35 minutes minnehaha off leash dog park 75 degrees
A shorter walk because of the heat and the aggressive energy from other dogs. Lots of very fast running and circling and barking. Two dogs ran by me so close, I could feel their wind on my legs. As we walked, we could hear a chorus of LOUD barks up ahead — one so loud that it was echoing.
dog name: Chief / a big German Shepherd / on a leash, tightly controlled by his owner. Of course Delia teased the dog before we had a chance to stop her. The owner held on tight and managed to keep the dog under control — no chief, no! I wondered to FWA if they had recently adopted an abused dog who needed a lot of help getting socialized to other dogs.
The sand in the floodplain was deep and soft. I could feel it seeping into my sandals. It was cool, which was nice until it got stuck and collected under my covered toes. These are not the shoes to wear here! I declared to FWA. Why did I buy hiking sandals with a closed toe? I remember: they were half off.
Before Chief shifted the energy, FWA was giving a wonderful description of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid 4 animated movie. He’s so skilled at telling stories and conveying the energy of the characters. My favorite part: when he acted out the voice of one of the characters who broke their compass. That’s it. We’re lost.
Even though she was tired and hot, having plopped down in the sand at least once, when Delia saw some bigger dogs up ahead running in circles around a tree and through some grass, she tried to join in. She wasn’t fast enough. When she tried harder, they ignored her. Oh Delia, you’re out of your league. Finally, she gave up.
moment of joy: a tall Dad holding the hand of a very little girl (2 or 3?) as she looked up at him smiling or giggling and hiked down the hill gracefully.
11 Unhinged Energy Things
the moment Chief’s owners noticed us up ahead and prepared themselves for the encounter — the woman took a deep breath and said, it will be okay or get ready or we can do this
that sand! — so soft and deep and slippery — the coolness of it as it poured into my sandal
kerplunk! crash! a very large something thrashing through the water — a big dog, I thought — no, 2 or 3 big dogs
an owner calling to a dog (I can’t remember the dogs name) and the dog running as fast as I’ve ever seen a dog run. Wow!
two big dogs running beside then past me — any closer and they would have taken me out
BARK! BARK! yip yip bark bark ruff ruff — the cacophony of dogs up ahead, playing or fighting or who knows what at the beach at the end of the trail
a strange and loud knocking or clanking sound up above us, in the tree
dog after dog after big dog, flashing past, some barking, some silent — somehow the silent ones felt even more unnerving
dumping sand out of my sandals near the car, feeling something strange and sticky on the bottom of my foot that wouldn’t come off — a bug?! — a slight panic and a frantic waving of my foot– realizing minutes later that I had put a bandaid on last night
FWA driving us back on the river road — a car that was going 12 mph in a 20 mph zone that hardly anyone ever obeys — average speed for most cars here = 30 mph — a growing back-up of cars behind it — FWA turning off of the road at the first available chance with a flourish and declaring, someone needs their license taken away!
encountering a truck on a narrow city street, noticing a low-to-the-ground recumbent bike drafting off it then trying to pass it while the truck was still moving — FWA was so distracted that he pulled out in front of another truck
Cooler this morning, earlier too. My goal was to run at 7. My watch says I started the run at 7:07, which means I left the house around 7. Nice. Wore my old (2021, I think) Sauconys that I stopped wearing because they made by big left toe hurt. At mile 4, my toe started hurting again. Bummer. Back to Brooks again or buying a new pair of cheaper Sauconys.
Ran to the falls without headphones, listening to the cars and the geese returning north. Ran back listening to my “Bunnies and Rabbits” playlist. Bad Bunny’s “BAILE INoLVIDABLE” and The Jazz Crusader’s “Young Rabbits” helped me to pick up the pace. I need to create a playlist for pace — maybe mix it in with my beat/metronome experiment: 1 mile with no music or beat / 1 mile with metronome at 172-180 / 1 mile with music.
10 Things
honk honk honk honk geese returning
sparkling water
soft shadows
a runner behind, breathing heavily, closing in, then disappearing — where did they go?
white foam (the falls)
a roller skier — or was it a roller blader?
tufts of symmetrically place ornamental grass mixed with purple blooms near “The Song of Hiawatha”
a woman in a bright yellow windbreaker passing me on a bike, calling out morning!
