Tag: headphones

sept 11/RUN

5 miles
franklin loop
64 degrees
light rain

What a run! I haven’t run 5 miles in months. Loved running in the rain. At first, I was listening to my audio book, but after hearing the water gushing through the sewer pipe near the 36th street parking lot, I decided to listen to the rain instead. Not too long after I started running, I began making up little poems/chants. I did them in 4/4 because I wanted to get into a rhythm with a strong downbeat on my right leg. I kept doing them for most of the run. Here’s what I remember:

I am running
in the ra-in (which then became: in the cold/warm/soft rain)
will it stop now?
never again

Rain is falling
on my shoulder
rain is falling
on my knee

Rain is falling
on my elbow
and it’s dropping
from that tree

pitter patter
pitter patter
pitter patter
drip drip drop

pitter patter
pitter patter
drip drop drip drop
drip drop drip drop

There were more, but I can’t remember them now. I guess I should have stopped and recorded them on my phone. It was interesting how the verses shifted and become more rhythmic as I ran longer. Really cool and so much fun. No brilliant poems, but who cares?!

Today I noticed some leaves changing color. Just off the railing near the lake street bridge I spied some red–or was it orange? I’ll have to check–peeking through. On the St. Paul side, approaching Marshall, I noticed some more reddish-orange/orangish-red leaves blazing near the ground. The grayish light and the wet pavement made the colors seem more vivid, especially the bright orange construction sign.

I don’t think the rain ever stopped, which was fine with me. Very refreshing. Just a fine, steady drizzle–only a little more than a mist.

When I was done running, as I was walking through the tunnel of trees, I noticed a person perched up in a tree. Nestled in among the leaves, hovering above me, wedged in by the wooden fence. So strange. What were they doing there? Had a flash of panic, wondering if they would pounce on me, but they were content to stay hidden (and silent) in the tree.

I love how this poem is constructed entirely out of lines from a few different articles. I’d like to experiment with this form. Maybe something taken from the Mississippi River Gorge materials?

sept 7/RUNSWIM

3.1 miles
trestle turn around
58 degrees

A great run! A cooler temp makes all the difference for me. What do I remember? Walking towards the river, listening to the electric hum of the bugs, the cawing of the crows, the rumble of the garbage truck. Seeing so many bright colors today–glowing yellowish green and orange shirts, aquamarine and hot pink shorts. Encountering a few roller skiers, a rollerblader, groups of runners, a water station set-up not too far from the overlook. Hearing the rowers on the river. Admiring the sparkling sun on the water, just barely cutting through the thick curtain of leaves.

Still Burning
BY GERALD STERN

Me trying to understand say whence
say whither, say what, say me with a pencil walking,
say reading the dictionary, say learning medieval
Latin, reading Spengler, reading Whitehead,
William James I loved him, swimming breaststroke
and thinking for an hour, how did I get here?
Or thinking in line, say the 69 streetcar
or 68 or 67 Swissvale,
that would take me elsewhere, me with a textbook
reading the pre-Socratics, so badly written,
whoever the author was, me on the floor of
the lighted stacks sitting cross-legged,
walking afterwards through the park or sometimes
running across the bridges and up the hills,
sitting down in our tiny diningroom,
burning in a certain way, still burning.

I love the linking of thinking with moving here–swimming, walking, running.

Mannequin of the day:

I am always fascinated by the eyes in these mannequins–the little bit of white in the corner of the pupil and the curls veiling the one eye. The way her pupils are shifted up and to the side. What is she looking at? Is it my shoulder? One of the first things the ophthalmologist told me when I was diagnosed with cone dystrophy was that I’d need to learn to look just past people’s shoulders if I wanted to see their faces. Once my central vision was gone, I would only be able to see them through my peripheral. How unsettling is it to others to look at them this way? I do not look at people’s shoulders…yet. For now, I either avoid looking or I just stare into their dim, fading, dead-pupil faces and pretend that they don’t look like a lifeless mannequin.

