if I did say that you were hollow and heartless, I meant it in a positive way

    Farewell, years of the zoth century. Goodbye 

collectively and individually. I will miss you. 

 

    Goodbye 1991, year of the palindrome. There will never 

be another year like you until 2002. 

 

    Oh 1968, you and your friends 1967 & 1969 were a riot. 

 

    I'll never forget you, 1978. You were the year in 

which I first had sex. I bid you farewell in French, the 

language of intercourse: 

    Baisse-moi, prends-moi ici, dans ce poème, 

    sur cette page. Oh, mais tu es si sensuel, 

    année provacant! Au revoir. 

 

    I wish I had known you better: 1904, 1905, 1906. I 

always think of you guys together, sitting at the back of 

the 20th century. I wish we could have hung out!      

     

    1992. The year I graduated from law school. What have 

you been up to? Let's have lunch. 

 

    1955. I wasn't born yet, but don't think for a minute 

I don't lie awake, nostalgic for you. 

 

    I would like to apologize to the 1980s. I never said 

you were hollow and heartless. If I did say that you were 

hollow and heartless, I meant it in a positive way. We only 

hurt the years we love. 

 

[Pam Quinlan, 'Yearbook', from American Poets Say Goodbye to the Twentieth Century, ed. and with an introduction by Andrei Codrescu and Laura Rosenthal]

no heart or saving grace

We have done what we wanted. 

We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry 

of each other, and we have welcomed grief 

and called ruin the impossible habit to break. 

 

And now we are here. 

The dinner is ready and we cannot eat. 

The meat sits in the white lake of its dish. 

The wine waits. 

 

Coming to this 

has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away. 

We have no heart or saving grace, 

no place to go, no reason to remain. 

 

[Mark Strand {1934-2014}, 'Coming to This', from Selected Poems]

those mesmerizing eyes stared right into hers with an intensity that caused her brain to do an abrupt control-alt-delete

More accurate than a Buzzfeed quiz; less accurate than your therapist’s raised eyebrow.🤨

 

⌨️ Which Keyboard Key Represents You? ␛

 

A computer keyboard looks orderly, but every key has its own personality. Some launch big actions, some quietly keep everything organized, and some exist purely to add a little flair. If your personality were hiding somewhere on a keyboard, which key would it be? Take this quiz to discover your inner keystroke.  

---

1. When tackling a big project, your first instinct is to: 

    A. Start fresh and build it cleanly from the beginning. 

    B. Help coordinate others and keep things moving. 

    C. Add clever touches that make the final result shine. 

    D. Fix problems when something inevitably breaks. 

 

2. Your friends would say you’re the one who: 

    A. Keeps conversations moving forward. 

    B. Helps everyone work together. 

    C. Adds wit and personality. 

    D. Notices and corrects mistakes. 

 

3. Pick the environment where you thrive: 

    A. A clear path where progress feels satisfying. 

    B. A collaborative team environment. 

    C. A creative space where ideas bounce around. 

    D. A place where things occasionally go wrong—and you fix them. 

 

4. When something goes sideways, you usually: 

    A. Reset and try again. 

    B. Step in and help restore order. 

    C. Laugh and add a little humor. 

    D. Undo the mistake and move on. 

 

5. Your personal vibe is closest to: 

    A. Direct and decisive. 

    B. Supportive and cooperative. 

    C. Playful and expressive. 

    D. Practical and quietly heroic. 

 

Results in the comments! 

 

[the title quotation is by Lisa Kleypas, from Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor]

it gave me bravery and my anger back, walked me to the tossing water and proclaimed the water mine

When my Sorrow was born, I held it, a dark pearl spit from its shell, 

and I remembered the salt that had rounded it before, centuries ago, 

before I even had a mouth. 

 

And my Sorrow was unafraid and it gave me bravery and my anger 

back, walked me to the tossing water and proclaimed the water mine. 

 

My Sorrow held me and did not tell me not to cry, and the girls about 

me watched our sweet days together with longing, for they too wanted 

to be held by something with fingers as slender and delicate as my 

Sorrow's, fingers that tapped their temples and had them see how they 

had been wronged. 

