I am so tense, my porkies. First my Paypal account was hacked--the thief bought calling cards, very classy--then an unrelated check was lost in the mail, and then I discovered that I have to go out of town for a few days starting tomorrow. My hands are ooey with emotional paint, I thought darkly, let me smear it as God intended. The result is a painting I am pleased to call Nautilus of Fury.
3 comments:
...century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality.
"Meru," Yeats
Sorry for your troubles, Tricia.
Ain't no sunshine when you're gone.
Am reading Bissell's "The Father of All Things,"
Having hoovered over the years
His previous titles, impelled this time
By Stone's sturdy review in the recent NYRB.
Bissell's an associate editor of the VQR
And he thanks Ted Genoways in his acknowledgments.
I'm a few years older than Bissell's father,
And ducking the Vietnam War shaped my life,
Or misshaped it, who knows? Reading the book
I feel as if my education
Reguarding reality--fatherhood, social, cultural
And political policy, are acquiring new realms
And arenas of desolation. As for your bad luck,
What a shame! Hackers blacken anonymity's
Transparent name. This morning I re-subscribed
To Harper's, which I'd boycotted since whenever
They stopped publishing poetry, holy crumb,
Twenty, thirty years? I guess that was dumb.
Home again, home again,
Jiggety jog--
Anonymous promises
He'll be a good dog!
I did get home yesterday--how did you know? A post is on its way.
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