swim: .9 miles (1600 yards)
lake nokomis

Guess who got to swim in Lake Nokomis this afternoon? Me! When I got back from my run, I found out that the lake was open again (after being closed due to some kid pooping in the water and spreading e-coli and getting several dozens of other people sick…boo). I didn’t think I’d be able to swim in this lake again this year. Now I get to give a proper good-bye. Hopefully, I’ll be able to swim in it more times this week. With my wetsuit I’ll keep swimming until they won’t let me or there’s ice or I decide I”m over it. Open swimming is the best! The water was calm. Everything was a dull, light gray except for the trees on the other side. Already starting to turn slightly. Light green and yellow. After the swim, headed over to sandcastle with Scott for a beer and some fries. Does it get any better than this?

sept 5/RUN

3.6 miles
river road, north/lake st bridge/marshall hill/east river road, south/lake st bridge/river road, south
65 degrees

Was planning to swim today at Lake Harriet but it seems too cold. Maybe tomorrow? Ran instead. Decided to tackle a hill. Made it over to the St. Paul for the first time in a while. A few leaves are already changing color. Nice and cool, breezy without any sun. Feeling stronger in my runs. At the end, finally saw the Daily Walker again! Has it been a month since I saw him last?

Sharon Olds, from The Gold Cell

I am doing something I learned early to do, I am
paying attention to small beauties,
whatever I have–as if it were our duty to
find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.

Today’s mannequin:

Looked up uncanny valley and found this definition: “a distinctive dip in the relationship between human-likeness and emotional response.” What makes us human? Or, what makes us see each other as human, makes us feel empathy for each other? Is it the eyes? The pupils? The spark within that black ball?

I have trouble seeing people’s pupils. Can I ever see that spark? Do I imagine one? Sometimes everyone feels like a mannequin to me. Not quite human. Not alive or there. And sometimes mannequins feel human, like this girl.

sept 4/RUN

3.5 miles
two trails +
63 degrees

What a great run! Love the cooler weather. Ran faster without more effort. Listened to a playlist while up above because I needed to forget the difficulty of getting a girl to go to school. Ran past the double bridge and the ford bridge, almost to the falls then turned around. Took off my headphones when I reached the turn for the lower trail. Heard kids on the playground up above, an occasional acorn dropping below, the almost gushing water at the second sewer pipe. Glanced at the river. No shimmers or sparkles only blue glass. Smiled at all the people I encountered. No roller skiers. No fat tires. No little old lady in a straw hat. A few dogs. Some squirrels above me, in the trees. No brilliant thoughts, but no worries either.

Thinking about faces and recognition and my inability to stare deeply into someone’s eyes and see anything but a blur or lifeless pupils. Found this poem:

When We Look Up
Denise Levertov – 1923-1997

He had not looked,
pitiful man whom none

pity, whom all
must pity if they look

into their own face (given
only by glass, steel, water
barely known) all
who look up

to see-how many
faces? How many

seen in a lifetime? (Not those that flash by, but those

into which the gaze wanders
and is lost

and returns to tell
Here is a mystery,

a person, an
other, an I?

sept 3/RUN

2.5 miles
two trails
70 degrees
humidity: 77%

First day of school. No drama this morning. A little sad to say goodbye to the summer, but happy for the fall. Ready for cooler, crisper air than what I got this morning. Still, a nice run. The sun was sparkling on the river. I’d like to start collecting descriptions of what the sun looks like as it shines on the water. I’m tired of sparkling or dancing or shimmering or glimmering. What other expressions can I find? Was surprised to not hear the water trickling out of one of the sewer pipes, especially after all the rain last night. The other one was almost gushing. The tree trunk is still leaning near the 38th street steps, with its yellow and pink yarn dangling down. The path wasn’t too muddy for my (too) bright white shoes. Don’t remember thinking much of anything except that I felt relaxed and happy to be out on the path on this beautiful day.

