Nicholas Hughes

This is a touching column about the legacy of suicide, of Plath and Sexton. I taught both these poets recently, and it's hard to get away from talking about their deaths as a way into their poetry. But it's also hard to ignore, as a mother, their impact on their children.

In Which I Plaigiarize From Son

I am just tired, tired, tired. So I will steal a poem from Son and let that be my post for the day.

awestruck like a dog
foresty blackness blinding
sunlight coming

He's been studying haiku and he wrote three or four yesterday. But I like that. Sunlight coming. It's gots too, right?
Originally the first line was awestruck like a monkey, which had too many syllables. Too bad, because I wanted to see where that was going.

Today, I am thankful for Son and his inspiring creativity.

David Byrne!!

If you don't already know it...David Byrne will be playing in Park City on October 11. Apparently, David Byrne wants my email address so he can send me a free music download. Is that okay with me? Yes, yes and yes.
Not many people know it, but David Byrne played a role in the courtship of Dr. Write and Middlebrow. It went something like this, after a poetry reading, at a bar (Archer's, if you must know).
DW: I went running today.
MB: Oh?
DW: Yeah. I like to listen to the Talking Heads when I run.
MB: Really?
DW: Yeah. Not many people still listen to the Talking Heads, but I think they are one of the greatest bands. Ever.
MB: David Byrne is a god.
(They look lovingly into each other's eyes. Their fate sealed.)
Also, in this same conversation, I believe we talked about Molly Peacock (me, proclaiming my admiration for her sonnet "How to Fake an Orgasm") and maybe a few other poets. It was shortly after this conversation that I invited MB over for Thai food, on which he burnt the roof of his mouth. And then began our long (one month) dating-period, during which we did not even kiss. I'm not joking. You can ask Middlebrow, or our friend Gary, about it. They know.
So Middlebrow and I will be enjoying the David Byrne concert. I hope you will too. Drinks in Park City anyone?

Another American Idol poem

Well. This one was better in theory. But here it is. It's here. Right now.

Michael Johns: We Hardly Knew Ye

I read the news today, oh boy
my first thought was: is America crazy?
Really? You want to get rid of him? The hot
one with the Australian accent?
I have some fantasies that involve conversations
with famous people, in which I act casual and cool,
and so with Michael, I say, hey, I liked your
interpretation of “Bohemian Rhapsody,”
like didn’t mean to make you cry
very, um, heterosexual.
But, don’t be silly, I know I’ll never
get to see him or Jake Gyllenhaal,
or French kiss Willem Dafoe (the 80s one),
or even touch the thumb of Kevin Bacon,
thinking the whole time how many degrees
separate us, like the mere inches between
Dolly Parton and Michael Johns the week
he sang I like your look, I love your smile
and I was thinking, get over here! Me too!
But I’ll never be that close to him, close
enough to say, Hey Michael, will you
call my name as you walk on by?
He’d reply, sure. No problem.
But outside my dream life he sings,
dream on, dream until your dreams come true…
The closest I’ll get to him, or anyone, might be
the distance between the stage and the audience,
or, translated, the distance between celebrity
and real life. Here I am on the couch and there
they are on the screen. Except for Michael.
Oh Michael. Where are you?

April: Am I Supposed to Be Poeming?

Lisa B & I did agree to write a poem a day in April. But, given the DFL deadline (don't ask!), I forewarned her of my slackitude.
But. I have a poem I started last month, and I thought I would contribute it for day one. I may not write a poem a day for the next few days, but starting the 9th baby, I'm there.
(A brief aside, I saw my name flash by on the large sign on the busy road which runs by campus. It scared me!)
Here's my poem:

from Letters from Ex-boyfriends (a series which exists only in my mind! And in this one poem!)

