Myriad Ways

Cover via Amazon

January 7, 2012

I sit at my desk and read “The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster” by Richard Brautigan, all at  once without a break, 102 poems, short easy to engage with like comfort food. I have read these poems at many different places in my life. At an older friend’s house on Buchanan St. somewhere in 1970’s San Francisco. The book was a strange meadow full of wild ideas grazing in placid contentment in the chaotic landscape of my adolescence. As were most of Brautigan’s books. They have a detached sideways angle on a world that was familiar to me, but I could never get distance from turmoil of  trying to figure it out as I was living through it. Now that I have distance, these words bring back some of complex feelings of exploring the world of the city. Brautigan’s voice is so gentle and open. The whole of his work seems to me to be a softly spoken, slightly sad, but optimistic question about how do we get through each day in a world that rarely makes a lot sense from our limited points of view.

January 9, 2012

I took my first Anatomy and Physiology test and did well on it. I went to my first job shadow placement at a physical therapy clinic. I could definitely do this work. I have to work on getting more hands on with people, but it all seems so positive. I will be helping people use their bodies, help them recover mobility and independence. That seems like a good use of time and will give a me living wage a nice combination.

I want to write massive poetry, super long sentences that go on and on, passing into arboreal density  (strange eyes peering out)—all this inside my head leaking onto the page.

January 10, 2012

I felt on edge all day, but managed to get through without any screw ups. Usually days like these are filled with forgotten tasks and mistakes. I ran an unsuccessful errand for Mary, but that was not my fault. they just did not have the right fabric for her quilt at the fabric store. I did laundry, walked Charlie and helped my young friend R with her homework. She is 9 years old and needs help here and there with focus and hints. We do a lot of laughing in between problems. I try to study while I am doing this.

Today I could not shake this feeling of doom. Even R’s frenetic and hilarious antics with Charlie, the dog, (slapstick and silliness galore) could not drive it completely away.

I finish the day reading most of “the Bridge” by Harte Crane, amazing language densely folded. After reading this I feel like all of my life and connections with the past and tendrils to the earth’s places and times, have grown into a universal web that I can play like a stringed instrument. How can I feel so threatened and overshadowed on a day when all has gone well. How many more will I get?

January 16, 2012

Snow all day. Working at my desk. Study and watching bits of poetry.

Movie:  Pedro Infante (an actor well known in Mexico) plays the outlaw father of a three year old girl, who handles snakes and a tarantula and says she will grow up to be a man and kill other men. He also plays his two brothers, a priest and a soldier, who find out that their brother is an outlaw and must bring him to justice with much singing, comedic confusion, and pious patriotism. It is a silly movie, but the image of the macho little girl wanting to become a tough hombre like her father, think Shirley Temple as one of the wild bunch, was so captivating. But, of course they must talk her out of being strong in the end. 

January 30, 2012

I studied bones today and poetry. Bones and poetry. Skeletal. I am bones. I am poet / dog walker/ prescription getter.