Author: Meryl

Callista, Zeeko, and Burma Shave

Posted on by Meryl in Stuff Larry Sez

I keep politics off these pages, but this morning over the Sunday Times, Larry said:

“I don’t usually read the Style section, but I have to find out what Callista’s hair style means.” Apparently, it means that she is more interested in control than beauty. I was intrigued, because I can’t remember Larry’s ever opening the Style section before. He’s not alone. Search for Callista Gingrich hair if you doubt me.  This was from The Stir, via Robin Givhan of The Daily Beast:

“Already, media estimates have put Mrs. Gingrich’s hair-care time at anywhere from 45 to 90 minutes a day.”

And that doesn’t include the time everyone spends thinking about her hair.

Callista’s process and hairspray are the subject of many articles, no need to link them here.

As for Larry’s hair, he has it cut by the Ukrainian barber, Zeeko, who finishes the process by turning Larry to the mirror and saying, “Now you are movie star again.”

Continue reading “Callista, Zeeko, and Burma Shave” →

Cluck and Glück

Posted on by Meryl in Chickens, Poetry

I didn’t know that Louise Gluck pronounced her name to rhyme with “click,” but that’s how it is. She read on Thursday night at Moe’s (yes, we still have a few bookstores in Berkeley!). It was a pleasure to listen to her read though she announced at the start that she doesn’t like to read. I had to strain to hear, but it was worth it. She read from her new book, A Village Life.

The NY Times review mentions “her signature desolation,” and there is certainly a generous measure of pain in her work. I don’t find this off-putting.

My favorite of the poems she read was “The Crossroads.” You can hear her read it–the poem starts about one minute in if you want to skip the pretentious intro. She’ll be reading again as part of the Lunch Poems series at UC on March 1.

Earlier that day (here is the cluck part) my wonderful friend and expert builder, Jeannie, finished creating a set of plant protection boxes for my garden. Now that it’s planting season, I’d like to let the chickens out to weed and fertilize, but you may remember what they do to anything that grows.

So we created a set of 2′ x 4′ boxes with bird cloth stapled around the sides to put around various areas where things are growing. They are lightweight and transportable. We painted them with camouflage paint so that they blend into the landscape (Jeannie’s idea).

Now the plants can thrive, and the chickens can do their work:

The exemplary sentence, take 2

Posted on by Meryl in Prose

I recently finished Night Train to Lisbon, by the Swiss author, Pascal Mercier, translated by Barbara Harshav.  This is another book about a quest. In most ways, Henderson and Gregorius could not be more opposite: Henderson a flamboyant, wandering millionaire seeking the meaning of life, and Gregorius a scholar of Greek and Latin, nicknamed Papyrus because of his dry, papery ways. Gregorius is of working class origins. He has lived his whole adult life as a high school teacher in Bern. And yet, as Night Train to Lisbon opens, a strange encounter is a catalyst for Gregorius to drop precipitously out of his former life and start on a quest for the Portuguese author of an obscure, privately published book A Goldsmith of Words, a book that purports to explore the fragmented, buried, kaleidoscopic experiences that make up a life.

The passion to learn about this mysterious author, the conceit of a book within a book, and the appealing figure of Gregorius all captured my imagination and sustained me through the 438 pages of this novel.  This book is almost too full of intriguing sentences, most attributed to the mysterious Portuguese author, Amadeu de Almeida Prado. Here are a few: Continue reading “The exemplary sentence, take 2” →

The exemplary sentence

Posted on by Meryl in Prose

I saw this idea on Mark Doty’s blog and immediately adopted it. I’ve been saving sentences for decades, and just now am rereading Saul Bellow’s Henderson the Rain King. This is the only one of Bellow’s books I’ve ever liked, but I really love it and it holds up wonderfully since I first read it maybe 30 years ago.

I say rereading, but this time I am listening to it as read by Joe Barrett, who manages to embody the voice of Henderson as well as the soft accents of various African characters. It’s wonderful to me how such a reading can enhance a book. But this one is so packed with exemplary sentences, it’s hard to choose, and I often need to rewind–not as easy on CD as formerly on cassette–to capture their complete sense.  Here is one (not even the whole sentence, but enough):

“Even civilized women  are not keen on geography, preferring a world of their own.”

Continue reading “The exemplary sentence” →

The paw of time

Posted on by Meryl in Poetry

My friend Simone sent me a link to an unusual online art exhibit.  There is a certain charm to these simple watercolors, “made anonymously in India (especially in Rajasthan) by practitioners of Tantrism.”

After looking through them, I was moved especially by The Paw of Time. It seemed so intuitively accurate to me.

I wrote about it, and sent my friend the poem. After some back and forth and her excellent edits, here it is.

The Paw of Time

when I finally discerned
the crude paw shape,
heavy and inhuman,
its smooth edges without malice
its force irresistible
I recognized it
right away

—————

Simone herself is an amazing artist whose work I’ve been enjoying for decades. She regularly posts her photographs on Facebook.  Maybe she’ll comment with her Facebook ID, so you can friend her and see them.

