Here is something I found while rummaging through digital files of words, a collection covering several years. Something from the heat of a summer I think.
dense-packed places
In places
more frequented by stars
Night is a vast and velvet thing-
An arcing mass, abyss
from which the wisps
of dreams are rent
or born -- to which
their unreckoned ellipses return
at first light
or break of day-
Gifts to the morning star, forgotten.
But here in dense-packed places,
glowing gases trapped
Diffuse the spark of Heaven’s light
And night’s song
is not the breath of trees
nor sinuous tale
of crickets’ Morse
But an iron drone-
the hum of shapes
forged, not born
And nighttime, in dense places
closes in- a binding
in dust-filled quarters, corners
of space, repressed
In sleeplessness-
From which blurred dreams
at length release-
to memories- of light
sonorous blurs,
subconsciousness- and colors
that dissipate
And have no names,
In waking, nor in words.
© 2005 Elizabeth Daggar
15 January 2006
12 January 2006
shiny streets under lamplight
Had a mind to take some long-exposure photographs of rain-glittering streets earlier this evening, but a recommendation to visit friendly faces at the wine bar distracted and stole time. Pleasantly.
There is a Chinese proverb: "May you live in interesting times." A blessing and a curse, quite possibly perpetrated in some way upon every generation of humans since its coinage; probably earlier. So here we are. Interesting includes both sides of any coin, alas and alack! But, there you go. Do not the myths such as that of the garden of Eden (and all the many preceding it) speak of the doom of boredom? Is it not the very same reason that curiosity was both the thrill and demise of some fabled feline? (What, really, is the opposite of interesting? Something to think about-)
Where does all this come from?
Well, largely from reading and catching up on the news after several weeks' deprivation of mass media. (Deprivation may be the wrong word there.) These are interesting times, are they not? Horrifying is another word. Thrilling, nervous-making and death-defying too! Madness! And so civilized, too.
I'll say this much: things going as they have been, I do tend to worry less about my debts. (They may outlast us all!)
Each of our lives is an ongoing puzzle, as is the 'greater' picture. (still so small a picture if one could long-exposure the universe. Which, in fact, may turn out to be a multiverse... yikes! and brilliant!)
Sometimes it is about fitting one's own piece into the larger puzzle-of-puzzles. Sometimes it is about figuring out the pieces within one's own insular mini-puzzle. Always the shapes, colors, textures (and other maths) of the world are shifting-- If you've ever worked a standard, static puzzle, well-- Just imagine all those jigsaw'd edges -and the images upon them- shifting constantly! Impossible!
Seemingly.
Darwin: Adapt or Die.
Constants do change, and parallel lines do converge, eventually- it's only a matter of perspective. Sometimes, things are only unbelievable because the formulae have yet to be worked out.
There is a Chinese proverb: "May you live in interesting times." A blessing and a curse, quite possibly perpetrated in some way upon every generation of humans since its coinage; probably earlier. So here we are. Interesting includes both sides of any coin, alas and alack! But, there you go. Do not the myths such as that of the garden of Eden (and all the many preceding it) speak of the doom of boredom? Is it not the very same reason that curiosity was both the thrill and demise of some fabled feline? (What, really, is the opposite of interesting? Something to think about-)
Where does all this come from?
Well, largely from reading and catching up on the news after several weeks' deprivation of mass media. (Deprivation may be the wrong word there.) These are interesting times, are they not? Horrifying is another word. Thrilling, nervous-making and death-defying too! Madness! And so civilized, too.
I'll say this much: things going as they have been, I do tend to worry less about my debts. (They may outlast us all!)
Each of our lives is an ongoing puzzle, as is the 'greater' picture. (still so small a picture if one could long-exposure the universe. Which, in fact, may turn out to be a multiverse... yikes! and brilliant!)
Sometimes it is about fitting one's own piece into the larger puzzle-of-puzzles. Sometimes it is about figuring out the pieces within one's own insular mini-puzzle. Always the shapes, colors, textures (and other maths) of the world are shifting-- If you've ever worked a standard, static puzzle, well-- Just imagine all those jigsaw'd edges -and the images upon them- shifting constantly! Impossible!
Seemingly.
Darwin: Adapt or Die.
Constants do change, and parallel lines do converge, eventually- it's only a matter of perspective. Sometimes, things are only unbelievable because the formulae have yet to be worked out.
10 January 2006
springtime in january
Yes, two days of mild sunny weather here in Brooklyn. This afternoon I took advantage by forgoing public transport to get into Manhattan. Well, technically. I would say a walk over the Brooklyn Bridge should count as public transport as well, albeit self-propelled.
