Writers Lake

Realizing Your Dreams

Alba — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 13:09:00 GMT

Bring a Book to Bed Day! celebrates its third birthday on February 27th - and it's been fun every step of the way! Not many people know this, but I had a dream about Bring a Book to Bed Day! - not an I-wish-I-could-create-a-holiday type of dream, but I-went-to-sleep-and-I-dreamt-it kind of dream. When I woke up, I thought it was a good idea and kept it in my mind until one day I thought, why not? Why don't I create a holiday called Bring a Book to Bed Day!? My dream was realized and I feel so very grateful and blessed by all the love and support that my dear friends in the States, in Italy and in Turkey have given me to turn my dream into a reality - and a celebration of staying in bed and reading. Thank you one and all!

The first year was all about getting Bring a Book to Bed Day! off the ground. We had fun and we had prizes! The second year, I was inspired to create the giving back portion of Bring a Book to Bed Day! My dear friend, Ezgi Sorman, who shared her talents and offered her services as part of the prizes of Bring a Book to Bed Day!'s inaugural year had come to live in Turkey and was working on various projects here. One of them was creating The Rebirth of the East, an organization that gathered books to create libraries in schools in the eastern part of Turkey. Her organization was able to gather enough books to complete a library for a school in Van, a town close to the Iran/Iraq border. Building the library was the first step that enabled the school to get more government funding and services to the students.

After the library was completed, Ezgi talked to the kids at the school and each shared their deepest desires and dreams with her. One child wanted to play guitar, another wanted to become a photographer - and so Ezgi started gathering musical instruments, equipment and funds to help the kids in Van realize these dreams.

This year as part of Bring a Book to Bed Day! I plan on making contributions to DonorsChoose.org in the U.S., The Rebirth of the East here in Turkey (and if you would like to contribute too, just send Ezgi an email at ezgi@myblissandbalance.com to find out how.) And if you'd like to see the photos of that project, just stop by my Facebook page - I am the Alba Brunetti with the wind in my hair and the Bosphorus Bridge behind me. I hope you feel as inspired as I do and will give generously to help deserving kids realize their hopes and dreams. We all may dream alone, but to realize those dreams we all need a little help from our friends. And thank you again to my dear, dear friends who have helped me realize the dream of Bring a Book to Bed Day!

Aşk

Alba — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 13:25:00 GMT

I came to Turkey at the beginning of October to visit my friends Ezgi and Irem and to explore the beautiful city of Istanbul. I think I must have fallen in love with Istanbul from high up in the sky - the lights and the patterns they made on the ground were so beautiful. It could be that I had forgotten what a night landing was like - or it could be that I was so afraid of flying I just wanted to be on the ground again - but I think the truth was that I was ready for something completely new and different and beautiful.

I stayed at my friend Ezgi's house and she graciously gave me her bedroom. As I unpacked and began to settle in, I looked out the window to the beautiful park and the shining blue lights of the Bosphorus Bridge. I turned for a moment to the bookcase by the window and on the shelf lay a book. The cover was bright, hot pink and on it was a delicate leaf that was shaped like a heart. I opened the book and looked through the pages. It was written in Turkish, so I didn't understand. The title said, "Ask" to me. And I took it as a sign, I thought the book was telling me to ask for what I wanted. So, I did. I asked for love.

It was a few days later that Ezgi and I were talking about poetry and Rumi and I happened to think about the book on her shelf. I had seen Rumi's name in the book, and Shams' too and I wondered what the book was about. So, I asked Ezgi about "Ask." The book, Ezgi explained, was not "Ask" but "Aşk" - Love. It is a novel written by Elif Şafak that is based on Rumi's love for his teacher and friend, Shams.

In reading the title to myself in English, I had somehow understood and misunderstood at the same time, because I did not understand Turkish, I had been unable to see something that was right in front of my eyes. It is a good metaphor for my new life here. I find myself a little out of my depth, a stranger to a language I don't understand, a little lost in translation, a little found there too. I think it is good for me to be caught between the meaning of the words - what they mean to me, what I understand them to be and what they truly mean. There is a lot, I know, I still have to learn about asking - and a lot, I know, I still have to learn about aşk. But then, again, don't we all?

