© 2008 -- 2011 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic. All rights reserved.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Notable quote of the day.

From Roger Ebert's review of the remake of Straw Dogs about "David's" and "Amy's" first day in their new home -- the Mississippi small town where she grew up:
Their first day they go into a bar and grill where any sensible person would know to make an immediate U-turn and walk out again.
BTW: Our local newspaper -The Atlanta Journal Constitution -- which often picks up Ebert's reviews, and which is the only local paper I've disliked more than the Manchestser Union Leader,  printed an intellectual comparison of the the original Peckinpah movie from a new York Times article. In it's guide to movies that it prints on Fridays, it gave only the briefest summary of the movie and said "not reviewed for publication." But the AJC should be the topic of another post.

Enjoy the weekend.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Ohio State University 27 -- Toledo 22

The Luke Fickel fantasy continues!

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Just picking up where I left off

I have a character in one of my unfinished novels who is a poet. Early on in the narrative he's asked, "Do you write every day?"

"Sometimes," he answers.

Monday, July 25, 2011

2 new poems

Today is my birthday. I've nothing special planned except to work. S left yesterday for California to spend 2 weeks at a spa. But we went out Saturday night for dinner to celebrate. So I expected today to just be a day like any other.

But when I opened my email, there was a pleasant birthday surprise. Carcenogenic Poetry sent me a message saying they were publishing two of my poems -- The Letter Writer and The Last Day of His Life.

You can see them here.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

50 years ago today

I was 30, and it was my first term in graduate school. Outside, the air was hot and humid, the way it was supposed to be in September in the middle of Ohio. But I wasn't outside. I was in the office I shared with six other graduate student TAs, three of whom would turn Columbus into Paris for me over the next four years. I was the only one there. It was middle of the afternoon and everyone had taught and gone home or gone to the library, and I took advantage of the quiet to focus on the literature I was supposed to digest that quarter. I was sitting at my desk in the corner, my favorite novel of the 20th century open in front of me, reading the wonderful passage in which Jake is riding a bus to fish for trout in the Pyrenees for probably the fifth time in my life, and suddenly, I leaned back in my chair and thought, "For the rest of my life, they are going to pay me to do this."

"Oh, Jake," Brett said, "we could have had such a damn good time together."

Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.

"Yes," I said. "Isn't it pretty to think so." (Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises)
It wasn't the right time or the right way for him to die. Ray Bradbury didn't think so either.

"Oh he had readers all right, all kinds of readers. Even me. I don't touch books from one autumn to the next. But I touched his. I think I liked the Michigan stories best. About the fishing. I think the stories about fishing are good. I don't think anybody ever wrote about fishing that way and maybe won't ever again. "
The hunter in "Kilimanjaro Machine" by Ray Bradbury
Read the story, then come back to see the video.



 "I waited one heartbeat, then reached over and opened the door."
"The Kilimanjaro Machine" Ray Bradury
Ernest Hemingway July 21, 1899 - July 2, 1961.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Think about it

I came across this little gem of wisdom today on a listserv I'm on.

The moon is more important than the sun. That's because the moon shines at night when it is needed.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Worth visiting

Take a look at CARCINOGENIC POETRY. I think whether you write poetry or simply like poetry, you might find it interesting.

Friday, June 10, 2011

"I drink champagne."

Does anyone know how to motorize a piano? I don't play any wind instrument other than a harmonica, but S suggested we join this band to expand our circle of friends. 

Enjoy.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Now

I've been struggling with the idea of later

and how there comes a time
when you have to stop putting it off and say,

this is later.
This is the time you've always said there would be
for whatever has to happen now.

At first it felt sad.
But today I came back to poetry
and knew I should have abandoned the idea of later
a long time ago.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Cats and Dogs

My sister-in-law sent this to me a while back, so I thought sharing it would be a good way to get back into the blogosphere.

The Dog's Diary:


8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!

9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!

9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!

10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!

12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!

1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!

3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!

5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!

7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!

8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!

11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

------------------------------------------

The Cat's Diary:

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Jerks!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage. Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now.

Friday, January 28, 2011

January 28, 1986

25 Years Ago Today

Challenger: An Elegy

“The world stopped when the Challenger exploded.”
A visitor’s note at the Challenger Web site

(I)
Nothing works. Neither day nor night.
All the stars disappear. Birds in mid flight
Fold their wings and fall, refusing to fly.

The sun sinks slowly then freezes in the sky.
The winds stand still. Fish die in the ocean.
The pendulum’s swing remains the only motion.

(II)
That night I saw Orion rising overhead and knew
That things exist beyond the meaning of the words we use.
Some things are only light, or sound, or pressure on the skin.
Some things inhabit space before the space where words begin.

