Mark invited me to a writing workshop he was holding. I brought a poem because that was what I had written the day before, and I mentioned this to the other writers because I wasn’t totally sure about the poem in question (which is a good reason to ask people what needs to be changed.)
After I read my poem, Kean said “You wrote that yesterday?”
Er, yes. Actually, I probably wrote it in about a half hour, maybe forty minutes if you could fooling around with the line breaks. I usually write poems without regard for line breaks, and then experiment with them later.
Everyone was mostly supportive of the poem. Kean mentioned that it sort of spun off on a tangent fairly early on, and the more I look at it, the more right I realize he is. So, I’m cutting that bit.
Mark did give me a wonderful compliment though: he told me I have amazing catalogs in my poems. That made me feel wonderful. I must admit, I’m sort of obsessed with catalogs, so I was happy to hear that.
Showing posts with label Mark. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark. Show all posts
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tea with Mark
Went out for tea with Mark. He had finished a class in the early afternoon, and I figured that he would have another one in the late afternoon or early evening, but he didn't, so we talked about about four and a half hours. There are so few people in my life I can talk to for such long periods of time, and Mark is definitely one of them.
As usual, Mark and I spent a ton of time talking about poetry. He and some other mutual friends are all right now into Ann Carson, and Mark showed me one of her books. I had heard of her before, but I had never actually seen any of her poetry. And I could see why he was showing it to me. There was something very prosy about it, but also something inherently intellectual and academic. They were tight little pieces. He had borrowed the book from a friend, and we both admired her handwriting, which decorated the margins.
We also talked about book design. There's this one cover for a poetry book that we both thing is miserably bad. I told him my idea for an alternative cover, one that did a better job of displaying the title poem and looked prettier.
"Well, do you ever think about what you'd want your poetry books to look like?" he asked.
Oh, of course. I fantasize about it all the time. I don't think I'm silly enough to believe I'll ever publish a book of poetry, but I think about it.
"I usually think of the art for the book as being highly related to the content. So, I'm working on some science-related poems, and I'd like the book to be decorated with old school science drawings, the kind you see in old textbooks."
Thinking of it, I'd really like to see some of Mark's poetry. It's been a while since I looked at anything of his, though, the more I think about what I saw, the more impressed I am by it.
We also reminisced about classes we took. I confessed that Emily was sort of turned off by the way he use to talk, which maybe I shouldn't have told him. I followed it up with "But I defended you because you had just changed your major and we're probably still finding your feet," which was how I felt at the time. Plus, I honestly felt like Emily was being a tad persnickety. I love Emily, but this was one of the few times I disagreed with her. Mark wasn't that hard to understand.
I might have also admitted my momentary annoyance with Mark. When we first met, I didn't really have any thoughts on him either way, because I didn't know him. Then he started always sitting with me in class, and because I had lots of friends in this class I found myself wishing he didn't. But after a week or two I realized I really liked him and that he was my friend.
This this weird tendency around here for things to be super intense super quickly. Natalie once described this happening to her and Mike. They met and BAM! They were best friends. This was what happened to Mark. We spent very little time between acquaintance and mutual adoration.
It was mostly quiet in the tea house, but this punk guy sat down near us for a while, while I probably talked poor Mark's ear off.
Mark told me a little about his upcoming trip to Germany. He told me that he had wanted to go to London, but because of the price of hotels, he decided not to. Instead, he's going to live in a tiny town near the French border. What exactly he's doing academically, I'm not sure. He apparently speaks very good German, so I'm hoping that in addition to the usual fun travel stuff (getting to know a new place, meeting new people, speaking the local language) maybe he'll be studying German literature. There's a lot of important work that was done in both German romanticism and expressionism.
While we were sitting there, Justin's roommate, came in and said hi. He recognized me because I had met him recently.
"Are you two dating?" he asked.
It seems like Mark and I have been getting that one a lot lately. Mark said no.
"We're more like work partners," I said, thinking about how frequently we worked on various projects together. An idea occurred to me. "We're more like partners in crime," I said. Justin's roommate sort of chuckled at us for saying that.
Eventually, I had to cut our chat to an end because I was meeting Gary for sushi down the street. When Mark had originally asked me for tea, I thought that I would have plenty of time in between tea and sushi. I was going to go lock myself in a study room and try to write. But clearly, Mark and I were having so much fun, I almost lost track of time.
Gary wasn't going to let me though. About ten minutes before my sushi date, he texted me that he was going to be two minutes late. That's right: two minutes. I found this weirdly funny, because I can't think of anyone who texts to say two minutes. I don't even know if it's necessary to text if it's five, because it seems like everyone I know runs on a minimum five minute late schedule of some kind or another.
