Monthly Archives: February 2014

Broody

One of the young hens has begun to sit on eggs, or get “broody,” as chicken folk say. (Yet another metaphor from the world of chickens.)  With a great deal of perseverance (though not much discrimination), she was sitting on … Continue reading

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The energy of the slam

Come       Come where the booze is cheaper, Come       Come where the pots hold more, Come       Come where the boss is a bit of a sport, Come       Come to the pub next door! … Continue reading

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Poetry Monday–from the files

I found this poem, cut out from the New Yorker, no idea when… HARM First, you took the parakeet out of its cage, Its body warm and folded, a blue-green kite With a surprised heart. Then you scoured the metal, … Continue reading

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More on Diana Moon Glampers, a short rant

I’ve written before about Kurt Vonnegut’s satirical short story, “Harrison Bergeron,” and its Handicapper General, Diana Moon Glampers. She’s the one who makes sure no one stands out as better than anyone else by assigning the appropriate handicap. This doesn’t … Continue reading

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Poetry Monday

Even though it’s a holiday, it’s still Monday. Larry doesn’t like holidays now that he’s retired. There’s no mail. Things are closed. Too many people everywhere. They should be at work, he thinks. Another very plain speaking person is James … Continue reading

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Spring chickens

The hens have definitely decided it’s time to start laying eggs.  Along with the magnolia, the cherry, the apple, all blossoming, the change in the light has convinced them that spring is here–rainy or not. Today I got my first, … Continue reading

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The problem of publication

In the introduction to The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, le Carré writes about how the publication of this book changed his life: “I had written literally in secret…and free of serious critical attention. Once this book hit … Continue reading

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Contest Winner

I subscribe to and occasionally submit poems to Split This Rock.  This one received an honorable mention in their annual contest: Márai Sándor in Exile Deprived of your native language, of pörkölt cooked in cramped kitchens, of the scent of … Continue reading

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Rainy Sunday

Here in rainless Northern California, I woke gratefully to the sound of rain.  The chickens may not be happy about it, but it is such a relief to be having a normal winter day. Luckily, in yesterday’s brilliant sun I … Continue reading

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