6/24/2009
Seattle 33, or Slam Photo from last week
I didn't actually slam last week, because it was a Cover Slam, where the contenders don't read their own work, but that of poets they admire. Normally, I would be really into participating, but an old mentor was in town from New York, and I wanted a chance to read something of mine so she could see how swashbucklingly cool I've become. Photo credit, as always, to Andi Burk.
6/21/2009
Seattle 32, or Dane's In The Newspaper!!
Czech it out! The Seattle Times Real Estate Section has an article about the kibbutz! There's pictures! And video! If you ever wanted to see where and how I live these days, this article is about as good as it gets.
6/19/2009
Seattle 31, or Happiness
I love this picture. Actually, I just really love this shirt. Credit, as always, to Andi Burk.
The birthday celebrations and gifts have begun - this week, my whole family pooled together to help me buy a beautiful bed, after so many months of a small mattress on the floor. It'll get assembled when I move to the new Kibbutz house down the street on Monday. From my grandmother and her husband, a set of sheets so soft they make my bed look and feel like a cloud. They have said a quilt is on its way. I feel like the world's luckiest swan, or something.
Tonight, I came home from a long, rough shift to find a package waiting for me from my grandparents in Tenafly: sweet things, rich things, salty things, like a slice of their kitchen sent via parcel post. Tucked inside, a card, with a long rhyming poem, as is family birthday custom. With two graduations and two June birthdays, their study must've been a regular writers' den! I read the poem out loud to my listening housemates, who looked admiringly at the food (I've promised a feast this weekend!), and laughed with me, and pretended not to notice when I got choked up towards the end.
And the days are long now, the last stretches of sun reaching far past nine o'clock. We, the city-dwellers are soaking it in and storing it for the rainy season.
The birthday celebrations and gifts have begun - this week, my whole family pooled together to help me buy a beautiful bed, after so many months of a small mattress on the floor. It'll get assembled when I move to the new Kibbutz house down the street on Monday. From my grandmother and her husband, a set of sheets so soft they make my bed look and feel like a cloud. They have said a quilt is on its way. I feel like the world's luckiest swan, or something.Tonight, I came home from a long, rough shift to find a package waiting for me from my grandparents in Tenafly: sweet things, rich things, salty things, like a slice of their kitchen sent via parcel post. Tucked inside, a card, with a long rhyming poem, as is family birthday custom. With two graduations and two June birthdays, their study must've been a regular writers' den! I read the poem out loud to my listening housemates, who looked admiringly at the food (I've promised a feast this weekend!), and laughed with me, and pretended not to notice when I got choked up towards the end.
And the days are long now, the last stretches of sun reaching far past nine o'clock. We, the city-dwellers are soaking it in and storing it for the rainy season.
6/14/2009
Seattle 30, or Farmer's Market and Stuff
First of all, has anyone noticed the formatting changes? I'm still futzing around with colors, but I think I like it.
Today's farmer's market haul included: garlic scapes, swiss chard, some little baby zucchinis, four beautiful end-of-first-harvest leeks (no more till late August!) and some Jade sauce, which is from a little local vendor and contains everything you could possibly need to make the most delicious Thai curry in the world.
Then, a stop at Whole Foods for some Romano and kalamata olives, and Shaul (my farmer's market buddy) and I headed back to the kibbutz for a cooking lesson. We made roasted leeks, and pasta with sauteez zucchini and olives and cheese. Lovely.
Also, at the market, there's a drum circle that happens every week - anywhere from five to fifteen or twenty drummers in a small public park at the head of the market. This week, I finally got the nerve to ask them if I could join in, and they didn't break time, just nodded towards which drum I should use, and I jumped right in. I drummed until my hands were sore, falling easy into the beat, finding the spaces I could fill, happy and smiling at the women who looked like they were too shy to dance, at the boy who grabbed a maraca and jumped around.
I saw three women with a toddler, and each were trying to get the little girl to dance. "Enough!" I wanted to shout at them. "Dance for yourselves, because you want to dance and are too scared of what other people will think, so you're trying to pass it off as a good opportunity for your little girl. She's never going to want to dance unless you show her how to do it, dancing for yourselves, with joy."