 

And those who longed for my Sorrow would never have a Sorrow like 

mine. I knew that, for my Sorrow had a forest black mane like mine. 

 

And my Sorrow let me say I, I, mine. 

 

And my Sorrow sat with me on the fire escape all that breathing 

winter, and my Sorrow would not let me into the water. 

 

And my Sorrow deveined shrimp and patterned them on my plate, 

brought me a wide bowl brimming with broth. 

 

And we ate fried eggs with chopsticks. We waited for my Joy to come. 

 

[Emily Lee Luan 'When My Sorrow Was Born', from The Best American Poetry 2021]

in the mirror he appears to be on fire

As simply as a self-effacing bar of soap 

escaping by indiscernible degrees in the wash water 

is how a man may change 

and still hour by hour continue in his job. 

There in the mirror he appears to be on fire 

but here at the office he is dust. 

So long as there remains a little moisture in the stains, 

he stands easily on the pavement 

and moves fluidly through the corridors. If only one 

cloud can be seen, it is enough to know of others, 

and life stands on the brink. It rains 

or it doesn’t, or it rains and it rains again. 

But let it go on raining for forty days and nights 

or let the sun bake the ground for as long, 

and it isn’t life, just life, anymore, it’s living. 

In the meantime, in the regular weather of ordinary days, 

it sometimes happens that a man has changed 

so slowly that he slips away 

before anyone notices 

and lives and dies before anyone can find out. 

 

[Marvin Bell {1937-2020} 'A Man May Change', from Iris of Creation: Poems]

Plated Wares

It dropped so low—in my Regard—

I heard it hit the Ground—

And go to pieces on the Stones 

At bottom of my Mind—

 

Yet blamed the Fate that flung it—less 

Than I denounced Myself, 

For entertaining Plated Wares 

Upon My Silver Shelf—

 

[Emily Dickinson {1830-1886} 'It Dropped so Low', from The Premier Book of Major Poets]

reason, not faith

Liar, I thought, kneeling with the others, 

how can He love me and hate what I am? 

The dome of St. Peter’s shone yellowish 

gold, like butter and eggs. My God, I prayed 

anyhow, as if made in the image 

and likeness of Him. Nearby, a handsome 

priest looked at me like a stone; I looked back, 

not desiring to go it alone. 

The college of cardinals wore punitive red. 

The white spine waved to me from his white throne. 

Being in a place not my own, much less 

myself, I climbed out, a beast in a crib. 

Somewhere a terrorist rolled a cigarette. 

Reason, not faith, would change him. 

 

[Henri Cole {1956- }, 'White Spine' from The Visible Man: Poems]

you gained an egg, but you lost a finger—was it worth it?

Average rating: 7.4

Star Trek: First Contact (1996) - "When a cybernetic collective known as the Borg travels back in time to prevent humanity’s first contact with alien life, the crew of the Enterprise-E follows them to mid-21st-century Earth, where history hangs in the balance. Captain Picard and his crew must defend a pivotal moment—the warp flight that will bring humans into a wider galactic community—while confronting a relentless enemy that seeks not to conquer, but to assimilate. Blending action, character conflict, and a sense of legacy, the film explores what it means to hold onto humanity when faced with its erasure." 

length: 1h, 51m  |  source: my DVD  |  directed by Jonathan Frakes  |  why I watched: I've seen it several times—and used to own a copy, which must have been snatched because it (and the rest of the sub-series) disappeared. I bought a new one.

IMDb: 7.6/10  |  Rotten Tomatoes: 93% / 89% Audience  |  my IMDb: 8/10  |  MPAA: PG-13

tone & texture: energetic, crisp & modern

notable quote: "'Captain, I believe I am feeling... anxiety. It is an intriguing sensation. A most distracting...' 

    'Data, I'm sure it's a fascinating experience, but perhaps you should deactivate your emotion chip for now.' 

    'Good idea, sir.' [beep] 'Done.' 

