Inevitably, I Am

Inevitably, I Am

I used to be a soft-spoken woman

seldom given to prosy, pointless ramblings

inevitably then, I stood painfully still

tightly controlled

only to go wild and ostensibly lawless

like all the things that used to percolate

underneath John Updike’s navy wool watch cap

I always wanted to lean forward and whisper into his ear

the narrow exploits of my bedlam

plunder his man-sized memories with a confessional poem

about a long column of obscure stretches spent

with illicit boys in books

but I was too cautious when I should have been vociferous

when I should have been writing fiction that was contingent

on how quickly I was able to undo him, open him wide

Even as a wallflower my background was storm-lit

able to draw down the lightening

one clamorous bolt at a time

a survivor of fairy-tale thorns

set adrift on the ruins of desire

and like Ezra Pound I paint my subjects as I conceive them

potent in whole areas of poetry

permissible as interpretative metaphors, rigorous in rapture

I always wanted to carry out a well-intentioned scheme to

take Ezra Weston Loomis Pound hostage

if only to quantify the implication of change rolling around

in his decorous treatise on the proportions of composition         

I used to be a mild-mannered woman

rarely extended more than a single lyric to a perfect song

inevitably then, I kept deafeningly quiet

skillfully restrained

only to out-strip the world and prompt pandemonium

like the undeserved and pure goodbyes

holstered on the meaty hips of rogue space-age cowboys

I always wanted to dig my fingers deep into       

the sweetness of living

rummage and pillage, race toward the avalanche

of the prohibited province of universal incandescence

to be bounteous and have the freedom to move

Inevitably, I Am

 ***

Phew. I finished it. This poem is almost a week old. Maybe a week and a few minutes. It started as noodles on a scrap of paper (as they often do) written with a second rate pen, during down-time, when half-asleep, on the go. It came in flashes and fits. I played happily with the format until the TAB button on my keyboard rejected me, I spaced it all out in frustration and in the end, I left it. I rather like the way it looks/feels this way and when I read it aloud I appreciated the pace. The shape. I almost charged myself with the 'rescue blues' but it worked out in the end.

I am happy the rain gave way to a bit of sunshine. To be sitting here now next to my window with a fresh cool breeze coming in and daylight waning, it's a peaceful moment. I relish it. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here in my writing room with a playlist and good work to do. Coffee would complete the tableau. I am craving a smooth cup of Joe but it's too late and I'd never be able to sleep. Additionally, my taste-buds are still MIA from this cold that continues to cling. Ten days and counting. My ears feel like they are going to explode. I am on the mend, it's just much slower than I'd like. 

Amazon and I had a pow-wow today. Time to amass a summer reading stack. I ordered 'The Year of Magical Thinking' by Joan Didion and 'A Visit From The Goon Squad' by Jennifer Egan. Adding them to a small pile sitting by my bed that I need to finish yet. 

Must read. Must fill the well.

In propinquity,

Nic

Suggestible Minds

Suggestible Minds

allow me to welcome you

to stark minimalist staging

for composed ambiguity

& deceitful aural textures

whatever you do

do not look down

do not brave heavily armed

acquisitions with indifference

at least not of

your own volition

obey to expectations

willfully accept truths

allow me to address you

amply kept audience

on the acquired habits

of conscious conformity

suggestible minds

do not think for yourself

premise of absolutes

attempts to isolate

empirical measurements

are impossible to forecast

when you cannot deliberate

with your own private apathies

suggestible minds

orchestrated purposefully

suggestible minds

manipulated willfully

resonant frequency likely

**

As it always happens, the weekend flew by.  After a particularly rough Friday I arrived home to a pot of stew and Hannah overnight and a visit with Erica.  All, delights that eased my stressful noodle.  I slept like a log too because I knew I didn't have to wake up to an alarm.  Instead, I woke up organically, to the sun streaming in my window and ventured out for the day with Erica, enjoying a lunch and some retail therapy but I was mostly just happy to be in her company.  That was followed by a girls night of sorts at my eldest sister's abode.  Against my better judgement, I drank wine and I knew I shouldn't have because I was battling a headache I've had since early Thursday morning.  Because I indulged, I ruined my Sunday.  I mapped out a perfect artist date for myself.  Halifax in the sunshine with writing and browsing and peacefulness.  Instead I woke up with a migraine and wasted a whole gorgeous sunny day resting so my raging headache would subside.  Disappointed in myself for not heeding my noodle's needs prior to the wine consumption.  Lesson learned.

I'm feeling much better now but still have a dull ache hovering around the eyebrow area.  Just enough to be annoying.  I bought a new tea yesterday, Sleepytime Vanilla.  I just made myself a cup after finishing my laundry and preparing my lunch for tomorrow.  I found enough energy to tweak this poem  I started scribbling mid-week so I could at least feel like I was somewhat productive.  The tea is yummy and perfect for bedtime.  It's my new favorite thing.