Mr. Morning! — morning! / good morning!
ending at the big rock that looks like a chair, stepping on it to look down at the oak savanna: green green green
a return
This winter, I replaced many of my regular habits with new ones: (almost) no alcohol; waiting an hour to drink coffee in the morning; more protein, fiber, and iron; instead of sitting at the dining room table for 1+ hours when I woke up reading poems-of-the-day, I watched a brief video then started work on my Holes project; a consistent bedtime routine — ready at 10, asleep by 10:30. I also transformed my workspace. I added a huge cork board to one wall. It’s been fun to mix it up and try new things. I’d like to continue with many of these new things, and I also want to return to a few I’ve shifted away from, especially reading / studying / memorizing other people’s poetry.
In writing this log entry, I decided to visit my favorite poetry sites — poets.org; poetryfoundation, poets.com. On Poetry Foundation I discovered a wonderful podcast series, Wake, Butterfly:
Matsuo Bashō wrote:
Wake, butterfly— it’s late, we’ve miles to go together.
Poetry magazine presents Wake, Butterfly, a series of intimate portraits that invite listeners to keep creating.
The final installment, which is the first I’ve encountered and will listen to, is with Marie Howe, one of my favorite poets! I think I’ll listen to it on the deck.
an hour or so later: I listened to it as I mowed the back yard. Usually I listen to the Bob’s Burgers Soundtrack (and I did today, too, after the 15 minute podcast ended). I’ve also listened to podcasts with Joy Harjo and Vs. with Danez Smith and Franny Choi, and several Agatha Christie books.
I love Marie Howe’s voice. Two times I recall hearing it before: when she was interviewed for On Being 6 or 7 years ago (at least) and in her brief discussion and recitation of her poem-in-progress, “Singularity.” In this podcast, she describes living with a big Irish Catholic family and the stories they would tell. She talks about war (WWII and Vietnam) and how she found poetry. Then she offers this:
I think the poem uses our stuff, you know, like it uses the details of my life, but the details are not important. The details are the cup … That hold something you can’t quite see, but you can feel, I hope. Because when it works, I feel something I can’t see. When I was writing a book called What the Living Do, it wasn’t done yet and I didn’t know how it wasn’t done. It had enough pages, it had an arc, I guess. But I was thinking about when I was in high school and. I was living up in the attic of our house with my brother. My brother lived in one room and I lived in another, and my dad would come up there when he was drunk and, um, pester me for hours—the way a drunk person does, wanting attention, wanting something, and it was very difficult. That’s one of the stories in my heart about my younger life, and I thought, “OK, what else is also true about that story?” And I remember actually standing up from my desk in New York here, and turning around, turning my body around 180 degrees and saying, “What else is true?” And I saw my brother Tom, who would come into the room and try to get my dad out, or would come into the room after my dad had left, and I wanted to praise him. So I want to offer you this invitation. Consider one of the stories of your life that feels fixed, and allow yourself to gaze around that story—quite physically—around the room of it or the time of it and to find something else in that story, even if the story is a painful one, to find something else in that story that’s praisable.
Consider one of the stories of your life that feels fixed, and allow yourself to gaze around that story—quite physically—around the room of it or the time of it and to find something else in that story, even if the story is a painful one, to find something else in that story that’s praisable.
I love this idea of taking a fixed story and finding something else in that story to praise. I think I need to sit with this one for a few hours.
Before then, this:
The Maples/ Marie Howe
I ask the stand of maples behind the house,
How should I live my life?
They said, shh shh shh . . .
How should I live, I asked, and the leaves seemed to ripple and gleam.
A bird called from a branch in its own tongue,
And from a branch, across the yard, another bird answered.
A squirrel scrambled up a trunk
then along the length of a branch.
Stand still, I thought,
See how long you can bear that.
Try to stand still, if only for a few moments,
drinking light breathing.
—
This standing still — seeing how long I can bear it — seems like a great thing to do everyday. As part of this: explore different ways to be still. What is it to be still?
