L'aura del Campo

Affluenza, bookmaking and Tea at Three.

L'aura del campo

WINTER: 7 Sultan (25 January) 32º after a sunny day.

'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣

Affluenza

Do you measure yourself by how many toys you have? Nicer car, tonier neighborhood, caviar instead of fish, closets full of clothes to the point of excess?

Persuing the material girl/guy and still not happy? Perhaps you have a bad case of affluenza.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070125/hl_nm/rampant_consumerism_dc

When I had a house, I wasn't satisfied with 10 chairs. I needed to have enough to seat 50! Of course, my house wanted to be an art center or some sort of center. I wanted to make it into a coffeehouse. It wasn't to be. When it was torched, some dreams died with it.

But happy? Now I have little and what matters most are a few old relationships and a couple new ones. That's about all that's left me besides my writing. But I'm not always happy . I no longer have a need for things (and nowhere to put them!), but deep down there is still a hole, that place where I long for something better.

I don't have a case of affluenza, but being poor isn't the answer either.

I'd be happier if certain people would call me or indicate that I still matter to them, if I could take care of essential needs (like health, privacy, storage, naps) instead of doing without or putting off, if I knew that what is past would stay buried, if I had someone to scratch my back in a tub of hot water (scented candle, patchouli, sandalwood ), if I thought that my breathing were contributing to the betterment of something or someone.

Book making and Tea at Three

Last night I attended class #2 for bookmaking. We finished off the one small book (I made mistakes, glue is NOT my friend, but it still came out okay, if wrong ...) and started on the other 4 panel accordian fold booklet. We used book-cloth which really excited me. When finished, it will look like a real book, kinda-sorta.

So tired today. I missed the talk on the Green Tea Ceremony. At lunch I had a piece of chicken and some cassarole and I pooped out at the bookstore after 'Tea at Three', which started again today. Saw Rob who has been in Europe since summer and the cast of regulars. I'm handing out my poetry as usual, but this time I'm going to try to focus on themes ... about 12 of them ... .

I started off with Earth Groaned which contains elegies or comments on their death for folks I've known who have died here over the last 30 miserable months I have had the dishonor to reside in this ... city. (I know ... let it be ... let it be.)

"Earth groaned" 
"Picking up the trash" 
"Byron Lynn" 
"A radiant moon has set" 
"Knowing it lies beyond" 

I printed on 8 1/2 x 11 double sided paper, folded, cut, taped (double sided) to make a small booklet with 6 poems, a cover and back page. Looked good! Except that next time I have to remember the order of pages in the book is not the same as on screen and to adjust the gutters to leave more room so I can paste properly. But it was a valiant first effort.

One of the poems I included that I haven't shared here yet:

Black-eyed Susan in the rain

The willows weep leafless
along the Kaw, while bald-eagles
perched high in the cottonwoods
wonder what strange fish
bobs lifeless there.

It bloats out of season,
the time for river reeds and cattails
now long gone.
Last Summer fields of black-eyed-susans
bloomed. Now their brown bruised faces
lay stripped of seeds by chickadees.

By the bank,
blank eyes cannot see them flit,
the rings around them bear no pain,
won’t wash away in December’s rain.

Her golden tresses wave among the willow weeds;
black-eyed Susan floats above the river reeds. [163.480]

In memory of Susan Shackleford (1965-2006)

The weather is fine. Not too cold and we have had some sun. The snow is melting mush and snirt is everywhere (snirt = snow dirt). We are going to get more sun. Ah ... what a pity.

Added 1/26: And today it is sunny and will hit 50º .

IMAGES

At tea: the familiar faces; hot chocolate, snow monkey plum tea; a brownie with chocolate chips; chatter; the display of posters that signals the beginning of every semester; oddly lighted displays on the wall; the slow shuffle of the line; the young woman in front of me text-messaging.

READING

Poetry. Brigit Pegeen Kelly: Sing, The Orchard and Bill Knott, The Unsubscriber.

The other day I was listening to "Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie" by Joanna Newsom. Does anyone know her music?

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