adiva_calandia: (Storyteller)
Trying to submit poetry to a competition for Alaska residents (still an AK resident! Voted in their election! Maintain a bank account, driver's license, and most of my possessions up there!) and flailing about how the manuscript is supposed to be formatted. Does it need a cover page? Should the title of the manuscript be on every page? HOW DOES THIS WORK?

(I emailed the contact person to ask and explain that I've never done this before, so it's really just the waiting that's stressing me out. I have until Saturday to get it postmarked; I'm in good shape.)
adiva_calandia: (Piano playing)
I love this poem. I seriously love this poem.

St. Margaret Stepping from the Belly of the Dragon
(for Naomi)

(written with visions of the early Titian,
St. Margaret and the Dragon.
Prado Museum, Madrid, Spain)

St. Margaret stepping from the belly of the dragon
jumping dancing out-flung prayer book in hand and rosary
the beads a black line to the bottom of the painting
like the knotted intenstines of bulls when they
make the sausage, the roman maiden full of faith dancing and
pushing the devil behind her like a wild cha-cha full of
faith and softness with a shining storming sky of Titian
splendor breathing deep heartbeats of wetness and the girl
again, ripe for a man, gleaming chastity her spawning skirt
sucked damp across her thighs with the dragon's steaming saliva

that roman maiden springing into a cement world with her
prayer book and rosary and wet thighs her warm wet
hair her white toes on the sweat cold stones it isn't
a prayer book and rosary after all but an empty cross a
stalwart stagnant cross. I don't care how far you've wandered
St. Margaret or how long or lost or where or when or how it feels
to be holy. We were made to dance St. Margaret and you knew it
and if you didn't you should have St. Margaret we were meant
to dance. We were meant to feel the wet cloth across our

thighs and love the feel of it hugging the soft spots, it
has to be more somehow to loose the humbleness and reach and
not in that way but reach out and touch it the different idea
moving as you find that it's there, knowing it all the time
but finding the knowing, feeling the gradations ochre and
glad. The world is not as it was St. Margaret you can breath
a little now along the rim of the edge's edge. The thinking
comes later St. Margaret and you ride on a horse but you
hurry too much you hurry.

--Margaret Randall

adiva_calandia: (Are you -- Nobody -- Too?)
I absolutely did not realize that it's Valentine's Day until I walked into the lobby of the drama building and saw that someone had put out a table of heart-shaped cookies with a "Please take some! Share the love!" note.

So a happy Valentine's day to all those who are celebrating it with people special to them. Y'all are very special to me. ♥

Here is a repost of a love poem, in honor of the day.
adiva_calandia: (At Tara)
From Crow, by Ted Hughes.

Pass, Crow. )
adiva_calandia: (Are you -- Nobody -- Too?)

Morning Song Poetry graffitti is an appropriate method of stress relief, right?

(It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips though the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my father learned to do.)

adiva_calandia: (Default)
So I have most of my books sorted, reorganized, and reshelved -- now I'm going through my many notebooks, notepads, and sketchbooks. God I have improved as an artist. Thank god. I have one big purple sketchbook from 2002-03; about halfway through I abruptly got better at proportions, although not a lot better.

Anyway, interesting snippets I've found thus far include a bit of Tom/Carl, a piece that I must have written during my first year at Milliways that involves Henry Fitzroy and Eustace Scrubb playing chess while Nita Callahan and Guinevere offer commentary, my attempt to translate Enya's "Only Time" in Elvish, a comprehensive inventory of my bookshelves (must've been from around 2001 or 2002, since it's in the same pad as the Elvish), and the following unfinished sonnet, dated October 22, 2006:

For life The world is hard; it's ever-changing strife.
It wracks and wounds us, disregarding role,
Or rhyme, or reason, past or present life,
And doesn't mind the stature of the soul.
It may be all events effects do have their cause,
If viewed from some omniscient, ancient seat,
But this gives little comfort when we pause
And find the ground swept out from 'neath our feet
But there is solace. There is love that's found.
Chaos's fractals burn with lovely fire
The darkest night is in a circle bound
With equal light, to bear igniting sorrow's pyre.