The beginning of this poem reminds me of a Mary Oliver poem that I’ve posted on this log several years ago (2 july 2020):
I Go Down To The Shore/ Mary Oliver
I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall– what should I do? And the seas says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do.
My first bike of the season. Every spring since I learned I was losing my central vision, I’m uncertain about my biking. Will I still be able to see? Will it be too scary? Has my vision declined too much (what is too much?)? Today, it was fine. I think that’s mostly because I’ve memorized the path and learned to navigate with less sight. Plus, I don’t try to go too fast (or fast at all, really). What a gift to have another summer to bike to the lake or to downtown or the library or wherever I want!
I brought my goggles and swim cap and a nose plug, but when my goggles leaked and the water was a bit scummy and I forgot to put on my nose plug, I decided not to swim any loops. Instead, I just waded out to water past my shoulders and enjoyed how the water cooled me down. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too cold. Maybe I’ll go swimming tomorrow?
10 Water Things
sparkle friends! close-up, they looked like silvery glitter, with a broader view like some sort of green-ish scum
a very bright blue, cloudless sky
someone swimming freestyle just past the edge of the buoys
little minnows near my feet
just outside of the pink buoys the lake floor was slimy and soft — some sort of vegetation
3 teen girls, locking their bikes up, then complimenting each other on their nails
2 young boys, locking their bikes up, one lamenting to the other, I should have brought my wallet for ice cream!
sitting on a bench facing the water, behind me, 2 bikers talking to each other as they biked — biker one: I didn’t mind walking in the rain, but I was cold. biker two: you were old? biker one: no, I was COLD! biker two: I thought you said old! biker one: Yes, I’m 80 years old!
rustling on the edge of water, under a tree, hidden — a duck? a person? something/someone else?
drifting sounds: a baby crying, a bike chain rattling, a dog collar clanging softly, giggles, 2 adults and a kid talking about ice cream
It was wonderful, and wonderfully cool, to sit on the bench facing the water in the shade. Every year I tell myself that I should spend more time at the lake, and I do spend a lot of time there, swimming loops at open swim, but I could spend even more time. I want this year to be the year that spend the most time that I ever have! Future Sara, let me know how it works out!
hole 6
I printed out the four panels from essay 6, What to Make of the Mother Who Made You, taped it up, and cut a hole in the center. Then I mapped my words with pins on my cork board. First I wound string around the pins, next: embroidery thread.
hole 6
I like bits of it, but it doesn’t work. Not yet. I’m thinking this one might need to wait until the fall. I think it’s time to finish the 3 or 4 of these that I’m satisfied with and temporarily wrap this project up. It’s time for swimming and water and (possibly) starting a YouTube channel to promote my first chapbook, Inklings.
3.1 miles trestle turn around 69 degrees humidity: 74%
The earliest run I’ve done in some time — 7:30, which is not that early. I liked running earlier. Next time, I’d like to run by 7. Greeted Mr. Morning! for the first time in months. All year, I’ve been running later in the morning or early in the afternoon, so I’ve missed seeing all of the regulars.
The other day I remembered that I had a pair of Saucony Cohesions that I’ve only wore a handful of times because they made one of my toes hurt. I wondered if they would work better (that is, hurt less) than my Brooks’ Ghosts. Yes! Ever since I wore an old pair of Saucony’s to mow the lawn, I’ve been thinking about returning to Saucony’s for my marathon training. Maybe I’ll buy a new pair; they’re less than half the price of the Brooks shoes, and they’re navy with light pink soles.
10 Things
the Welcoming Oaks — tall, green
boom boom — construction noise from across the river
clank clank clank — something banging/being banged below the trestle
the crack just north of the trestle is shifting and growing — what once was a crack became a trench, and now a ledge — orange cones all around it as warning
someone was sitting at the sliding bench
a walker in a bright yellow jacket — were they a rower heading down to the rowing club?
the parkway was buzzing with cars commuting to work
bright headlights from an approaching bike
a lone honk from a goose somewhere below
a man and a dog crossing the path then entering a steep trail down to the river through small hole in the wall of green
later in the day: Watching a video about her life as a pro runner, Lauren Gregory said this: “Consistency isn’t just about showing up when things are going well; it’s about building a life that allows you to keep showing up.” For Gregory, this means routine.
