3.75 miles wabun hill 60 degrees wind: 25 mph gusts
Windy and warm this afternoon. Shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Hooray! My feet feel strange in my new shoes. Hopefully I’ll get used to them soon. Sometimes it felt easy, sometimes it didn’t. I stopped several times to admire the view. There is new, brightly colored graffiti under the ford bridge. I noticed it when I stopped to look at the hill of dirt (some of it looks like loose dirt to me — is it?) that the pilings for the bridge push up against.
The favorite thing I experienced this afternoon: At the bottom of the hill near the locks and dam no. 1, I stopped to admire the river. The surface was undulating in the wind. It was only slightly moving, creating a strange feeling — not of dizziness, but of everything shimmering or flickering.
holes 5b
Here’s a draft of another poem made from words in “Mystery Man”:
two holes one — the only place where reading is still possible a small island surround by the other and its not even firelit free fall into nothing
I’d like to make the New Yorker text for this poem white on a black background. Is that possible? Can I achieve the effect of being in the dark in some other way? Maybe I’ll try shading text with pencil first? I’m still not sure. I’ll need to look for some more inspiration.
an hour or so later: Here’s something I’d like to try tomorrow that I thought of earlier — for my 2 holes poem I want to trace my scotoma/blind spoi on the 4 panels. I want one that covers a substantial amount of the text/pages. I’m thinking a 16 x 16 inch grid, which I already have. I’m not thinking that I’ll use the grid on the poem, but I’ll use it to measure the proportions of the bigger scotoma. Fun! I’m sure there are much more efficient ways to do what I’m trying to do, but I like the DIY nature of this approach. I also like how it’s not overwhelming for me, with my very limited crafting/making skills. If I spend too much time on crafting something that is trying to look polished and fancy, I might lose all of my creative energy. I should find a class to take in which I can learn some of these skills!
4.1 miles river road, north/south 39 degrees wind: 10mph / gusts: 15 mph
Boo to the cold, although it only really felt cold during my walk warm-up. Maybe the boo should be reserved for the wind which was directly in my face running south. But, even with the wind and the cold, there was sun and clear paths and birds and open water. Spring! My legs and back felt strong, and my feet were locked into a steady rhythm. I encountered at least one large-ish group of runners, many groups of walkers, dogs. No roller skiers. Any bikers? I can’t remember. At least one stroller.
Running north, I listened to my feet striking the ground and birds chirping. Running south, I put in my “I’m Shadowing You” playlist. Song I remember most: “Shadow Stabbing” by Cake.
My anxiety has returned, which is a bummer, but not unexpected. There are so many reasons it could be back (I mean, looking at the news for today — Drump’s deadline for Iran is tonight — JFC). My latest theory: I am experiencing another vision shift (more cones lost?) that sometimes makes me feel dizzy. Dizziness triggers (mostly) mild physical panic. Combine that with hormonal changes, thanks to perimenopause. Nothing too overwhelming, but still draining and uncomfortable. I understand the anxiety better now than a few years ago, but that doesn’t mean I can anticipate it. Before my run, I felt a little dizzy. That dizziness (or imagined dizziness?) lingered a little during the run then returned right after. Sigh.
added later in the day: Finishing this entry up at my desk, I saw the shadow of a bird fly by which reminded me of the bird shadows this morning as I ran. It happened more than once, a dark something flying over my head as I ran: a bird’s shadow!
grids and holes and reading
My Holes series has several elements: the hole, the grid, reading. All of them are important in these visual poems. Also important: these are visual poems. The words in them matter as much (or more? or on the same level?) as the visuals.
What am I trying to express with this series? The strange and strained and magical way in which I can still read words even with most of my central vision gone. The progression of my declining ability to see words and its untethering effects.
a couple hours later: Playing around with my first Holes, this morning, I focused on figuring out how to connect the sections of the poem, to map the path from word to word to word on the page. That process of reading is key to this series1. After ruminating, which frequently meant standing and staring at the poem on cardboard, trying to figure out how to make this rectangular 4-panel poem fit into the square of an Amsler Grid, I came up with something to try. Fasten the poem panels to cardboard by placing pins next to the words of the poem, then connect/map the words with black thread. When I tried that, the thread was more fiddly to work with than my eyes and hands liked, and it didn’t show up that well:
black thread map / Can you see the thread? Just barely, for me.
