A Woman's Place

My favorite part of this video is when Ward Cleaver asks Wally to pass him the asbestos gloves.

-from Season One of Leave It To Beaver (1958)

The Window

This is a poem by Diane di Prima. By no means do I have a hugely discerning taste, and I'm not very familiar at all with di Prima's poetry. I need to read more of her work before saying whether I generally like her or not, but this poem caught my eye for several reasons. Usually I'm not into poetry that's so abstract and sparse that it could be interpreted in a million-and-one different ways, but this has some good things going for it, and perhaps you will think so too.

"The Window"

you are my bread

and the hairline

noise

of my bones

you are almost

the sea

you are not stone

or molten sound

I think

you have no hands

this kind of bird flies backward

and this love

breaks on a windowpane

where no light talks

this is not time

for crossing tongues

(the sand here

never shifts)

I think

tomorrow

turned you with his toe

and you will

shine

and shine

unspent and underground

 -From This Kind of Bird Flies Backward (1958)

Finals Week

Finals week is nearly upon us, and with that comes a whole slew of emotions and obligations that I can't even begin to process. Mainly I've just been trying to sleep and not scratch my hives while retaining my sanity. I'm extremely excited to go home, but very nervous to say goodbye because a) I hate goodbyes and b) it's very unclear when I'll next see a lot of people here.  That's the way it goes, though, and that's okay.

Anyhow, because I know I won't have time to write a well-reasoned post every day this week, and that most of the things I post will likely be songs, here is the first:

- "Mack the Knife" by Bobby Darin from That's All (1959)

On Anger

For various reasons that are beside the point, I was feeling rather angry this morning--an emotion that I'm coming to accept as healthy and normal and human. So I reacted by going to the echo-spot on campus and yelling words that I've been taught are not acceptable parts of speech, and basking in the minute rebellion that this brought. Now I feel oddly upbeat and satisfied and liberated and generally a million times better, simply because I embraced my anger and released it. It's funny how that works sometimes.

Now, for chucks, here is a song that feels appropriate for today. The sound quality in this recording is pretty bad, but the presentation and audience energy are amazing, so I'm sharing this version anyway. If you really care that much, the unobstructed (so to speak) studio recording is on YouTube as well:

 

"Rebel-'Rouser" by Duane Eddy, 1958