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Showing posts from March, 2015

Photography: Spring in Her Infancy

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here is it! not. peekaboo. spring, in her infancy.  -- Jane

Experiment: For a Wonderful Monday do This...

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When I have to get out of bed to do anything that doesn't please me I find it a challenge. I'm mentally spoilt. It's always been this way with me. I have very little ability to do what I don't want to do. Which is why I really admire people who somehow find the drive to stick to situations they detest.  I know people with such loathing for Mondays. They look at me as if I have two heads when I tell them I, in fact, love Mondays. But what is more interesting is how often their explanations suggest that they have nothing against the day or any other day of the week. It's what they do on Mondays that they are averse to.  My friends often say I am self-dependent and in many ways they're right. I owe this independence to an imagination that loves to find beauty in everything. I  always often find beauty in things. Sometimes it happens in a flash and sometimes it takes decades. If you're someone who doesn't care for Mondays because of what you have to do

Between the Pages of One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

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Warning: I am in a very very good mood as I write this. Which means that the tone of this "review" is affected by the very very good mood of mine. There must be a ton of reviews on this book, so if you are reading solely for academic reasons, I will look elsewhere. Let us get to it then! Maybe it is a metaphor, I do find it satirical. And I am confused. Not because One Hundred Years of Solitude is complex, but because I feel it is the representation of something else, my guess is humanity and civilization. But I am not sure as to what aspect of our evolution I ought to compare it with. It feels like reading a pop culture novel: you can only really appreciate it if you are well versed in the culture of the time it references. All the same I am enjoying my first reading of Gabriel García Márquez. Right now, my favorite character is Aureliano (who is at present channeling Nabokov's Humbert Humbert (don't you just love that name, Hum-Hum?)). But young Arcadio holds pr

Poetry: Going and Staying by Thomas Hardy

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Going and Staying by Thomas Hardy                            I The moving sun-shapes on the spray, The sparkles where the brook was flowing, Pink faces, plightings, moonlit May, These were the things we wished would stay;     But they were going.                           II Seasons of blankness as of snow, The silent bleed of a world decaying, The moan of multitudes in woe, These were the things we wished would go;     But they were staying.                            III Then we looked closelier at time, And saw his ghostly arms revolving To sweet off woeful things with prime, Things sinister with things sublime     Alike dissolving. --- Below is my reading of "Going and Staying."

Photography: Outside La Maison d'Art, Harlem

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I went to La Maison d'Art in Harlem for the Sugar Hill Market . I was  early and spent some time outside, just looking about. Then I thought I would capture what I noticed. Few people walked by and they all made eye contact and  smiled. They said things like "How are you?" and "Have a beautiful Sunday!" Pleasantly surprised but happily responded in the same manner of friendliness.  I did not use to visit Harlem much.  I did not know they were so nice up there. The above pictures were taken at the lower entry of the brownstone.  They are tinted in how I felt as I waited. -- Jane

Poetry: Beautiful Staples by Toshiko Hirata

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Beautiful Staples by Toshiko Hirata Some of the documents that came today Were fastened with beautiful staples The color of dayflowers For me who had known nothing but gray staples Their color was fresh and new Their elegant color made my heart As heavy as an overcast sky Just a little lighter The purpose of staples is to fasten No need to worry about their color But somewhere someone dyed them that lovely hue Somewhere someone chose those staples And one of them Made the journey to me I feel as if I have joined hands With those strangers Through a dayflower It is not just flowers That calm human hearts Even small, dangerous things That cut a finger in a moment of carelessness Can set our hearts at play When the sky runs with sunrise or sunset When the sky is dyed any color but blue We are filled and stand transfixed --- Translated by Jeffrey Angles via Connotation Press --- Listen to my reading of "Beautiful Staples" below:

Photography: Looking Up

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Up is blue clouds are waves birds swim under Up and it is blue not blue waves shifting  art exhibition Rising into sea  architecture dreams down down below Tiny  it is only i a little dot bopping  a world in brown eyes -- Jane

Opinion: Not Always as the Romans do

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The other day I run into a friend of Mother's, our eyes met briefly, about three yards from one another. She looked away in that way people act sometimes, signaling a pretense of lack of recognition. We were walking towards each other. When we got closer I said hello, and wondered about her attitude. I had run into her a few days prior, and she had acted the same way. But there had been a greater distance between us and I thought she had not seen me. Now I realize I could have been wrong. This older woman's reaction brought to mind my first years in NYC. I remember how I would run into my classmates in town and start waving, only to see them look away as if they did not know me. Over the years, I have become better at seeing people I know and playing that game of lack of recognition; unless I am surprised by the encounter then I betray myself and do a double take. They say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. But as I walked away from Mother's old friend, I wondered if I o

Video: Gray | Talking About Race

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I was glad to come across "Gray," a YouTube series (through Afropunk). In this video, the question is "why do you think it is so hard to talk about race?" I find it interesting how the answers quickly escalate to discuss racism. Mostly because I live in my own bubble, I did not know much about racism for a long time. Then I started to read about it and then I notice it and I was really surprised by it. Yes, I think it is difficult to talk about race. There are so many stereotypes and there is so much we do not know about other races, so I never know what the right thing to say is. Even amongst the same race it is hard to talk about it. Recently a friend who is Madagascan,  wrote to me and said she did not  know what it all means; the many identities amongst people of African descent. Why is it that some of us only want to be identified as Brown, others as Black, others as Afropolitan, or as African, or as African American, or as American, or as French, or as Briti

Poetry: Time and Materials by Robert Hass

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Time and Materials Gerhard Richter: Abstrakte Bilder                          1 To make layers, As if they were a steadiness of days: It snowed; I did errands at a desk; A white flurry out the window thickening; my tongue Tasted of the glue on envelopes. On this day sunlight on red brick, bare trees, Nothing stirring in the icy air. On this day a blur of color moving at the gym Where the heat from bodies Meets the watery, cold surface of the glass. Made love, made curry, talked on the phone To friends, the one whose brother died Was crying and thinking alternately, Like someone falling down and getting up And running and falling and getting up.                         2 The object of this poem is not to annihila To not annih The object of this poem is to report a theft, In progress, of everything That is not these words And their disposition on the page. The object o   f this poem is to report a theft,             In progre   ss of everything th

Photography: Books

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Often, friends await on the  leaves of books,  in action or ideas  or place or imagery -- Jane