I really like combining Gregory’s idea of life-building practices routines with Des Linden’s famous call to keep showing up:
hike: 50 minutes minnehaha off leash dog park 77 degrees
A warm, but not as warm as I thought it would be, hike. It started with irritation: a guy standing with his dog right in front of the entrance, blocking the way in, barely moving enough to let us by. Why? We both wondered what he was doing and why, out of all of the places he could be waiting, he was standing right in front of the gate.
Most of the rest of the hike was good. FWA reported on all of the theories about Subnautica 2, and discussed how thoughtful the creators of the game are in their early release — hardly any bugs and a well-developed story. When he mentioned that the area where a huge tree lived was called Xanadu, I asked him if the creators of the game named it that as a more general reference to the pop culture idea of Xanadu, or the poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Kahn. He thought it was possible they were referencing the poem. All I could remember from it was most of the first 2 lines: In Xanadu, did Kubla Kahn —- decree.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight ’twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
dog name: I didn’t hear any dog names directly, but I think I heard a woman, who sounded exasperated, calling to her dog down by the water, Scarlet! Scarlet! Come here!
my 2 favorite sounds: First, the bullfrogs. As we neared the end of the trail, at the beach, I could hear the loud buzz of the frogs. The noise was coming from the other side of the water, where the river turns into a creek that winds through a section of the floodplain forest. Second, Delia’s thundering feet. As Delia ran past me, I could hear her little paws pounding the ground — on sand, then grass, then firmer dirt. I love that sound!
holes / strings
I’m continuing to work on my found poems project, but I’d like to wrap it up so I can spend the summer with water. What I need to do now is document my process so that I can remember what I was doing when I pick it back up in the fall. Will I be able to stop, or will I keep working on it regardless of my intentions? We’ll see.
Before I stop, I’d like to get some orange thread — regular + embroidery — and experiment with incorporating it into my otherwise black and white (and gray) visual poems.
I’d also like to figure out the words for my poem using a NYer essay reviewing memoirs by daughters about their fraught relationships with their mothers. In my version, mother = word, and it’s about my fraught relationship with seeing/reading/making sense of the written word.
a few hours later: As I worked on finding words in the essay, phrases and fragments kept popping up, then an idea came to me: Pick out a few of these phrases, which offer a way to describe my experiences reading, particularly in terms of how words connect me to the world. Pair a phrase with one of the spiders-on-drugs webs that has been inspiring me. Map the words on a panel, create the spider web over it. I love the idea; can I actually make it?
Some of the webs are easier than others; all of them seem too much to try without some sort of help. One of Chuck Close’s grids?! I definitely want to do the caffeine web, but I think I should start with something easier, like marijuana:
drug-induced webs
I also want to do “sleeping pills” — especially since I often fall asleep while I’m reading!
spider on sleeping pills makes web
I think I’ll do 3 or 4. Here are the phrases I want to refine/condense:
1
When the forms are too fuzzy I escape into coordinates
note: I like the idea of this and the linking of coordinates to the grid and mapping and my desire to find concrete ways to locate my vision loss, but I’m not sure it makes enough sense as is. I’ll keep thinking about it.
2
the ordinariness of language lost
3
gaze — an act of creation and of demolition — made hole again
4
nothing, subdued, entangled
5
shadows and absences born certainty died (or ruptured?)
6
kinship between eye, world, word confounded threads twisted, knotted, cut
8 miles top of I-94 bridge (near downtown) 61 degrees
Could summer finally be here? I hope so. Scott and I ran north on the river road, down the franklin hill, through the flats, up the I-94 hill, then everything, in reverse. The first 6 or so miles of it felt fine; that last bit, not as much. My feet hurt, and I think it’s because of my shoes. They felt better this week than last week, but I’m still wondering if I should look into some other shoes.
Scott and I talked about amateur runners doping (me), our complicated feelings about bikers (Scott), the virtue of reasonableness (me), labor arbitrage in relation to the production of electric basses (Scott), and how a Lutheran church in south Minneapolis is giving land to an American Indian organization as reparations (me). The first half of the run went by quickly as we talked. During the second half, my feet started hurting, the sun felt warmer, and we were both thirsty, so I noticed the time and the miles more.
