The Way to Keep Going in Antarctica
Bernadette Mayer
Be strong Bernadette
Nobody will ever know
I came here for a reason
Perhaps there is a life here
Of not being afraid of your own heart beating
Do not be afraid of your own heart beating
Look at very small things with your eyes
& stay warm
Nothing outside can cure you but everything's outside
There is great shame for the world in knowing
You may have gone this far
Perhaps this is why you love the presence of other people so much
Perhaps this is why you wait so impatiently
You have nothing more to teach
Until there is no more panic at the knowledge of your own real existence
& then only special childish laughter to be shown
& no more lies no more
Not to find you no
More coming back & more returning
Southern journey
Small things & not my own debris
Something to fight against
& we are all very fluent about ourselves
Our own ideas of food, a Wild sauce
There's not much point in its being over: but we do not speak them:
I had written: "the man who sewed his soles back on his feet"
And then I panicked most at the sound of what the wind could do
to me
if I crawled back to the house, two feet give no position, if
the branches cracked over my head & their threatening me, if I
covered my face with beer & sweated till you returned
If I suffered what else could I do
Of all the places on the globe, barring war torn countries, the unrelenting cold of Antarctica is the most frightening to contemplate.
In Kevin Brockmeier's brilliant novel, A Brief History of the Dead, scientist 32 year old Laura Byrd is on a research mission to Antarctica to explore the environmental impact of using rapidly melting polar ice to manufacture soft drinks, when she discovers that she is the only survivor of a biochemical attack via Coca Cola.
The premise of the book is that you exist as long as someone alive remembers you. When all the people in whose memory you reside die, you disappear completely. I really like the idea that we hold our dead in our memories, so we're never, ever really alone.
The most chilling (hahaha) moments are not when Laura finally understands that she may very well be the last person alive on Earth, nor when she hears the dead calling her name from their city of the dead, but when she is inside her sleeping bag and must break the ice strings that have formed from the moisture of her body and her breath.
Get the book! Here's an excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
THE CITY
When the blind man arrived in the city, he claimed that he had traveled across a desert of living sand. First he had died, he said, and then–snap!–the desert. He told the story to everyone who would listen, bobbing his head to follow the sound of their footsteps. Showers of red grit fell from his beard. He said that the desert was bare and lonesome and that it had hissed at him like a snake. He had walked for days and days, until the dunes broke apart beneath his feet, surging up around him to lash at his face. Then everything went still and began to beat like a heart. The sound was as clear as any he had ever heard. It was only at that moment, he said, with a million arrow points of sand striking his skin, that he truly realized he was dead.
An Invitation to Sytle - Holiday Jewelry Trunk Show
What: An Invitation to Style - Holiday Jewelry Trunk Show
When: Saturday, December 11 2 P.M. to 5:30 P.M.
Where: 625 West Gentile Layton, Utah 84041
Join local designers Brianna Chamberlain and Danna for an afternoon of beautiful jewelry featuring exquisite, one-of-a-kind necklaces, bracelets, and earrings.
Enjoy light refreshments while you shop!
Complimentary pearl earrings with a purchase.
Drop in if you're in our neck of the woods!
Salt Lake City Arts Council Annual Holiday Exhibit & Craft Sale
I am exhibiting my hammered sterling silver and brass jewelry at this exhibit. Every year new artists join this juried show. The show offers high end art craft from fine jewelry, paintings and mixed-media art, fiber and glass, to carved wood figurines.
What: Holiday Craft Exhibit & Sale
When: December 4 through December 19 ~ Monday through Friday, 10:00 A.M. - 7:00 P.M. ~ Saturday and Sunday, 11:00 A.M. - 5:00 P.M.
Where: The Art Barn in Reservoir Park ~ 54 Finch Lane (1340 East 100 South) ~ 801-596-5000) ~ www.slcgov.com/arts
Poem Therapy December 8, 2010 at 11:40 A.M - Howard Nemerov
A Primer of the Daily Round
Howard Nemerov
A peels an apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H's grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L's head,
And M takes mustard, N drives into town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For having to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,
Who happens just now to remember A
Peeling an apple somewhere far away.
I've read this poem many times and still find it amusing. I'll try my own version, but be warned, the weather has had an effect on my mood, so the poem is a little on the strident side and morose side.
Divorcing Winter
Danna
Alabaster is the color of your coward heart.
Burn the love letters I have written, burn the thatch
Carapace of this structure over our heads.
Dead are the silent years spent listening to
Echoes reverberate through the cave of this union.
Forgotten are the memories of sun and cool shade, now only a
Grief-laden sky spits frozen ice to the
Hard, malevolent ground.
I am lost, it is cold, I say to your profile,
Just as you remove your glasses. I think to
Kiss your lips, but see the glass of your eyes, the anger
Limning the pale blue irises, and the
Mocking black of your pupils. Sorry, you say. Sorry.
Now it will be a long season spent digging through ashes
Of what once was, what will never be, what has
Passed and will never return, knowing that the sweet and
Quiet memories are buried in a shroud of earth and
Rendered useless by this present season we inhabit.
Sorry is such a sorry little word.
There is no excuse for it. None.