I look out this morning from my kitchen window to the Bosphorus. I see The Maiden's Tower, which is not so very far away. The ferry boats are gliding on the water and on my right, I see Sultanahmet and the minarets around the Blue Mosque and the Haiga Sofia. The light is constantly changing and the view - although it really doesn't change - is always different depending on whether it is sunny or foggy or raining or just overcast. So every day I see something new, something is clearer to me or the colors are muted or brighter or everything shines like the pavement when it rains the way it only rains here in Istanbul. What I see is beautiful, what I hear is beautiful, what I taste is beautiful and what I feel is beautiful. And I am very happy. There are many reasons I decided to stay in Istanbul and many reasons I decided to return - and love, of course, was one of them.

A Little Facebook Time For Bring A Book To Bed Day!

Alba — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 12:19:00 GMT

I created a Facebook group for Bring A Book To Bed Day! It's a fun and easy way to keep in touch with me and all the folks who will be celebrating the holiday this month. Just click here to join! See you soon!

As Good As It Gets! Ok, Maybe It Gets Even Better!

Alba — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 10:41:00 GMT

In 2009, I celebrated Bring a Book to Bed Day! with my friend and yoga instructor Irem Greenfield. We took a lot of fun pictures together that I never posted (and hopefully, if I can get my pc up and running and connected to my home network, I will upload them for you.) We both brought our books to bed (mine was a copy of the book I am writing, The Goldberg Variations, as well as Natalia Ginzburg's inspiring Le piccole virtu'. I'll have to get back to you about Irem's book as I don't remember the title at the moment.) Then we practiced some yoga together and by the time we were through, I was ready to go back to bed! All this to say that there aren't any "rules" about Bring a Book to Bed Day! It's all about reading and relaxing in bed - you can do it for ten minutes or all day long - and now, even all month long. I like to stay in my p.j.s as much as I can - or maybe, you like to put on your sweats and cook a big breakfast then go back to bed. Whatever makes you happy!

There is one thing that really makes me happy about Bring a Book to Bed Day! that I will share with you. Last year, I included the giving back portion of Bring a Book to Bed Day! I chose an organization and donated money so that kids in need could have books to read. I will be doing the same thing this year and have already chosen where I will be making my donation in the U.S. and in Turkey. I am now looking for an Italian organization that provides books and school supplies to deserving children as well, so if you know of an organization, please do let me know. Last year, I greatly enjoyed giving to DonorsChoose.org - and will be doing so again this year. This is a great charitable organization that provides needed books and other school supplies to kids in need across the U.S. Since I realize how fortunate I am to be able to bring my own books to bed, I feel it is important to give back. That is why I chose Ms. S.'s class in the Belmont section of the Bronx. I chose the school because it was in the borough where I had gone to public school and the Belmont section is home to the borough's Little Italy - both definitely had meaning for me and for my roots. Ms. S. requested copies of Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which Ms. S. said would help the students (mostly of Dominican descent) connect with the voices of literature that would include them. It is one of the best gifts I have ever given - and I can even say, it is one of the best gifts I have ever received. To read more about this project, click here.

Wouldn't you like to create this kind of joy? If you would like to give to DonorsChoose.org, please click on the link below or find another charity that inspires you and give!

The Alba, Writers Lake, Bring A Book To Bed! Update

Alba — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 11:59:00 GMT

Perhaps you've all been wondering what's been happening with me, Writers Lake and Bring a Book to Bed Day! The answer is "Lots!" When I started this blog, my idea was to prime the pump of creativity. I had always wanted to write a book, but about what? I didn't have a direction, even though I was often flooded by ideas. I needed to focus and beginning this blog was step one. Slowly, I began to turn my attention to other writers, books and ideas - and I began to write. It was nothing "important," just a story overflowing with plot. The Japanese husband falls down an elevator shaft, the ex-model mother-in-law begins playing bridge up and down the East Coast, the grandmother takes a ridiculously young lover - and falls in love! - the granddaughter develops bulimia - it was enough plot for ten novels and decidedly not in any style resembling mine. It primed the pump and then, WOW! Geyser! I had what I wanted - direction, focus, and certainly, the "what."

That is how a little over two years ago, The Goldberg Variations was born. I began writing, but very soon afterwards, I returned to work full-time (doing, among other things, this.) New York City life began to have its old, familiar tiring rhythm - and slowly, it exhausted me. The day-to-day stuff began to become all important and writing began to slide down the to-do list. Keeping my life in balance (sleep! shower! eat!) began to take precedence.

