"You are very loving with everyone, right away."

I always think I am normal and unremarkable and it is so surprising to hear that I am not. I don't feel like anything unusual--not that I don't have a sense of my own capabilities and value, just that I really can't believe they're that different to anyone else's and I'm always kind of incredulous when people tell me they notice things about me that I think are standard in everyone.

sunny days

It was sunny and hot on Sunday and we were in the park. With cakes, music, Pimm's (or Pimmilar...ha), blankets, and each other. Warm all week but one day and it makes me feel so full of energy (sun helps, too). I've been in the office every day this week at 8:30 and I am tired. I can't do it all? I'm finding.

What I want to do--make big paintings, work on prints (I feel like I need three years just to resolve the things I want to work on now...but I know I would never 'just' work on prints), write this damn dissertation (well, the chapter I am on now is due tomorrow and then I will start working on Amélie! --so that is nice), write poems, read more poetry, organise every kind of poetry event, go dancing on Fridays, make pizza, bread, cake, jam, garden.

What I did today that made me happy: went to work, wrote a poem, had a meeting, did some poetry admin tasks, went home, made my garden with three friends. Drew beans, radishes, thyme for markers. Got full of dirt. Smelled the green. Made pizzas for our dinner. Saw the evening sky turning pink, with the moon in it.

specifically

What I love about England:

Old Anglican churches, hundreds of years older than my country, mostly unused (and good for sitting in quietly), and with stained-glass windows that say things like 'His Banner Over Me Was Love'.

Train stations, like this one in Leicester, as well as smaller stations (which often have decorative woodwork along their roofs). I especially like the reminder to take care on the stairs (one of my favorite road signs here says 'Tiredness can kill--take a break.'). I like this station particularly because going to Leicester means going to work in the printshop, which is a generally uplifting thing.

The way the weather changes so quickly here. One minute raining, then bright sun, then rain, then cloud, then sun, wind, more clouds.

Bits of ludicrous architecture alongside staid-and-stolid 1960s buildings. The sheer fancy of this 'Grand Hotel' (and just the word 'grand').

Magpies. In the last two weeks, I've found a brilliant green-blue, irridescent tailfeather and one that must be from a wing. I hope the magpie that lost them was moulting and not hurt. I love these birds for their dapper 'clothes', the way they hop and walk, how bold they are without seeming rude. I suppose I like them in part for how I anthropomorphise them! And because they are beautiful and smart.

anatomy of a dinner party

"What are you doing this week?"
"I'm so busy, I don't really have time for anything. But I'm having people over on Wednesday, if you'd like to come...."

And so there were, oops, ten people coming for dinner.

I made bread (oat-and-sunflower-seed and ciabatta) from scratch, which was really rewarding. I enjoyed the length of it and also the way the dough and starter behaved just as they were supposed to.

Also carrot-and-coriander (cilantro) soup with parsnips in it for good measure. And olive tapenade and a salad.

And we had cheese and wine and I made a pear cake and a lemon cake and coconut macaroons.

(before)

(during)

Lots of bad puns, lots of interesting conversations. Very good company. Very comfortable. Very laughing. Many languages and many disciplines. An explanation of space-time! It was a nice night.

(after)

I want to make bread again soon.

on gender difference

Final proof that gender differences are absolute: I just told my roommate that I'm in the middle of moving all my furniture around, and he gave me a blank look, and, after a long pause, a "...why...?". Somehow, my "It's fun!" didn't seem to compute. Ah, but is there anything quite so enjoyable as a new placement of objects? --Perhaps only a set of small, nesting or matching containers.

not my work but work I like

Near Interior, SD; from the series "Badlands"
11"X14" (27.97cmX35.56cm) on 17"X22" (43.18cmX55.88cm) paper
2008

Andrew Schroeder
(and on Etsy)

I would buy this if I had the money. I like the little house. I like the movement of the land behind it. I like thinking about South Dakota (and other in-between spaces). I don't have any photographs in my house and I would like some. Go and see his other work.

where/when

Very early morning, train to Leicester, poems. A long walk in the part of the city I don't know. I found the Cathedral and sat inside for a while. "Are you visiting?" "In a manner of speaking." The word 'love' was in the stained glass in the little chapel. A window was missing. Philip Larkin, you might have liked that after this I found the Roman baths, now almost gone, museal. Inside the Cathedral I remembered the church I saw in Stevenage and the chapel at St Mary's (Nottingham) where I sometimes go to sit. I like Anglican churches because there is rarely anyone inside. I felt overwhelmed (as if by love? a huge love, beyond language) and could feel the weather outside moving through the city, first sun, then rain, then sun again, and so on. I noticed the shape of rooflines and where windows opened.