Embarrassingly, in one notebook I have an outline for how Madame Director and I planned to respond to one of our fics being flamed en masse for its horrific Mary Sues, followed by an outline for a new horrible Lord of the Rings Mary Sue (I. Eileena A. Sister of Aragorn 1. 1 year young 2. Kidnapped by Men at 5 a. Woods around Rivendell b. Kidnappers ran away from Elves w/her c. Rangers save her; give her to Denethor OH MY GOD IT BURNS WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME I KNEW BETTER).

And finally, my "Bio-poem" from first grade, '95-'96:


Exerciser, swimmer, artist

Kind, loving, caring, hopeful

Friend of almost everybody

Daughter of [dad] and [mom]

Sister of [[ profile] ceph]

Reading, writing, yawning

Lover of Wishbone

Who feels happy

Who fears her dog

Who needs heart

Resident of Anchorage, Alaska

adiva_calandia: (Default)
The guy who played Cinderella's Prince in our Into the Woods saw me in the lobby this evening and told me I did a fantastic job at our beat poetry presentation Tuesday.

It's enough to make a girl think she's still got some acting chops.

That was not the most exciting thing that happened today, though. That distinction goes to the not-very-exciting-but-fairly-tense saga of taking roomie to the ER with what we thought was appendicitis. (It was not; current diagnosis is a particularly nasty stomach virus. She's spent most of the day sleeping and I've spent most of the day fretting and being aggressively maternal and business-like.)

The third most exciting thing that happened today was that I cancelled my housing agreement with CMU, which means I am one step closer to officially living off campus next year. More on that by the end of the weekend, when I hopefully will have the lease signed and everything.

(While roomie slept, I went to a show tonight with one of next year's housemates. "I'd like to get together Sunday so we can see if there are any last questions with the lease and get them all signed," I told her.

"What all do we actually need to do?" she asked.

". . . Well, this, that, and the other thing," I said. "Did you already do that?"

"No," she said, "I figured you'd tell me what to do and then I'd do it."

". . . Please don't ever make me do this again," I said, "because I've already had three breakdowns over it. Seriously."

Such things make me facepalm, rather, about the prospect of living with people, but I have faith in my ability to smack people into action, particularly when I'm in the same living space as them. I just hope it doesn't come down to smacking people on a regular basis. Also since when has a stage manager needed to be told to do something? Stage managers find out what needs to be done and then do it before anyone has to ask them/tell them!)

Oof. I need to go to bed. On a less RL front, I know I have a bunch of threads with people that I haven't been keeping up with very well. Mea culpa, mea culpa, but I'm not going to be getting any better at keeping up with those for at least another two weeks. I have eight or nine final projects and papers due between now and May 7th, when I head back to Alaska, plus finishing up this lease stuff and packing; things are, obviously, going to have to be prioritized.


Apr. 1st, 2009 10:29 pm
adiva_calandia: (Default)
1. I am having a deal of trouble picking between two beat poems for Speech class: St. Margaret Stepping From the Belly of the Dragon, by Margaret Randall, and He Prepares to Take Leave of His Hut, by Lew Welch.

2. I . . . may have been challenged to a cagematch with a guy twice my size yesterday? >.> (Well, not by him, but by one of his friends who wanted to know if I could beat him up. However, he did say that he thought he would win in a fight with me -- "The question is whether training can ever overcome insurmountable physical odds." "Do you think you're insurmountable?" "*patient* I think I'm twice your size." -- so that's kind of the same. He was very gentlemanly and good-humored about it all, though. It was fun.)
adiva_calandia: (Default)
The Good: Finally feeling excited for the plays. Twelfth Night will be ridiculous. The Poet and the Rent will be AWESOME.