Mark thought this was funny too.
Three minutes later, Gary texted again to tell me he was going to be on time, and Mark and I both found this funny.
"He's like that. One day you'll have to meet him," I said. I had already told him tons about Jimmy.
As usual, Mark and I spent a ton of time talking about poetry. He and some other mutual friends are all right now into Ann Carson, and Mark showed me one of her books. I had heard of her before, but I had never actually seen any of her poetry. And I could see why he was showing it to me. There was something very prosy about it, but also something inherently intellectual and academic. They were tight little pieces. He had borrowed the book from a friend, and we both admired her handwriting, which decorated the margins.
We also talked about book design. There's this one cover for a poetry book that we both thing is miserably bad. I told him my idea for an alternative cover, one that did a better job of displaying the title poem and looked prettier.
"Well, do you ever think about what you'd want your poetry books to look like?" he asked.
Oh, of course. I fantasize about it all the time. I don't think I'm silly enough to believe I'll ever publish a book of poetry, but I think about it.
"I usually think of the art for the book as being highly related to the content. So, I'm working on some science-related poems, and I'd like the book to be decorated with old school science drawings, the kind you see in old textbooks."
Thinking of it, I'd really like to see some of Mark's poetry. It's been a while since I looked at anything of his, though, the more I think about what I saw, the more impressed I am by it.
We also reminisced about classes we took. I confessed that Emily was sort of turned off by the way he use to talk, which maybe I shouldn't have told him. I followed it up with "But I defended you because you had just changed your major and we're probably still finding your feet," which was how I felt at the time. Plus, I honestly felt like Emily was being a tad persnickety. I love Emily, but this was one of the few times I disagreed with her. Mark wasn't that hard to understand.
I might have also admitted my momentary annoyance with Mark. When we first met, I didn't really have any thoughts on him either way, because I didn't know him. Then he started always sitting with me in class, and because I had lots of friends in this class I found myself wishing he didn't. But after a week or two I realized I really liked him and that he was my friend.
This this weird tendency around here for things to be super intense super quickly. Natalie once described this happening to her and Mike. They met and BAM! They were best friends. This was what happened to Mark. We spent very little time between acquaintance and mutual adoration.
It was mostly quiet in the tea house, but this punk guy sat down near us for a while, while I probably talked poor Mark's ear off.
Mark told me a little about his upcoming trip to Germany. He told me that he had wanted to go to London, but because of the price of hotels, he decided not to. Instead, he's going to live in a tiny town near the French border. What exactly he's doing academically, I'm not sure. He apparently speaks very good German, so I'm hoping that in addition to the usual fun travel stuff (getting to know a new place, meeting new people, speaking the local language) maybe he'll be studying German literature. There's a lot of important work that was done in both German romanticism and expressionism.
While we were sitting there, Justin's roommate, came in and said hi. He recognized me because I had met him recently.
"Are you two dating?" he asked.
It seems like Mark and I have been getting that one a lot lately. Mark said no.
"We're more like work partners," I said, thinking about how frequently we worked on various projects together. An idea occurred to me. "We're more like partners in crime," I said. Justin's roommate sort of chuckled at us for saying that.
Eventually, I had to cut our chat to an end because I was meeting Gary for sushi down the street. When Mark had originally asked me for tea, I thought that I would have plenty of time in between tea and sushi. I was going to go lock myself in a study room and try to write. But clearly, Mark and I were having so much fun, I almost lost track of time.
Gary wasn't going to let me though. About ten minutes before my sushi date, he texted me that he was going to be two minutes late. That's right: two minutes. I found this weirdly funny, because I can't think of anyone who texts to say two minutes. I don't even know if it's necessary to text if it's five, because it seems like everyone I know runs on a minimum five minute late schedule of some kind or another.
Mark thought this was funny too.
Three minutes later, Gary texted again to tell me he was going to be on time, and Mark and I both found this funny.
"He's like that. One day you'll have to meet him," I said. I had already told him tons about Jimmy.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Poetry Reading
So, picking up where I left off on my last little story, I went to the poetry reading and did manage to surprise this professor. It was sort of a relief to finally have achieved this surprise without too much ruining it.
There is always this table in the back to the theatre where they sell poetry books and sometimes other stuff, and I was back there talking to Stephanie and Lia. At one point they both looked over my shoulders and said "hey Mark!"
I turned around and, indeed there he was. When I saw him last, his hair was a light blonde and it was close shaven. Now he had grown his hair out, it seemed darker, it was highlighted, and he had a goatee. I was kind of surprised by this change of look, because he had changed his look not that long ago.
