Confession Tuesday
It's Tuesday. Time for you to unburden yourself. Confession is good for the soul!
This sketch is from a page in a book of pen drawings by C.D. Gibson, published in 1901 from the book, "A Widow and Her Friends." Susan Rich and I found it while I was in Seattle at a very cool vintage store near Pike Place Market (the store name escapes me). The shop sold the individual pages from the book as pieces of art.
The print is really quite lovely; my scan does not do it justice. The page is old and crumbly around the edges. I find the woman's gaze fascinating. And the caption ... love it!
A friend once suggested that I should buy art, rather than dust-collecting souvenirs, from the places I visit. I wasn't going to buy the page but it called to me; I felt compelled to buy it. Hope to write a poem about her soon--and to frame her for my bedroom wall.
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This cool vintage shop also had random pieces of black memorabilia/black Americana stuff that really kinda threw me. I know of people who collect it but still, it throws me.
Yeah, I know. Another poem to be written.
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This is turning out to be one of my busiest weeks of the year, with last Sunday's reading in Cambridge, today's visit to Doug Holder's class at Endicott College, tomorrow's visit to UVM, and taking the stage on Friday at the Occupy Boston stage. No wonder I'm tired.
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Random fact: the cost of raising a child from birth to age 18 is about $228,000 according to the USDA. Hard to believe, but when I look at how much food my kids eat ... it's probably true.
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Pet peeve: It really bugs me when people compare something of "quality" to poetry.
Example: "Oh, that TV ad I saw last night? That was poetry." Or, "That layup in last night's game was pure poetry."
No, that was a TV ad. That was a layup. Y'know what's like poetry? Poetry. Now, go read a poetry book.
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I've been writing poems but not anything of substance. May be time to buy a new journal.
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| "A Message from the Outside World." |
This sketch is from a page in a book of pen drawings by C.D. Gibson, published in 1901 from the book, "A Widow and Her Friends." Susan Rich and I found it while I was in Seattle at a very cool vintage store near Pike Place Market (the store name escapes me). The shop sold the individual pages from the book as pieces of art.
The print is really quite lovely; my scan does not do it justice. The page is old and crumbly around the edges. I find the woman's gaze fascinating. And the caption ... love it!
A friend once suggested that I should buy art, rather than dust-collecting souvenirs, from the places I visit. I wasn't going to buy the page but it called to me; I felt compelled to buy it. Hope to write a poem about her soon--and to frame her for my bedroom wall.
****
This cool vintage shop also had random pieces of black memorabilia/black Americana stuff that really kinda threw me. I know of people who collect it but still, it throws me.
Yeah, I know. Another poem to be written.
****
This is turning out to be one of my busiest weeks of the year, with last Sunday's reading in Cambridge, today's visit to Doug Holder's class at Endicott College, tomorrow's visit to UVM, and taking the stage on Friday at the Occupy Boston stage. No wonder I'm tired.
****
Random fact: the cost of raising a child from birth to age 18 is about $228,000 according to the USDA. Hard to believe, but when I look at how much food my kids eat ... it's probably true.
****
Pet peeve: It really bugs me when people compare something of "quality" to poetry.
Example: "Oh, that TV ad I saw last night? That was poetry." Or, "That layup in last night's game was pure poetry."
No, that was a TV ad. That was a layup. Y'know what's like poetry? Poetry. Now, go read a poetry book.
****
I've been writing poems but not anything of substance. May be time to buy a new journal.
Comments
Enjoy the reading tomorrow night. Can't wait to hear how it goes-