 Looking forward to seeing the writerlies on Tuesday!
Please note that Simon has graciously offered up his pad. 7 pm. as usual. Check in-boxes for directions. Happy Scribing! TartanFrog (aka Dina)
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 Love this painting I came across on Facebook! I imagine: * that those birds chirping & singing from the roots are my parents, my ancestors. * that from them, from the earth, my vibrant roots sing, with smiles in their voices and hidden wings that make me feel free, even when society tries to stomp on my dreams. Brought to mind an old Cummings poem. It's as if the words are heart-wide-open capturing my emotions: [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] BY E. E. CUMMINGS i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)  What I take from this: Society's lures--consumerism, greed, and especially prestige—are powerful magnets that can warp our beliefs about what we truly enjoy. They may cause us to work not on what we love, but on what we wish we loved. My wish if that more of us will begin to listen to our hearts. Society may want us to lose touch with our magical (s)elves, but we can choose to open up, lighten up and let go of our egos. Society's lures may thrive when we build up our egos, but its a steep price to pay: The decline of community & culture & creativity & most of all, our passionate hearts. Have a great weekend all, May you listen & follow your passions, TartanFrog, aka Dina  Source: Facebook January 16, 2013
Today is IdleNoMore's Day of Action It snowed outside. The train just whistled by. In the otherwise muffled quiet I chose as my action, I hear your voices, Karl Wendt. For more than two years, I've been walking around with you in my head, wondering what it means that a poet should die, that I should never have the opportunity to sit across from you at our weekly potlucks, to play bridge with you on Wednesdays, to visit you at that ward in the hospital. Do you know how much Andre & I loved you when we first met at BSPS? Jules was interesting, but you were great. ("The soft you are, you just are." That was my favourite and, as Andre reminded me at the time of your death: I did pull it out quite a lot). Another favourite: "...like yesterday picking up a cigarette butt this morning was better with cream on the table" [You're nodding up there. I know it.] Andre and I typed that one in my South Park apartment and Joe published it in BSPS. Someone dubbed us Halifax' Simone de Beauvoir & Jean Paul Sartre, but we knew better. You were always the genuine article, our guru of poetry & philosophy. "Oh, you'll be angry" Andre wrote,"Karl didn't demonize me after we broke up, he just tried to pick you up, and I appreciated that about him, too." That was after the horrific accident and you wrote about my 29-yr-old widowed sister: "how long will she put up with her own smile when she is crying from every fingertip" I didn't realize I would miss you so much. Miss you as a possibility, someone I would just sit down with and talk to some day and you'd deal me a hand like no time had passed. (You weren't really into time.) Why was a man like you, Karl, born to die? Andre said he felt like a character out of Dickens lamenting that the good part of the world is gone. I feel that way tonight. The last poem you read to us at our Sunday potlucks: who knows what circumstances beyond the horizons lie and as the surface blossoms on a tree in spring the questions grow and grow until we die and then and only then the silence we now shout will be our memory Requiescat in pace, Your friend, Dina  Looking forward to seeing the writerlies tomorrow!
Our first 2013 gathering (the year of my cat:) is tomorrow at 7 pm. Check in-boxes for details. While my 3rd novel's characters keep cavorting and hiding behind curtains (acting all obtuse), I'm focusing on my one-page/morning STROEMS (oh so inventive, I know; they're part story-part poem). MY FIRST REVISION of July Moments in January Feel free to critique away!! Btw, I have to update our writing group meeting schedule. Done ✓ Happy Scribing! TartanFrog (aka Dina) |
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December 2015
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