Instead, I shifted my attention to the gray-haired woman with skin the color of water-soaked wood, met her eyes with a smile, and sped up the beat a little. She danced like an old woman, with small movements, but precise and perfectly timed. She flirted with the drum circle with an amused smile on her face - look at all the white folks playing Mediterranean beats! - and kept pace perfectly for a few minutes, before settling down to shuffle towards the market.
Today's farmer's market haul included: garlic scapes, swiss chard, some little baby zucchinis, four beautiful end-of-first-harvest leeks (no more till late August!) and some Jade sauce, which is from a little local vendor and contains everything you could possibly need to make the most delicious Thai curry in the world.
Then, a stop at Whole Foods for some Romano and kalamata olives, and Shaul (my farmer's market buddy) and I headed back to the kibbutz for a cooking lesson. We made roasted leeks, and pasta with sauteez zucchini and olives and cheese. Lovely.
Also, at the market, there's a drum circle that happens every week - anywhere from five to fifteen or twenty drummers in a small public park at the head of the market. This week, I finally got the nerve to ask them if I could join in, and they didn't break time, just nodded towards which drum I should use, and I jumped right in. I drummed until my hands were sore, falling easy into the beat, finding the spaces I could fill, happy and smiling at the women who looked like they were too shy to dance, at the boy who grabbed a maraca and jumped around.
I saw three women with a toddler, and each were trying to get the little girl to dance. "Enough!" I wanted to shout at them. "Dance for yourselves, because you want to dance and are too scared of what other people will think, so you're trying to pass it off as a good opportunity for your little girl. She's never going to want to dance unless you show her how to do it, dancing for yourselves, with joy."
Instead, I shifted my attention to the gray-haired woman with skin the color of water-soaked wood, met her eyes with a smile, and sped up the beat a little. She danced like an old woman, with small movements, but precise and perfectly timed. She flirted with the drum circle with an amused smile on her face - look at all the white folks playing Mediterranean beats! - and kept pace perfectly for a few minutes, before settling down to shuffle towards the market.
6/12/2009
Seattle 29, or Another Poem from the new book
Bakery #6
In exchange for the
burnt loaves of sourdough,
Gabe and I offer to stack
the 4 cords before it rains.
It's my birthday.
There is oak dust up my nose,
bluegrass coming through the window.
Bakery #2
Matthew slips the week's
poem into each paper bag.
It is not very good.
He writes too much like a baker
who always wanted to sing jazz
or never have children.
Matthew's bread tastes like
river rocks, calluses, and sunshine.
Bakery #328
Customers shuffle in
from twenty below, &
watch the snow evaporate
from their boots.
Linda and Matthew are panting.
They take breaks by the door,
kiss by the woodpile.
New customers leave
with flour handprints
on their shoulder blades.
It's Friday.
In exchange for the
burnt loaves of sourdough,
Gabe and I offer to stack
the 4 cords before it rains.
It's my birthday.
There is oak dust up my nose,
bluegrass coming through the window.
Bakery #2
Matthew slips the week's
poem into each paper bag.
It is not very good.
He writes too much like a baker
who always wanted to sing jazz
or never have children.
Matthew's bread tastes like
river rocks, calluses, and sunshine.
Bakery #328
Customers shuffle in
from twenty below, &
watch the snow evaporate
from their boots.
Linda and Matthew are panting.
They take breaks by the door,
kiss by the woodpile.
New customers leave
with flour handprints
on their shoulder blades.
It's Friday.
6/10/2009
Seattle 28: Soon To Be Released
Yes, I know it's blurry. Click on it, and you should see a large, clear image. This is the tentative cover for my new book - first time I've ever done my own cover art.
