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September 29th, 2011

It was one of the prizes in the library summer reading thing, the bread was.  But the place closes at 6 and isn't open on Sundays, and the past few times I've been in them parts and thought of it, it's been in the off time.  There were a passel of people in there today, I must say.   (All women?  If not, pert near.)   They gave me a sample of some apple bread that was mighty yummy.  The honey whole wheat I came home with has just a handful of ingredients, a nice heft, and a shelf life of a week to 10 days, the bread lady said.

The dog was so tired from running around with a puggle for the better part of an hour that I went ahead and did some grocery getting.  Gonna make stew tomorrow, I figure.  It's cold enough for it.  And it takes some time.  Good last day off work thing.

I think I'll take more time off work real soon, however.  When it's not too rainy and not yet real cold.  I bought a 2-saw combo, bow & pruning, for 8 bucks, on sale, at Ace Barnes.  Didn't yet invest in an electric pole chainsaw, but I have half a mind to.  Be nice to bring down some bigger overhead branches with relative ease.  That's 80 bucks, though.  80 bucks is more than 8 bucks.  And I have an American public school education!  If even I know that, there must be a big difference.

I'm happy to find today that my swollen glands are less swollen, and I'm doing without a nap.  Not doing without a shower, however, or the people at the poetry reading will be likely to want to sit a few chairs away from me, and not (just) because I'm fat.  Turns out I do know one guy who's into going to the reading (Tony Hoagland).  Denny, who's 20 years my senior.  Perhaps I can cultivate some other poetry friends.  Locally.  Revisiting poetry is not entirely unlike revisiting reading music, via the chorus.  They're sorta particular areas of my culturo-spiritual life, existing almost in little bubbles of engagement, absorption, the "now."

I like some of what I've seen of this Tony's.  My younger poetry-digging self would have liked him maybe even more.  He seems to play with words and colloquialism and throws in the topical or lowbrow, and otherwise brings not-stuffy.  I have a hunch he'll be an engaged and engaging reader of his stuff; I'm interested to see how much (for lack of a better word) humanity he brings.  Here in my semi-old age I have the soul equivalent of an ear for that, now, too.  Whatever we're calling it.  

The other day in the car with an audiobook of Mary Oliver I decided to memorize "Wild Geese."  "Wild Geese" is a poem one could have contempt for, and miss out on, if one let oneself dismiss its appeal as too easy, with an "Of course the reader/audience wants to identify with ... " and/or a "Direct address command implies an authority and order I don't believe in either of."  For instance.  But then one wouldn't see the wonders, like the trees being deep, from the other perspective.  Stopping to memorize makes you concentrate on each turn of phrase.  Especially the ones that rush by as if so much stock imagery.  And then they may turn out to be not so stock after all.

And you get to say things aloud that feel complicated, and good, in your mouth.  The soft animal of your body.  Clear pebbles.  Harsh.
 
Janus
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