HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Tuesday, September 11, 2007 way down upon the suwannee river i sat by the window today on the seventh floor of olin, felt thoroughly drained. outside the mountains were like bits of cloth, and the clouds were like layers of lace. i ran today, i ran in circles against the wind. then i came home, and sat at the window, and ate the biggest bowl of grape nuts, peaches and grapes you could ever envisage, all with cold milk. on saturday, i went for a small press reading in a hippie record shop called no radio records in the ithaca commons. it was extremely female, sexy, playful, romantic, the kind of poetry i would not want to write. the first person had the loveliest voice, it was distracted, soft and jazz-like. the second person wore red earrings, pink skirt, sequin belt and sounded like screeching car tires. the name of her anthology is "awe". i met aaron, the highly stressed publisher, "sorry i am really scattered, and all over the place. what am i doing again?" i'm going to try to get an internship/weekend job through her. i didn't really like willie perdomo at his reading in cornell. it felt commodified and slam-my, his hispanic sex factor didn't work in a plushy auditorium. it would have been better with a lot of smoke and tarty girls. instead he was on show in front of the intellectualising kids and professors, for a moment i felt anxious for him. on fridays, i go to a geriatric home by the lake, where there are dementia people and mad people. i remember the old woman kept asking me, "you should put your things in your room." "i don't have a room here," i said, "i'm just visiting." "oh," she said. then she began talking about her husband, "he's good in bed," she said, "53 years. i was damn lucky." "it takes two to tango," i tell her. "that's true, damn true," she says, "why don't you take your things to your room?" "i don't have a room here," i say, "i'm just visiting." "i don't have a room here either," she says, "i don't live here, i come from philadelphia." i laugh today, when i think, about how the clocktower chimes were playing simon and garfunkel over the suffering ithaca of 1.15 pm and i said over the phone, "sorry, i really can't help it. i can't say, "yo bells, keep quiet, you know?" it is easy to live life here. life is so easy that i wonder whether i am doing it right. posted by dawn # 5:15 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] i don't believe in the power of poetry. i think po... saussure and classes, dancing, made me happy today... the road behind the house the breaking of all spells now that she's back in the atmosphere i am in ithaca now, learning new roads, navigating... we've known each other since we were 9 or 10 ANNOUNCEMENT! excess luggage In the sun [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

way down upon the suwannee river

i sat by the window today on the seventh floor of olin, felt thoroughly drained. outside the mountains were like bits of cloth, and the clouds were like layers of lace. i ran today, i ran in circles against the wind. then i came home, and sat at the window, and ate the biggest bowl of grape nuts, peaches and grapes you could ever envisage, all with cold milk.
on saturday, i went for a small press reading in a hippie record shop called no radio records in the ithaca commons. it was extremely female, sexy, playful, romantic, the kind of poetry i would not want to write. the first person had the loveliest voice, it was distracted, soft and jazz-like. the second person wore red earrings, pink skirt, sequin belt and sounded like screeching car tires. the name of her anthology is "awe". i met aaron, the highly stressed publisher, "sorry i am really scattered, and all over the place. what am i doing again?" i'm going to try to get an internship/weekend job through her. i didn't really like willie perdomo at his reading in cornell. it felt commodified and slam-my, his hispanic sex factor didn't work in a plushy auditorium. it would have been better with a lot of smoke and tarty girls. instead he was on show in front of the intellectualising kids and professors, for a moment i felt anxious for him.
on fridays, i go to a geriatric home by the lake, where there are dementia people and mad people. i remember the old woman kept asking me, "you should put your things in your room." "i don't have a room here," i said, "i'm just visiting." "oh," she said. then she began talking about her husband, "he's good in bed," she said, "53 years. i was damn lucky." "it takes two to tango," i tell her. "that's true, damn true," she says, "why don't you take your things to your room?" "i don't have a room here," i say, "i'm just visiting." "i don't have a room here either," she says, "i don't live here, i come from philadelphia."
i laugh today, when i think, about how the clocktower chimes were playing simon and garfunkel over the suffering ithaca of 1.15 pm and i said over the phone, "sorry, i really can't help it. i can't say, "yo bells, keep quiet, you know?"
it is easy to live life here. life is so easy that i wonder whether i am doing it right.

posted by dawn # 5:15 PM

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