Nomad Ink

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

punditry: yes or no

now that i have this little space for thinking, i realize how much dedication it requires from others to maintain the discourse, what a commitment to the poetic project to log all one's most developed thoughts on poetry and poetics. but what if one really does want to be a teen diarist and not a pundit?

5 Comments:

  • At 12:28 PM, Blogger Tim Peterson said…

    Judy has a big zit...shhh don't tell anyone...

     
  • At 6:53 PM, Blogger Allen said…

    them teen diarists are pundits too. dance the dance you were made to dance.

     
  • At 7:26 AM, Blogger mIEKAL aND said…

    This is unrelated, by I don't know any other way to leave the link on your blog. Right up your alley, knitting in Finnish..

    http://www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/archives/2006/03/10/peukalo_is_thumb.html

     
  • At 7:59 AM, Blogger Nick Piombino said…

    Done any good needlepoint lately? Did you dig Uma Thurman's dress at the Oscars? (I did). Toni's heating up knishes right now for breakfast that we bought at Yonah Schimmel's yesterday right after Bob Perelman and Tom Raworth's awesome reading at the Bowery Poetry Club (then she also bought a new skirt in orange and yellow down there on the Lower East Side afterwards- for ten bucks!)

    Keep blogging! Your diary blog soooo cool!

     
  • At 6:43 AM, Blogger hyperpoesia said…

    finnish, now there's a theme that's been infecting the flarflist as well. people find finnish amusing; it's actually a beautiful language and the finns have a tragic history...i really enjoyed the knitting/linguistic dilemma...and was thrilled to read about Yonah Schimmel...my highschool love's parents took me there (with him) once so many years ago, he's the one who ended up killing his wife later...his parents were curious about how i related to my jewish side...they were super into being jewish, his mom natasha (nettie) kept kosher etc and when i visited in the spring everything he ate had to be "pesadich" was the first time i ever heard that word; a far cry from grandma's little chicken dinners where she'd show us the charoset, the droopy pathetic sprig of parsley in salt water, the shankbone on a plate. i'm x-stitching an SOS right now, i'm so maxxed out on school obligations, drowning in deadlines and dinners and talk, each individual pieceof it is fun but in the aggregate i cd just ... not go on.

     

Post a Comment

<< Home