    'Data, there are times that I envy you.'"

my notes: exciting, sweet, funny, and very dear. 

themes: identity, justice, traditional vs. change

    Roger Ebert's nice review is here. 

overall: strongly recommended 

 

Ashes of Time [redux] {Dung che sai duk} (2008) - "In a remote desert inn, a solitary fixer brokers contracts for vengeance, connecting wandering swordsmen with those who seek retribution. Stories drift in and out like memory—loves lost, promises broken, identities half-remembered—until the past begins to feel as immediate as the present. Rather than a traditional martial arts tale, the film unfolds as a meditation on time, regret, and the fragile stories people tell themselves to survive." 

length: 1h, 40m  |  source: my DVD  |  directed by Wong Kar-wai  |  why I watched: I'm branching out from my fascination with Tony Leung Chui-wai (who stars) to the director's body of work

IMDb: 7.0/10  |  Rotten Tomatoes: 79% / 76% Audience  |  my IMDb: 7/10  |  MPAA: R

tone & texture: melancholic, lush & romantic

notable quote: "Some people don't realize who they love until they've left that person behind."

my notes: dreamy, unusual, confusing, and glorious. Best not to watch it for plot, but for feelings. 

themes: memory, identity

    Roger Ebert's review (here) is hilarious. 

overall:  recommended

The Crystal Ball (1943) - "A quick-thinking woman lands a job posing as a fortune teller, using intuition, improvisation and a bit of harmless deception to navigate her way into a fancy dinner—and into unexpected complications. Misunderstandings multiply as ambition, romance, and opportunism collide, turning a simple con into a lively game of timing and reinvention. Light on its feet and driven by personality, the film leans into charm and wit rather than stakes, offering a brisk glimpse of wartime-era escapism." 

length: 1h, 21m  |  source: TubiTV  |  directed by Elliott Nugent  |  why I watched: it was in my watchlist, goodness knows how it got there

IMDb: 6.5/10  |  Rotten Tomatoes: NA% / 50% Audience  |  my IMDb: 7/10  |  MPAA: Approved

tone & texture: playful, classic Hollywood polish

notable quote: "'Why is it, women always have to have words?'

    'Well, words are like things you get, that you put in little boxes. You know, so afterwards you can take them out, and look at them.'"

my notes: light, charming, and not foolish - this is a nice movie for a quiet night

themes: identity, love

overall:  recommended

A Kiss Before Dying (1956) - "Amoral Bud Corliss (Robert Wagner) pursues young heiress Dorie Kingship (Joanne Woodward) in the hopes of getting his hands on the fortune amassed by her father (George Macready). But after Dorie succumbs to Bud's charms and becomes pregnant as a result, he fears she'll be cut off by the family and murders her in a fashion that makes it look as if the poor girl committed suicide. When Bud tries to cozy up with Dorie's grieving sister, Ellen (Virginia Leith), she begins to suspect his intentions." 

length: 1h, 34m  |  source: Amazon Prime  |  directed by Gerd Oswald  |  why I watched: it was on my watchlist, from which I chose a film noir at random

IMDb: 6.7/10  |  Rotten Tomatoes: 100% / 51% Audience  |  my IMDb: 6/10  |  MPAA: Approved

tone & texture: gritty, noir shadows

notable quote: "I'm a man with a shameful, sinister secret. You know what it is? I've never really been in love before."

my notes: oh my great good God, what a movie! Awkward, challenging. These characters are hard to like. A cast of unlikable characters makes for a slog of a movie, no matter how well-crafted.

    It doesn't help that Robert Wagner, when young, closely resembled someone I used to date....

themes: justice

overall: only marginally recommended

 

Far from the Madding Crowd (2015) - "In rural Victorian England, an independent young woman inherits a farm and resolves to run it on her own terms, drawing the attention of three very different men whose affections—and expectations—shape the course of her life. Love, pride, and circumstance intertwine against a landscape that is as demanding as it is beautiful. The film traces the cost of choices made in youth and the quiet endurance required to live with them, offering a restrained, emotionally grounded take on romance and self-determination." 

length: 1h, 59m  |  source: my DVD  |  directed by Thomas Vinterberg  |  why I watched: I'd liked it before (previously reviewed here) and wanted a nice movie

IMDb: 7.1/10  |  Rotten Tomatoes: 85% / 75% Audience  |  my IMDb: 9/10  |  MPAA: PG-13

tone & texture: intimate, lush & romantic

notable quote: "I'm not going to tell stories just to please you. You can be sure of that."

my notes: this one packs a punch. Murkier than Pride and Prejudice, less cynical and manipulative than Vanity Fair, this film gets me in the heart much like Our Mutual Friend (2020, reviewed here and here). Hard-won resolution.