But so many big and little things happened. I began to realize I needed time to finish the book - and space. I also needed money - which full-time work provided. So instead of applying for grants and residencies and expending energy waiting for someone or something else to approve and fund my work - I decided to approve and fund my work. I gave myself what I consider my own personal Breadloaf. I knew I needed a big change, so I quit my job, packed up and moved out of my Brooklyn apartment and set off to the little town in Italy where my family hails from. In the back of my mind, I also began to think of this time as my own personal Eat, Pray, Love journey. (Maybe you remember that that is the book I brought to bed on the first Bring a Book to Bed Day! in 2008.)

I went to Italy and did a lot of writing. Although I did have the time to write, I discovered I didn't have the mental space I needed. Everyone seemed to need my attention and I needed to focus it on my writing. Then I came to Istanbul - and here things opened up. I had the time and the space. I have four more stories to write for The Goldberg Variations and I am more than halfway done with a screenplay called Princess Hipster. I have another book and screenplay just waiting to be born and all of Istanbul telling me its story too. What about you? What have you been up to?

Get Ready! Get Set! Go Back to Bed!

Alba — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 10:58:00 GMT

It's that time of the year again! Happy 2010! Happy February! Happy Bring a Book to Bed Day! 2010's Bring a Book to Bed Day! is going to be BIGGER, and BETTER than ever! How? You ask...well, this year Bring a Book to Bed Day is going on ALL MONTH LONG! That's right, you can bring your book to bed any day this month and enjoy reading ıt. Why? You ask. Well, um, have you seen the weather? Baby, it's cold outside. So why go out? Stay in. Read! Our ''official'' holiday is on Saturday, February 27th, but why wait, you can start celebrating now. After all, practice makes perfect...and you look so cute in your jammies. I will be taking plenty of time to read in bed this month - and I will be reading ın bed from a brand-new city! İstanbul! So join me for a little international reading in bed.

25 Not-So-Random Reasons Why You Will Love Bring a Book to Bed Day!

Alba — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 23:43:00 GMT

1. Because how many people do you know that invented a holiday.

2. Because how many people do you know that invented a holiday that takes place in
bed.

3. Because I will probably invent other holidays that take place in bed.

4. Because I look damn cute in my pjs.

5. Because you look damn cute in your pjs.

6. Because now you have a really good reason to stay in your pjs all day and look damn

cute.

7. Because you don’t have to wear pjs.

8. Because reading is good for you.

9. Because you are too busy.
10. Because you can do it all by yourself.

11. Because you don’t have to do it all by yourself.

12. Because it will make you feel great.

13. Because you can donate books to a good cause, if you feel like it.

14. Because you’ve been dying to find out how that romance novel, book of
short stories, or Finnegan’s Wake ends.

15. Because it is calorie free.

16. Because your kids, husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, person you share a bed with will

love it.

17. Because you want to.

18. Because you need to.

19. Did I mention how cute we look in our pjs?

20. Because you need a break from your internet, phone, and tv.

21. Because it is cold out.

22. Because it is February.

23. Because it’s Saturday.

24. Because it is a cold, grey Saturday in February.

25. Because what could be better than bringing a book to bed?

And I hope you can celebrate too!

Bring a Book to Bed Day! Now With a Mission, a Link and a Press Release

Alba — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 12:34:00 GMT

Last year Bring a Book to Bed Day! was all about having fun. And we all had loads of it! I and two other amazing women offered gifts and services (thank you, Ezgi Sorman and Liz Santiago.) This year things are a bit different. As much as I adore gifts (both giving and receiving) I really wanted to do something for kids. That's why in honor of The Second Annual International Bring a Book to Bed Day! I will be funding a book-related project at DonorsChoose.org. DonorsChoose.org is an organizaton that helps public school kids and their teachers across the United States realize their dreams by allowing us all to fund projects that provide them with books, supplies and equipment their schools do not have the money to obtain. I'll be choosing a New York City school and I invite you to visit DonorsChoose.org and consider funding a project or donating to a project.

And here is the text of my Press Release that explains more about this years mission.

The Second Annual International Bring a Book to Bed Day! To Be Celebrated on February 28, 2009

United States of America (Press Release) February 26, 2009 -- Maria Alba Brunetti and Writers Lake announce the Second Annual International Bring a Book to Bed Day to be celebrated on February 28, 2009. We invite everyone to unplug, relax and enjoy a good book. In our hectic modern lives it is hard to find time to enjoy the simple pleasures of a good book. That’s why the cold and cloudy end of February is the ideal time to celebrate this holiday.