So I tried dark gray thread, which was easier to work with and showed up much better. Maybe as the series progresses and my tether to the world through words weakens, I’ll use thinner, less visible thread?
gray yarn
One thing to fix for a different version: adjust the pin so that the thread line between with and word doesn’t cross the center — to do this, possibly switch to another “the” lower on the panel.
I like the yarn better! I realized that one of the key elements of this poem is to show the process of reading, the act of jumping from word to word to word, how the connections between words are increasingly complicated and convoluted. As I was thinking about that mapping, I remembered some images that I’ve seen several times and that Scott mentioned the other day: a spider’s web after taking various drugs . Here, lines = grids = webs!
The next experiment = putting the 4 paneled poem on cork board, using gray yarn and push pins. Another thing to add: draw more holes (circles), color them in with pencil, then erase them to leave a ghost (afterimage-ish).
during the run: holes
During the run, I thought about printing the New Yorker article on graph paper and adding an x and y axis for plotting the words. I might do that for a few of the Holes — as my vision gets stranger, so do the names of x and y. Maybe Holes 1 is x = time and y = space. Another Holes could be x = real and y = imagined. I should look through the other poems and determine their x and y axis.
questions: Are the lines from the Amsler grid (that is, the lines that make up the grid) and the lines that connect the words and map them on the visual poem the same as the Amsler lines? Can they sometimes be the same in one poem, and different in another?
A thought as I wrote this sentence: part of the process of moving from word to word is running into words on a line that I didn’t see. In my Plague Notebook, I have countless examples of visual errors in which I write words on top of each other. This works differently in reading — in reading, I only see the word I am reading — but it connects. This not seeing + words on top of each other could be represented by the increasing jumbled way my lines from word to word are mapped. ↩︎
4.35 miles minnehaha falls and back 32 degrees / feels like 17
Cold again. Because of the low feels like temp, I overdressed: 2 pairs of tights, long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, pullover. Halfway through I ditched the pullover, which was awkward as I struggled to take it off without removing the outer layer.
Tried to stay steady and slow. Chanted in triple berries in my head. Took several walk breaks — not because I was tired, but to take pictures or to record my thoughts or to take off my second layer.
Thought about grids and nets (more on this below) as I ran. Recorded some thoughts on my phone:
recording 1: I’m thinking about grids and the lines and why it matters to me. And I’m thinking about the xy axis and a map and the visual field. And mapping and locating yourself within the known world and how reading is so important to that locating and figuring out how to navigate without that.
recording 2: Thinking more about why nets or grids or that particular way of being located is to be held, to be connected, to be located, to be seen or recognized or have others aware (of you). So not in this free fall. To orient yourself in some way. To not be entirely unmoored. Because as fun as it sounds in theory to be untethered and unlimited by these restrictions, physically it does not feel good. Dizzy, disoriented, nauseated (sometimes). A slow, growing anxiety.
This last bit about the ill effects of being unmoored was inspired by how I felt as I started my run. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but I did feel a little dizzy and disconnected from the path, unable to clearly see what was ahead of me. I wasn’t blind to the trail or anyone on it. I was disoriented and anything I saw was vague and barely formed. This way of seeing unsettled me; it also made everything feel dreamy and not real or unreal or surreal. By the end of the first mile, it had dissipated somewhat.
So, why the Amsler grid? First, the obvious: it’s a vision test and I am writing around (and through) vision tests in much of my vision/visual poetry. Another explanation: it represents a mapping, a locating, a connecting to the known world (where known partly = “normal”/medical understandings and models of seeing). Also, it is a reference point from and a starting point that readers can understand (a place of common ground, a concrete and easily expressed and understandable model and map for blind spots in central vision/visual field).
grids / nets
I was planning to study worms and bugs for my April challenge, but that will have to wait. This month is about grids and nets and matrices. I chose this topic because I want to dig deeper into the grid and what role it plays in my Holes series, and also because of a series of pieces that AMP pointed out to me at MIA (Minneapolis Institute of Arts):
Charles Gaines / Numbers and Trees
I found a book from one of his exhibits and requested it from the local library. When I get it, I’ll discuss the grids more. (I also plan to return to MIA soon to study the pieces more closely). Here’s one photo of them that I particularly like of me, FWA, and RJP, who is talking with her hands in a way that I love.
