Writing in the Dark

"It's not that difficult.
Anyway, it's necessary.

Wait till morning, and you'll forget.
And who knows if morning will come.

Fumble for the light,
and you'll be
stark awake, but the vision
will be fading, slipping
out of reach.

You must have paper at hand,
a felt-tip pen, ballpoints don't always flow,
pencil points tend to break. There's nothing
shameful in that much prudence; those are our tools.

Never mind about crossing your t's, dotting your i's-
but take care not to cover
one word with the next. Practice will reveal
how one hand instinctively comes to the aid of the other
to keep each line
clear of the next.

Keep writing in the dark:
a record of the night, or
words that pulled you from the depths of unknowing,
words that flew through your mind, strange birds
crying their urgency with human voices,

or opened
as flowers of a tree that blooms
only once in a lifetime:

words that may have the power
to make the sun rise again."

- Denise Levertov

Romancing the Bean

Both chemotherapy and antibiotics tend to throw off the balance between beneficial bacteria and yeasts in the body. I am finding that my body is not in harmony and in need of some re-balancing, evidenced by the presence of various unwelcome fungi! I have begun a Candida albicans-eliminating diet this week. The diet allows absolutely no sugar, no milk, cheese, bread, or vinegar, very little fruit, and lots and lots of vegetables, beans and meat. This disallows many of our traditional North American, calorie-dense foods, and in consequence I am hungry ALL the time! My stomach isn't used to handling the bulk of food required to find enough energy for the day. It has also been shocking how few commercial foods are truly real- sugar free, without nasty substitutes!

The beauty of this diet is that it demands utter nakedness in your relationship with food. I recently picked up Joanne Saltzman's cookbook, "Romancing the Bean". It is an intimate introduction to all sorts of beans, including ancient history and cultural cookery nuances. It has struck me that "romancing" beans, or anything else, requires bareness and simplicity. This Candida diet cuts out the sugar and other distractions with which we tend to douse true, nourishing food. I have been startled by the joy of eating, for breakfast, a bowl of plain, raw oats with sunflower seeds and unsweetened soy milk in all of its beany glory. How wonderful, to roll the texture of the oats over my tongue and really taste their flavor! True fuel in the tank.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote an incredible book about the Soviet Gulags called, "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich". This supper scene is etched into my mind:

“It was at this evening count, when they returned through the camp gates, that the prisoners felt most weather-beaten, cold and hungry – and their bowl of thin, hotted-up cabbage soup in the evening was, for them, like rain in a drought. They swallowed it in one gulp. The bowl of soup was more precious to them than freedom, more precious than their previous life and the life which the future held for them.”

“Shukhov ... began to eat. First of all, he drank just the watery stuff at the top. As it went down, the warmth flooded through his whole body – and his insides seemed to be quivering in expectation of that gruel. Goo-ood! It was for this brief moment that a prisoner lived!

I will be beginning to understand true nourishment when simple, unadulterated meals become as precious to me as gulag gruel.

Our Friend Neigh

A Bun Dance: Word Play for the Day

Abundance:

What a feast of mental imagery!

Definitions yielding themselves:

a. a*bun*dance: Medieval merriment, in which buns are an intrinsic part of the festivities. May include games (such as bun eating contests), the playing of the song, “Hot Cross Buns”, or the mass movement of many derrieres.

b. a*bun’dance: Rare. Conjunction for “a bunny dance”, in which bunnies do as bunnies do, yielding a multitude of bunnies.

Oh, such fun! Please do join in. :)

A Pox of Poodles

A Shiggaion of Kris, which she sang to the Lord
> concerning Rita and Loralei, the Poodles.
>
>
> Oh, Lord, who hath a sense of humor,
> Give ear to my words; consider my sighing.
> Come quickly to help me, for on all sides I am
> surrounded by poodles.
> Their snufflings rise up to my neck. They tickle.
> By day and by night, their barking pursues me;
> they are ever with me - when I sit, and when I rise.
> They flood my bed with muddy paws, and my couch with
> fleas.
> They hear cars drive past from afar.
> Their eyes never cease roaming to and fro across the
> kitchen floor, seeking what they may devour.
> The cat trembles.
> The neighbors moan.
> Is there no rest for the weary?
> Why do the house pets conspire and the poodles plot
> in
> vain?
> Surely, O Lord, you have heard my cry.
> Away from me, all you who have long snouts and sharp
> teeth.
> He who digs a hole and scoops it out will fall into
> the pit he has made.
> I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O
> Lord, make me dwell in safety.
>
> (a semi-plagiarism of David)
>

The River Merchant's Wife

I am haunted by the words of this poem by Li Young Lee. It is perhaps the most lovely, patient tale of deepening love and terrible longing I think I have ever read. I find it astounding - so very quiet.


The River Merchant's Wife


While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married my lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Tr. Ezra Pound