Showing posts from February, 2014

Poetry: Conversation Piece by Eunice De Souza

Conversation Piece by Eunice De Souza

My Portuguese-bred aunt picked up a clay shivalingam one day and said: Is this an ashtray? No, said the salesman, This is our god.

Listen to my reading of "Conversation Piece" below:

Motivation: The Ordinary is Magical

*Listen to the sunset with your eyes.  Smell the traffic, the movements (or dancing) of people and things about you, around you.  Answer questions with questions. Let your face sing. It is okay to laugh for no reason, it is a wonderful song. Breathe in the gift of being alive, exhale fear. Breathe in the beauty that's everywhere around you, exhale impatience. breathe in the magic that you are, exhale self-doubt. Notice the moment and live it.
Have a beautiful Monday. -J

* I didn't mean to write today, I wanted to groan and moan the whole day, but I noticed the sunrise, then how good my cup of tea was, then my lazy work-out was nice, and so I found myself humming to Gregory Porter's album "Water," then I felt compelled to write this just incase you too are finding yourself in the grasp of groans and moans.

Grad School Diary: Tripping

The jinx is broken. On my way home from school this evening (because CUNY has a calendar of its own, and sometimes a Thursday becomes a Monday--make up for Presidents' Day), a conversation from two weeks ago on tripping as one walks and biting one's tongue as one eats came back to mind. It was circulating with thoughts on Joshua Clover's poem, "The Dark Ages" and on a story I had just read from the New Yorker: reflections at an older age on youth and how it feels like when one is old. At the back of my mind were thoughts of a birthday party I had briefly gone to yesterday in Dumbo (two doors away from where I worked shortly last semester for a friend); the celebration of my professor's (from last semester) 70th birthday (it was very cool of him to have invited such a diverse group of people). All these infused with earlier views from this morning's reading on Frank O'Hara, and how he died at 40. I wondered if I should cover my head as it was drizzlin…

Poetry: Epilogue by Grace Nichols

Epilogue by Grace Nichols

I have crossed an ocean I have lost my tongue from the root of the old one a new one has sprung

My Valentine's Day

Before I got into a relationship I felt that Valentine's Day was foolish. I don't know exactly why and couldn't explain to anyone why I felt this way. I suspect it was because I was too chicken to believe in love. When I got into a relationship, the Day started feeling sentimental. But I could not persuade my boyfriend into thinking it so, especially since he knew that I, too, thought it silly once. This past Valentine's day found me a couple of months out of a relationship and with fewer friends. It felt lonely.

The suspicion that I am romantic has been with me for a long time now, it is just recently that I have decided to not be ashamed about being so. I don't remember ever feeling lonely on Valentine's Day, or ever admitting to myself about feeling that way. It took me by surprise (I'm writing this here because I often share my happy thoughts, but I am not always happy, or cheerful and I believe this is very okay). I learned very early that complaining…

Poetry: Paradoxes and Oxymorons by John Ashbery

Paradoxes and Oxymorons
by John Ashbery
This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level.
Look at it talking to you. You look out a window
Or pretend to fidget. You have it but you don't have it.
You miss it, it misses you. You miss each other.

The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot.
What's a plain level? It is that and other things,
Bringing a system of them into play. Play?
Well, actually, yes, but I consider play to be

A deeper outside thing, a dreamed role-pattern,
As in the division of grace these long August days
Without proof. Open-ended. And before you know
It gets lost in the steam and chatter of typewriters.

It has been played once more. I think you exist only
To tease me into doing it, on your level, and then you aren't there
Or have adopted a different attitude. And the poem
Has set me softly down beside you. The poem is you.


Have an awesome today! --- Jane

Meet Katie of GoodAfternoonan on Etsy

My name is Katie Noonan. For the last two years, I’ve run an Etsy shop called GoodAfternoonan where I sell pet-related handmade items. I have two hilarious ex-shelter cats who inspire me daily to help out shelters, reward pet owners, and simply experience the joy of animals.
If you visit my Etsy shop, you will read that I started GoodAfternoonan with a box of bonbons, a weekend of Arrested Development, and a polaroid of a cat. That is the story of the birth of my shop. My craft story, however, starts at a much earlier age. Crafting is woven into the speckled memories of my childhood. At nine, half-finished friendship bracelets dangled from my Keds by safety pins. At seven, I painted and sold sand dollars to neighboring vacationers in my mom’s hometown in Maine. At 18, I took my first life-drawing class. At 23, I became obsessed with binding my own books. And now, I’m dedicated to GoodAfternoonan and get to draw cats and dogs every evening.
I originally started on Etsy as a buyer after r…