Unlike, I apologize, sorry is the palest imitation of
Veracity. It is the last slap, the last shout, the last sob.
What is the point of all this sorrow? I ask.
X it out, you reply. X is always your axis of the equation.
Y is my linear function that will make this sadness less than
Zero.
Howard Nemerov
A peels an apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H's grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L's head,
And M takes mustard, N drives into town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For having to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,
Who happens just now to remember A
Peeling an apple somewhere far away.
I've read this poem many times and still find it amusing. I'll try my own version, but be warned, the weather has had an effect on my mood, so the poem is a little on the strident side and morose side.
Divorcing Winter
Danna
Alabaster is the color of your coward heart.
Burn the love letters I have written, burn the thatch
Carapace of this structure over our heads.
Dead are the silent years spent listening to
Echoes reverberate through the cave of this union.
Forgotten are the memories of sun and cool shade, now only a
Grief-laden sky spits frozen ice to the
Hard, malevolent ground.
I am lost, it is cold, I say to your profile,
Just as you remove your glasses. I think to
Kiss your lips, but see the glass of your eyes, the anger
Limning the pale blue irises, and the
Mocking black of your pupils. Sorry, you say. Sorry.
Now it will be a long season spent digging through ashes
Of what once was, what will never be, what has
Passed and will never return, knowing that the sweet and
Quiet memories are buried in a shroud of earth and
Rendered useless by this present season we inhabit.
Sorry is such a sorry little word.
There is no excuse for it. None.
Unlike, I apologize, sorry is the palest imitation of
Veracity. It is the last slap, the last shout, the last sob.
What is the point of all this sorrow? I ask.
X it out, you reply. X is always your axis of the equation.
Y is my linear function that will make this sadness less than
Zero.
My Wish List
I've always been in the grip of wanderlust, but have spent far too much time as an armchair traveler. I've decided to spend the second half of my life wandering the globe. I'm busy working up a plan to make this more than a cold winter's day escape dream.
I've made my wish list and checked it more than twice and posted my top choices below. Check the links to see the fabulous photography of the featured artists.
The Louvre at Night - Rebecca Plotnick. rebeccaplotnick.etsy.com
I could spend a lifetime here.
Woman at Taj Mahal - bomobob.etsy.com
The Taj Mahal is just one destination I'd love to explore. I think I'd have to spend at least a month to six months in India to feel sated.
The Great Wall of China - Cengiz Yar Jr. hfwh.etsy.com
Years and years ago, when I used to illustrate for magazines, I made a painting of the first emperor. As I remember, I painted a butterfly very close to his head to symbolize his soul, knowing full well the iron fist with which he ruled and the incongruity of the image. I have a friend in China who has invited me to stay with her. I think it's time to take her up on her offer. I'll have to see what her husband and daughter think.
Step Pyramid of Saqqara - Heidi. illuminatedlunaphotography.blogspot.com
I've had a fascination with Ancient Egypt since I was a kid. My imaginary friend, Senya, claimed she lived and died there as a young woman. This is a photo of the oldest pyramid of Egpyt, actually called a mastaba. Giza and the well-known pyramid trio is fifteen miles away from Saqquara.
Treasure of the Treasury. Petra, Jordan - reflectionsofflight.etsy.com
Ever since I saw images of Petra in Smithsonian magazine, I've wanted to travel to Jordan to see this monument of stone.
I've made my wish list and checked it more than twice and posted my top choices below. Check the links to see the fabulous photography of the featured artists.
The Louvre at Night - Rebecca Plotnick. rebeccaplotnick.etsy.comI could spend a lifetime here.
Woman at Taj Mahal - bomobob.etsy.comThe Taj Mahal is just one destination I'd love to explore. I think I'd have to spend at least a month to six months in India to feel sated.
The Great Wall of China - Cengiz Yar Jr. hfwh.etsy.comYears and years ago, when I used to illustrate for magazines, I made a painting of the first emperor. As I remember, I painted a butterfly very close to his head to symbolize his soul, knowing full well the iron fist with which he ruled and the incongruity of the image. I have a friend in China who has invited me to stay with her. I think it's time to take her up on her offer. I'll have to see what her husband and daughter think.
Step Pyramid of Saqqara - Heidi. illuminatedlunaphotography.blogspot.comI've had a fascination with Ancient Egypt since I was a kid. My imaginary friend, Senya, claimed she lived and died there as a young woman. This is a photo of the oldest pyramid of Egpyt, actually called a mastaba. Giza and the well-known pyramid trio is fifteen miles away from Saqquara.
Treasure of the Treasury. Petra, Jordan - reflectionsofflight.etsy.comEver since I saw images of Petra in Smithsonian magazine, I've wanted to travel to Jordan to see this monument of stone.
Where I Hail From - Rocky Mountain Morning
Rocky Mountains - Wasatch Front.For the last few days, this field has been crowded right up to the fence with geese. There are quite a few still on the ground in this photo. Click on the photo and zoom in to see the geese.
The Coffee Project - December 3 & 5
December 5, 2010.
December 3, 2010. Bri & Daniel at Einsteins.It's been over five years that I've been going to coffee after work with my father. Friends and family join us and we generally solve the problems of the world in under an hour's time.
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