"Hi," I said, a big grin spreading across my face. I was very happy to see him. "You're looking very Renaissance."
I mean, obviously he wasn't wearing the tights and those poofy pants that Shakespeare rocked so well, but I think he understood and took it as a compliment.
Mark was surprised to see me as well, which was unintentional, since I wasn't even sure if he was going to be around tonight. But I was glad he was. We got to talking, shuffling off to the side to let people in. We did the usual small chat and then talked about a teacher we had together. I had seen this teacher recently and I reported to Mark that said teacher remembered him.
This was not the whole story, but I was reluctant to tell him the whole thing. When I saw this particular teacher, he had asked about Mark and I. And by asked, he simply said "So, how are you and Mark?" There was this terribly awful pause and then I realized this teacher thought we were dating.
We aren't.
The truly bad thing is that this is not the first person or even the first teacher to comment on Mark and I, which makes me a bit uncomfortable. It's one thing when your friends know you like someone. That's normal, especially when you make your preferences to them known. But it's another thing entirely when it's just people you work with or teachers. My feelings aren't meant to be so obviously to the world.
As Mark and I were talking, Lia came over to commend us for not talking so loudly. This was a problem I had last year. (Actually, it's been a problem I've had forever, but it became of particular issue last year.)
Derek came by, and it was my turn to be surprised. Derek graduated ages ago, and although it wasn't a complete surprise to see him, it hadn't crossed my mind that I would. He sort of looked at the two of us strangely and I realized that he was probably thinking the same thing as everyone else.
I guess it's a good thing I didn't pursue a career in acting?
Mark and I decided to sit together. We walked down to some seats near the stage. As I sat down, I noticed another teacher from a few years back sit down. He was surprised to see me, and I nicely waved at him.
On a whim, I turned to Mark and said "So, how's your girlfriend?" I couldn't remember her name, though I remembered she was a redhead, very pretty, and very slim.
Mark looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable, but he said "We're not dating anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
This was sort of a lie. On one hand, I've had enough bad breakups that I know it hurts like hell, and can actually make things between other friends miserable. (And has gotten to the point where I'm usually apathetic towards dating. It takes a lot to get me interested in a guy to the point where I want to date him, and frankly, liking him isn't enough for me anymore. I have to trust him, and the vast majority of guys I like never pass into trustable.)
On the other hand, I do like Mark, and she was the reason I didn't pursue him earlier. He was already dating her when I met him. It was sort of a disappointment, but I promised myself years ago that I would never encourage a couple to break up. If the guy really does like me, he'll realize it isn't fair to date someone else, and he'll do the breaking up on his own, regardless of whether or not he knows I'm willing to date an unattached version of him.
The reading was starting up, so I didn't question Mark further. I don't know if there would be that much to say either. I think I would have just graciously offered to hear Mark out if he needed someone to talk to (always something I've needed post-breakup) but then also make clear he was under no requirement to talk to me if he didn't want to.
The reading went okay. I really like this professor, and the poetry she has been writing the last few years has been super intense and Wallace Stevens like. I've been very impressed by it, especially since it was such a departure from her earlier work.
Which is why I was kind of disappointed that she read her less challenging poetry. She read more of prose stuff, not her deep image stuff. She read one poem about sheep blocking a road, and I thought about how that was the sort of poem that would please non-poetry people.
After the reading, I introduced Mark to Derek. Mark and Derek both happen to be big fans of Arrested Development. I told Mark about how Derek and I use to refer to one another as "Hey Hermano," which is a reference to the show. (There's actually a slightly longer story there, but one I won't bore you with.)
Mark and I continued talking, slightly in the corner. I told him about my roommate fiasco from a few months ago. I told him about how I was raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, who was also raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, so really, I was quite good at being that way.
"I can make anything sound passive aggressive," I said. "Even something like 'yeah, okay.'" I emphasized the words so that they sounded the opposite of "yeah" and "okay."
There is always this table in the back to the theatre where they sell poetry books and sometimes other stuff, and I was back there talking to Stephanie and Lia. At one point they both looked over my shoulders and said "hey Mark!"
I turned around and, indeed there he was. When I saw him last, his hair was a light blonde and it was close shaven. Now he had grown his hair out, it seemed darker, it was highlighted, and he had a goatee. I was kind of surprised by this change of look, because he had changed his look not that long ago.
"Hi," I said, a big grin spreading across my face. I was very happy to see him. "You're looking very Renaissance."
