Tumbleword

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Come visit me for ficiton podcasts
and a boneyard of neon signs from Las Vegas
and other things– we are all out of French Silk Ice cream, sorry.

To go to Tumbleword

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 Lots of company this time of year. My brother-in-law had a cancer removed and needs no further chemo or anything–we are grateful for that.  Hot hot hot hot humid humid too; too hot for even pool parties i refused.  We were singing (ahh) Baby its Cold outside to say cool and watching this.  Try it.

Last night got great storms (i love a storm) with high winds, hail and down-pours. The temp dropped some 30 degrees.  Thank you Thank you.  About 700 people lost their electricity.  The trees, ohhh the trees.  Large branches put downward, bowing, twisting dancing shaking it out, then thrown back upward in multi-layered winds.  Its sounds were furious beautiful, friction in the leaves. A bit like looking at giant masts on a huge multi-mast ship from inside the Captain-ess’s glass enclosed quarters. Everything in front of me, a storm tossed sea in the sky. The sails of clustered leaves were bending at their masts in all compass directions.  It got a bit sea sick to watch it : ) but it was exhilerating too! 
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A small display of QUIET now –

A small series of Silences

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I just subscribed to this new Photo site, Women in Photography
it looks like some good dialogue might emerge. Hope so!
Alec Soth Photos 
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if your in Boston this month, some good readings here ; Enjoy the summer.
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link to tumbleword’s sister site
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lil sweet dress

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Its too beautiful a day today
to believe in anything less–
not one crumb or crud. : )

Perspective is everything anyway.

Out around 8:30 am walking with my dog
its one of those days that you know marks
the end of winter and the opening of summer.

Everything shines in a clear warm light.
How is it where you are?
Hope for you a similiar feeling.
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Nature is a Haunted House — but Art –
a House that tries to be haunted.

~(Emily Dickinson, Letter to T.W. Higginson)
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Tumbleword’s sister site

street sun
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rain-bow-pale_s (time
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Awesome! For all of us bird lovers, The Nature Conservancy (here) set a webcam to watch newly hatched Eagle chicks way up, up in places most of us dare not climb.  Thank You Bookbabie!

Another tenderness in action, like that seen here, and yes here.  
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Sat up late, reading Alexsander Wat, a postwar Polish Poet– some quotes:

Our world. So small
that one guitar
is enough
to populate it with sounds–
if played with Love.
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Everything that lies in rubble
reaches tenderly at me.
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 … Nothing will tear Chaos
apart. It tears itself apart.  Eating into
itself, piece after piece, insa-
tiable.
           And there’s nothing I can do about it,
dear friend. –Paris. July 1963
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But the experienced one sees the watermark.
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 Listening also to Coldplay:.

1. See you soon 
2. where do we go, nobody knows
3. Green Eyes–  (for you ms. d, and pie) And to all of you, too, who hold anyone up. Ever. Thank you. We’re all dependent on each other’s strength and tenderness. Aren’t we?  Who do you lean on?
4. a rush of blood to the head. etc.

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Path to Tumbleword’s other site
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Listening

I walk past this tree
and it says to me, please–

take my flesh as paper.
write ( love ) to me.

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Everything is Spring
in our steps, a heap of mystery.
Do you think the human heart is like a flower of pollen
bursting invisibly, everything seems available for flirting in this weather.
Ever since grade school, i have felt this way.
Is it true for all of you??

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The sun is an eagle
soaring round the earth, looking for its prey.
It will Take you to its nest, high up

high up.  It will Take your breath.
Plant itself inside you–
you who stands now, naked
as a seed
           tilling the soil of new dreams.

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(   ) A ,&  B (why i love this?) and same with images of Russia,  C , X song and little frozen peoples.
and i like this painter too.
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I also love Easter, what about you?  Better than any other of the celebrations that remind us.
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The Easter Bunny is bringing me carrots this year, not chocolates…
Peace.
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Its St Patrick’s day and all my words are happily enjoying these. 

