1. I drank tea
2. The sun came out and we went out and I commiserated with a couple root-bound house plants out in the clear, crisp air and then I freed them from their gloomy pots and introduced them to their new homes
3. My daughter, Elspeth, finally stopped talking back to me after every sentence that left my lips (she drew by herself for twenty minutes, a sure-fire cure for grumpiness)
4. I dropped my children with a couple warm people and attended a reading; listened to fiction from a talented college student in a vintage dress and poetry from a man whose craft and images blew me into another place entirely, where there are no walls that block the elements from me (it wasn't Martin; it was another man, Bob Randolph, who punctuated his poems with a little harmonica, guitar, and finally a pair of zennish cymbals)
So, basically, using Martin as my example,
I went from this
to this.
2 comments:
Dr. Bob! Texas' loss is Penn's gain. The mailman poet was my graduate professor many years ago and made a helluvan impression. Even let me write a Charles Olson vs. Ornette Coleman paper.
Yes, helluvan's a word (in Central Texas).
Also, the faux-creepy Martin pic is a HUGE win. His scraggly, mutton-chopped fury is wildly ineffective and very entertaining.
- gardner
Hey, Gardner, I had to do a little research (asking around) before I realized just who was the special person who knew Bob and Martin. Two of the best poets ever, I might add. Glad you left a comment, and yes, Martin's chops are something to write home about. Or not. Can't say I miss them too much.
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