It's almost all short pieces, which is unusual for me - there's only one piece in there I'd consider "slammy," and I've never slammed it before. Anyway, here's one of the pieces. I wrote the first draft during National Poetry Writing Month, when I was doing the 30 poems/30 days challenge.
comfort
hardwood, sweet pea, woodsmoke, soup,
pickle brine, stubble, sourdough,
eggs, lake water, roots, windows,
fog, raspberry, suede,
river rock, rope, aloe, licorice,
tea, breast, coffee bean, microphone,
wool, red, knife, coals, strings,
paper, cotton, lemon, wine,
alto, apple, coffee, pulse
It's almost all short pieces, which is unusual for me - there's only one piece in there I'd consider "slammy," and I've never slammed it before. Anyway, here's one of the pieces. I wrote the first draft during National Poetry Writing Month, when I was doing the 30 poems/30 days challenge.
comfort
hardwood, sweet pea, woodsmoke, soup,
pickle brine, stubble, sourdough,
eggs, lake water, roots, windows,
fog, raspberry, suede,
river rock, rope, aloe, licorice,
tea, breast, coffee bean, microphone,
wool, red, knife, coals, strings,
paper, cotton, lemon, wine,
alto, apple, coffee, pulse
6/08/2009
Seattle 27, or Farmer's Market - Wish I Had Pictures!
For the last several Sunday mornings, I've been going to a local farmer's market in the Norwegian neighborhood of Ballard. The market is one of my all-time favorites, featuring multiple cheesemakers, a chocolatier, homemade ice cream in wild flavors (this week featured bay laurel, and rosemary brown sugar - both indescribably good), a spice vendor, fresh eggs, apple cider (and apple cider vinegar, apple wine, etc etc), and of course, lots and lots of produce.
This week marked the first week of garlic scape season, which, as some of you will remember from last year, is my favorite summer green of all. I bought a good bunch, some Swiss chard, some spices, and some spring onions, about the size of golf balls, which I am now pickling in a mix of salt, pepper, thyme and balsamic vinegar. I hope to slice them thin and eat them on grilled cheese.
Maybe one of these weeks I'll convince one of my market-mates to bring a camera. I fingered some butter lettuce this week that was downright lascivious. No reason you all should miss out!
This week marked the first week of garlic scape season, which, as some of you will remember from last year, is my favorite summer green of all. I bought a good bunch, some Swiss chard, some spices, and some spring onions, about the size of golf balls, which I am now pickling in a mix of salt, pepper, thyme and balsamic vinegar. I hope to slice them thin and eat them on grilled cheese.
Maybe one of these weeks I'll convince one of my market-mates to bring a camera. I fingered some butter lettuce this week that was downright lascivious. No reason you all should miss out!
6/06/2009
6/05/2009
Seattle 26, or Recent Events
*Snapshot*
It's hotter here than it's been in awhile. It doesn't feel like an East Coast June at all - hardly any mugginess, just a thick dry heat settling over everything. I've been riding my bike to work without injury or complaint from my body, minus my seat. (Somehow, my bicycle came with a seat that feels like sitting on top of a flag pole, fence post, or other unpleasant protrusion into one's rear.) The kids at work take every opportunity to go outside, turn their faces to the sun. Today, Tasha spread her arms wide and told me she wanted a tan. When I asked why, she said, "So I can be the same color as [Mexican-American kid], because we're friends, and so that when the rain comes I'll have plenty of warm stored up in my skin."
*Snapshot*
Andi and I go swimming in Lake Washington, a behemoth between the suburbs and the wealthier suburbs. The beach is grass and trees, all the way to the water's edge. The lake bottom is all pebbles, river-smooth and covered in lake muck. I love it. I feel home between my toes. We swim out to a dock some sixty feet from shore, carefully avoid the goose droppings, stretch out, soak. The water is cold, deep. I can feel its pulse coming from somewhere too far for me to dive. We picnic at a table in the shade: pita, good cheeses, oranges, cookies, water in an apple juice jug. It tastes like childhood at the pool. All we need is an ice cream truck.
*Snapshot*
The beach used to be a military base. They're now turning it into a community center and business complex, rehabilitating the land around it, and opening it up to the public. There's a beautiful rock climbing wall (built with real rock) mounted against the side of an eighty foot building. Lots of glistening shirtless men with lean muscles are spider-monkeying on it in the sun. My legs itch, jealous. It looks like one of the other buildings will eventually be some kind of art center, or school. Yet another has a sign advertising "Fright Night Teen Nights until 12:AM." Jealous again. Nobody ever did anything until midnight in my town, except hanging out at the diner.
