I’ve been circumspect blogging about BMC — I don’t want to have the sense that I’m invading anyone’s privacy, while at the same time wanting to give some impression of my time here. (I have in fact password protected one post that seemed overly personal.) Now that the month is winding down, I’d just like to say how impressive a group my fellow-campers are. Each & every one a fine artist from whom I’ve learned something. I’ve had a pretty good month working & will leave with seven or eight finished poems I didn’t have before, as well as with an outline of the book-length poem I’ve been thrashing around with. I probably could have done more, but I’ve always been a streak worker — I’ve had three mini-streaks each lasting a few days while I’ve been here & I couldn’t have expected more. In the periods between streaks I did a lot of useful reading & had many, many fine conversations. A good month.
Monthly Archives: July 2008
They Always Get My Name Wrong
But usually it’s my last name. The Washington Post got that right, but called me James in this piece by ombudsman Deboara Howell. Along with 1,700 other people, I wrote to protest the Post’s sleazy article on Barack Obama’s mortgage. Howell’s article is pretty wishy-washy, but ultimately agrees, I think, that the Post’s story left something to be desired.
My Life With Dogs
Testing out a slideshow service here.
Protected: Pizza for Twenty
BMC Week Two
Didn’t get a lot of writing done during my second week, but I read a great deal & thought about what I was reading, which is often the way I feed the work. I like the semi-solitude here, but a month of it will be enough. As with most arts colonies, one is able to participate as much or as little in group activities. I tend to be a loaner, though I do enjoy the dinner conversations.
Beautiful weather today — nearly cloudless sky, a little cool this morning but promising warmth by afternoon. The forcast says the next couple of days will be the same. I haven’t really minded the rainy days we’ve had since I’m not a big hiker, boater or swimmer (I’m a walker); but the sparkling lake this morning is a joy.
Reading: Hayden Carruth’s Collected Shorter Poems, John Dewey’s Art as Experience, William Barrett’s The Illusion of Technique, Marshall Berman’s All that is Solid Melts into Air, & John Ashbery’s Notes from the Air. About half of this is new reading, half things I’ve read before. Naturally, in my reading & in my own work I’m still fussing with the relationship between word & thing, mind & world. I’ve been fussing at these issues since I was eighteen, so why should I stop now? This is certainly a lovely place for such fussing.
