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Wine

Thinking about the change of seasons and the last burst of bloom and color in summer’s outgoing. We had a week of warmth around here, last bit of near-naked ease in wearing our clothes loosely and feeling the breeze and sun on skin. Wine comes in many forms, but it’s best imbibed under an old tree, preferably one laden with summer fruits. Wine Under a Fig Tree That any tiny winged thingmay explode from you…

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Interviewing poet Susan Rich

My interview with Susan Rich, author of The Cartographer’s Tongue, Cures Include Travel, and The Alchemist’s Kitchen, is up at Fringe Magazine. Susan has received awards from PEN USA, The Times Literary Supplement, and Peace Corps Writers. Her fellowships include an Artists Trust Fellowship from Washington State and a Fulbright Fellowship in South Africa. She has worked as a staff person for Amnesty International, an electoral supervisor in Bosnia Herzegovina, and a human rights trainer…

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A Kick on the Apogee

Another excerpt from my memoir, Rocket Lessons. Newton’s First Law of Motion: An object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. Mitch’s Corollary: Become an unbalanced force and beat the Reds into space. Cutting off his finger at the age of twelve must have turned my father into a worrier, but as always, he turned it to good use when he became the project manager for rocket design…

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Rocket Lessons – Fog: Launch Scrubbed

I started this blog at the suggestion of my agent, who thought blogging excerpts from my memoir of growing up as a rocket kid would be a good idea. And yet, thanks to the readers of this blog, it’s turned ever more toward poetry and away from prose. Today, I offer the opening of one chapter of Rocket Lessons — a kind of prose poem. Fog: Launch ScrubbedEinstein’s Theory of Relativity: Due to the natural…

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My Reading up on the Poets Coop TV Site

I had the privilege of being invited to appear on Poets’ Co-Op TV show on Channel 54 in Boulder County, Colorado, on September 5. M.D. Friedman, a poet, artist, and musician, hosts this monthly poetry show. He had also invited me to give a reading in his series at the Loveland Museum, which was great fun. It’s a lovely venue and a good group of poets regularly attend. It’s interesting to watch yourself reading. I’m…

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Poems of place

Working on a novel set in Italy reminded me of my poem about Venice. I love poems of place, especially Elizabeth Bishop’s South America poems. Wearing Venice I have taken to wearing Veniceon my wrist. Beads of glass with foil hearts dangle from my hand as I jogaround a geometrical landscape ruled by science and not art.I have crafted a bracelet of glassto wear a city water whisks,echoing through airy loggias, sloshing on slimed stones,dazzling…

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Readings in Colorado

This is a thank you letter to everyone who kindly came to hear me read in Colorado. I read first at the Loveland Museum, where the open mic portion was unique and fascinating. Then I was on M.D. Friedman’s local tv poetry show, The Poet’s Co-op TV Show. It was a blast, though I didn’t know which camera to look into, but all cameras (and camera operators) looked friendly. If you live in Boulder County,…

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Reading here, and here, and here …

I’m in Colorado, mixing business, pleasure, and poetry readings. The first one I did here was at the Loveland Museum, as part of the Internet Poets Coop Series, run by poet, musician, and artist M.D. Friedman. The evening began with an open mic — an unusual arrangement, as usually the featured reader is first and open mic second — which allowed me to hear some Colorado poet voices before giving my reading. It was fun…

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Writing a novel

I’ve heard it likened to creating a quilt the size of a soccer field (Jane Vandenburgh), to cantilevering out a floor built on nothing underneath (Annie Dillard), to a feral beast kept in a room (Dillard again), and perhaps my favorite quote is from Somerset Maugham, who said there are three secrets to writing a novel and no one knows what they are. All these are true in my current experience of working on a…

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Noise pollution

I was going to spend an hour this morning before work playing with a poem revision, but the gardening service our condo association has hired has a crew full of men wielding the loudest instruments I’ve ever heard: edgers, mowers, and blowers. And they have no pattern of work, perhaps finishing our side of the complex all at once, then moving to the next area. First, the edger comes along, with a noise like a…

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