The Writer

We lost the poet Richard Wilbur this week. I was unfamiliar with his work until a poetry class I took last spring, and I'm grateful to have found his poems. Though he isn't my favorite poet (not by a long shot), many of his poems are impressive and surprising in the way of most honest art.

If you like this, you can learn more about Wilbur's writing career here.

"The Writer"

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale. 

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage. 

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which 

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent. 

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash 

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark 

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top, 

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure, 

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world. 

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

- "The Writer" by Richard Wilbur, from Walking to Sleep (1969)

Chuckle Buckets

- Maria Bamford performs at Just for Laughs in Montreal (2003)

Fernando

And I'm not ashamed to say

This song almost makes me cry

- "Fernando" by ABBA, from Greatest Hits (1976)

And Then It Was Less Bleak Because We Said So

"And Then It Was Less Bleak Because We Said So"

Today there has been so much talk of things exploding
into other things, so much that we all become curious, that we
all run outside into the hot streets
and hug. Romance is a grotto of eager stones
anticipating light, or a girl whose teeth
you can always see. With more sparkle and pop
is the only way to live. Your confetti tongue explodes
into acid jazz. Small typewriters
that other people keep in their eyes
click away at all our farewell parties. It is hard
to pack for the rest of your life. Someone is always
eating cold cucumber noodles. Someone will drop by later
to help dismantle some furniture. A lot can go wrong
if you sleep or think, but the trees go on waving
their broken little hands.

-  by Wendy Xu, from You Are Not Dead (2013)

Little Love #2: Friendly Neighborhood Cats

While I could write a whole encyclopedia about why I love my cat Nala, there's something equally special about sidewalk cats.

Little Love Number Two: Outgoing neighborhood cats

I was out walking the other night when I heard this irrepressible meow coming from down the block. I kept walking, eventually reaching the source of the noise: a peppery black-and-gold cat with a smushed-in face and a fierce scar over its left eye. It was balanced on the wet wooden rail of a small balcony, but when I came close, it tentatively slid down the railing to jump onto the sidewalk and say hello. I extended my hand, and the little guy ran toward me.

Man, this cat was all about being pet. I guess a lot of cats are, but this one wouldn't shut up for one second. I adored it for that reason alone.

After a few minutes together, I noticed a sign that said "Don't beware of dog: beware of owner," so I slipped away as I heard the front door open. A young kid in a yellow t-shirt emerged, and the cat followed me to the corner before going back home.

I'm smiling now, just thinking about it.

Don't Get Me Wrong

The only thing that needs to be said here:

Chrissie Hynde is iconic.

Also, I get a chuckle out of the strange symbol that she finds written on her datebook. The triangle inside a circle is also used by Alcoholics Anonymous to represent recovery. I doubt that's what the Pretenders were getting at here, but it adds another outlandish layer to this already absurd video (which itself is apparently a reference to the series The Avengers).

- "Don't Get Me Wrong" by The Pretenders, from Get Close (1986)

Sudden Impact

Last Friday night, I took a walk to Gillham Park and wandered around the storied old wading pool.

Built in 1977, it replaced an earlier wading pool from 1913. Because this was Kansas City in the '70's, the new pool was heavily informed by Modernist architecture: lots of low, flat, rectilinear concrete planes lead gradually into the shallow pool, which was only three feet at its deepest. This practical design meant that, though there wasn't much shade, parents and friends could nestle into the elevated concrete corners with a clear view of swimmers. It also allowed for closer proximity among strangers, as the segmented planes dictated a certain degree of personal space while still allowing visitors to sit close to one another and, perhaps, strike up a conversation. By many accounts, people felt safe and relaxed here, like they were part of a community.

The pool, which lacked a pumping and filtration system, was eventually shut down last summer after its thirty-ninth year. This represented, for many folks, a significant loss. Gillham Park had one of the few free pools in the city, which meant that it was accessible across socioeconomic boundaries. It was seen as a friendly and welcoming neighborhood space.

Neighborhood groups are currently working to raise money for a nearby spray park. This potential project would be an adequate replacement for the beloved pool, which now sits empty. Its plain white interior has become a free canvas for local artists and bored kids. Though I doubt the pool will remain the gathering space it once was, I'll watch these walls nonetheless.

"Bouncy bouncy—it's such a good time"

Southbound

Bright Blue Self-Portrait

The below poem, "Bright Blue Self-Portrait," is by the American writer Frank Lima. Born in Spanish Harlem in 1939, Lima's youth was marked by drug addiction, recovery from which led him to realize his love of poetry. After earning an MFA from Columbia University, Lima decided to pursue a career as a chef, though he continued to write until his death in 2013.

Lima was also featured in this painting by Wynn Chamberlain, which features Lima standing behind fellow New York poet Frank O'Hara:

Wynn Chamberlain, Poets Dressed and Undressed (1964)

If you enjoy this poem, you can read more of Lima's work here.

"Bright Blue Self-Portrait"

I thank the spiders’ webs and the circus dancers who stain our eyes with
Rapid movements and authorize our handcuffs to make no distinction
Between night and day or love and hate.
No one will know the sum of our arduous daily separations from bed to

Work. These pillars actually belong to you since I have not counted them
Or know any more than you do where they are or in what country they
Still exist. We can put all our concerns into a loaf of bread and French
Kisses, go to movies and watch the splashing milk on the screen imitate

the forest in the moonlight. Why all the fuss about the patrons becoming
Feathers, discharging their ideas of nobility on the evening news? There
Are no lights in the theater just soft snow from the balcony that is the
Little red schoolhouse where all this began.

Actually it was because of you I did not attend as often as I should have.
I was too embarrassed to face you across the clay modeling tables since I
Always felt like the clay in your hands was a cartoon version of my teen
Years, dear slippery-fish ladies of the sleepy west.

Don’t forget, my early life will be yours, too,
With its self-descriptions of poetic justice,
The tiny creatures we write about can describe themselves in the moss
We leave behind.

- by Frank Lima, from Incidents of Travel in Poetry (2016)

Big Umbrella People

"I'm definitely a small umbrella person; I voted for Hillary"

- Comedian Jordan Carlos, live at Paste Studios (February 2017)