Showing posts from August, 2014

Poetry: Chaplinesque by Hart Crane

by Hart Crane

We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.

For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street,
Or warm torn elbow coverts.

We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!

And yet these fine collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.

The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.

Listen to my reading of "Chaplinesque" below:

How to Get Things Done: Knowing When to Work

I tend to work on several projects simultaneously, and I have a tendency of getting things done on time and almost effortlessly. I am going to share how I manage this in a series of posts under the title" How to Get Things Done." Of course you ought to remember that these are my methods and they may not work for you.

Let us get to it then. First things first, I would like you to know that I am a procrastinator. I love to put things off and I enjoy putting things off. Secondly, I dislike being told what to do by someone who obviously does not know what they are doing. It pisses me off.   Thirdly, I love to have things done my way (I am not a perfectionist, but I like to have things done as perfectly as possible and I am something of a control freak). Fourthly, I do not have a good discipline towards doing things I do not care for. I will go into more details on these habits in future posts but for today, I will focus on respecting one's body's time.

As a writer, I he…

Photography: #Afropunk14 08.23

My first Afropunk. Gosh! Now I understand what all the noise is about.
I took mad pictures. Here are my favorites!

And the fun continues tomorrow! WOOT! WOOT!! -- J

Summer Diary: School

It is quite something that life has a mind of its own. At the end of last semester I was afraid that my time in grad school would prolong because of my inability to find an advisor to supervise my thesis. Then I found one and I thought everything was back on schedule, whew! But it was not to be so. A particular circumstance surrounding my prospectus has made it difficult for me to write it. I am a bit (cough, a lot) sensitive about certain things and now I cannot think of my original thesis without feeling angry. In time it shall pass, as all things do, and someday I may be able to write that paper. But for the present, I need a new thesis topic. So it looks as though the dreaded second "penultimate" semester could not be prevented after all. Also, just when I started getting excited about my upcoming class (which focuses on Ulysses) it became clear that I will have to sit this one out. Apparently being self-employed, and not actually making much means tuition cannot be pai…

Poetry: Belief in Magic by Dean Young

Belief in Magic
by Dean Young

How could I not?
Have seen a man walk up to a piano
and both survive.
Have turned the exterminator away.
Seen lipstick on a wine glass not shatter the wine.
Seen rainbows in puddles.
Been recognized by stray dogs.
I believe reality is approximately 65% if.
All rivers are full of sky.
Waterfalls are in the mind.
We all come from slime.
Even alpacas.
I believe we’re surrounded by crystals.
Not just Alexander Vvedensky.
Maybe dysentery, maybe a guard’s bullet did him in.
I believe there are many kingdoms left.
The Declaration of Independence was written with a feather.
A single gem has throbbed in my chest my whole life
even though
even though this is my second heart.
Because the first failed,
such was its opportunity.
Was cut out in pieces and incinerated.
I asked.
And so was denied the chance to regard my own heart
in a jar.
Strange tangled imp.
Wee sleekit in red brambles.
You know what it feels like to hold
a burning piece of p…

Poetry: To a Snail by Marianne Moore

To a Snail
by Marianne Moore

If “compression is the first grace of style”,
you have it.  Contractility is a virtue
as modesty is a virtue.
It is not the acquisition of any one thing
that is able to adorn,
or the incidental quality that occurs
as a concomitant of something well said,
that we value in style,
but the principle that is hid:
in the absence of feet, “a method of conclusions”;
“a knowledge of principles”,
in the curious phenomenon of your occipital horn.


Meet Anna of Anna Devine

Jane: Tell us a little about yourself

Anna: My name is Anna Devine. I am a fashion and textile designer from Melbourne Australia. I have had my label anna devine for six years; starting off with just a simple skirt pattern I made for friends and colleagues to a small business stocked in shops around Melbourne Australia and on-line.

J: What is your craft/brand story?

A: I grew up in a creative home. My Mum is an artist and my brother, sister, and I were surrounded by art materials, and activities growing up. It was always just there, available for us to play around with and have some fun. My favourite room in the house was Mum’s work-room, full of canvases, water colour paper, boxes of paints, brushes, and various works in stages of completion. There were always so many interesting things to look at; I could spend hours in that room.
While I enjoyed this entire environment, my craft story really didn’t start until my first trip to Africa——South Africa and Lesotho, where I first saw Africa…

An Encounter: At the Corner of St. Marks Hotel

It was just a few minutes until midnight, maybe five more minutes. I perched on a handrail next to St. Marks Hotel at St. Marks Place. I am waiting for my cousin and his friend. In front of me is a woman at the bus stop. She is waiting for a bus, I assumed. She looks at me, somewhat suspiciously, as though she wants to know who I am. I meet her eyes and smile politely. She doesn't smile back; she keeps assessing me. I keep smiling and looking around every now and then to see what else was interesting around me. I was feeling amused. Perhaps she is homeless, I thought. But she is clean, I observed. I looked curiously at her shopping cart. It didn't answer my question. Is she crazy? I wondered. She was still looking at me. Would she hurt me? No. I thought. There were several people walking about. I am safe. I kept smiling. "Rat!" She says suddenly, pointing at the stairs next to me. "Rat?" I ask, "Yes!" she replies. "Over there!" she poin…