11 Things
someone on an elipti-go machine
Hi Dave! / Hi Sara! Hi Scott! — greeting Dave the Daily Walker — it’s been some time since I’ve seen him
click clack click clack — a roller skiers poles
a group of 1/2 dozen bikers, at least 3 of them young kids
a line-up of 4 cars, following behind a slower biker chatting on the phone
a thin, oily-looking skin on the river’s surface in the flats
a lone rower on the river! I listened to their oars gently slapping the water
mostly filled benches
the smell of honeysuckle drifting out of the gorge
rows of black garbage bags filled with vegetation — I think it was Friends of the Mississippi River volunteers removing garlic mustard
the spring that emerges from the rock face below the west bank of the U of M was gushing water
A good run. It helps to run with Scott. Today’s victories: running up the entire (long and steep) I-94 hill; running up 3/4 of the franklin hill; keeping steady for most of the run; finishing a minute faster than last week on a tougher route.
Things to work on: try lock laces; bring water — or stop for water
I just finished the audio book for The Buffalo Hunter Hunter. What a book! I’ve listened to several of Stephen Graham Jones’ audiobooks and I always love his writing/reading of the acknowledgments at the end. In the one for this book, he thanks many writers who inspired him, including the poet Paisley Rekdal and her description of sitting on a rise outside of Laramie and watching the big rigs slide around on 80 in the winter. He says that he’s used that scene in two of his books, that it has somehow stuck with him, and then this, about Rekdal:
That’s what poets can do with language, isn’t it — use it like a stamp, to press things into our souls.
make
In the midst of listening to the last few hours of Jones’ audiobook, I worked on my holes project. I finished the word-blooms and created the shadowy, blurry web of the amsler grid for hole 3 — which I think I should call hole 2 because the original hole 2 has been scraped and hole 3 is the unhinged twin to hole 1.
Here’s how it looks as of today:
hole 3 / 22 may
I really like the effect of these threads and the verses of the poem. I’m thinking of outlining the words in the 4th poem, in panel 2, in orange for the next version of this.
hike: 55 minutes minnehaha off-leash dog park 60 degrees
note: I’m writing this the next morning. I was so busy working on pasting words for Hole 3 that I forgot to work on it.
Cool, overcast, humid. Some birds, but not as many as on Monday. An unfortunate encounter with a dog and their human who was not giving any attention to the dog and how they were being too aggressive with Delia the dog. At one point, FWA and I had to surround Delia and I called out to the dog, in my don’t-fuck-with-me-mom-voice: good-bye! go away! Finally the human noticed, (sort of) apologized and called to their dog, who ran off. But, as soon as we started moving again, the dog was back. FWA called out, would you please control your dog? And, finally, she did.
Wow, that made us mad. I’m glad that the human didn’t try to engage with us anymore because it might have escalated. A few minutes later, as we kept walking, I thought about the incident with the woman who had felt threatened by a guy she had confronted a few weeks ago in a new way.
FWA and I stewed about the encounter for a few more minutes until we encountered a sweet and HUGE black dog and their human. What breed is your dog? / A Great Russian Terrier. / What’s their name? / George. George! As George approached me, his head at my hip (he is that tall), she warned, George has a wet face. What a sweet face and disposition! FWA agreed, adding that George had the energy of an old soul. Walking away, I wondered about the origins of the Great Russian Terrier, imagining them in Peter the Great’s entourage.
a few minutes later: I was wrong. They were bred by the Soviet Army and served as guard dogs at the Siberian Steppes. Yikes!
Watching this video, I was reminded of George. What a sweet dog, and a sweet human who has cared for him so well!
water level watch: for the past month or so, I’ve been taking note of the rising and falling water level at the beach at the tip of the park. One time, the water had consumed most of the beach, another time it was so low that we could walk far enough to reach a biggish log. Today that log was underwater by about 40 feet (in distance, not depth).
run: 4.5 miles reverse veterans home 64 degrees
Since my blue running shoes seem to be bothering me, I decided to try out my bright yellow shoes again. It felt so strange to run in them for the first 5 minutes, like everything was discombobulated. Awkward, wrong. Slowly I got used to them, but they didn’t feel okay until mile 4. And they never felt great. Sigh. Am I going to need to invest in different shoes?