I’m excited about the new project I’m working on about my vision, eye contact, faces, and mannequins. A primary question guiding it is: What makes us human? Exploring how this is often understood in terms of seeing and connecting through faces/facial recognition. While thinking about it earlier this morning, I encountered this beautiful poem:

AND SWEPT ALL VISIBLE SIGNS AWAY/carl phillips

Easy enough, to say it’s dark now.
But what is the willow doing in the darkness?
I say it wants less for company than for compassion,

which can come from afar and faceless. What’s a face, to a willow?
If a willow had a face, it would be a song. I think.
I am stirred, I’m stir-able, I’m a wind-stirred thing.

the song would go…But there
is no song. As there is no face. There’s just the willow
as willow. Nothing but itself. Its shadow meaningless

except to those who want for shade,
and find it there. Who keep finding they hardly
care anymore–almost, some days, as if they’d never cared–

about connection. Green as water, the willow’s motion. Green as oblivion,
the willow’s indifference–flecked with a little gold, some blue.

september 2/RUN

3 miles
trestle turn around
64 degrees
humidity: 85%

Back home. Last day before school starts for the kids. Heard the rowers on the river, geese traveling south above my head. Spotted a fat tire, a roller skier, several runners. No Daily Walker or man in black. Made sure to look at the river, but forgot to check out the floodplain forest. Noticed that there were no stones stacked on top of the ancient boulder. Smelled an over-filled porta potty. Whacked my elbow on a tree, running too close to it. As my vision declines, I have started to run into more things. Chanted in 3s: raspberry, blueberry, strawberry. Tried to think of other 3 syllable words as I ran: mystery, ambitious, remember, September, decadent, difficult. Tried to unsuccessfully remember the words to “try to remember”:

Try to remember the kind of September,
When life was slow and oh so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September,
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September,
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow (follow) follow (follow) follow

My godfather sang this at my mom’s funeral almost 10 years ago. Will this month–her death month–be difficult this year?

Also attempted to recite Silverstein’s “Sick.” All I could remember was: “I cannot go to school today/said little Peggy Ann McKay/I have the measles and the mumps/a gash, a rash and purple bumps…”

Here’s some lines from a poem that I love:

from “Poplar Street“/Chen Chen

Sometimes, parents & children

become the most common strangers. Eventually,
a street appears where they can meet again.

september 1/RUN

3 miles
austin, mn
60 degrees

Another run through Austin, this time in the opposite direction. Started with a few “hills.” Ran through a neighborhood without sidewalks. Don’t remember much–I do remember telling Scott a story and having trouble talking while running.

Today’s mannequin is “please find my hands!”:

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bm00KZQlXIT/

august 31/RUN

3 miles
austin, mn
61 degrees

After seeing all the creepy, wonderful mannequins at the state fair last week, I’ve decided I want to write about them. For a few years now, Scott’s been taking pictures of them for me. Today’s mannequin is “sassy no arms”:

Ran in Scott’s hometown. Here you can see a lot in 3 miles. Downtown, the fairgrounds, a creek, river, a few parks, the library, the almost built fitness center.

august 27/RUN

2.5 miles
two trails
59 degrees

Woke up too tired this morning. Running helped a lot. Windy and cooler. Starting at 8:15, there are lots of cars. Such a crowded parkway! A few runners, some bikers, at least 2 roller skiers. Listened to an audio book up above, the water coming out of the sewer below. At the first pipe, it was a quiet, steady stream. At the second, a little louder and faster. Thought about my breathing and locking it into a rhythm that would keep me steady. 1 2 3/45 up hill and 5 4 3/21 down hill then 1234/5678 Slowly, I’ve been working on poems that mimic my breathing while swimming and running.

