Apologies to Wallace Stevens, as always. Thanks for your attention.
Friday, January 25, 2008
He Wants to Be a Weatherman When He Grows Up
Allow me to flash a serious ass for a minute--I don't normally post personal stuff on this blog, but this is important. Just before Christmas, my sister's longtime boyfriend was diagnosed with testicular cancer. He turned 20 last week, and started chemo a few days later. A few people are running to raise money for his treatment. If you're interested, you can donate to his cancer fund. Alternately, you could decorate your torso with his huge face. My design, obviously.
Apologies to Wallace Stevens, as always. Thanks for your attention.
Apologies to Wallace Stevens, as always. Thanks for your attention.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
I hope Craig gets better
And everyone lives happily
Forever after. Love and courage!
I'll send a small check to:
Craig Buschle Cancer Fund
c/o The Rev. Gregory Lockwood
St. Mary and Joseph Chapel
6304 Minnesota Avenue
St. Louis, Missouri 63111
Tomorrow I'll post a poem,
About the dark magic of mountains,
For they are our prayers
Frozen in air, miraculous
Denials of the ordinary.
You're very kind. I await your mountain poem!
DARK MOUNTAINS
Into the stone hiker’s shelter
Atop the summit of Czerni Vreh
(Black Peak), a tiny, wild-eyed old lady
Scrawny and nimble as a goat, raced
In from somewhere, tended the stove
With twigs, boiled tea water she poured
Into dubious clay cups, smoky as bancha,
For free, in charge of the place
Unofficially. She evidently lived here.
Everyone lives someplace. Otherwise,
You’re no one. Clouds of fog
Moved onto Vitoshe as we rested
And sipped the old lady’s smoky tea,
Which made our route of exit
Hard to see. Soon she came flying
In her white baseball cap--it read
Pole position!--scrambling over the boulders
All around our path to catch me
By the arm with her ancient fingers,
While her free hand made chopping
Gestures to demonstrate the way
Toward our descent, pinching the flab
Beneath my arm until I nodded
And agreed I understood, blue eyes
With reddened rises, hair like snow,
Like Vitoshe or Czerni Vreh, which
Also once was black. Naturally,
She spoke only Bulgarian, too old
To profit with English from the change.
Tall grasses, smaller stones, and snow.
I apologize for overlooking your Bulgarian! She is very finely drawn.
Oh man. As soon as I'm paid I'll lavish on this merch.
The merch is even more avant-garde in person--the face in question is huge beyond all reason.
Post a Comment