3 people looking at art, 2 of them talking about it, one with her hands
. Heading out for my run this morning, I wanted to notice grids. A few minutes later, all I could think about was the twisted/bent fence at the falls that I noticed last Thursday. I regretted not stopping to take a picture of it then, so I took several today. Here are 2:
1
Remembering this crooked fence and then taking pictures of it, inspired me to expand my grid/net/matrix month to fences too — this fence + chainlink fences. Things that contain, orient, map, frame.
To start this grid exploration, some research on the Amsler Grid. Have I done any research about it in past years? Not that I can find!
Amsler Grid
The Amsler grid, used since 1945, is a grid of horizontal and vertical lines used to monitor a person’s central visual field. The grid was developed by Marc Amsler, a Swiss ophthalmologist. It is a diagnostic tool that aids in the detection of visual disturbances caused by changes in the retina, particularly the macula (e.g. macular degeneration, Epiretinal membrane), as well as the optic nerve and the visual pathway to the brain. An Amsler grid can show defects in the central 20 degrees of the visual field.
In the test, the person looks with each eye separately at the small dot in the center of the grid. Patients with macular disease may see wavy lines or some lines may be missing. . . .
Although originally intended for use in clinical settings, the Amsler grid has proven highly adaptable for home monitoring. Its portability and ease of use enable patients to participate actively in the management of their ocular health, allowing earlier detection of disease progression and more timely medical intervention.
This idea of it being for use at home connects to my desire to use whatever materials and words I can find around me for this Holes series. There’s more there, I think.
I’d like to spend a few minutes (maybe later today or tomorrow morning) writing more about lines and grids and mapping and why it’s important to me, both in this series and in my understanding/description of my vision loss.
While looking for more on Amsler and the grid, I found out about Edward Munch and his vision loss at 60. As he was experiencing it, he drew a series of sketches/paintings, some with grid lines, some annotating the strange ways he saw. Very cool. Here’s more about it from a exhibit at the Tate. Is there a book for the exhibit and could it be at my local library? Yes! I just requested it.
4.45 miles minnehaha falls and back 35 degrees / steady drizzle
The forecast, rain all day, but when I looked out my window it didn’t seem too bad. No ice, above freezing, so I decided to go for a run, which was an excellent decision. I was bundled up and barely felt the rain — well, I guess I felt my soaked socks and cold legs (through my running tights), but I didn’t care. It was wonderful to be outside, mostly alone, only a few other walkers and runners joining me.
Because of the rain, I was wearing an old pair of Saucony’s (3 or more years old?) and didn’t run too fast. That helped me stay relaxed and able to keep going for longer. Maybe I should train some more in these shoes and save my new ones for faster runs, races, and until I’m trained up to run longer?Everything was wet. My favorite wet thing was the slick mirror Godfrey Boulevard made from the rain and new asphalt. Very cool! I saw my running self, trees, and sky and I thought about the upside down world where they all lived.
10 Things
the creek water falling fast over the limestone ledge on the bridge at the top of the falls
the deep puddle I stepped in that I thought was only a reflection of light on the trail
drip drip drip of water off the brim of my cap
taking off my hood, folding the flaps of my hat, and hearing the steady patter of rain
in through the nose 2 3 / out through the mouth 2 — 123/12
a steady, almost invisible rain with the occasional big drop — plain rain or freezing rain?
the lid of the toilet in the porta potty was wedged behind a bar and couldn’t be closed
empty benches / mostly empty parking lots
bright headlights cutting through the trees on the other side of the ravine
running by the Horace Cleveland Overlook parking lot and seeing an animal care truck (another name for animal control?) — is there a wolf or a coyote or a bear in the gorge — it’s always possible; they’ve all been spotted before
worms after the rain
It’s raining now, but sometime later today or tomorrow or the next day, it will stop and the worms will appear on the sidewalk. Here’s a poem I found about those worms:
You know how, after it rains, my father told me one August afternoon when I struggled with something hurtful my best friend had said, how worms come out and crawl all over the sidewalk and it stays a big mess a long time after it’s over if you step on them?
Leave them alone, he went on to say, after clearing his throat, and when the rain stops, they crawl back into the ground.