    Roger Ebert's review is here, by which I am charmed. 

themes: love, identity, tradition vs change

overall: highly recommended

 

[the title quotation is from Ashes of Time]

doesn’t the voyage require a lot of sightseeing and loot to justify the splatter?

Beware institutions begun with a purge, 

beware buildings that require the bones 

of a victim under the cornerstone, beware 

undertakings launched with a blood 

sacrifice, watch out for marriages 

that start with a divorce. 

 

To break a champagne bottle over the prow 

of a boat is prodigal but harmless; to break 

a promise, a friendship much more exciting 

(champagne doesn’t squeal); but doesn’t 

the voyage require a lot of sightseeing 

and loot to justify the splatter? 

 

Give it up for me, she says, give him 

up, give her up, look only in my eyes 

and let me taste my power in their anguish. 

How much do you love me? Let me count 

the corpses as my cat brings home mangled 

mice to arrange on my doormat like hors d'oeuvres. 

 

But you know nobody dies of such executions. 

Your discarded friends are drinking champagne 

and singing off key just as if they were happy 

without you. One person’s garbage is another’s 

new interior decorating scheme. If she is your 

whole world, how quickly the sun sets now. 

 

[Marge Piercy {1936- }, 'The Purge', from The Moon is Always Female]

dead ends he came to think would undo him without her

In one version he'd have left her soon after he met her, but she was 

teaching him ways past the quicksand and crypts, the dead ends he 

came to think would undo him without her. 

    In another it was the vein of obligation spun seemingly out of her 

bosom that held him: he roved and raged, raged and roved, but it 

still bound him to her. 

    The episode of his confession has her scouring his psyche with 

caustic correctives: she so comprehended his flaws, could so expli-

cate his weaknesses —how could he not stay with her? 

    Finale and coda: out past the monsters of conscience, through 

labyrinths of guilt and contrition, detested, envenomed, he found 

himself back in the world beyond myth; no longer merely paroled 

but—he hardly knew what to do with himself—free. 

 

[C.K. Williams {1936-2015} 'Myth', from All at Once]

the bird didn't read the papers

The bird chirped: What sunshine! 

Ah, what aroma! Spring has come 

and I must seek my mate . . . 

 

The bird unfolded off the ledge 

into the air like a flown message. 

 

The bird was small. 

The bird was foolish. 

The bird didn't read the papers. 

The bird had no debts. 

The bird didn't know people. 

 

The bird in the air 

high above flashing red lights 

joyfully soared in oblivion, 

deliriously lived the sky's blue moments. 

 

The bird, 

                ah, 

                        was just a bird. 

 

 [Forugh Farrokhzad {1935-1967}, 'The Bird, Was Just a Bird', from Sin, trans. by Sholeh Wolpé]

you cannot see the lettuce and the dressing without suspecting a salad

More accurate than a Buzzfeed quiz; less accurate than your therapist’s raised eyebrow.🤨

 

🥗 What’s the Dressing on Your Life’s Salad?🍴

 

Life is a salad—messy, colorful, occasionally baffling—and what ties it all together is the dressing. Some people keep things bright and zesty, some lean rich and comforting, and others like a little sweet with their tang. Take this quiz to discover the flavor profile that best captures the way you move through the world.  