Gorgeous toxic sunset over Jersey around 4:50; my trek was perfectly timed for maximum viewing pleasure; sun waning in pinks and golds as the nighttime city came awake. Passed more than one solitary walker sporting wide eyes and a smile; amazement at the vision provided by the bridge, and to be in such a singular place. That kind of day. That is a great reason to avoid the subway; to re-connect with why one is here in the first place. To be amazed anew. (That can be pretty challenging to do in rush-hour a subway car. Not so on the bridge, especially during a fiery sunset.)
Mission on the island: a visitation upon Blick Studio for casting resin; two gallons-- hopefully enough to fill the top of the coolest table in the world. The elements of its frame wait patiently to be transformed into furniture, out in the hallway. Soon.
Very soon.
Gorgeous toxic sunset over Jersey around 4:50; my trek was perfectly timed for maximum viewing pleasure; sun waning in pinks and golds as the nighttime city came awake. Passed more than one solitary walker sporting wide eyes and a smile; amazement at the vision provided by the bridge, and to be in such a singular place. That kind of day. That is a great reason to avoid the subway; to re-connect with why one is here in the first place. To be amazed anew. (That can be pretty challenging to do in rush-hour a subway car. Not so on the bridge, especially during a fiery sunset.)
Mission on the island: a visitation upon Blick Studio for casting resin; two gallons-- hopefully enough to fill the top of the coolest table in the world. The elements of its frame wait patiently to be transformed into furniture, out in the hallway. Soon.
Very soon.
09 January 2006
08 January 2006
23
= degrees of the tilt of the earth's axis.*
This, combined with the position in yearly revolution, determine the angle of the shadows of daylight hours. The angles of winter are distinct. They speak of wind and dry heat; cracked skin; long darknesses.
There's a girl I know -The curious Miss K; a great fan of winter and of stripey things, so I call her Too-Ticky. A Moomin reference. But we are not moomins, and winter will not ride away on the back of a horse made of ice.
The year seems off to a slow start. I'm sure it's too soon to even say such a thing, but I can be impatient and am not good at slowing down. Don't like the slowed-downness of winter. As for today, there is sunshine and it is milder than yesterday, so perhaps I should be outside.
*23.45 to be exact
sunshine and steam in the city
This, combined with the position in yearly revolution, determine the angle of the shadows of daylight hours. The angles of winter are distinct. They speak of wind and dry heat; cracked skin; long darknesses.
There's a girl I know -The curious Miss K; a great fan of winter and of stripey things, so I call her Too-Ticky. A Moomin reference. But we are not moomins, and winter will not ride away on the back of a horse made of ice.
The year seems off to a slow start. I'm sure it's too soon to even say such a thing, but I can be impatient and am not good at slowing down. Don't like the slowed-downness of winter. As for today, there is sunshine and it is milder than yesterday, so perhaps I should be outside.
*23.45 to be exact
sunshine and steam in the city
07 January 2006
Cold day, seventh of the year
chicken breasts?
Incidentally, the little new fish did die, later the very same day that I (apparently) jinxed him here. Poor Pi.
05 January 2006
tamarind
Bell Hollow played at Southpaw last evening; they sounded great. The newer stuff they played (not yet recorded) was really good.
The Curious Miss K shall be arriving in town tomorrow evening. She and I have much catching up to do. (understatement) Not seen her since the summer, and that seems a long time ago.
There is a new fish in Pi's tank; a wee Koi of silvery and black scales. I am having doubts about his health, however. He seems to have a weak sense of balance, or something. And a foolish fish, as well. He has got himself caught behind the filter tube twice already. Pi may be doomed to a solitary existence! I don't know. They just don't seem to be making fishes the way they used to. Where is a stout and hardy little fish of Serial's ilk? They are few, it seems, but Pi is one at least.
Today feels like it may be a day of a very long walk. Photographs and observations; meditation. There's a whole year with a brand new number spread out before me. Surely some thinking on what to make of it couldn't hurt.
The Curious Miss K shall be arriving in town tomorrow evening. She and I have much catching up to do. (understatement) Not seen her since the summer, and that seems a long time ago.
There is a new fish in Pi's tank; a wee Koi of silvery and black scales. I am having doubts about his health, however. He seems to have a weak sense of balance, or something. And a foolish fish, as well. He has got himself caught behind the filter tube twice already. Pi may be doomed to a solitary existence! I don't know. They just don't seem to be making fishes the way they used to. Where is a stout and hardy little fish of Serial's ilk? They are few, it seems, but Pi is one at least.