4 miles river road, south/wabun/bottom of locks/river road, north 38 degrees / feels like 22 wind: 15 mph / gusts: 32 mph
Another windy run. Cold-ish, too. Wore running tights, shorts, 2 long-sleeved shirts, a pull-over, a hat, a hood, gloves. I didn’t feel overheated until the end. Lots of cars on the road, not that many people on the trail. Are they all going to the No Kings March at the capitol? I (kind of) wanted to go, but big crowds are not the easiest for me and Scott, RJP, and FWA struggle in them too, so I’m skipping it.
According to my watch, I slept for 7 hours and 21 minutes last night. That is a lot for me! And, my sleep score1 was 77. I think it helped me to feel stronger on the run.
10 Things
reaching the top of the wabun hill, I heard the clanging of the bell — is there a bell up here? no — it was a kid banging on something at the playground
wild turkeys — 4 or 5 of them, under the ford bridge! I passed close by them as I ran up the wabun hill. By the time I return back down the hill, they were gone
goose honks near the bottom of the locks and dam no. 1
swirling leaves
the round shadow of the light on the street lamp
more scales on the gray water
chanting in triple berries to keep a steady pace
running on the rim of the bluff, looking down at the winchell trail which was empty and farther down than I usually remember
at the top of the wabun hill, stopping to look through the chain link fence at the river
a boot, stuck on a stalk on the boulevard of matt the cat’s house
serve and a boot / the pink sign near the far house says, “someone was abducted by ICE here.”
The abduction by ICE happened early on, between the murders of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. Two people were pulled from their car and taken; the car was left by the side of the road.
In addition to this boot picture, I also took some pictures of the view through the chainlink fence.
1234
I like this series of pictures. It reminds me a little of how I see. I can see better through my peripheral vision than my central — even when and if I don’t want to. It’s distracting to focus on the edge details sometimes, and it makes what’s in the center look even fuzzier to me. In thinking about my Holes series, does this happen at all when I’m reading? Is there a way to connect this fence with the lines in an Amsler Grid? An idea: what if I drew a giant Amsler Grid over the top of the entire, 4 panel, Holes 1 poem?
What does the sleep score mean? I’m less interested in the specifics of it at this point, and more interested in tracking which direction that number is headed. 77, which is only “OK” according to Apple health info, is the highest number I’ve had in the past almost 2 weeks. A goal by May: a number in the 80s. ↩︎
5.5 miles ford loop 35 degrees / feels like 18 wind: 18 mph / gusts: 29 mph
Brr. I was underdressed this morning in only one long-sleeved shirt, a vest, tights, shorts, stocking cap, gloves. It was the wind that made it feel cold. Running north and east it blew into me. It was especially bad on the ford bridge. Even with the wind, a great run. Sun! Shadows! The feeling of spring!
Some of the run was hard, some of it wasn’t. A little bit of unfinished business, legs that were sometimes sore and heavy. Does it have to do with the iron pill I’m taking? I am not anemic, but on the very low end of ferritin stores — and have been for 4 or more years now — so I’m getting serious with trying to increase my iron. A pill everyday, first thing in the morning with a grapefruit. No coffee or other food for at least an hour. Hopefully my ferritin will increase a lot so I don’t have to get an expensive iron infusion. And hopefully that increased ferritin will make it easier for me to run longer because Scott and I signed up for the marathon in October again!
10 Things
a siren — off in the distance, then closer, closer, then almost right behind me, then stopped — the closer it got, the more distorted the siren became — I wonder who/what needed this emergency truck?
a dirt trail behind a bench and railing at the bottom of the summit hill that led to a delightfully open view of the river and the west bank
running over the lake street bridge, wind on water, a scaled surface, gray
bright blue sky with a few puffy clouds
an almost full parking lot at the monument, only 2 spots open
several groups of walkers with dogs, some emerging from the trails below the bluff, some entering them
the wind on the ford bridge! slow and steady, squaring my shoulders and leaning into it
goose honks under the ford bridge
empty benches
an interesting image of vine on the neighbor’s fence
fence / 27 march
holes
Yesterday I watched the clip with the caterpillar from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland and I started thinking more about language and letters and our relationship with words and meaning through reading.
O u e i o A
The scene begins with Alice peering through the leaves at a caterpillar smoking a pipe and singing the vowels. The vowels — the building blocks of language — is this cellular level of the english language? Taken on their own, apart from words and sentences and paragraphs, the vowels aren’t non-sense, but they offer very little sense. I found an old stencil of the alphabet that I inherited from my mom in a drawer yesterday. Could I stencil in the vowels in a way that didn’t look cheesy or ridiculous? I’m not sure.
