What We're Reading: Alligator Pie

In grade three, my teacher set up a bulletin board to post poetry written by the students. Each week she'd ask if anyone had a poem that they wanted to share, and more often than not I'd offer to display my musings (others seemed less keen to compose or promote, it seemed). I've long loved poetry (including many painful adolescent attempts). As Tom's attention span decreases (increasing physical curiosity and teething being the reason), poetry is just the solution to inject a little literary time into our days. I want to support Canadian poetry and prose, so reaching for Alligator Pie as a jumping off point was a natural inclination.

Talent

Fake it 'til you make it; truer words have yet to be uttered as regards my creative abilities. I wasn't born with perfect pitch or poetic vigour. However, I have tried my hand at tap dancing, painting, singing, theatre, violin and ballet. With such a string of ventures (many short-lived), one could come to the conclusion that I give up too easily (and they'd be half right).

While I do feel pangs of jealously when I see others create in ways that seems to be effortless from the outside, I think the most cathartic way for me to release creative energy is through the written word. I don't linger for long with the green eyed monster. While I've enjoyed the other pursuits, I don't feel empty without their accomplishments and embellishments.

This love affair with words began a long time ago. As a child I wrote poetry and preferred to play with books over dolls. In the midst of my teenage angst, I dabbled in online journalism and wrote a short story that to this day I reflect upon fondly. In my university years, I wrote a bi-weekly newspaper column. For a long time I missed that writing, and in fact, many days I still do. Thinking about words (and even fonts) excites me. Thankfully writing, albeit not of the creative bent, is a major component of my current profession.

Greg and I chatted about creative energy on our road trip. We were exposed to poets, actors, musicians and potters. The joy that stretched across their faces when talking about their art was infectious. It got us to thinking about our own energies. In thinking back on that side-by-side chat on a hazy Saturday evening, I write this post as a commitment to myself to delve into writing more thoroughly. I'm sitting at a juncture in my life right now, and I'd like to use my pen more frequently in this next chapter. I'm venturing forward with the intention to write another short story. We shall see where this pursuit takes me. I think this is one of those truck stops.

Image via Janny Brocken.

P.S. I haven't given up on ballet, and hope to continue in the fall.

Kiss

The internet style world is inundated with photos of kisses. As a definite people-watcher and someone not offended by public displays of affection, these snaps catch my eye. Here are some seriously romantic moments (and very talented photographers) that I've come across on my web travels:

Via Le Love.

Via Hello, Lolla.

In the same loving vein, here's the beautiful ending of Walt Whitman's Song of the Open Road. I adore this passage.

Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

For those wanting more, check out this Swedish blog for all sorts of fantastic photos.

Romance

With Valentine's Day right around the corner, I thought I'd share some favourite romantic poetry and prose, and a sweet poster.

Here's a fun poster to hang to celebrate love or friendship:

A beautiful poem to share with someone special:

Having a Coke with You by Frank O'Hara

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it

The ending of Jane Austen's Emma to eschew the unnecessary commercial trimmings of love and feel confidence in the love itself:

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade' and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. -- "Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! -- Selina would stare when she heard of it." -- But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.