Today feels like it may be a day of a very long walk. Photographs and observations; meditation. There's a whole year with a brand new number spread out before me. Surely some thinking on what to make of it couldn't hurt.
04 January 2006
a brief backward glance
(excerpt from trip book)
11 October 2005.
On a high-speed train ride from London King's Cross to Edinburgh.
The train is traveling close to the coastline now-- we are almost there.
There are parts where cliff walls rise up steeply from the sea, and there are parts where the hills gently turn to beaches. It looks cold.
Sometimes the green atop the cliffs is dotted with sheep.
(with sleep.)
There are trees every so often -out in the fields, in hedgerows- that remind me of the umbrella pines of Rome.
This country is punctuated with sheep like little tufts of wool growing out of the very ground; these rocky, angular hills. The Firth is an estuary; a vast grey-blue stretch that makes this feel like the edge of the world.
The train is slower now, we're on the scenic part of the route; specifically labeled as such on the map. It drizzles out there.
Up here, the countryside ceases to look familiar; it looks both harsh and lovely. Everything is gold or green or brown, save the steely blue sea which disappears into the fog.
Here there is a great block of a factory, almost the same pale grey as the canopy of clouds- it looks like a grey box on the landscape; no windows. It interrupts the coastline suddenly, and strangely.
Here there are gravel pits.
Here, a cluster of stone red-roofed cottages, and more of those umbrella pine sort of trees. (they have those same Art Nouveau-minded branches.)
There is a great rock -huge!- out, away from the shore. It looks like a great fat sleeping bear. The mist hangs above the land and sea in swaths, like smoke hanging still in the air at a pub.
Some beautiful old stonework houses with white wood trim. Fairytale. Fairy story houses. A patchwork land. A hilly autumn country of greens and golds, rich brown soil-tilled fields that roll and dip.
11 October 2005.
On a high-speed train ride from London King's Cross to Edinburgh.
The train is traveling close to the coastline now-- we are almost there.
There are parts where cliff walls rise up steeply from the sea, and there are parts where the hills gently turn to beaches. It looks cold.
Sometimes the green atop the cliffs is dotted with sheep.
(with sleep.)
There are trees every so often -out in the fields, in hedgerows- that remind me of the umbrella pines of Rome.
This country is punctuated with sheep like little tufts of wool growing out of the very ground; these rocky, angular hills. The Firth is an estuary; a vast grey-blue stretch that makes this feel like the edge of the world.
The train is slower now, we're on the scenic part of the route; specifically labeled as such on the map. It drizzles out there.
Up here, the countryside ceases to look familiar; it looks both harsh and lovely. Everything is gold or green or brown, save the steely blue sea which disappears into the fog.
Here there is a great block of a factory, almost the same pale grey as the canopy of clouds- it looks like a grey box on the landscape; no windows. It interrupts the coastline suddenly, and strangely.
Here there are gravel pits.
Here, a cluster of stone red-roofed cottages, and more of those umbrella pine sort of trees. (they have those same Art Nouveau-minded branches.)
There is a great rock -huge!- out, away from the shore. It looks like a great fat sleeping bear. The mist hangs above the land and sea in swaths, like smoke hanging still in the air at a pub.
Some beautiful old stonework houses with white wood trim. Fairytale. Fairy story houses. A patchwork land. A hilly autumn country of greens and golds, rich brown soil-tilled fields that roll and dip.
03 January 2006
2 0 0 6
Happy New Year.
the farm in winter
Spent Thanksgiving and Xmas upstate at the farm. Sunny and freezing in November, as illustrated in the photo. December was milder. The New Year, as it begins here in Brooklyn, is drenched with rain and blanketed with fog. Sort of weather makes the knees ache and inspires reading more than venturing.
Mid-December Pi and I successfully moved house and settled into the new digs. Amidst work, errand-running and holidays, swift unpacking and driving of holes into plaster-and-lathe to decorate newly-painted walls!
painted walls
the farm in winter
Spent Thanksgiving and Xmas upstate at the farm. Sunny and freezing in November, as illustrated in the photo. December was milder. The New Year, as it begins here in Brooklyn, is drenched with rain and blanketed with fog. Sort of weather makes the knees ache and inspires reading more than venturing.
Mid-December Pi and I successfully moved house and settled into the new digs. Amidst work, errand-running and holidays, swift unpacking and driving of holes into plaster-and-lathe to decorate newly-painted walls!
painted walls
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