10 Things
so many cars on the road, zooming past, fast!
the falls were gushing white foam
a line of surreys waiting to take over the paths and annoy Scott
2 people sitting on a bench, another next to them in a wheelchair, all of them laughing about something, having fun
passing a couple, overhearing the guy saying something cliched — I wish I could remember the expression — I think he was being ironic
2 dozen middle-schoolers (I think?) running along the trail — spread out, some fast, some much slower — a track team?
stopping at the huge boulder that looks like a chair, a person emerged out of the oak savanna
a biker’s bright headlight cutting through the trees
big groups of people all around the falls
the faint chiming of the light rail’s recorded bells
A good run — not the best, but definitely not the worst. Other than my feet burning near the end of mile 3 (thanks, warts), I felt strong and fit. For the entire run, I listened to an audiobook that is due in 3 days: The Buffalo Hunter Hunter / Stephen Graham Jones. Such a great book, and difficult/painful to read as it forces me to confront the violence against indigenous peoples that is the inheritance of all settler colonists. The violence in the book (it is a horror book about a vampire) is not gratuitous but reflective of the horrific violence done to American Indians in order to take their land.
holes 3
Today I cut out the words of the poem and pasted them on the essay. Realized after I did it that I should have numbered them — one of my main ways of guiding the reader in what direction to go when reading the words. Oh well, this is only a preliminary version. I played around with how to thread it — from the upper right hand corner to mimic my blooms poem, or in the center and all around. I like the center better. I told RJP that I liked to try using a bigger needle for the center — the eye — and have the thread go through that. RJP told me I need a tapestry needle. Time to go shopping again!
threads over essay
Next up: play around with light to create shadows. As I worked on this thread technique, I wondered if it might not work better for another of my poems about the strings unravelling? Instead of thread for this one, maybe I should focus on playing around with shadows a lot more? Fun!
3.75 miles top of wabun hill, bottom of locks and dam 55 degrees
Goodbye gloom, hello sun! Shadows, the promise of summer returning! I was a little nervous about running this morning because my feet have been hurting ever since my 8 mile run on Monday. But, I was fine. I felt strong and happy to be outside in the sun before bugs and heat join us in a few weeks.
10 Things
green everywhere — nothing more specific, just green and green and green
a voice on a speaker at Dowling Elementary telling kids to stay in the classroom until they were told they were free to move around — was this a safety drill? an active shooter? field day?
cracks and ruts and holes on the paved trail everywhere — more now than in the fall
voices below — rowers? no, walkers on the winchell trail — deep in conversation
4 or 5 cars parked on the way down to the locks and dam — at least 2 were running with radios on
a bright silver flash — sun reflecting off a car hood
empty benches
the water under the ford bridge was mostly a calm blue with a few waves and a faint reflection of the bridge’s arch
nearing the top of the wabun hill, hearing a chainlink fence rattling: someone playing on the frisbee golf course
my face, slick with sweat and the new sunscreen I just bought at Costco yesterday
I listened to feet striking the ground as I ran south, my “slappin’ shaddow” playlist on the way north. Song I remember the most: White Room / Cream
Low Vision
Yesterday I had my first low vision therapy appointment. It was an assessment. She asked me what I’d like help with — she worded it differently, but I can’t remember how. First I said that I’d like help with interacting with people when I can’t see their faces, and then something more useful: I’d like some strategies for dealing with that uncomfortable moment when I enter an unfamiliar place and can’t make sense of my surrounding. She recommended 2 apps to try (more on that later) and the basic technique of grounding myself by standing with my back against a wall and taking a minute to get my bearings. I like the idea of stopping and standing against a wall. Two of my big problems are feeling pressured by others, or having them try to help me when I want to figure it out myself. Standing back should help with those problems.
back to hole 3
Woke up yesterday to a realization: I really like the idea of my specimen board, but the execution of it feels forced and not very interesting. Time to set that one aside for now (or forever?). I decided to finally begin my summary of April’s monthly challenge, partly because I don’t want to get too far behind on my summaries, and partly to shift my attention back to grids and holes and lines. I only needed to read a few days into April to find some (re)direction. Here’s what I wrote on 6 April:
I’m thinking about grids and the lines and why it matters to me….how reading is so important to that locating and how being located is to be held, to be connected, to be seen or recognized or have others aware (of you).