There is no perfect way to celebrate Bring a Book to Bed Day – whether all day, for an hour, five minutes or a little time before falling asleep at night – just take some time to enjoy a good book

This year, Maria Alba Brunetti honors the woman who taught her how to read Sheila Hirschhorn Meyer, her first grade teacher. Alba will be funding a book-related project for a New York City public school at DonorsChoose.org and invites everyone to do the same. “Sharing the joys of reading with students in a New York City public school who might not have the ability to bring their own books to bed on February 28, 2009 is the perfect way to spread my love of books to the next generation,” says Alba, “and I hope you will join me in furthering that dream.”

Writers Lake hosts Bring a Book to Bed Day on the last Saturday of February every year. Maria Alba Brunetti currently works as an editor for Relegence – An AOL LLC Company and a blogger for AOL’s Bright and Spacious. She was the Experts Producer at iVillage.com's Parent Soup as well as the Editor-in-Chief of VirtualItaly.com. The blog Writers Lake, was launched in November of 2007 and is devoted to poets and writers who seek to share encouragement, tips, and ideas about creativity as well as a deep love of the written word.

(http://www.free-press-release.com/news/200902/1235671721.html)

Your Invitation

Alba — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 00:34:00 GMT

From Bring a Book to Bed Day! February 28, 2009

Getting Ready To Go Back to Bed!

Alba — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 21:00:00 GMT

Hello my dear ones. Most of you know that I began a full-time job last March. I work for a company that is part of AOL. And as you may well know about me, full-time work, life balance and my creative pursuits keep me plenty busy -- and plenty exhausted. In the time since I have blogged for you, much has happened. I began my job working as an editor for Relegence's Real-Time News widget that now appears on AOL's Welcome Screen (look in the lower right-hand column, input your zip code and through the magic of the internet, viola... news from your nabe or hometown appears!) A little less than a month after I started there, I went out for coffee with my manager and her boss, Alf Poor, and during our fateful chit-chat, I mentioned my obsession with real estate. Almost 9 months later, Bright and Spacious was born. Yes, that's me and I would love for you all to visit me there to find out more about buying your first home; ways to improve your current home or apartment; the latest in fabulous design and architecture and tips; ideas and advice from real estate and design experts.

In all this time, I have never lost my passion for poetry and writing -- I just took a long break from blogging and I also stopped reading short stories and novels. I am sure you are thinking, what an odd thing for a blogger about books and writing and poetry to say. It is in fact odd, but I have a story to tell. Right about this time last year I began writing short stories which came as an amazing surprise and marvelous gift. Poetry was my first love and short stories, my second. I enjoyed poetry because it was quick, intense and after a page (or rarely, two) I was done. Short stories required more time, effort and what I can only explain as a more diffuse kind of creativity. Plus, I hadn't really written a short story in a very, very long time. I loved reading short stories, but they hadn't fit into my creative life. As I said, I was given a marvelous gift. The short stories started pouring out of me. I wrote quickly, intensely and beautifully well. My friend Kristen encouraged me, holding up a copy of Breece D'J Pancake's collected stories, she said all I needed were 12 stories to write book. A slender, beautiful book. So I continued to write my stories.

One night, over a glass of wine, I began to tell Kristen about my obsession with Bach's Goldberg Variations and Glenn Gould's two versions of the variations over a 26 year period. These had been put together in a two-CD set called A State of Wonder . I felt that there was a message about time and the effect of time's passage in the versions as well as the variations themselves. I just couldn't shake the feeling that they had something to tell me. What I couldn't see was glaringly obvious for Kristen. This was my book. Of course, that would mean 20 more stories, but my stories were brief, Kristen said, and I would still have a slender, beautiful book. I am almost halfway done. And I know where the stories are going. All I need is the time and the mental space to continue writing them. That's why I haven't been blogging or reading except for the odd New York Times article about real estate or fashion or the explosion of social networking.

That's been my year in a nutshell... I hope that you all have had an exciting year too. I am glad to be back here at Writers Lake and even happier to be planning the Second Annual International BRING A BOOK TO BED DAY! on February 28, 2009. So start thinking about what you'll be reading and start getting ready for bed. I'll be sharing more news for you soon! Until then, be well and enjoy!

Two Poets TK

Alba — Sat, 03 May 2008 18:54:00 GMT

I LOVED my 30 Days/30 Poets initiative -- and I know I am two poets short of my goal. There are two reasons for that...1. I have a kick-ass cold that is majorly kicking my ass and I only have enough energy at the moment to go crash on my bed. And 2. I have something extremely wonderful and enlightening to share with all of you. BUT I am going to keep it a secret until I get back to feeling like my usual self and not some cranky, stuffed-up, weak-legged sicky. And since I am still feeling a bit Beat, here is something from Diane Di Prima.