One day I will give you a tour of Leicester, I took enough pictures today for that.

And then I came home.

writing where I am

Les Neiges d'Antan

Gerald Stern

Where art thou now, thou Ruth whose husband in the snow

creased thy head with a tire iron, thou who wore

ridiculous hats when they were the rage and loved

exotic cultures and dances such as the Haitian

Fling and the Portuguese Locomotive, my wife

hated because of her snooty attitude

or that her hair was swept up and her nose was aquiline

and her two boys raised hell with our green apples

the Sunday they came to visit, she in whose Mercury

we parked for over a year, once every night

in front of her mother's house in one of the slightly

genteel streets that led into the park

the other side downhill really from the merry-go-round,

or where is Nancy or who is Nancy Ezra Pound

located in between his racial diatribes

and dry lyrics three times at least in the Cantos,

but tell me where that snow is now and tell me—

as in where is Tangerine and where is Flora—

how old Ruth is and where does she live and does she

still dance the Locomotive and does she bundle.

--

Antan
after Gerald Stern

Where art thou now, thou lady at the HomeMade Bakery
who every morning dishes up one fresh scone,
not too many sultanas, top shining with baked
egg glaze, into paper, twists it, and gives it me

for thirty p., payable now? This morning your
face did not appear, hairnetted and becapped, aproned
in blue, striped shirt, black orthopaedic
shoes—are these the scones of yesteryear? Baker

in the back room scowling as he punched them out,
one after another jumping from the cutter.
And do you still stand dishing out Viennese swirls and egg
custard tarts to those who stand and wait about,

mouths sagging in that very English way, a dog tied up
noticing his master queuing for teacakes—yes, that’s all, cheers, duck.

(c. Eireann Lorsung 2009)

for most this amazing/ day:

for the leaping greenly spirits of trees/ and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything/ which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(e.e. cummings)

Went for a walk in the cemetery. Bought some chocolate and thought about Tuesday nights in Dole with the other English teachers, when we'd show up with chocolate, cookies, and tea and hang out for a few hours talking about students, boys, whatever. And forget for a few hours the ways we all got on each others' nerves! Thought about Tim Huang, who drove my passport and wallet a couple hours north one very cold January morning (well before sunup) when I left them in his car, accidentally. Thought about how nice it was to come out to my bike after class in Folwell Hall and find a note tied around the handlebars, or a muffin in a bag on the rack. With orange juice, even! Thought about how nicely I've been treated and how good I am at taking care of people, too. Thought--"Prettier every time I see you." Thought about my dissertation: better, worked. My chapter is beginning to come together (right on time--it needs to be done in a week or so). Some poems are happening. Thought, it is almost spring and the seeds I sowed yesterday are poking through the dirt now (very pale shoots). Felt a little sad in the late afternoon. Found a magpie feather and blackberries in bloom. And when I needed them people came along and said, no, I want to be here for this.

(now the ears of my ears awake and/ now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

It might interest you to know,

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
(Billy Collins, "Litany")

About a week and a half ago, a project I've been working on since January became real--the Nottingham Poetry Series. It's a linked series of poetry events--readings, lectures, craft talks, workshops, and community-based projects--that will take place at the University of Nottingham and in the city over the next three years (and, I hope, longer). I've been working my fingers off with this and it was such a pleasure to see it really happen--the poets came, the audience came (there were more than 70 people there), the cakes got eaten, the volunteers were wonderful, and everything I've heard from people has been incredibly positive. The three readers (that's me introducing them) were Pam Thompson, Michael McKimm, and Will Smith. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect evening--it was sunny and warm, and I felt like I was floating around about an inch off the floor.

More happiness: new words in Dutch, delicious pizzas made in a very dirty kitchen (reminded me why I'm glad not to live in student digs any longer), two dozen roses opening on my own kitchen table, laundry done and drying, seeds I germinated now sown in egg cartons and soil. "Het maakt mij blij dat ik jou blij maak."

I want to know what poems are your favorites--longtime or new. I'm making a new commonplace book.

*

F.A. Wolf: The key to happiness is in allowing whatever arises to be as spontaneous and joyful as possible, recognizing that whatever occurs is impermanent and nothing, no matter how painful or pleasurable, is going to last.

