For some reason having difficulty emailing to you Geoff. But have written to Ali at Bayside and she is thrilled at the idea of you contacting Connex. She probably would be able to talk to them to should you wish a back up as to credibility. After all, we may as well use as much push as we can get.
Cecilia
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Congratulations Annetine
Bravo, persistence pays off. And we now can communicate together on the blog.
Geoff's picture comes up really well and am delighted that he has bothered to display it in the blog.
May I encourage you all to continue using the blog.
Tricia will be back at the next meeting.
We will be going on radio later in the year. Should be fun.
Shall keep posting on the blog.
How about if we have a poem for next month we first put it on the blog, which gives others a chance to read it and think about it before the meeting. We seem to run short of time quite a bit.
signing off in 42 degrees and climbing.
Cecilia
Geoff's picture comes up really well and am delighted that he has bothered to display it in the blog.
May I encourage you all to continue using the blog.
Tricia will be back at the next meeting.
We will be going on radio later in the year. Should be fun.
Shall keep posting on the blog.
How about if we have a poem for next month we first put it on the blog, which gives others a chance to read it and think about it before the meeting. We seem to run short of time quite a bit.
signing off in 42 degrees and climbing.
Cecilia
Friday, 6 February 2009
a surprising tentative step
at last ... having jumped a huge hurdle .I now wonder what that was all about. !.....will now move ahead....... feels good to be here Thank you Ian and Celia for your patience in getting me through to this point Annetine
Thursday, 5 February 2009
A thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains
The picture I wrote about didn't reproduce very well on paper so here it is in JPG format. Click on the image.
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Sunset over Bodega Bay
This is beautiful Bodega Bay where the movie The Birds was filmed many years ago. It is not far from Petaluma where we have been staying with Heidi, Ken's former partner who is now like a daughter to us.
We are now on the home stretch. Left Petaluma yesterday for four nights in SanFrancisco then we drive through Big Sur, spend two nights on the cliff tops overlooking the Pacific Ocean at Ragged Point, four nights in Redondo Beach (20 minutes from downtown LA)then home, where hopefully all heatwaves will be over.
Rod has chosen another hotel with a literary theme here in Frisco, The Rex. We dined in the restaurant last night and the bill arrived poking out of the pages of a 1909 book on mathematics. Himself said he had probably studied this very text back in the dark ages when he was a student.
The bar has an old library setting, complete with musty smelling books and deep comfy chairs, with writers desks, complete with old typewriters, along one wall. They even serve literary themed cocktails which I intend to try while I am here. Cecilia the Poets cocktail has midori in it, so appropriate I thought. Was too tired after walking around Sausalito yesterday afternoon to take in the names and all the ingredients but I will do some research and get back to you.
Have not yet put pen to paper regarding train poem but promise to knuckle down when I return home (after completing the dreaded December BAS for Mr Taxman)
Hope you are all managing to keep cool.
Tricia
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
The poem again
The inauguration poem by Elicabeth Alexander that Geoffreyposted didn't come out quite right (the layout) so I thought I would try again. Here it is:
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.
We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.
We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.
Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.
THAT poem
There's been a flury of critical comment (mostly very critical ) on Elizabeth Alexander's Inauguration poem "Praise Song for the Day"I thought that it might be worth discussing at our next meeting. Here is a transcript:
Praise song for the day.
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.
Elizabeth Alexander
Praise song for the day.
Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.
Elizabeth Alexander
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