Were not our hearts burning within us… Luke 24:32
Were not our hearts burning within us… Luke 24:32
Book Reading at TweetSpeak Poetry
The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker
It’s about a poet, talking about the writing he should be doing, and
his live-in woman friend that has moved out, as well as mentioning other
odd thoughts that he tends to have. He strings the whole thing along going
from his life stuff to what he knows about rhyme and free verse poetry. It’s odd
but not too unusual, it’s frustrating in the way that our own lives can be, in
that it takes us forever and a day to get through some things, if ever. And yet,
some of the information on rhyming starts to sound okay as he relates it to
different things, like song and beat. He takes time to inform the reader of
his poetic knowledge by talking about certain poets and poems. If it were not
for the story of the love interest in Roz, and the ones about his dealings with his
friends and editor, it would basically be that introduction to the anthology that
he is trying to get himself to write. You can tell that Baker once attended a school
of music as much as he likes to emphasize the beat and rhythm of poetry in
I can understand about the sound of words and the rhythm of a line…but,
i think one can get a little too caught up in thinking about how to do something
instead of just doing it. Or even allowing it to happen. Just like the unwritten
anthology in the story.
I like how the story relates how people do things differently, which is what can
make poetry so remarkably interesting in the long run.
photo via flicker
i’m having a hard time with dying
this growing old
this decay of body and mind
my soul aches for a consuming love
a cool breath of spring
warm breeze of summer on my skin
i want to be in love
to believe with someone
to be beautiful in someone’s eyes
and i know better
my heart is set on breaking
and the best that i can do
is let it break
sometimes the truth needs to be shared
even if it makes you feel really ugly and spoiled and pitiful.
in the midst
in the mist
of my days
only my heart senses
a small understanding
I wrote the above because, today, I followed a tweet by Glynn Young
to his Saturday Good Reads post.
And there, under his list of poetry, was a familiar name that caught my eye.
John Blasé …a poem…”20 July 2012″…i clicked on the link.
And this is what i found …
20 July 2012
O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days… ~ Psalm 102.24The news reporter said you just can’t make sense
vegetable broth (stock in freezer)
fresh asparagus spears
fresh basil leaves
. . .
Evidence of the existence of soup can be found as far back as about 6,000 BC. Boiling was not a common cooking technique until the invention of waterproof containers (which probably came in the form of clay vessels). Animal hides and watertight baskets of bark or reeds were used before this. To boil the water hot rocks were used. This method was also used to cook acorns and other poisonous plants.
The word soup comes from French soupe (“soup”, “broth”), which comes through Vulgar Latin suppa (“bread soaked in broth”) from a Germanic source, from which also comes the word “sop”, a piece of bread used to soak up soup or a thick stew.
The word restaurant (meaning “[something] restoring”) was first used in France in the 16th century, to describe a highly concentrated, inexpensive soup, sold by street vendors, that was advertised as an antidote to physical exhaustion. In 1765, aParisian entrepreneur opened a shop specializing in such soups. This prompted the use of the modern word restaurant to describe the shops.
. . .
“The etymological idea underlying the word soup is that of soaking. It goes back to an unrecorded post-classical Latin verb suppare soak’, which was borrowed from the same prehistoric German root (sup-) as produced in English sup and supper. From it was derived the noun suppa, which passed into Old French as soupe. This meant both piece of bread soaked in liquid’ and, by extension, broth poured onto bread.’ It was the latter strand of the meaning that entered English in the seventeenth century. Until the arrival of the term soup, such food had been termed broth or pottage. It was customarily served with the meat or vegetable dishes with which it had been made, and (as the dreivation of soup suggest) was poured over sops of bread or toast (the ancestors of modern croutons). But coincident with the introduction of the world soup, it began to be fashionable to serve the liquid broth on its own, and in the early eighteenth century it was assuming its present-day role as a first course.”
–An A-Z of Food and Drink, John Ayto [Oxford University Press:Oxford] 2002 (p. 316)
. . .
“Our modern word “soup” derives from the Old French word sope and soupe. The French word was used in England in the in the form of sop at the end of the Middle Ages and, fortunately, has remained in the English language in its original form and with much its original sense. We say “fortunately” because it is clear that nowadays a “sop” is not a “soup.” The distinction is important. When cooks in the Middle Ages spoke of “soup,” what they and the people for whom they were cooking really understood was a dish comprising primarily a piece of bread or toast soaked in a liquid or over which a liquid had been poured. The bread or toast was an important, even vital, part of this dish. It was a means by which a diner could counsume the liquid efficiently by sopping it up. The bread or toast was, in effect, an alternative to using a spoon…Soups were important in the medieval diet, but the dish that the cook prepared was often a sop that consisted of both nutritious liquid and the means to eat it. The meal at the end of a normal day was always the lighter of the two meals of the day, and the sop appears to have had an important place in it. In fact it was precisely because of the normal inclusion of a sop in this end-of-the-day meal that it became called “souper” or “supper.”
–Early French Cookery, D. Eleanor Scully & Terence Scully [University of Michigan Press:Ann Arbor] 1995 (p. 102)
i think i might be in love
then i remember
who i am
and i forget it
why can’t each day have a new name
i know better than to think
that there’s such a thing as a week
and that it really ends
i will call today what i please
i will call it cloudy day with colour
why do women shave their legs
or arm pits
or pluck hair from eyebrows
men would never shave their legs
unless it was for sport
i suppose that may be why women do it
olympic in size
the sport of winning
we all know that winning is important
why… it says so on television
and how do we play
do children play
in the grass
do they climb trees
or jump into leaves
so afraid we are
all along thinking we are free
A robin’s nest, interwoven with ribbons of blue plastic and bits of moss. Check out that
beautiful round shape of the inner area.
The angle of this shot shows the moss that has been woven around the bottom part of the nest.
I think this robin is very good as what she does. I wonder how many nests she has made before this one.
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The view from my front porch (in Pennsylvania) or back patio (in London) every morning, in tweet-sized bites
The Beautiful Due