Happy Valentine’s Day!
Still recovering from the flu here, but thought I would share one of my favorite ever love poems. A great, great last line here, I think. And anyone who knows me well knows why this poem might be close to my heart. (Another favorite: e.e. cumming’s “somewhere I have never travelled.”)
Love Poem
By John Frederick Nims
My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing
Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.
Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers’ terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.
A wrench in clocks and the solar system.
Only with words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.
Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.
Be with me, darling, early and late.
Smash glasses—I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.
Seriously, just kill me now…
So, another urgent care visit confirms I’ve got an ear infection and am now testing positive for flu type B (which I didn’t have before – at least not as of two weeks ago when I was tested then – AND I got the flu shot this year! So much for preventative measures.) So, after three weeks of various germs, even more newer and more exciting germs. Honestly. I have some patience and fortitude, but even I have my limits 🙂
On the plus side, the sun has finally graced my little town with its presence for the first time in over a week. So I’m gonna go shiver and be all ache-y-and-ah-choo-y and drink fluids and lie down in a sunbeam now.
And thanks for your good wishes and congrats! It really cheered me up while I’ve been all sickly.
Aren’t you glad I didn’t end up hanging out with you at AWP? Just think of all the problems you avoided! Anyway, glad to have all the blog reports on the conference to read now, although it sounds like a lot of you got sick even without me bringing my evil! You all take care, wrap up in warm blankets and rest. And remember to spill all the best gossip!
(Update: Thanks to Eduardo, I have the link to this AWP blog, hilarious! Now I know bronchitis IS the writer’s disease! http://awp2008.blogspot.com/)
For those of you who read this blog for poetry-talk – I promise I’ll get back to work soon. Someone asked me to talk about persona poetry and so I will!
PS Have I mentioned that I think AWP should be held during the healthier, sunnier portion of the year, or maybe in a happy, healthy, sunny place – like Arizona or Honolulu.
And, to read more discussion of the “can’t all poets just get along and not label each other and fight” subject, check out this post and the comments…
http://poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2008/02/who_you_callin_postavant.html
Take My Breath Away…
Sorry to make that Berlin reference.
So, nothing quite as humbling as having to rely on others to help you just…breathe. I’ve spent several scary days literally doing nothing more than trying to breathe normally. My husband spent two sleepless nights in the ER with me and my mom actually flew out from the midwest to help take care of me. Takes the wind out of the sails of the “me, I’m immortal” feelings that someone my age (only 34 after all!) can often have. Missing AWP was a drag, but really, I am just happy I am still alive. Puts things in perspective and also reminds me about my own dreaded and hated physical frailty, which I can’t really ignore although I’d like to. I used to play basketball and soccer, for heaven’s sake, I white-water rafted and rappelled and mountain hiked for kicks and loved horseback riding and all that kind of cool fun stuff. Now I’m like, gee, hope I can go to the grocery store on my own soon, hope I’m healthy enough to go teach a class every day in March, hope I’m healthy enough to…well, you get the point, nothing too challenging on my list right now.
I was thinking of all those literary cliches of sick women – you know, the cousin in Heidi, the young guy in the Secret Garden, all those laudanum-waving women in Austen and Bronte. Hey, isn’t the sea air supposed to be good for people like me, according to those books?
So, in the universe, all bad must be countered by good, or so, sometimes, it seems. The day I got the gigantic steroid shot and albuterol/oxygen treatment at the hospital, I also found out I won the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg prize, along with Kelli Russell Agodon. It was a shock and I am very grateful for the money (lately, it seems like I’ve been scrimping and saving just to buy stamps! and I have about $300 in my bank account right now…how could I have afforded AWP again?) especially with all the extra costs of the last move. I haven’t managed to actually process the win or celebrate yet, but thanks to all of you who sent me notes and encouraging comments. Thank goodness for people who think it’s a good idea to give money to poets. And I’m very happy to have Kelli’s name right there with me.
For those of you following the story of our rental adventures, our propane tank was returned (un-repossessed?) and our landlord had it refilled for us free of charge to make up for the inconvenience. Sigh of relief.
PS Yes, I am feeling much better, thanks for your well-wishes! I think the combination of throat and chest infections are finally dying off and I blew a 400 on the peak flow meter tonight, which is pretty darn close to normal.
PSS To balance out all that depressing health stuff, some cute baby polar bear videos for you:
http://www.nuernberg.de/internet/polarbear/videos.html
My dears, a brief hiatus from the blog. I’ve been pretty darn sick – gone from bad to worse – and ended up in the ER for breathing problems a couple of days in a row, each time getting worse. Last night was my worst breathing ever. I’ve had mild asthma attacks over the last 20 years but nothing like this. They gave me a big stick (a huge steroid shot) that nearly made me pass out from pain (why don’t they ever tell you when the shot hurts like a son-of-a?) and a nebulizer of albuterol and oxygen treatment. Even after that, still struggling to get my breath. No pneumonia from the x-rays but I can’t stop wheezing or coughing which may be complications of strep or viral bronchits (since I’m already on giant antibiotics) cranking up my asthma to eeevil levels. Think good thoughts for me and don’t be alarmed if I don’t answer phone or e-mail messages in the next few days – I’m taking a health hiatus. Poetry has to wait until I can breathe again!
Also, a warning, peeps – if you can’t breathe, and you’ve been sick, don’t hesitate to go to the hospital or at least urgent care. Breathing is very important, apparently. The hospital folks seem to take this stuff very seriously.
Update: In the middle of this health crisis stuff, a person shows up at our door and repossesses our propane tank, because apparently our landlord has not paid their rent for the tank for months. No hot water, no tank. What a freakin nightmare.

Jeannine Hall Gailey served as the second Poet Laureate of Redmond, Washington and the author of Becoming the Villainess, She Returns to the Floating World, Unexplained Fevers, The Robot Scientist’s Daughter, and winner of the Moon City Press Book Prize and SFPA’s Elgin Award, Field Guide to the End of the World. Her latest, Flare, Corona from BOA Editions, was a finalist for the Washington State Book Award. She’s also the author of PR for Poets, a Guidebook to Publicity and Marketing. Her work has been featured on NPR’s The Writer’s Almanac, Verse Daily and The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. Her poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, Poetry, and JAMA.