I mean, obviously he wasn't wearing the tights and those poofy pants that Shakespeare rocked so well, but I think he understood and took it as a compliment.
Mark was surprised to see me as well, which was unintentional, since I wasn't even sure if he was going to be around tonight. But I was glad he was. We got to talking, shuffling off to the side to let people in. We did the usual small chat and then talked about a teacher we had together. I had seen this teacher recently and I reported to Mark that said teacher remembered him.
This was not the whole story, but I was reluctant to tell him the whole thing. When I saw this particular teacher, he had asked about Mark and I. And by asked, he simply said "So, how are you and Mark?" There was this terribly awful pause and then I realized this teacher thought we were dating.
We aren't.
The truly bad thing is that this is not the first person or even the first teacher to comment on Mark and I, which makes me a bit uncomfortable. It's one thing when your friends know you like someone. That's normal, especially when you make your preferences to them known. But it's another thing entirely when it's just people you work with or teachers. My feelings aren't meant to be so obviously to the world.
As Mark and I were talking, Lia came over to commend us for not talking so loudly. This was a problem I had last year. (Actually, it's been a problem I've had forever, but it became of particular issue last year.)
Derek came by, and it was my turn to be surprised. Derek graduated ages ago, and although it wasn't a complete surprise to see him, it hadn't crossed my mind that I would. He sort of looked at the two of us strangely and I realized that he was probably thinking the same thing as everyone else.
I guess it's a good thing I didn't pursue a career in acting?
Mark and I decided to sit together. We walked down to some seats near the stage. As I sat down, I noticed another teacher from a few years back sit down. He was surprised to see me, and I nicely waved at him.
On a whim, I turned to Mark and said "So, how's your girlfriend?" I couldn't remember her name, though I remembered she was a redhead, very pretty, and very slim.
Mark looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable, but he said "We're not dating anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
This was sort of a lie. On one hand, I've had enough bad breakups that I know it hurts like hell, and can actually make things between other friends miserable. (And has gotten to the point where I'm usually apathetic towards dating. It takes a lot to get me interested in a guy to the point where I want to date him, and frankly, liking him isn't enough for me anymore. I have to trust him, and the vast majority of guys I like never pass into trustable.)
On the other hand, I do like Mark, and she was the reason I didn't pursue him earlier. He was already dating her when I met him. It was sort of a disappointment, but I promised myself years ago that I would never encourage a couple to break up. If the guy really does like me, he'll realize it isn't fair to date someone else, and he'll do the breaking up on his own, regardless of whether or not he knows I'm willing to date an unattached version of him.
The reading was starting up, so I didn't question Mark further. I don't know if there would be that much to say either. I think I would have just graciously offered to hear Mark out if he needed someone to talk to (always something I've needed post-breakup) but then also make clear he was under no requirement to talk to me if he didn't want to.
The reading went okay. I really like this professor, and the poetry she has been writing the last few years has been super intense and Wallace Stevens like. I've been very impressed by it, especially since it was such a departure from her earlier work.
Which is why I was kind of disappointed that she read her less challenging poetry. She read more of prose stuff, not her deep image stuff. She read one poem about sheep blocking a road, and I thought about how that was the sort of poem that would please non-poetry people.
Mark and I continued talking, slightly in the corner. I told him about my roommate fiasco from a few months ago. I told him about how I was raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, who was also raised by a master of passive aggressiveness, so really, I was quite good at being that way.
"I can make anything sound passive aggressive," I said. "Even something like 'yeah, okay.'" I emphasized the words so that they sounded the opposite of "yeah" and "okay."
Friday, May 27, 2011
Poets and What They Read
Mark and I had a conversation about six weeks ago about if poets should read poetry. (It's not necessarily the answer you think.) And tonight, I came across this quote by John Giorno: "“I certainly won’t curl up in a chair with a book of poetry.”
I was arguing against reading poetry (sort of. I was arguing that reading in general was more important that specifically reading poetry) and Mark was, as always, listening to me. (He's really far too good to me.)
That said, I've had conversations with other poets where this suggestion just horrifies them. It's totally anathema. I kind of like driving them crazy.
I was arguing against reading poetry (sort of. I was arguing that reading in general was more important that specifically reading poetry) and Mark was, as always, listening to me. (He's really far too good to me.)
