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So national poetry month 2013 is over. This makes 16 poems I've posted, which is not bad. Newt is as brave as a barrel full of bears, and would totally have devoured that pirate. Today he picked a fight with Aiko over who got to eat the eggshells out of the compost bucket. (The correct answer is Nobody, which of course Aiko knows, but he came over to investigate what Newt was doing and Newt took it as a challenge. Fur flew.)

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If you want to play, say so in a comment. I'll give you an age and you answer the following questions about you at that age.

[personal profile] wild_irises gave me 30.

I lived in: the house in Masonville, which was a nice little place with ten acres of pasture, with a creek in the middle.

I drove: a Chevy Nova, which served us well for many years.

I was in a relationship with: I had a husband and a toddler and the best dog ever and two cats and three horses. Life was good.

I feared: the death or serious illness of someone I loved. I had pretty much stopped fearing nuclear war and ecocatastrophe. I didn't think they were less likely, I just didn't have the energy to worry about them.

I worked at: I taught computer programming in the Continuing Ed department at CU-Boulder, which was the perfect job for me. I was really good at it, I worked a few Saturdays a semester, and it paid $70 an hour.

I wanted to be: a better teacher. A storyteller. A writer. Someone else's mother. Someone else's lover.


Today's poem is Turbulence, by Adrienne Rich.
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This post by Doctor Science made me think of this poem.



Not that spring is that color in Colorado. Here, the vultures are back, the purple mustard's spicy scent has filled the air, and now a spring storm is giving all the buds a big wet heavy kiss. Spring might linger for as much as a month, but if she is in an especial hurry, she has checked the boxes and may make way for ninety-degree days.
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When I say Mary Oliver you probably want to hear Wild Geese, so you should pop over to Melusina's. But then come back and listen to Hum because it's really good too. "It's love almost too fierce to endure."

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• What are you currently reading?

Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood. I tried this once before and gave up because I was not in the mood for a terrible person in a terrible situation, whose memories of "happier times" are even worse, and whose future does not look promising. I am reading it now for book group but I am still not in that mood.

I have loved other things written by Margaret Atwood, so I don't know why this is so very not for me. Hypothesis: I do not like science fiction written by people who claim they don't write science fiction. Yeah, I didn't like The Handmaid's Tale much either. I would like to test this hypothesis. Can you suggest other works of science fiction whose authors claim they are not science fiction?

• What did you recently finish reading?

I've browsed through several poetry books, but have not read any cover-to-cover.

• What do you think you’ll read next?

Back to Multiplication is for White People.


I love this poem.

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This poem is often attributed on the web to Mary Oliver, but a search in Google Books locates it in The way it is: new & selected poems, by William Stafford.

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This is from a book called Transformations, which I read long long ago, when I was learning to tell stories myself, before the term "fanfiction" was invented. I learned two things from this book that I relearned when I discovered fanfiction: when you retell a story that I know, no matter how well I know it and no matter how well I love it, I'll learn something interesting about the story from your retelling; and when you retell a story that I know, I'll learn something really interesting about you.

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I submitted my due South podfic but I can't find out what my recipient thought of it until after the reveal. Waiting why so hard?

US National Poetry Month. I could read you a poem every day.

The Word, by Maxine Kumin.

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