6 april
This morning, before my run, I decided to rework hole 3. A new plan:
my standard 4 panels — 3 panels of page 1 of the book review of Helen Oyeyemi’s new book, A New New Me, 1 panel of page 2
4 short verses — the first 3 mostly “found” on one of the 3 page 1s, the 4th made out of the words from verses “1-3 that are “found” on page 2
a grid + hole in the top right corner with many strands of thread emerging from it to cover the words of the poem
The words of the poem:
verse 1: swap out the dead-eyed liturgy of doomed vision for (with?) looks of shadowed magic
verse 2: Fall through the hole your eyes don’t see, land in a logic of blur and almost
verse 3: read sentences sliced in half, each one glitching just enough to scramble what is real and imagined
verse 4: in a scramble looks logic, eyes read blur as what is
one tiny cheat: even though I don’t use as in the first 3 verses, I added it to verse 4 because I needed to — can I keep playing around with this to make it fully work?
I would like to have this on my cork board before the sun begins streaming in the front windows. How will the shadows fall on the panels? What might the thread-shadows say? If this looks cool, I’d like that to be part of the poem.
I have the panels up on the cork board. I didn’t have time to do anything but mark where the found words go, but I was able to create some thread lines. Now I wait. And wait. And wait. It wasn’t until 7pm that the shadows began to appear. The ones from the threads weren’t as interesting as I wanted, so I started experimenting with other ways to make shadows. A flash of a thought: tape my blind spot on the window where the light is streaming in so it can cast a shadow on the paper. Yes! I had three templates, so I taped them all up. I want to play with this some more tomorrow — hopefully it will be sunny again!
3 holes taped on window, casting shadow on essay, close-up3 holes taped on window, long view
run: 8 miles around lake nokomis and back 62 degrees humidity: 86%
A long run with Scott. 8 miles this week. It felt easier than the 7 miles last week. The only problem: my feet. About 4 miles in, I noticed my socks were bunching up and under the ball of my feet, which was painful and made me alter my gait. Next time: different socks.
I started the conversation with Alice in Wonderland and the scene with the Cheshire Cat; it’s an inspiration for my found poem about landing in the logic of blur and almost. Scott talked about his YouTube channel — the main one and one of his secondary channels that he jokingly created for one of the gnomes in our backyard. I also talked about shifting my perspective on my unfinished business problem: not trying to avoid it, but learning how to accept and manage it while I’m running. What else did Scott talk about? A lot, I just can’t remember what.
10 Things
the green looked and felt greener, the brown richer and darker after last night’s rain
birds! so much birdsong everywhere and all the time
a mini-ambulance parked on minnehaha parkway, a Ghostbusters logo painted on the side
an older man with a cane calling out to us as we ran around the lake — the birds are attacking me! Just then, a bird swooped down on him
a little dog with a big, fluffy tail, shaking their butt as they walked
the view of the lake from the cedar avenue bridge: completely still, the reflection of ascending plane travelling across it
puddles — most of them on the lake trail
stopping at the port-a-potty near the little beach: no toilet paper in either one
more benches than last year set up around the stage at the falls — Scott guessed that they start out with a lot, but the number dwindles over the course of the summer as the benches get broken, I wondered if people stole them
the view near the bench above the edge of the world is gone until next fall, now it’s a wall of green green green
hike: an hour minnehaha off-leash dog park 61 degrees
The air was cool, but thick down in the floodplain. The ground was soft and firm, in some spots muddy. So many birds! I wish I would have had my phone and recorded them. Hardly anyone was at the park — because of last night’s rain? and today’s humidity? The few cars were all parked on the one side of the parking lot. No one, including FWA, wanted to be the first to park on the other side. The surface of the water was covered in some sort of scum. When we got closer we realized what it was: seeds.
dog names: Dolly (or Ollie), Squirrel, and ? — I can’t remember the name of the Corgi we encountered.
