The rundown for August:
Reviewed Jamaal May's Hum (Alice James Books, 2013) in the context of current events, and ask if Poetry Can Save The World. Well?
Additionally, read books by Tamora Pierce; Diego Vazquez, Jr.; Austin Kleon; Marianne Moore; and Dani Shapiro.
Began writing a long poem (400+ lines) that feels Important, both in terms of this manuscript, but also personally. I'm kicking around several titles.
Was reminded that I have incredibly supportive and loving friends. I'd like to highlight Ian Commins and Carl Atiya Swanson in particular for being raw, honest, smart, and caring men.
August was a tough month for reasons that will remain Offline, but which have to do with my family feeling what can only be described as Big Hurt in the wake of a suicide. (Here's where I link to the International Suicide Prevention wiki. There is no shame in asking for help if you are sick.)
Last week, I was walking the dog and saw a maple tree that had begun to shed its red and gold leaves. I have nothing profound to say about it and doubt that I could find that tree again, but I remember it.
The job I have to make rent so I have a place to write poetry moved its offices and I tacked this bit of encouragement above my desk:
Additionally, read books by Tamora Pierce; Diego Vazquez, Jr.; Austin Kleon; Marianne Moore; and Dani Shapiro.
Began writing a long poem (400+ lines) that feels Important, both in terms of this manuscript, but also personally. I'm kicking around several titles.
Was reminded that I have incredibly supportive and loving friends. I'd like to highlight Ian Commins and Carl Atiya Swanson in particular for being raw, honest, smart, and caring men.
August was a tough month for reasons that will remain Offline, but which have to do with my family feeling what can only be described as Big Hurt in the wake of a suicide. (Here's where I link to the International Suicide Prevention wiki. There is no shame in asking for help if you are sick.)
Last week, I was walking the dog and saw a maple tree that had begun to shed its red and gold leaves. I have nothing profound to say about it and doubt that I could find that tree again, but I remember it.
The job I have to make rent so I have a place to write poetry moved its offices and I tacked this bit of encouragement above my desk:
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