That said, I've had conversations with other poets where this suggestion just horrifies them. It's totally anathema. I kind of like driving them crazy.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Protests
This morning I had another dream. In this one, I was in a class I took over a year ago. Jon and Mark were there. (I've been thinking about the two of them a lot lately, I have to admit. Jon and I have had some recent heart-to-hearts.) The professor was calling on people he thought weren't paying attention, asking them questions. Three questions in, he turned and called on me, asking what I thought. This annoyed me deeply because I was paying attention. "About the protests?" I asked. There was a pause. "The protests?" I repeated, louder and more forcefully. And then my alarm woke me up.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Spending the Day Doing What I Didn't
Erin, Nori and I were outside, dancing and fooling around. Erin and Nori were taking pictures of the night. I had my camera with me, but I didn't feel like getting it out.
I was too busy dancing. I dropped my shoulders low, looking down at the ground. I put my arms out, slightly above my head, making it look like I was pushing walls away that were closing in on me. Then I moved my legs so that one foot was in front of the other. When one leg would move, I'd wobble just a little bit. I did this for a while.
I turned around. Both Nori and Erin were staring at me. "What was that?" Nori asked.
I really couldn't tell her.
They both kept taking pictures, including some of me. "You always make your pictures look nice," Erin scoffed. So sue me.
"Post them immediately!" Erin commanded. Nori told her that she had to go down to Ann Arbor the next day to see Frontier Ruckus, this band I saw a few years back. I would like to go myself, but more because I took a class with their drummer and admired how smart he was. Mark later tipped me off that he was in the same band I had liked. I suspect Ryan, the drummer, wouldn't even remember me, because why would you remember some girl from a class a year ago, even if she was one of the smartest and talkative kids in the class?
While we were dancing and taking pictures, a janitor came out and looked at us weirdly.
"We're not doing anything wrong," Erin said to her as way of explanation. And we weren't, though she skittered around us oddly.
"You would think she was used to drunks," I mentioned to Nori, even though we weren't. Usually when I've had a lot I feel like I'm swimming, but here I just felt like I did when I wake up from an unrestful sleep: tired and wishing for something better.
"We should try to break into Morrill Hall!" Erin exclaimed.
There's a long story here. Morrill is where the English department is located, and it has become a tradition for English students to "break in." By break in, I mean go through the often-unlocked front door or climb up the fire ladder. Almost ever creative writing kid I know has written a creative nonfiction piece about it.
I always had this weird fantasy of camping out in an office I had the key into. In this fantasy, there was a particular young man with me. We'd share a sleeping bag, and get up right before the sun, and watch it rise from the roof, admiring campus at dawn. This never happened, for a wide variety of reasons.
In the meantime, I had spent the day doing what I didn't get done when I was actually in school. I went for a swim with friends. I went to a co-op party. I have a long lunch without regarding the time. I had an evening of being silly with friends, regardless of the rules or time. Breaking into Morrill Hall, another thing I never got around to doing, seemed right somehow.
We drove over there, we parked in the nearby ramp. Several cars passed us. We stood outside the front door. A cop car drove by. Something about it dampened by mood.
Erin couldn't get the door open.
"If that door's not open, the rest of them aren't either," she said. "Let's go home."
I was too busy dancing. I dropped my shoulders low, looking down at the ground. I put my arms out, slightly above my head, making it look like I was pushing walls away that were closing in on me. Then I moved my legs so that one foot was in front of the other. When one leg would move, I'd wobble just a little bit. I did this for a while.
I turned around. Both Nori and Erin were staring at me. "What was that?" Nori asked.
I really couldn't tell her.
They both kept taking pictures, including some of me. "You always make your pictures look nice," Erin scoffed. So sue me.
While we were dancing and taking pictures, a janitor came out and looked at us weirdly.
"We're not doing anything wrong," Erin said to her as way of explanation. And we weren't, though she skittered around us oddly.
"You would think she was used to drunks," I mentioned to Nori, even though we weren't. Usually when I've had a lot I feel like I'm swimming, but here I just felt like I did when I wake up from an unrestful sleep: tired and wishing for something better.
"We should try to break into Morrill Hall!" Erin exclaimed.
I always had this weird fantasy of camping out in an office I had the key into. In this fantasy, there was a particular young man with me. We'd share a sleeping bag, and get up right before the sun, and watch it rise from the roof, admiring campus at dawn. This never happened, for a wide variety of reasons.
In the meantime, I had spent the day doing what I didn't get done when I was actually in school. I went for a swim with friends. I went to a co-op party. I have a long lunch without regarding the time. I had an evening of being silly with friends, regardless of the rules or time. Breaking into Morrill Hall, another thing I never got around to doing, seemed right somehow.
We drove over there, we parked in the nearby ramp. Several cars passed us. We stood outside the front door. A cop car drove by. Something about it dampened by mood.
Erin couldn't get the door open.
"If that door's not open, the rest of them aren't either," she said. "Let's go home."
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