*Snapshot*
This morning, I reach for my star necklace to explain something Jewish to one of the kids, and find only the cord I've been wearing it on. It's gone, lost somewhere on the bike ride between home and work. I am not horribly saddened. Only a little bit. I've begun thinking it's time for a new one anyhow, though that one will always remain one of my favorites. Here's a couple I'm thinking about:
Choice C: Just a basic star on a background
from Ebay
For some reason, I am much beloved of the trees. This is not news, only a new trend in jewelry, for me. What do you all think?
It's hotter here than it's been in awhile. It doesn't feel like an East Coast June at all - hardly any mugginess, just a thick dry heat settling over everything. I've been riding my bike to work without injury or complaint from my body, minus my seat. (Somehow, my bicycle came with a seat that feels like sitting on top of a flag pole, fence post, or other unpleasant protrusion into one's rear.) The kids at work take every opportunity to go outside, turn their faces to the sun. Today, Tasha spread her arms wide and told me she wanted a tan. When I asked why, she said, "So I can be the same color as [Mexican-American kid], because we're friends, and so that when the rain comes I'll have plenty of warm stored up in my skin."
*Snapshot*
Andi and I go swimming in Lake Washington, a behemoth between the suburbs and the wealthier suburbs. The beach is grass and trees, all the way to the water's edge. The lake bottom is all pebbles, river-smooth and covered in lake muck. I love it. I feel home between my toes. We swim out to a dock some sixty feet from shore, carefully avoid the goose droppings, stretch out, soak. The water is cold, deep. I can feel its pulse coming from somewhere too far for me to dive. We picnic at a table in the shade: pita, good cheeses, oranges, cookies, water in an apple juice jug. It tastes like childhood at the pool. All we need is an ice cream truck.
*Snapshot*
The beach used to be a military base. They're now turning it into a community center and business complex, rehabilitating the land around it, and opening it up to the public. There's a beautiful rock climbing wall (built with real rock) mounted against the side of an eighty foot building. Lots of glistening shirtless men with lean muscles are spider-monkeying on it in the sun. My legs itch, jealous. It looks like one of the other buildings will eventually be some kind of art center, or school. Yet another has a sign advertising "Fright Night Teen Nights until 12:AM." Jealous again. Nobody ever did anything until midnight in my town, except hanging out at the diner.
*Snapshot*
This morning, I reach for my star necklace to explain something Jewish to one of the kids, and find only the cord I've been wearing it on. It's gone, lost somewhere on the bike ride between home and work. I am not horribly saddened. Only a little bit. I've begun thinking it's time for a new one anyhow, though that one will always remain one of my favorites. Here's a couple I'm thinking about:
Choice C: Just a basic star on a background
from Ebay
For some reason, I am much beloved of the trees. This is not news, only a new trend in jewelry, for me. What do you all think?
6/04/2009
Seattle 25, or Wednesday One-Liner
This week, I took third, but Daemond (the slammaster, whom I affectionately call "Papa D") said he's noticing subtle, important improvements in my pacing and clarity . I'd like to point out to all those doubters that slam does have some element of randomness to it, and the fact that I've consistently made the final round in the last five or six slams is noteworthy indeed!
This is from last week (photo credit, as always, to Andi Burk), in the middle of my piece "The Memory of Rising," which is about my grandma. It was one of my favorite performances of the piece, probably because I miss her so much. One of the best things I'm learning here is how to get visibly emotional onstage without making it too much like acting or too much like therapy. I think this picture really captures one of the moments where I "got it."
This is from last week (photo credit, as always, to Andi Burk), in the middle of my piece "The Memory of Rising," which is about my grandma. It was one of my favorite performances of the piece, probably because I miss her so much. One of the best things I'm learning here is how to get visibly emotional onstage without making it too much like acting or too much like therapy. I think this picture really captures one of the moments where I "got it."
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