A thought while I was running: I’m in the process of editing my poems, which involves erasing holes that contain words that I’m no longer using. What if those erased words, those ghosts, remained as traces, haunting the page? Almost like an after image? I’ve noticed that after staring at these dark holes on the page, they start to move around and appear in places they aren’t. (writing that last sentence, I’m reminded of Alice’s nonsense speech to her cat: nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t
A deconstructed amsler grid: an Amsler grid has 38 lines, not including the frame. I decided to use pieces of dried spaghetti and scatter 38 of them on top of 4 panel poem. I’m not sure what I will use in the final version. Sticks? Lines at strange angles drawn on the paper, over the holes and text? Here’s a picture of it.
holes 5 / wip
I had no plan for where the lines would go, I just dropped the spaghetti wherever — should there be a plan, or is haphazard better? Maybe I scatter the dried spaghetti haphazardly first, then replicate that with thick black lines on the actual poem? The only rules: 38 lines, all the same length.
Ok, I scattered the spaghetti and drew in the lines. Here’s what it looks like:
holes 5 wip 2
I just realized I only added 32 lines. I need to add 6 more. Are the lines dark enough? Does it make sense that they are a deconstructed amsler, or do I need to add in a more explicit reference to that somewhere on the poem?
5 miles highland bridge (old ford plant) 58 degrees
58 degrees?! 58 degrees. Spring is back. Today I wore shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and a pullover that I took off before the end of the second mile. Ran south on the river road, down towards the locks and dam no. 1, up the wabun hill, over the ford bridge, to the edge of highland bridge park and across to the river where it is above the old hydroelectric power plant. As I neared it, I could hear the water rushing over the concrete apron at the locks and dam. The river is low; the sandy island in the middle was exposed.
The birds! Sounding like spring. The river! Sparkling in the sun. The shadows! Both sharp (distinct) and soft (the bare branches almost feathery on the path).
overheard: one biker to another — he’s between jobs right now. No contracts and no money coming in.
Is it because it’s warm, or because I started just a little too fast, but the second half of the run was hard(er). Took some breaks to admire the view. On the St. Paul side, I noticed a sticker on the fence that looked like the head of the “Hanker for a Hunka Cheese” guy:
“Time for Timer”
holes
Worked on Holes 5 today, mostly mapping the words on the page. Here’s a draft of the text:
A hole perspective life on the way to Disney’s wonder land
I fall through the center of a book
everything on the page at strange angles separated from each other in the firelit room*
a “what is this?” feeling starts while watching text bloom into nonsense
O the beauty of vision gone mad.
*not sure about this line — I’m thinking of, like in a firelit room, but low light from a fire doesn’t separate words, it softens them, makes them dim so they almost become ghosts of the text they were
Went to the dog park with FWA and Delia this morning. Chilly but sunny and still down in the floodplain. Beautiful. No snow, hardly any mud, lots of felled trees. Halfway in we encountered an awesome dog carrying a stick that was 3 times as wide as his head. His owner said, the governor is about 200 feet ahead. Last summer, I recalled watching a video of Gov. Walz being interviewed at the dog park, so I knew he came here. About 5 minutes later, there he was! Alone and friendly. Hello! Hi! Of course, I couldn’t see well enough to recognize him, but FWA could. I wish I could have seen that it was him. I would have told him thank you.
5 Dog Park Things / 5 Winchell Trail Things
a section of the river, sparkling in the sun
the bark of the giant felled tree that FWA and I have walked around all this year had been stripped recently — a huge section of the trunk was barkless and gleaming white
faint footprints through the small stretches of mud
a motorboat rumbling by, making waves that rushed onto the shore near Delia
a woodpecker knocking on some dead wood, another (or the same one?) laughing
shadows everywhere — trees, the fence, lamp posts
the winchell trail path was covered in dry leaves that made a delightful crunch as I ran over them
a steady stream of cars (at 3:30 pm)
empty benches
no snow, no puddles
2.8 miles river road / winchell / lena smith 46 degrees
A quick run — in time and distance and speed. I should have slowed it down; it would have been easier. It’s hard to slow down in my new shoes! I was tired and felt the beginnings of a side stitch a mile in — I ate a protein bar too soon.