Cut-Up #1

an atom is mostly empty space—
his hands soft as paper, the side of his face
I want to tell you what electrons can mean
how his jaw tightened when he began to lean
and the way I see the universe now, in relation to you
to kiss me, but that was never what he would do
which resembles how the cosmos and an atom differ,
instead he would whisper, I love you, only to defer
only in terms of scale, so we might say they are the same, equal
the events which lay on the horizon, upheaval
how a cell is the body and at the same time only part
as in: wanting to love is not the same as having heart
but when I touch your body, I never get to you
only in some contexts does one plus one make two

Not Another Spring Sonnet

Inspired by the contest over at Prarie Home Companion, I decided to write a non-spring Spring poem. Plus I still owe Hightouchmegastore about 9 poems from September. Plus it is Poetry Month and I hear tell that several poets are doing NaPoWriMo. Not me, but someone, somewhere. So here it is. And forgive my wonky lines. It's my first poem since September!

So here’s your sonnet, without daffodils,
sentiment or rain. Lacking any reference to green,
anything floral, fecund, or new. Not full
of love or harmony or peace. Do I seem
bitter? I’m not. It’s just when the pollen
comes out, I sneeze, and then I think
of all the chores still to do, chairs to haul in,
grill to put out. My husband needs to fix the sink.
Also, my perennial failure to maintain a garden.
But too, I’m glad. For one thing, this year
I vowed to give up on a lush yard. In
winter it’s easy to do. But I’ll renege, I fear.
Because, once again, I love every growing thing.
Despite myself, in spring I love the spring.

Home from AWP

I made it home, exhausted, and perhaps a little worse for wear. I was a bit ill when I left for Atlanta, and the fun, excitement, not to mention the rain, probably did me no good. But what the hell! It was fun!
The highlight of the trip, as it always is, was the dinner with Utah friends, some of whom do not live in Utah anymore, and one of whom never did, save the week of Writers at Work. We cabbed from the Hilton to Fuego, where we enjoyed Sangria, $1 tapas and regular sized/priced tapas (~$6). The food was great. Hard to say what was best, but the mussells were good, as was the pork tenderloin with sweet potato mash. And the tuna. And the grilled asparagus. And the wine. Very good. All of it.
Then we decided to walk the two miles back to the hotel, and we got to see a bit of Atlanta. We stopped on the way at a wine bar Felicia had seen earlier that day, Eno. We sat at the bar and shared a bottle of wine. It was a fun outing, including having a kind stranger pull Felicia's pump out of a grate on Peachtree Street. Good stuff.
We returned to the hotel, surfed the receptions, where we had our share of free beverages, then went to the Michael Martone & John Barth reading. I didn't talk to either of them, but it was a good reading.
Other high points: Meeting David Kirby at the bookfair and telling him I used his poem in my theory class. The real high point of that was when he thanked us "for our adjectives" and told Hightouchmegastore as we were parting, "Email me!"
Attending the FC2 reception, which turned into a tribute to Ralph Berry, who is stepping down as publisher. I met Lance Olsen and talked to him for awhile. I also got to chat briefly with Michael Martone, and thanked him for sending me his book, Seeing Eye.
I ran into numerous other people, known and unknown. I saw David Hamilton, who may be the sweetest person ever. I got to see former professors and current friends.
The best panel I attended was on structure and included a handout of "The Things They Carried" by Samantha Chang. Michael Martone did an amazing collage essay on "In the Heart of the Heart of the Country." The whole panel was really brilliant, and will be helpful to me, I think, in my writing and my teaching.
I also got to see Steve Fellner and bought his book, Blind Date with Cavafy . It's so amazing, sweet and funny and sad, and I'm so happy he found a publisher. It gives me a little hope. It's a great book, and he deserves to get more attention for his writing.
Regrets: because of my illness I did not get to run in Atlanta. I also didn't get to use the pool, because it was a little too cold. Also, I only got to see Terrible Mother once. I think my lack of a cell phone is really hurting my social life. It may be time to get a cell phone.
And then Middlebrow got a dog while I was gone. For more info on that, see his blog. For pics of the trip, etc., you can click on my Flickr badge.
I'm glad to be home.