Jackie Gleason Manipulating Space and Time on Vimeo by Larry Carlson
Originally uploaded by carlmacki
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Jackie Gleason Manipulating Space and Time on Vimeo by Larry Carlson
Jackie Gleason Manipulating Space and Time on Vimeo by Larry Carlson
Originally uploaded by carlmacki
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Praise, poem by Tina Chang
Praise
Tina Chang
Brooklyn Poet Laureate
All night long there was digging, and the bodies like accordions
bent into their own dying instruments, and even after this,
after the quake, there was, in news reports, still singing:
A woman's clapping was followed by another who shuffled
and dragged her own apparition through the ruined streets,
though each one knew the anthem the other was singing.
History taught them better. No one was coming.
The film crews had their sights on the large hotels,
the embassies. So they set to digging with their hands
and with the shoes of those who were no longer alive.
And with that, night fell and fell again
like an old black pot tumbling to the ground.
When a man dies, the first thing that goes is his breath,
and the last thing that goes is his memory.
I once saw this civilization passing through a great white door,
people weeping, then the weeping was followed by the sound
of tambourines rattling the heavy air, something that sounded
like celebration only livelier and more holy, voices rising,
and then a marching into the dusty road of the next century.
When shelter is gone, find your solace on the ground.
And when the ground is gone, lift yourself and walk.
And after all the great monuments of your memory
have collapsed, with the sky steady above you,
you shatter that too, with song
Tina Chang
Brooklyn Poet Laureate
All night long there was digging, and the bodies like accordions
bent into their own dying instruments, and even after this,
after the quake, there was, in news reports, still singing:
A woman's clapping was followed by another who shuffled
and dragged her own apparition through the ruined streets,
though each one knew the anthem the other was singing.
History taught them better. No one was coming.
The film crews had their sights on the large hotels,
the embassies. So they set to digging with their hands
and with the shoes of those who were no longer alive.
And with that, night fell and fell again
like an old black pot tumbling to the ground.
When a man dies, the first thing that goes is his breath,
and the last thing that goes is his memory.
I once saw this civilization passing through a great white door,
people weeping, then the weeping was followed by the sound
of tambourines rattling the heavy air, something that sounded
like celebration only livelier and more holy, voices rising,
and then a marching into the dusty road of the next century.
When shelter is gone, find your solace on the ground.
And when the ground is gone, lift yourself and walk.
And after all the great monuments of your memory
have collapsed, with the sky steady above you,
you shatter that too, with song
Monday, February 1, 2010
American Life in Poetry: Column 254
Welcome to American Life in Poetry. For information on permissions and usage, or to download a PDF version of the column, visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.
******************************
American Life in Poetry: Column 254
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006
What might my late parents have thought, I wonder, to know that there would one day be an occupation known as Tooth Painter? Here’s a partial job description by Lucille Lang Day of Oakland, California.
Tooth Painter
He was tall, lean, serious
about his profession,
said it disturbed him
to see mismatched teeth.
Squinting, he asked me
to turn toward the light
as he held an unglazed crown
by my upper incisors.
With a small brush he applied
yellow, gray, pink, violet
and green from a palette of glazes,
then fired it at sixteen hundred
degrees. We went outside
to check the final color,
and he was pleased. Today
the dentist put it in my mouth,
and no one could ever guess
my secret: there’s no one quite
like me, and I can prove it
by the unique shade of
the ivory sculptures attached
to bony sockets in my jaw.
A gallery opens when I smile.
Even the forgery gleams.
about his profession,
said it disturbed him
to see mismatched teeth.
Squinting, he asked me
to turn toward the light
as he held an unglazed crown
by my upper incisors.
With a small brush he applied
yellow, gray, pink, violet
and green from a palette of glazes,
then fired it at sixteen hundred
degrees. We went outside
to check the final color,
and he was pleased. Today
the dentist put it in my mouth,
and no one could ever guess
my secret: there’s no one quite
like me, and I can prove it
by the unique shade of
the ivory sculptures attached
to bony sockets in my jaw.
A gallery opens when I smile.
Even the forgery gleams.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2009 by Lucille Lang Day and reprinted from The Curvature of Blue, Cervena Barva Press, 2009, by permission of Lucille Lang Day and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.
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