Just wanted to say, Slancha!
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To Your Health.
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Does this answer the riddle!?
Who came first the Chicken or the Egg?

also love this animation X
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Yesterday was full of rain and the wonderful rhythms of its falling. The drops fell with that force that makes them dance upward and sparkle jump above the ground. Went walking in it when it slowed–invigorating.  Last night when out again, rain had stopped, and the whole world was like polished glass, the streets a wet black and lovely shadows.  There was a fine, fine mist held up like breaths in all the lights.  A movie director must have ordered the atmosphere. I stood for a minute thinking how much i miss my black and white film camera, and last night was a dream of a night to go out with a tripod and set up some shots.

Don’t digital cameras have a black and white setting; barely know how to use mine–sure it has a spot meter. Everything takes so much time.  To learn.  By the time I’m 90 I’ll just be getting the rhythms of my own soul; the dance it wants to make. Then it might be too late. Compared to everyone I know, I am so so slow.
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Its Web page love… found while deleting bookmarks from waaaayyyy back.
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Heard the other night, “there are more photos in the world than bricks; and not one of them is the same.” This was written way before digital cameras became popular.
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Early Hollywood Black and Whites : Makes me wonder if these women (as image are “real” or just some kind of silver dark room projection of shadows and shape. What it must have done to the average woman’s mind to live in a culture where women were portrayed as they are, in these old movies. Stereotypes of beauty, cruelty, power, manipulation.
Dietrich, , posture and light, Garbo, weren’t you in a western?
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Jack Gilbert: Poet near end of his life.  Words will live.  Listen!!
“Small and small” and “I dream of lost vocabulary”. 
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Early Clematis getting ready to climb. If I don’t provide a trellis for this plant, it won’t stretch up, and twine and grow, it just grows a little bit.  I wonder if people need a trellis, like a bridge to span and stretch across to something on the other side sometimes, too.

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Peace to you. 
 

gift
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pile of heart
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practicing my letters
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breathe what is written
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Sometimes the sheer gift of what it is to be alive overwhelms me. It seems strange to say it, but its all too true; like light streaming into a small cloth soaked body, the stitched threads I am (of what holds me as me) seem to take in too much and I stretch out (wanting) to almost break open. To sing, or to sway like grasses in the fields near the sand dunes and sea where I played in the sun as a child.  Anything can trigger it; its almost a presence like love-soaked-time (it sits with you) and wraps you in the robe of Its body, sweet and warm. 

True excess of bounty…, and a gift of attention, from practicing meditation probably.  Maybe, it just is: Life. The sun soaked thing we crave from nice sunny days–but it burst up from within? Love.  Love is always its first name, but it has no boundry.  (i shrug my shoulders to say this… i can’t say it).
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I watched a great movie the other night.  A dialogue between two people who hadn’t seen each other in years, and met again, old lovers–it opened up little rooms in my past; little fires that are still probably burning in there, that should be put out; or not. Stoked higher, brighter?  It made me aware of these “left over” feelings again… isn’t that what art is for–as Kafka wrote–to break the frozen sea within us?
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Wonderings.

Sometimes something inside gets all smudged, and even words, they loose their fine edges, the rarzor blade or fingertip of their arrow, the part that wants to reach out and touch (world) (other) (you).  Words become smokey, jsut when you think you know them, think you understand what each one means.  You try to catch them in a fine net of thought, but they pass through, defy you. 

Sometimes you have to almost go back and practice learning your letters; doesn’t it happen you? You make a line or a shape (anything, a T for a “the” or an S for a “sorry” (whatever you are trying to say) … suddenly the words strip loose of their clothings; they loose their capacity to hold you, your thoughts & feelings.  You pass through it, beyond it, behind it. Yes. 

Your heart and attention go past the wall of words, of meaning, of culture, intentions, and you enter into another thing, the intention “behind” the words… light dances there–you could almost say you drop past everything known,  and enter iyour own soul?
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So it was such a beautiful weekend, weather almost bliss, the outside a sweetness–I even got to do some grilling.  First of the year, a whole chicken slow roasted on the grill (a new thing I do) after steaks.  It made a delicious breakfast.

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{                 …                    } 

you, with your eyes aware
and wanting to dance

you fill in the blanks– 
write the air
a new, musical 
                        text 
of breathing.

inhale there.
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