Bioephemera, Room26, Moonriver (new art), Whiskey River (whence the quotation), Random Knowledge.

If predicting the future were possible, we'd have done it long ago--not much difference between meteorology and stock markets and casting dice and reading entrails.

leicester, music

One new thing to like about spending one day a week in Leicester is the new artist-in-residence at the print workshop. She's doing letterpress, which, although it's not my thing (I'm just not picky enough) is nice to see used in the shop. She is also just very sweet and fun and has lent me some cds. And we were talking to another printmaker there, who doesn't make cds but is going to make us mixtapes (real! mixtapes! I'm 17!).

My music library has actually been expanding quite a bit lately. New favorites are 2080 by Yeasayer, Into My Arms by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, You Are The Blood as covered by Sufjan Stevens, and Deep Blue Sea by Grizzly Bear (as a point of interest, this last one is at the same festival I went to last year). I'm also looking forward to seeing a bunch of live music soon (at Sounds on the Downs and Dot-to-Dot).

New music to recommend?

monday

Good morning,

The poetry reading I arranged was so wonderful, and now I'm tired out, but with a second wind coming. And I'm going to London in June for a conference and will see the poet who came to read (Michael McKimm) then. His book is beautiful. Reinvigorating. We sat around the next morning reading poems to one another and exchanging information about poetry. And making plans.

I love this video and this song, which is from the compilation Dark Was The Night. Really good music all together.

This weekend I was taken out for breakfast, where we sat in the window and read the paper. Had a scone (recent addition to my favorites-list) and then a walk and a trip to town. Made pizza. Watched Amelie (which he'd never seen before). Learned a bunch of words in Dutch and made some sentences. Made him laugh. Laughed too. It was very easy.

The rest of the week calls. I have to get back to working on my thesis. Also job applications, and printmaking to do, and meetings. What news do you have? What is good there?

journey to the moon

William Kentridge, 2005. I saw this at the Venice Biennale when I was there that summer; it moved me more than any other work I saw. The room was large and dark except for the projected animations. This work gets at something about love and loss and change and transience that I find really poignant and memorable...it's definitely one I come back to over and over.

the pleasure of a comical body

I enjoy what is left now that I cannot ever be going-to-be-a-ballerina anymore, which is a certain freedom of movement and a fluidity (which might be called grace if what I did was graceful and not silly) that makes the connection between movements and in space feel very intuitive. For the first time maybe ever, I went out dancing on Friday night. It was wonderful. I danced for five hours straight, including a very silly and energetic dance-off with one of my PhD-peers. Lately I've felt much more free in my body and one result of that has been more willingness to goof around and use it to comic effect. Being a bit of a clown feels very liberating, and has the pleasant side effect of encouraging the people around me to loosen up and be silly, too. Very enjoyable.

Technique

Water poured into cloths
over the nose and mouth,
or arms bolted up, or a collar,

the inside of a plywood
box for months, naked, unslept,
cold water all over the body,

hand and feet rusted
in their holders, and they know
where everyone you love lives,

they shear you,
they do not feed you,
they tell you they are going
there tonight, to find them.

planting

She would know the names of all those flowers.

I printed a bunch of the girls from this block and now I'm figuring out what to do with them. That's the nice thing about making prints, that there are multiples. I feel a little paralysed (momentarily) about the paintings I'm working on because if I 'mess up' there's no multiple to save me.

Friday I spent an hour beginning to clear our back garden to plant things. And started beans on a plate in wet paper towels (like in elementary school). I bought geraniums and seeds in a demonstration of hope and optimism. Caroline and Neele are going to help plant (and eat the vegetables, presuming they do as they're supposed to).

I'm reading the Oxford History of Portraiture and hoping to go and see this show of Gerhard Richter's portraits in London before it's over. What else? Finishing my chapter on Beloved and happily preparing to begin one on Amélie, which will probably entail watching that movie a few times. Don't let anyone tell you this PhD stuff isn't hard work.

May day

The project continues to be learning to love all the time. Being kind in every interaction. Smiling in the hallway. Opening up. Giving the benefit of the doubt. Not allowing myself to sink into the what-ifs that mean nothing but unnecessary anxiety. Making the big project of my life a good one. Not that it's easy. I guess I probably get there about 2% of the time. But learning.

John Wesley: Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

Happy day of flowers and solidarity. These are magnolias in Bergen.