to wake up together” (poem) (Elizabeth Bishop).
panache, perhaps 