This morning I read an essay by Jericho Brown in which he describes his invention of the duplex form. He writes:

I decided to call the form a duplex because something about its repetition and its couplets made me feel like it was a house with two addresses. It is, indeed, a mutt of a form as so many of us in this nation are only now empowered to live fully in all of our identities. I wanted to highlight the trouble of a wall between us who live within a single structure. What happens when that wall is up and what happens when we tear it down? How will we live together? Will we kill each other? Can we be more careful?

At the end of the essay, he lists the rules of the form:

Write a ghazal that is also a sonnet that is also a blues poem of 14 lines, giving each line 9 to 11 syllables.

The first line is echoed in the last line.

The second line of the poem should change our impression of the first line in an unexpected way.

The second line is echoed and becomes the third line.

The fourth line of the poem should change our impression of the third line in an unexpected way.

This continues until the penultimate line becomes the first line of the couplet that leads to the final (and first) line.

For the variations of repeated lines, it is useful to think of the a a’ b scheme of the blues form.

And here’s an example from his latest book, The Tradition:

JERICHO BROWN
DUPLEX (I BEGIN WITH LOVE)

I begin with love, hoping to end there.
I don’t want to leave a messy corpse.

   I don’t want to leave a messy corpse
   Full of medicines that turn in the sun.

Some of my medicines turn in the sun.
Some of us don’t need hell to be good.

   Those who need least, need hell to be good.
   What are the symptoms of your sickness?

Here is one symptom of my sickness:
Men who love me are men who miss me.

   Men who leave me are men who miss me
   In the dream where I am an island.

In the dream where I am an island,
I grow green with hope. I’d like to end there.

august 26/RUN

3.2 miles
trestle turn around
65 degrees

Cooler. Breezier. Overcast. Too many cars rushing past me on the road. Listened to my audio book for a while then took out my headphones. Played chicken with a woman running up by the lake street bridge. I was running to the right, furthest from zooming bikes that might be coming up the hill behind me, she was to the left, also hugging the rail. She wouldn’t move, probably because she was oblivious. I wouldn’t move either because I’m stubborn and need rules, like always stay to the right, because my eyes don’t always work and I can’t see if someone is coming. I was prepared to run into her if she didn’t move, which I recognize is somewhat ridiculous but I get really angry when people don’t pay attention in these simple ways. As someone who can’t always see, other people’s refusal to care can be dangerous. The good news: just a minute or two after that, I completely forgot about it and enjoyed the rest of my run. Didn’t stop to walk at all and looked at the river at least once, but forgot to check if there were any stacked stones on the big old boulder.

I love this poem. I love Maggie Smith. Her mix of joy and grief is so great. So much I love about this poem. Here’s a list:

  • the focus on lists and their connection to and
  • lists of not quite grievances, lists of things loved
  • describing a fear of death as not wanting to be in the dirt
  • the desire for two parts bees humming to one part bee sting
  • idea of repetitions and a workout
  • rhyming hum with tongue
  • the flow of the couplets

Let’s Not Begin/Maggie Smith

Let’s not begin the poem with and,
though it begins that way

in spirit: one in a long list of—
let’s not call them grievances.

I’m trying to love the world,
I am, but is it too much

to ask for two parts bees
vibrating their cups of pollen,

humming a perfect A note,
to one part sting?

Worry and console, worry
and console: it’s how I stay

in shape. See, I’m sweating.
Some nights my daughter cries,

I don’t want to be in the dirt,
and this is what I call a workout.

My heart’s galloping hell
and gone from the paddock—

I don’t want to be in the dirt
because I’ll miss you—

and there’s no stopping me.
But let’s not end

with the heart as horse,
fear-lathered, spooked deaf.

I’m trying, I am, for her.
If I list everything I love

about the world, and if the list
is long and heavy enough,

I can lift it over and over—
repetitions, they’re called, reps—

to keep my heart on, to keep
the dirt off. Let’s begin

with bees, and the hum,
and the honey singing

on my tongue, and the child
sleeping at last, and, and, and—