Now all the words in all the books cannot inhabit space
Reserved for things that vanish from our lives without a trace.
The names we give we give to things we know can be recalled.
And words won’t salvage anything when you see the heavens fall.

Once Jupiter held up the stars for a longer night of love.
Jehovah stayed the sun with force for slaughter from above.
But never once has someone made a minute fail to pass
Or just by willing made the trilling air of bird song last
Beyond its final note dissolved inside an evening wind.
Yet still the sky at night gives hope you’ll hear it once again.

(III)
goddess boat -- serpent
at the feet of Orion,
trailing the heavens

bodies without down-
link fall from the sky, and you,
leaping like a hare,
lift the hunter killed
by his love past my window.

gods and goddesses
tease the human isolate
with monstrous burning
while we raise new myths
from the scattered debris
of human yearning.

Originally published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009-2011 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.

All rights reserved.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Say What Redux

This came from a set of author's instructions from a book publisher:

 "Chapters may include up to 15 references, with a maximum of 30." 

Friday, January 14, 2011

Say What?

From a transcript of a discussion at a conference:

“If I add up the 5.4% mortality, the 5.2% permanent dialysis rate, and 2.4% permanent paraplegia rate, I come up with a number of 15% of patients that either walked away dead or miserable.”

Friday, December 3, 2010

This is too good not to share

S sent me this this morning. It was just exactly what I needed.



No wonder he's called The King.

Monday, November 22, 2010

What do I like about being back at work?

I get to take Friday off this week.

For the past 16 years or so, "Black Friday" has meant this is the day everyone gets to enjoy but me. I've had to work or I couldn't afford Christmas.  (Well it's never really been that bad, but it's felt like it.) But this year I get to eat leftovers at my own pace like everyone else. Pumpkin pie (weigh watchers be damned!) hre I come. And my granddaughters are coming and I can spend all my time with them if I want (although what they want to do is help S decorate.) That's all right; I can take pictures.

So...

Happy day after Thanksgiving everyone. And enjoy the day before Friday by saying something nice to someone in your family. Oh heck, say something nice to all of them. There must be some reason they deserve it.


And here is something nice I want to say to someone special.

Originally posted Wednesday, October 21, 2009


If I Were Paris
Some nights this room is still on fire
As if you’d been a goddess then
And I a mortal dreaming you
Were human only to awake
And learn too late you were divine.

I’d dodge the lightning bolt that made
Anchises lame for having loved
You once and told. But you’re not here.

These myths weren’t meant to be believed.

If I were Paris, I’d refuse
The bribe you offered him and claim
Instead the right to watch the white
Foam rise at Paphos, see you step
Ashore as Flora welcomes you.

© copyright 2009, 2010 (Joseph Saling) the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.


All rights reserved 

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

I'll get back to writing about words and poetry soon

These are more place holders.

I like to draw. Even when the results are not very good. As I said in an earlier post, drawing, painting teach me about my father.

Sketches


Jim Bowie


Brave

Teapot

Woman


Friday, November 12, 2010

What I miss

Well, first of all I miss posting on this blog. And I miss surfing all of yours. But it's an early New Year's and now that I'm not overly concerned about my next freelance job, I vow to do better.

But that's not all I miss,

I miss Perkins Cove at Ogonquit (actually just outside Perkins Cove


I miss the yard at the bed and breakfast in Ogonquit.


I miss the view of the sea from the Marginal Way betwen Ogonquit and Wells Beach


And I miss the view of the entrance to Wells Beach as seen from near the end of the Marginal Way



This is the region where The Writer's Wife, the poem a few posts back, took place. It's in Maine, and it's the exact place where the little girl was pulled out to sea. Ogonquit means beautiful place by the sea.

It feels good to be posting again.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Thought for the Day

Never argue with idiots. They just take you down to their level and win by experience.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

So what has changed?

I got a job.

After 16 years as a full-time freelancer I took a job at the end of summer as a managing editor of a health Web site. The salary is in the ballpark of what I was making as a freelancer, and I'm roughly doing the same kind of work. But now I get benefits, which means I can take time off on a holiday and not fret over the fact that if I'm not working I don't get paid. And I have more say in how the work I do and the work of the writers I edit are used. I have have professional work colleagues, not just clients, and the benefit of bein part of a team.

There is a downside. As a freelancer I worked on my own schedule. I sat at my desk whenever I decided it was time for me to be at my desk. Now, even though I still work remotely, I work on the company's schedule. And I've long had a distaste for the corporate culture, which I am now a part of.

Obviously, there are tradeoffs when coming in from the cold. I'll explore them in more detail in future posts.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Flowers Redux

I first posted this painting on the blog in July 2009.  I'm reposting it as a sort of place holder. A way of saying I know I've been gone for a long time. But I'm coming back, and things have changed. I'll explain later this week.



water color on paper