I'm doing my part to revive this damn thing because I miss all of you folks, and I wish we conversed more. I read over at the blog-that-shall-not-be-named (because several of us lurk there) that Peter Ho Davies is on the long list for the Booker Prize. Congratulations to Peter!
And here are pieces of a poem (I know that's probably sacrilege to cut a poem into pieces and post it, but I can't help it) by Michael Ondaatje called Burning Hills that I'm posting in the hope it will jump-start this place.
So he came to write again
in the burnt hill region
north of Kingston. A cabin
with mildew spreading down the walls.
Bullfrogs on either side of him.
...
What he brought: a typewriter
tins of ginger ale, cigarettes. A copy of Strangelove
of The Intervals, a postcard of Rousseau's The Dream.
His friends' words were strict as lightning
unclothing the bark of a tree, a shaved hook.
The postcard was a test pattern by the window
through which he saw growing scenery.
...
There is one picture that fuses the five summers.
Eight of them are leaning against a wall
arms around each other
looking into the camera and the sun
trying to smile at the unseen adult photographer
trying against the glare to look 21 and confident.
The summer and friendship will last forever.
Except one who was eating an apple. That was him
oblivious to the significance of the moment.
Now he hungers to have that arm around the next shoulder.
The wretched apple is fresh and white.
Since he began burning hills
the Shell strip has taken effect.
A wasp is crawling on the floor
tumbling over, its motor fanatic.
He has smoked five cigarettes.
He has written slowly and carefully
with great love and great coldness.
When he finishes he will go back
hunting for the lies that are obvious.
The older of the two Karens told me that when I moved from Ann Arbor, I would miss that community of writers, my friends, that I had become a part of. And she was right. I do. So post, damnit!
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Yes. My fiction cohort has an e-mail list we use, and we have been discussing ways to congratulate Peter probably. They involve nakedness and cakes and tattoos. Did I spell tattoos right?
Also, Jesmimi, I am not entirely sure what the blog is that should not be named! Maybe I don't lurk there, or I would know, but that surprises me because I lurk most places.
the comment 'the blog that shall not be named' is in reference to a discussion i had with a few people in the fiction program about this around three years ago. the blog belongs to another member of the fiction program who never really told the rest of us that she had a blog. i don't know how we found it. so, some of us, my ex-roommate included, have been reading it over the years. however, she doesn't know we read it, i don't think. that's a convoluted way of saying: i'm sorry for throwing you in the middle of this, bizness. but i'm not going down by myself. lol.
and i just e-mailed peter, and he e-mailed me back quickly even though he's taking a well-deserved break, and he's just as humble and good-natured and generous and genius as he was before. i love peter. he's awesome. ;-)
Oh, actually, jesmimi, then I know which blog you are talking about, and I think -- if I'm not mistaken -- I discovered it, and told your cohort about it. Not that I mean to boast. But is this boasting, to openly display my wanton voyeurism?
I am also a voyeur. now of both this unnamed blog and of this conversation. but really, if you put things on the internet, you expect them to be read, right? I'm dreaming up my own robot-resuscitating post.
and also I loved Peter's book, so congrats, Peter, indeed.
hi cheeswithaspoon! yes, you are the informer. lol! thank you for enlightening us. i feel that i should out myself to her one day, you know, leave a comment with a big bold 'Hi!' in the subject line, but i just feel that this would be embarassing. and how do i explain how i found it? don't worry, cheesewithaspoon: i wouldn't rat you out. lol.
Tell me tell me. Whose blog?
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