NOTE:
SAFARI seems to no longer work
for comments...use another browser?

Wednesday, November 02, 2022

Matters of Beauty


I'm on a panel talking about the short(ish) film, "Why Beauty Matters," in Delhi's lovely old public library  on the 13th. at 2:30... Regional friends, come see the movie and discuss!

* * *

Small new poem: Old Women on the Churchyard Wall at Better than Starbucks. I've been stretched thin this year and haven't sent much out. Maybe by the end of the year...

8 comments:

  1. Thank you for sharing the new poem! It's full of fire images. I like the rhyme scheme; it took me a minute to see it, behind the enjambment. For all its formal "constraints", your poetry is really flexible. I admire that a lot.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hi, Scott--

      What a good compliment--thank you! I like the sneaky and flexible in the land of rhymes.

      As for fire, well, living in the North makes me think a lot about fires, warmth, energies...

      And any passers-by should go read Scott's Six Words for a Hat blog! Pop in sgfbailey.blogspot dot com...

      Delete
    2. I'll have more exciting amateur observations along these lines when I blog about Seren.

      Delete
    3. You are ever-insightful, Scott! Truly. I always respect your thoughts about books, even mine, haha!

      I think we've bumped the pub date to February. Supply chain issues related to the pandemic have caused problems for Clive in his prior commitments...

      Delete
  2. I take it that's not the capital of India (where you'll be seeing the movie). A long way to go for a short film. Fascinated that "Authentic spirituality" is claimed and would be interested to know what other variants exist.

    Liked the bobblety rhythm of the poem and was quietly surprised to find it boiled down to IP. Isn't there a shift in subject between the two sentences of the quote (ie, in itals)?

    Must rush, a hospital (I've visited so many these last twenty months) wants to image me. I feel there's the bones of sonnet in that. Will I be the ultimate owner of the image or is ownership vested in the highly technical system used to create the image. A sort of Turin Shroud, but with electrons rather than linen. I fear I'm wandering or, as my late mother might have said, "doiting". A good, almost onomatopeic word that deserves wider promulgation beyond West Yorkshire, once known as a "Riding".

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We pronounce it barbarously, haha! DELL-high. New York also has MAA-drid and KA-row and other interesting spots.

      Just had some imaging myself and found out I had what I already knew (lousy bones) and what I suspected (more dratted kidney stones.) But I did find out that I have no plaque in the ancient arteries, so that's good--and was not something I expected, as I dutifully took calcium supplements back in the bad old days when they used to tell you to do so. But I know you have more serious reasons for inside-pics. Hope all goes very well, and there's only good and helpful news.

      Shall have to look at that poem... I have forgotten--my usual way when a poem feels done-ish; I forget it.

      Okay, peeped. Dunno if I meant that shift, but I do think "none" works for either "our children" or just absolutely "none" there.

      Delete
  3. I love the new poem "Old Women on the Church Yard Wall." I keep seeing them in too large coats, small faces, and just a hint of dappled wings almost hidden beneath the coat. Actually, come to think of it, it's a pretty good description of me these days! hahaha. And I have a bird cage in my chest as they re-wired my sternum after a long and unpleasant surgery. One of these days we need to meet up again!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hah, I'm sure you look adorable in your dappled wings! I am glad you are past the bird cage insertion, Midori.

      Maybe we could do a zoomy thing some time? I just visited with a poet in NC and another in Italy a few days ago...

      Delete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.