Today has been an off day — not terrible, there were many good moments in the hike and the run. But I woke earlier than I should have and felt, for lack of better word, weird. Untethered, fuzzy, maybe a little woozy, tired.
holes
As I continue to work on my holes poems, it has emerged that a few things are present in all of five of them: a hole, that hole’s impact on how I read, my blind spot, and the Amsler grid.
Why the Amsler Grid?
it connects these hole poems with my last round of visual vision poems, mood rings, which take the shape of an amsler grid
it ties in with the larger theme of all of my visual vision poems: vision tests — first, the snellen charts, then the amsler grid
it gives a context for my vision loss and grounds it in within a scientific/medical model of seeing/not seeing
it offers another way to visualize my untethering from that model/logic of test/diagnosis
This 4th one is especially interesting to me. I’m imagining fun ways to play with the implosion or destruction or destabilizing of the sharp, stable, rigid lines of a grid. The lines coming loose, or the lines a ladder without rungs — no way out of the hole, the lines collapsing and being sucked into the black hole, the lines forming a new path, a break in the lines — a gap, a dash, a slash, a breaking out of the lines — an opening, an exit, a room a door unlocked. What could that look like as part of my erasure poem? I mean, what, with my very limited skills in visual art, could I make possible?
I think I need to watch Alice in Wonderland again — should I read it, too? The hole in my vision as Alice’s rabbit hole. A passing through to wonderland. One difference: for Alice, Wonderland is the opposite of sense or nonsense.
everything would be what it wasn’t
I’d like to take this idea of non-sense out of the binary, Sense/Nonsense, to imagine non-sense as being more than just not sense. What if non-sense was its own kind of sense, just like Nothing is not nothing but something outside of our logic or language or ability to name it. Or, like I say in Holes 4, “a nothing that is something not sharing its secrets.
a flash: as I was working on the above list, I suddenly thought about the debate over whether or not listening to an audio book was reading. Does reading only happen with eyes? I like to distinguish it this way: reading with my eyes and reading with my ears. After this thought, a further thought: what if I created a holes poem that wasn’t visual, but aural? I could pick one of the New Yorker stories/articles that you can listen to, and figure out a poem from that. How might that work?
I had intended to work on all of this today, but I was busy all day: a birthday week coffee run with RJP, the dog park with FWA, weekly shopping with Scott, a run + cooking and laundry and a nap.
sleep
I decided to use my Apple watch this week to monitor my sleep. I’m averaging 6 1/2 hours a night, which I think is good for me, but only “okay” for my sleep score. Maybe that’s because I’m waking up every 2 hours. I have to get out of bed and stretch or go to the bathroom or walk around for 10 or 20 or more minutes before falling back asleep again. A thought occurred to me: could my low vision be contributing to my sleep problems? I googled it and yes, it might:
Visual impairment can lead to disturbances in the circadian rhythm20 and exacerbate neuropsychiatric conditions such as anxiety and depression, ultimately impairing central nervous system functionality and contributing to the development of insomnia21. Existing research underscores the negative impact of visual impairment on sleep patterns. Studies conducted in Russia found that individuals with visual impairment had more than twice the odds of reporting insomnia symptoms compared to those without, with this association remaining significant even after adjusting for factors such as age and gender21. This finding further confirms the link between visual dysfunction and sleep disturbances. Community research in the U.S. suggested that older adults with visual impairment are more likely to experience various sleep issues, such as difficulty falling asleep, trouble staying asleep, early morning awakenings, and daytime sleepiness22. Additionally, such individuals often report increased disrupted sleep patterns and a higher prevalence of sleep/wake disturbances23.
But, this study studied different visual impairments than I have. What about cone dystrophy or macular degeneration, which has similar effects? I looked it up and found some articles that link it, but it’s mostly about anxiety over vision loss that cause the sleep disturbances. I know I have some anxiety about the final break, when none of my cone cells work and all of my central vision is gone, but I think the connection between sleeping and not seeing or seeing differently is more complicated for me. I’ll have to ask the ophthalmologist at my appointment next month.
Yesterday it was 76 degrees, today 36. I didn’t mind; everything was dry and clear and I was able to run on all the walking trails in my new blue shoes! Today it’s overcast and both bright — a white sky — and gloomy — everything dull and bare. Did I see any shadows? I don’t think so.
