T.S. Eliot ~ words for moving from the old year to a new one


via |n|otabilia 0664 ⁂ T. S. Eliot

Last season’s fruit is eaten
And the fullfed beast shall kick the empty pail.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.

—T. S. Eliot
—from “Little Gidding”
—found in Four Quartets (1943)

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Hidden behind community tables and surrounded by food stalls, produce, textiles, and artesania, is a wall of murals at the newest location of the Pochote Xochimilco Mercado Orgánico y Artesanal. This incarnation of the Pochote Organic and Artisan Market is located in Colonia Reforma at Calle Almendros #417 (between Manuel Ruiz and Heroico Colegio Militar) […]

via Collage of murals — View From Casita Colibrí

Collage of #murals — View From Casita Colibrí

Audrey Lechuga: Retrospective Exhibition


The Orphanage

The Orphanage, 300 S. Main Street, Yuma, Colorado, and Lu’s Gallery will co-host a six week-long exhibition of the art of Audrey Lechuga.  The exhibition runs from October 19-December 1.  There will be an opening reception, October 19th from 4-7 pm, to correspond with the Yuma Art League show at the Yuma Presbyterian Church.Postcard

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|n|otabilia 0618 ⁂ Albert Camus (translated by Justin O’Brien)


Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain.

It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and this fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

—Albert Camus (translated by Justin O’Brien)
—from “The Myth of Sisyphus”
—found in The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays (1942; this translation 1955)

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Every day, 365 days a year, like a sparkling word machine, we send a single carefully chosen short poem, flash fiction, prose poem, interesting list, provocative quotation, or brief excerpt from a book or letter. A kind of commonplace book, one day at time, direct to your inbox.

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|n|otabilia 0560 ⁂ Jay Parini…why #poetry matters


…adieu National Poetry Month until next year. Intermittent #poetrybombing ongoing…

For most of us, there is only the unattended Moment,
the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.

[T.S. Eliot]

Poetry matters because it provides this music, which at its best is heard so deeply that it approximates silence. Poetry matters because it serves up the substance of our lives, and becomes more than a mere articulation of experience—although that articulation alone is part of its usefulness. Its adequacy to experience, in fact, is profound and lasting in the many different ways I have suggested in this book. Mainly, it allows us to see ourselves freshly and keenly. It makes the invisible world visible. It transforms our politics by enhancing our ability to make comparisons and draw distinctions. It reanimates nature for us, connecting spirit and matter. It draws us more deeply into conversation with the traditions that we feed off, modify, and extend. In the end, it brings us closer to God, however we define that term. It provides, in some cases, a reason for life itself. “How gladly with proper words the soldier dies,” writes Stevens, “If he must, or lives on the bread of faithful speech.”

—Jay Parini
—found in Why Poetry Matters (2008)

That’s it for Poetry Month! I hope you’ve enjoyed the selections this year and that you enjoy and share poetry all year.

This is Just to Say: NPM 2019 Day 2


a #NationalPoetryMonth Day dose of @dogtrax and students for today’s excellent #NPM19 digital #poetrybombing (just to say)

Thinking Through My Lens

Today we turned to William Carlos Williams for inspiration.  Using the book A River of Words: The Story of William Carlos Williams by Jen Bryant, I introduced my students to William Carlos Williams.  I wanted to continue the focus on the ordinary as well as show a poet who continued his writing while working as a doctor.  I’ve been working to dispel the myth that poetry has to rhyme…and this book definitely helped make that point!

Once we learned a bit about Williams, we studied two of his poems to use as mentor texts for our own poems.  The Red Wheelbarrow surprised my students.  It seemed so short and so simple at first glance…and then they started to notice.  The word glazed really caught their attention…and made them think of doughnuts rather than rain coated wheelbarrows.  Then we started to play around with how to put our own content…

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Creating a New Healthcare Paradigm


occupy the paradigm


The healthcare community has been abuzz the last couple weeks over the Apple Watch’s ability (or not) to detect irregular heartbeats in attempt to predict atrial fibrillation. Enthusiasts, naysayers, survivors, Eric Topol, and everyone else in between have been giving their assessment of the results of 400,000+ person study done in conjunction with Stanford University. Some praised the results, others obsessed on the chance of false positives causing unnecessary alarm in apparently healthy young adults. I’m guessing where someone’s opinion fell is pretty much where it started out.

That said, the new Apple Watch, Version 4 is not a FitBit. This is not about adoption of a new-fangled gizmo that after a month will end up in the top drawer of your nightstand next to the (no offense to the FitBit). This is the next generation of that smart device that never leaves your side, or your wrist. I’m not…

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More |n|otabilia 0523 ⁂ Samuel Beckett


My previous by email was a test. Now that I know it still works, I’ll (try to) remember to add a credit link, appropriate lede and, time permitting, even the occasional modest paragraph. I should also check this one for formatting and display.

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But here’s more about Katexic and creator Chris Lott:
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Thursday, March 21, 201: |n|otabilia 0523 ⁂ Samuel Beckett

Image result for Samuel Beckett Murphy

Nothing remained but to see what he wanted to see. Any fool can turn the blind eye, but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand?

—Samuel Beckett
—found in Murphy (1938)

The crazy chess game from Samuel Beckett’s Murphy


The crazy chess game from Samuel Beckett’s Murphy

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|n|otabilia 0521 ⁂ Ursula K. Le Guin


Children know perfectly well that unicorns aren’t real, but they also know that books about unicorns, if they are good books, are true books. All too often, that’s more than Mummy and Daddy know; for, in denying their childhood, the adults have denied half their knowledge, and are left with the sad, sterile little fact: “Unicorns aren’t real.” And that fact is one that never got anybody anywhere (except in the story “The Unicorn in the Garden,” by another great fantasist, in which it is shown that a devotion to the unreality of unicorns may get you straight into the loony bin). It is by such statements as, “Once upon a time there was a dragon,” or “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit”—it is by such beautiful non-facts that we fantastic human beings may arrive, in our peculiar fashion, at the truth.

—Ursula K. Le Guin
—found in The Language of the Night (1979)