The Belltower

the weighing is done in autumn
and the sifting
what is to be threshed
is threshed in autumn
what is to be gathered is taken

the wind does not die in autumn
the moon
shifts endlessly thru flying clouds
in autumn the sea is high

& a golden light plays everywhere
making it harder
to go one's way.
all leavetaking is in autumn
where there is leavetaking
it is always autumn
& the sun is a crystal ball
on a golden stand
& the wind
cannont make the spruce scream
loud enough

Gregory Corso

Alba — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 00:36:00 GMT

Did you know that Gregory Corso was born in Greenwich Village -- perfect for a Beat Poet. Here is what he says about

Destiny

They deliver the edicts of God

without delay

And are exempt from apprehension

from detention

And with their God-given

Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria

ferry like bolts of lightning

unhindered between the tribunals

of Space & Time

The Messenger-Spirit

in human flesh

is assigned a dependable,

self-reliant, versatile,

thoroughly poet existence

upon its sojourn in life

It does not knock

or ring the bell

or telephone

When the Messenger-Spirit

comes to your door

though locked

It'll enter like an electric midwife

and deliver the message

There is no tell

throughout the ages

that a Messenger-Spirit

ever stumbled into darkness

Allen Ginsberg

Alba — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 02:07:00 GMT

When I was in my 20s I used to see Allen Ginsberg in the Village walking around with plastic bags that I could only imagine were filled with poems. Sometimes I would see him with a manila folder under his arm and a plastic bag. Here is where I imagined he came from...

A Supermarket in California

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked
down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking
at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon
fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at
night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!
--and you, García Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking
among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops?
What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you,
and followed in my imagination by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy
tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the
cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in a hour.
Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and
feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade
to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automo-
biles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America
did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a
smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of
Lethe?

--Berkeley, 1955

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Alba — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 17:49:00 GMT

It's been a long week at work and I have a nasty cold. So last night I headed over to the pizza shop at the other end of Park Slope and afterwards slowly made my way home in the springtime air. I stopped at the local community bookstore and happened upon the 50th anniversary edition of A Coney Island of the Mind. (Did you know that Lawrence Ferlinghetti also wrote a book called A Far Rockaway of the Heart?) He's got a few more boroughs to cover, but until then I leave you with...

Wild Dreams of a New Beginning

There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight
Beyond the ledges of concrete
restaurants fall into dreams
with candlelight couples
Lost Alexandria still burns
in a billion lightbulbs
Lives cross lives
idling at stoplights
Beyond the cloverleaf turnoffs
'Souls eat souls in the general emptiness'
A piano concerto comes out a kitchen window
A yogi speaks at Ojai
'It's all taking pace in one mind'
On the lawn among the trees
lovers are listening
for the master to tell them they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush
on the freeway tonight
as a Pacific tidal wave a mile high
sweeps in
Los Angeles breathes its last gas
and sinks into the sea like the Titanic all lights lit
Nine minutes later Willa Cather's Nebraska
sinks with it
The sea comes over in Utah
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra onstage in Omaha
keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water
and bass players float away on their instruments
clutching them like lovers horizontal
Chicago's Loop becomes a rollercoaster
Skyscrapers filled like water glasses
Great Lakes mixed with Buddhist brine
Great Books watered down in Evanston
Milwaukee beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve of Buffalo suddenly become salt
Manhatten Island swept clean in sixteen seconds
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
as the great wave sweeps on Eastward
to wash away over-age Camembert Europe
manhatta steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
in empty eternity
as the Hudson retakes its thickets
and Indians reclaim their canoes

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Anne Sexton

Alba — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:25:00 GMT

Here is Anne Sexton writing about death.

The Truth the Dead Know
by Anne Sexton

For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959

Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

Sylvia Plath

Alba — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 01:19:00 GMT

Powerful women poets writing powerfully. I can't help but think of Sylvia Plath. Here she is writing on motherhood.

Morning Song
by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

A New Direction

Alba — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 02:17:00 GMT

When I heard Catherine Barnett read from her book, Into Perfect Spheres Such Holes Are Pierced, I felt such strong emotions I needed to take a breather as she read.