I felt strong, not quite like I could run for several hours without stopping, but at least believing that it is possible. I also felt untethered from the world, everything fuzzy and me, floating above it or outside of it.
10 Things
early on, another running passing me, their feet slap slap slaping the ground
several geese honking below the ford bridge
empty benches
two women stopped on the edge of the trail near the 42nd street parking lot, talking — I couldn’t hear what they were saying
heading up the wabun hill — no one else around, just me and the dirt and the dead leaves
running through wabun: several people playing frisbee golf, two little kids running around the course, giggling
lots of traffic on ford and the river road — cars moving fast, no sunday drivers today!
a man in a bright orange jacket, sitting on the edge, above a ravine, looking out at the river
the bright headlights of a car, giving off a purple glow
a sound across the river road and the grassy boulevard — a gobbling turkey or a yelling kid? Undetermined
holes
I’m working on another holes poem — Holes 5. I’m using an essay about Rian Johnson, “Mystery Man” in the November 17, 2025 issue. My only requirement for an essay is that it contains the word hole, either as the word itself, or as part of/within another word. When I searched in “Mystery Man” for hole I found 4 instances of it including, “my wHOLE perspective,” “wHOLE time,” and “the wHOLE process.” I’m thinking these will be frame of my poem, especially Hole Time and Hole Perspective. What is my perspective (how do I see) with and from within my vision hole?
another part of my method: In addition to requiring a chosen essay has at least instance of “hole,” I read the essay from back to front. I started with the last paragraph, jotting down any words that stood out to me, then I read the second to last paragraph, then the third to last, and so on. It was a strange experience. I kept finding myself wondering, when I read a name I didn’t recognize, if I had missed the introduction/description of the name, then I remembered that I was reading back to front, from an assumption of familiarity to a not-knowingness (or not knowing yet-ness).
Here is a selection of words and phrases I jotted down:
bookshelf
stone
let me
still
strings
filters
window
flash
beauty
gathered
convivial
ends
spectrum
unexplainable
gesture
earthiness
underside
gnarled roots of a tree
feel
loop er
limitations / limit s
making diagrams with straws
an older version
flock
singular
(un) locked room
mind / mind’s eye / eye
tidy solution
make sense of it all
some measure of control over an uncontrollable world
the world has gone mad
center
puzzle
watch ed
the satisfaction of seeing
firelit
delight
smug
cringe
between
it seemed dusty
hypothetical
enters
throuhout
leap
a ghost
nobody
flock
vision
get in the way
framework
scam
everything
(r) ambling
story
distance
slanted
attention
made
backward
moving around
wonder
read
what is this?
slip away
lept
feeling trapped
peculiar
sunshine
looming
house
couldn’t see
covered in string
over
This essay is five pages long, so I’ll have to figure that out — all 5 pages, or 4 to make it fit more evenly? Or even less?
Happy first day of Spring! Many years it still feels like winter, but today it was SPRING! If I didn’t have to jump over a lumps of snow I wouldn’t have remembered it snowed almost a foot less than a week ago. Wonderful weather for a run — sun and not too much wind. I wore shorts, a short sleeved shirt and a lightweight pullover which I took off right before I turned around. For half the run, bare arms and bare legs!
a regular:Daddy Long Legs! As I ran back south, he greeted me, Hello again! Does he remember me from past years, or did he think he’d already seen me once today? (he’s done that before.) I’m choosing the believe he remembers me. I wonder if he has a name for me, like I do for him?
The ice on the surface of the river has melted. Down in the flats I was able to get close — only feet away — from the surface: some foam floating on the water moving slowly south.
holes
As I told RJP, I’ve hit the point in the process of these poems where I’m beginning to doubt myself and what I’m doing. Part of it, I explained to her, is because I dwell in the almost and struggle to find how to execute the final bit and/or give it the “polish” it needs. I’m not giving up. Instead, I’m trying a different approach: cut-outs. Would ths work better if the words were cut-out — a way to isolate them — instead of encased in holes? Can I do both? What if I had some of the words encased in the holes and some cut-out? Would that make it a little less complicated and less messy + easier to execute?
The question to return to again and again: what will serve the message/meaning/intentions of the poem?