We talked about the social life of birds and Subnautica 2 and delighted in Delia’s joy. I noticed she seemed to be leaping more as she ran; we agreed that it was probably because of the firmer ground.
added the next morning: I forgot to mention the moss, or was it lichen?, that I studied on the side of some big trees down in the floodplain. Very cool — an intense green covering the soft and wet bark on one side, while dry and rough bark was on the other side.
The greens and browns were enchanting. So were the birds. And the quiet — so peaceful and still.
And today, after months of focusing almost exclusively on my “how I read”/ holes poems, here’s a bit of a beautiful poem from Tracy K. Smith:
My son listens into daylight, head tilted, eyes tuned past the range of the seen.
What he seeks to see is vibratory. A butterfly’s itch. The pitch at which a mind
is freed to dart, spark, break into flight. His gaze rakes space. What does his ear see? Beads
of breath rising from the body of a bee. A whiff of rain batting a new green leaf. I watch him—
What does his ear see? I like the images of hearing in this poem.
hole 4b
Yesterday, I spent some more time with my found poem inspired by a specimen board. It’s slowly coming together, but I have more work (thinking, executing) to do with it.
So far, I’ve cut the words out of the essay, leaving holes where they were. I printed out the words — in sizes according to their importance. I also cut out labels for each word, with the poem position and location. I need to figure out how I’d like to put the “board” on the panels — glue the labels directly on the page along with the pinned words OR make this board on a different page to be placed over the existing text. It would be easier (and less risky) to do it on a separate page, but I like the idea of doing it directly on the panels.
I took some pictures to document my progress:
here’s the board with the words arranged by size with their labelsHere are the 4 panels of the essay. The big space where there are no holes is where the “board” will be placedI was inspired by the Manitoba Museum picture I posted the other day to take this one
Today, I began working on it some more, but it is dark outside today and I mostly rely on natural light to see in my studio space, so no more cutting or drawing or pasting for me today. Maybe it isn’t just the light; after my 8 mile run and hour long hike, I’m tired!
hole 3
Before running this morning, I thought a little more about another hole that is in the preliminary stage. The text involves the phrases, land in the logic of blur and almost and glitching just enough to scramble what’s real and imagined. I think the Cheshire Cat could be inspiration for these lines. How? Visually, I’m not quite sure yet, but I’m struck by the cat’s song at the beginning. The words sound like words, and they’re almost English, but they’re not quite. And the cat appears in varying degrees of visibility: just a mouth, a full body, indented footprints in the dirt.
“Most everyone’s mad here. You may have noticed that I’m not all there myself”
The caterpillar scene was about words and language and As, Es, Is, Os, and Us; the Cheshire Cat scene seems to be about finding your way when you’re lost in a world of nonsense and madness (where madness = beyond/outside of logic, upside down). Yes, locating and being located. Reading and language helps locate us and us locate/orient ourselves. I’ll think some more about how the Cheshire scene might inspire me.
First, a few more blooms, then some time with my specimen display poem. The idea so far is:
a white background the size of an amsler grid, covering the “found” word
the word printed out, the reinforced with card stock, salvaged from free home show tickets Scott received in then mail because of a client
the reinforced word stuck with a pin, then pinned in the center of the white grid
a frame created with dark pencil around the white grid
Like different bugs, the words will be of varying sizes. Is this enough? Probably not. I’m sure as I work on it, more ideas will come to me.
I mapped out the words on the 4 pages, then did one, “room,” to test it out.
“room”
I tried something different with “life” — I wanted to reference butterflies and how, in the scene from Alice in Wonderland, the caterpillar turns into a butterfly at the end. Not sure it works. I like the idea of referencing orange in all of the poems in some way. Orange is my color these days.
life
Something is missing with this so far. I’ll keep working on it. Maybe an idea will come to me while I’m working on another bloom? Is it too much orange?
a few hours later: I’m thinking that I should try making the frame for “life” be orange instead of black and the grid be white instead of orange.