Other delights of the weekend:  coming home from work on Friday to a swanky postcard from Haley and my amazon order that included the new David Sedaris book and the book about the song 'Hallelujah' I've been eyeing since Christmas.  I'm armed now with tons of reading material to get me through the next little bit.  I've read a few pages of each book already and I can't wait to get through both of them.  I plan to savor each though because David's stuff is SO good that when I'm done I'm always sad.  His stuff is incredibly smart and funny, so much so that sometimes I make a fool of myself if I'm reading it on my commute home.  I often take to laughing out-loud on the Metro.  Books, good books, rule.

As I prepare to retire for the evening I realize that while I am already missing Hannah being here, her silliness, our 5 minute dance parties and snuggles, I have so much to look forward to in the next while.  A lot of it is music, shows by Old Crow Medicine Show, The Stanfields at the Casino, Matt Mays on the waterfront which also coincides with Kiersten's visit and then Matt Epp at The Carleton come the end of June.  There's even an engagement party in there too.  I also have to get photos done for my passport application for next year's trip.  That time won't come soon enough.  I need out of dodge.

My goal for this week is to complete my current short story, eat better (because I've been bad again), exercise at least 30 minutes each day and try to get enough sleep.  Attainable goals, yes?  I think so.

My headache and I bid you a good night and successful, sunny week ahead.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream ...

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - Poem's moral?  Think for yourself and be mindful that when you use your words, choose them wisely.  Sometimes they hurt even when you don't mean for them to.

Hallelujah

This morning was one of those days where reading the newspaper was more a delight than a stress.  Of course, the first story I saw was unavoidable, Kate Middleton is expecting!  It was only a matter of time.  Before I could read any bad news, and Canadian news outlets seem to be rife with it, innocent children being killed, and political unrest … you get the idea.  But, I didn’t make it to any of those headlines because I came across an article that appealed to my inner geek.  To be truthful, I actually tend to get my good news first because I read the Arts section first.  This morning there was a wonderful article in The Chronicle Herald, ‘Malleable Hallelujah interpreted by many’ a piece that can only refer to one artist and one song, ‘Hallelujah’ by none other than Leonard Cohen.

Author Alan Light wrote a book, The Holy or The Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley and the Unlikely Assent of Hallelujah.  A song so profound, with such a long illustrious history of performances and renditions required an entire book on the subject.  I must have this.  It will be mine.  It details and deconstructs its genesis, its turbulent beginnings in 1984 when the poignant song was rejected all the way to its world-wide celebration.  Sounds like something I can get behind.  Have you ever heard the version recorded by the late Jeff Buckley?  It’s absolutely stunning, masterful and in his stylistic choir boy melodiousness, conjures emotion right up from the pit of my stomach and tears from my eyes simultaneously.  Of course it could also just be the brilliance of the song.  It matters little who is performing it, it always incites a similar reaction except that when Jeff Buckley’s voice sounds it’s more akin to a spiritual event.

‘Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do you?’

Timeless.  Extraordinary.  Poignant.  And can you even comprehend now that this song is so revered, that it was rejected right out of the gate?  Astounding.

Which brings me to this new poem that developed from thinking about Leonard Cohen:

Dirge

Dance me to the end of this poem my love

hold my gaze with your time-worn notions

rent out my battered core for benevolence

I no longer know how to read your thoughts.

We should rejoice at a hand’s light stoke

against a blazing cheek when the urge strikes

but you don’t really care for me, do you?

Writing this is nothing more than my subtle nature

rising to greet your lips when the song goes silent

but madness settled in to postpone the inevitable.

I still hear your voice sometimes when I dream

in full conscience and joy I retrieve you

beyond the periphery of mournful verse.

**

Today is Tuesday and is apparently the day of Nicole’s International Forgetfulness.  I left my house for work this morning without everything essential for me to make it through my allotted hours behind my desk.  In addition, I left my cell on the kitchen table as well as the stack of holiday greetings that needed to be mailed.  I ran back, two separate trips, to collect everything I needed and still managed to make it to where I needed to be on time and deposited the mail safely in the box.  Sheesh.  When your day starts out in a rush it seems to set the tone for the rest of it.  I feel like I have evened myself out a little bit.  If only the program I used for work would cooperate now.  It makes for very frustrating transactions when the tools needed to do your job aren’t sharp, you know?

I look forward to the end of my day, a Zumba class with friends and a good night’s sleep before my vacation day tomorrow.  No one should have to work on their birthday.

So long, Marianne.

In propinquity,

Nic