 

 

 

Slug fest

Posted on by Meryl in Chickens

It was a misty, moisty morning, a perfect day for slugs (if not for banana fish).  I walked the labyrinth several times, to pick them off the greens. Each time I gathered a handful, which the chickens got to enjoy right away:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like the way the rooster stands aside and lets his hens have first bite. He always does this–such a gentleman.

And happily, my computer is repaired!

 

 

 

 

 

Appropos of nothing

Posted on by Meryl in Poetry

I received this poem in my email this morning, and think it’s worth reprinting here. I love how the poet starts off in a folksy way, as if Galileo were a friend, and the poet was simply remembering a conversation. Then the images of blowing paper and terrified squirrel leap and flutter on the page, each with their particular qualities.  Continue reading “Appropos of nothing” →

Poets and their mothers

Posted on by Meryl in Poetry

I’ve been reading Adam Zagajewski’s recent book of poetry, Unseen Hand, translated by Clare Cavanagh. Zagajewski writes in Polish, and I’ve long admired his work.

I encountered this poem of his just after I had reread a poem of Larry’s about envisioning his mother’s funeral.  Yes, Larry, too is a poet.  His poem is from his book called Night Train. Here are the two:

About My Mother

I could never say anything about my mother:
how she repeated, you’ll regret it one day,
when I’m not around anymore, and how I didn’t believe
in either “I’m not” or “anymore,”
how I liked watching as she read bestsellers,
always turning to the last chapter first,
how in the kitchen, convinced it wasn’t
her proper place, she made Sunday coffee,
or even worse, filet of cod,
how she studied the mirror while expecting guests,
making the face that best kept her
from seeing herself as she was ( I take
after her in this and other failings),
how she went on at length about things
that weren’t her strong suit and how I stupidly
teased her, for example when she
compared herself to Beethoven going deaf,
and I said, cruelly, but you know he
had talent, and how she forgave it all
and how I remember that, and how I flew from Houston
to her funeral and couldn’t say anything
and still can’t.

Adam Zagajewski, translated by Clare Cavanagh

***************************

When I go to your funeral
I’ll be clean-shaven & have
a fresh haircut. I’ll wear
a black silk tie with a Windsor
knot, a charcoal-grey suit
(3-buttoned, with vest).
My socks will match.
My shoes will be shined.
I’ll look real sharp, Mom.
And everyone will murmur
“now there’s a young man
with promise” & everything
will be like it once was—
before the pulleys creak
& the ropes slowly lower
your coffin out of the red
clay granite sunshine
of western Oaklahoma.

Larry Rafferty

I think Larry stands up pretty well with Zagajewski, although I have to admit that the lines:

how she studied the mirror while expecting guests,
making the face that best kept her
from seeing herself as she was

are pretty breathtaking in their unsparing appraisal. I’m just glad I wasn’t Mr. Zagajewski’s mother! As for Larry, well, I’m his wife and have often felt that unsparing, appraising eye–but tempered with fondness.

Rain rain beautiful rain

Posted on by Meryl in Poetry

Do you know that song by Ladysmith Black Mambazo? It’s been in my mind these last rainy days after such a long stretch of winter sun.  I love looking out and watching storms move over the bay.

Of course, the chickens don’t share my enthusiasm, and huddle in the roofed area around their house.

I wrote this poem almost three years ago, looking out over the bay after a long stretch of rain.

Grammar

When Nietzsche said we no longer need God
because we have grammar, he was talking about

a morning like this one. The rain has finally paused
and patches of intermittent radiance play over the washed world,  Continue reading “Rain rain beautiful rain” →

Wild and Weegee

Posted on by Meryl in Art

Waiting for the late baby, I had time to notice the streets of Venice. It isn’t really surprising that a city that was originally a pleasure park, with canals crafted after the developer had been to Venice, has it’s wacky aspects.  The slideshow provides a few:

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I also had time to head over to MOCA, and see a rather disappointing show of Weegee, the pseudonym for Arthur Fellig, a photographer who became famous for his raw, artistic crime photography in NY in the 30’s and 40’s.  He came to LA in the 50’s and as the show demonstrates, became rather a caricature of himself, doing lots of trick photography, hobnobbing with the stars, and appearing as a bit player in several films.  There were only a few images from this show that I liked–this tricky one of himself (he was a shameless self-promoter): Continue reading “Wild and Weegee” →

The peculiar behavior of chickens

Posted on by Meryl in Chickens

I’ve been letting the chickens out into the winter garden to weed and fertilize. I cover or fence off the few crops I don’t want them to eat. But the chickens are curious and persistent. Yesterday, they managed to peel back the ground cover over the last cauliflower and strip it:

This seemed odd to me, because earlier that day, I’d given them some collard leaves, and the chickens just left them on the ground uneaten. Continue reading “The peculiar behavior of chickens” →