---

1. Your ideal lunch situation is: 

    A. Something fresh and bright that wakes up the day. 

    B. A cozy comfort meal you know you’ll enjoy. 

    C. Something a little fancy that feels like a treat. 

    D. Whatever’s quick—I’ve got things to do. 

 

2. Your friends rely on you because you: 

    A. Bring energy and enthusiasm wherever you go. 

    B. Make everyone feel comfortable and cared for. 

    C. Have great taste and thoughtful ideas. 

    D. Keep things practical and efficient. 

 

3. Pick a weekend activity: 

    A. Farmers’ market wandering. 

    B. Cooking something comforting at home. 

    C. Trying a new restaurant or wine bar. 

    D. Getting errands done early so the rest of the day is free. 

 

4. Your personal motto might be: 

    A. “Add a little sparkle.” 

    B. “Make it warm and welcoming.” 

    C. “Details matter.” 

    D. “Keep it simple.” 

 

5. If life gets chaotic, you usually: 

    A. Look for the bright side and keep things moving. 

    B. Slow down and focus on what feels comforting. 

    C. Step back and think your way through it. 

    D. Simplify the problem and tackle it directly. 

 

Results in the comments! 

 

[the title quotation is by Arthur Conan Doyle, from The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard]

that risk is all there is

He pushes behind the words 

which, awkward, catch 

and turn him to a disturbed 

and fumbling man. 

 

What if it all stops. 

Then silence 

is as silence was 

again. 

 

What if the last time 

he was moved to touch, 

work out in his own mind, 

such limits was the last— 

 

and then a quiet, a dull 

space of hanging actions, all 

depending on some time 

has come and gone. 

 

God help him then 

if such things can. 

That risk 

is all there is. 

 

[Robert Creeley {1926-2005} 'Waiting', from The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1975–2005]

seemingly inexhaustible sophistication of awareness

Just sitting around smoking, drinking, and telling stories, 

the news, making plans, analyzing, approaching the cessation 

of personality, the single personality understands its demise. 

Experience of the simultaneity of all human beings on this planet, 

alive when you are alive. This seemingly inexhaustible 

sophistication of awareness becomes relentless and horrible, 

trapped. How am I ever going to learn enough to get out. 

 

The beautiful soft and lingering props of the Pacific here. 

 

                                                The back door bangs 

                        So we’ve made a place to live 

        here in the greened out 70s 

                                        Trying to talk in the Tremulous 

                                morality of the present 

                        Great Breath, I give you, Great Breath! 

 

[Joanne Kyger {1934-2017} 'And With March a Decade in Bolinas', from A Book of Luminous Things: An international anthology of poetry, edited by Czeslaw Milosz]

your dear voice is not dear, Gentle, and evening clear, As theirs whom none now hear

Red lips are not so red 

    As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. 

Kindness of wooed and wooer 

Seems shame to their love pure. 

O Love, your eyes lose lure 

    When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! 

 

Your slender attitude 

    Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, 

Rolling and rolling there 

Where God seems not to care; 

Till the fierce love they bear 

    Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude. 

 

Your voice sings not so soft,— 

    Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,— 

Your dear voice is not dear, 

Gentle, and evening clear, 

As theirs whom none now hear, 

    Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed. 

 

Heart, you were never hot 

    Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; 

And though your hand be pale, 

Paler are all which trail 

Your cross through flame and hail: 

    Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not. 

 

 [Wilfred Owen {1893-1918} 'Greater Love' from First Loves: Poets Introduce the Essential Poems that Captivated & Inspired Them; Carmela Ciuraru, ed.]

a fistful of gathered pebbles there was no point in taking home

Talking was difficult. Instead 

we gathered coloured pebbles 

from the places on the beach 

where they occurred. 

 

They were sea-smoothed, sea-completed. 

They enclosed what they intended 

to mean in shapes 

as random and necessary 

as the shapes of words 

 

and when finally 

we spoke 

the sounds of our voices fell 

into the air         single and 

solid and rounded and really 

there 

and then dulled, and then like sounds 

gone,     a fistful of gathered 

pebbles there was no point 

in taking home, dropped on a beachful 

of other coloured pebbles 

 

and when we turned to go 

a flock of small 

birds flew scattered by the 

fright of our sudden moving 

and disappeared: hard 

 

sea pebbles 

thrown solid for an instant 

against the sky 

 

flight of words 

 

[Margaret Atwood {1939- } "ii. Pebbles" from 'Some Objects of Wood and Stone', in Selected Poems 1965-1975]