Also, dancing like an idiot onstage. Also also, biking up West Hill. \o/

The Sad: A guy I only recently reconnected with leaves for LA tomorrow; today may have been the last time I'll see him, at least for a long time. I was going to write him a card, because I realized recently that for someone I haven't had a lot of constant contact with, Caleb has really deeply impacted my life -- and then, doofus that I am, I didn't. I'll have to e-mail him for his mailing address so I can write him a letter.

The Awesome: I was asked, somewhat out of the blue, to read some Alan Ginsberg poetry at a slam tonight -- so [ profile] the_croupier, I'll be around, but later than anticipated. But I should be around all evening tomorrow!

The WTF: When going down West Hill this morning and coming up on the lagoon, I heard a lot of splashing and saw a gull taking off at high speed. "Must be a bunch of birds!" I thought as my bike sped on.



I love my state. Jesus Christ. (And I am very glad that it was a moose and not a bear.)

And now I need to go shower before the poetry.
adiva_calandia: (iWrite)
"Myths, Taken 1" -- a multimedia poem.

I think this is a very different poem read aloud and read silently, so I'd be interested to hear your impressions of hearing it vs. reading it. :D
adiva_calandia: (Default)
I wrote a poem that really needs to be read aloud, so I'll do that.

This is rapidly turning into one of my best weeks in recent memory. I hope it stays this way.
adiva_calandia: (iWrite)
Oh, man. I'm packing/cleaning and I found the binder of poetry I put together at the end of the best poetry class I've ever taken, back at the beginning of '05. Some of the poems are, um, sophomoric? Appropriately enough.

Some of them I still really like, though.

A Fish Called Wanda )

Sonnet 4 )
adiva_calandia: (At Tara)
12:35 AM:

--Hey, that was definitely an earthquake.

ETA: Not-quite-poetry snippet:

The wind is a gale / but it ceases / it ceases / and you drop through the stillness / like a polished stone
adiva_calandia: (At Tara)
HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP I saw a girl practicing karate in the MPR and stopped and watched her and she finished her kata and came over and it turns out she does shito-ryu and we're practicing together Tuesday EEE.

The other exciting thing of tonight is that I saw Leon Katz speak tonight about Getrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. He was a little hard to follow at some points, as he had a tendency to slur his words, but he was very entertaining nevertheless, and I came away with some interesting quotes and notes.

What got me, though, was when he quoted Alice about Gertrude. He worked with Alice for four months deciphering some of Gertrude's never-before-seen notebooks. Just before he left her apartment one day, she said that she could never fully tell him what it was like to live with Gertrude. And she said this (I hope I'm getting it right):

When she walked in, the room lit up; the day lit up; the year lit up; my life lit up.

Katz had trouble getting that out. It hit me hard.

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.


Feb. 7th, 2007 03:54 pm
adiva_calandia: (Default)
I am, as the song goes, dressed up to the nines, right down to a touch of eyeliner and lip color (don't ask me what the difference between lip color and lip stick is -- I just write what's on the container).

People kept complimenting my hair today, to my bemusement -- I hadn't even really brushed it this morning -- and then I remembered that I conditioned it last night for the first time in, oh, weeks. So it's shiny and rather curly, and apparently attractive even when horrifically messy.

A skipping rhyme )
adiva_calandia: (Are you -- Nobody -- Too?)
The Somebody Frog Goes Exploring!

Now with Background! )
adiva_calandia: (Are you -- Nobody -- Too?)
This is me not studying for my History test tomorrow, la la la.

Drew this today in Poetry.

The Somebody Frog meets a new friend named Walt! )

Iii am such a geek. *pleased* I think this could become a series.
adiva_calandia: (If you are a dreamer)
So, when we're reading Emily Dickinson in American Poets & Poetry, and I'm trying not to burst out into a rant at my classmates about how Dickinson does use quatrain rhyme scheme, she just uses slant rhymes and assonance and it's brilliant dammit --

I end up doodling. )


adiva_calandia: (Default)

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