Living Room Altar
by Catherine Barnett

Except for the shirt pulled from the ocean,
except for her hands, which keep folding the shirt
except for her body, which once held their bodies,

my sister wants everything back now--

If there were a god who could out of empty shells
carried by waves to shore
make amends--

If the ocean saved in a jar
could keep from turning to salt--

She's hearing things:

bird calling to bird,
cat outside the door,
thorn of the blackberry against the trellis.

A Trip To Venice

Alba — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 00:38:00 GMT

Today at work I found Byron's house in Venice for sale. That got me thinking of Venice and poetry. Did you know that courtesans were expected to be well-versed in many different art forms including poetry in 16th century Venice? In grad school I did a presentation on Veronica Franco. She was an "honest courtesan" -- a courtesan of the highest rank and a lover to the rich and powerful in Venice in the 1500s. She was also an extremely accomplished poet. Below is a poem that I found here and comes from Franco, Veronica. Poems and selected letters; edited and translated by Ann Rosalind Jones and Margaret F. Rosenthal.

[From Capitolo 19; Franco puzzles over her feelings for an old love:]

You went away to foreign peoples,
and I stayed behind, the prey of that fire
which, without you, made my days black and sad;
but as the hours progressed, little by little,
I resolved to make a virtue of my need,
and to make room in myself for other concerns.
This was the true solution to my pain:
in this way my mind discovered at last
a cure for its deep and serious wounds;
your departure for foreign lands
mended the blow, although the scar
could not be completely erased.

Perhaps I would have been happy and glad
if I could have enjoyed you to my heart's content,
and perhaps I'd have been unhappy instead.
The great excess of happiness
might have transformed the highest joy
into cruel, burdensome pain;
and if you'd gone, leaving me behind
at a time so full of such delight,
my distress would have had no end.
So heaven refused to make my hours
joyful and serene, to avoid reducing me
soon after to the worst, most bitter pain.
And I, freed by heaven to such a degree,
must remain content; and yet I'm not able
to hope that the opposite had not occurred.

The Rock Stars - Part 3

Alba — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 02:54:00 GMT

And then their was Percy Bysshe Shelley.

             To a Skylark

      Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
        Bird thou never wert—
      That from heaven or near it
        Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

      Higher still and higher
        From the earth thou springest,
      Like a cloud of fire;
        The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

      In the golden light'ning
        Of the sunken sun,
      O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
        Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

      The pale purple even
        Melts around thy flight;
      Like a star of heaven,
        In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight—

      Keen as are the arrows
        Of that silver sphere
      Whose intense lamp narrows
        In the white dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

      All the earth and air
        With thy voice is loud,
      As when night is bare,
        From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.

      What thou art we know not;
        What is most like thee?
      From rainbow clouds there flow not
        Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody:—

      Like a poet hidden
        In the light of thought,
      Singing hymns unbidden,
        Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

      Like a high-born maiden
        In a palace tower,
      Soothing her love-laden
        Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

      Like a glow-worm golden
        In a dell of dew,
      Scattering unbeholden
        Its aërial hue
Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view:

      Like a rose embower'd
        In its own green leaves,
      By warm winds deflower'd,
        Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-wingèd thieves.

      Sound of vernal showers
        On the twinkling grass,
      Rain-awaken'd flowers—
        All that ever was
Joyous and clear and fresh—thy music doth surpass.

      Teach us, sprite or bird,
        What sweet thoughts are thine:
      I have never heard
        Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

      Chorus hymeneal,
        Or triumphal chant,
      Match'd with thine would be all
        But an empty vaunt—
A thin wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

      What objects are the fountains
        Of thy happy strain?
      What fields, or waves, or mountains?
        What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

      With thy clear keen joyance
        Languor cannot be:
      Shadow of annoyance
        Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

      Waking or asleep,
        Thou of death must deem
      Things more true and deep
        Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

      We look before and after,
        And pine for what is not:
      Our sincerest laughter
        With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

      Yet, if we could scorn
        Hate and pride and fear,
      If we were things born
        Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

      Better than all measures
        Of delightful sound,
      Better than all treasures
        That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

      Teach me half the gladness
        That thy brain must know;
      Such harmonious madness
        From my lips would flow,
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

The Rock Stars - Part 2

Alba — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 02:37:00 GMT

And then their was the one who died tragically young (but had the best real estate right on the Spanish Steps in Rome.) John Keats...

Ode on Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
     Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
     By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
     Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
          Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
     For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
          And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
     Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
     And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
     Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
          Or on the wealth of globèd peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
     Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
          And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty -- Beauty that must die;
     And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
     Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
     Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
          Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
     Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
     And be among her cloudy trophies hung.