all that's left is just letters
Last night on the train ride home, I saw someone grading papers. All of them were about this poem:
Why I Am Not a Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
~Frank O'Hara
***
I posted a story yesterday:
Another Country (at AO3)
Avengers (2012); Bucky/Natasha; adult; 1,355 words
Natasha has reconciled herself to the past in ways he can't yet, in ways he might never be able to.
I really wanted some movieverse Bucky/Natasha, but there isn't much out there. I guess when (comics) canon is doing so well by them (and, oh, it really is; you should totally be reading Winter Soldier), fic is kind of superfluous, but the heart wants what it wants. (my heart also wants hot Steve/Bucky/Natasha threesome porn. because yes.)
This was also an attempt to find my way into Natasha's head, because she is very difficult but I have come to love her and want to write about her, so...
Also, I am a terrible person for forgetting to mention this before now, but kalakirya recorded a podfic of "64 Colors", aka, the one where Darcy colors with the Avengers, and it is lovely.
***
Yesterday, I read Sisterhood Everlasting the final Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants book.
The thing about this book is HOLY CRAP, SHE KILLED TIBBY! Talking around that, I feel like if you really like spending time with these girls, you will probably find this book compelling? I do, so I did, and despite the fact that I could see every blatant manipulation of my feelings coming a mile away, I still felt those feelings strongly.
I thought she did a good job with Bee's depression after the news, was mixed on Carmen's isolation (really? CARMEN isn't on the phone all the time? her phone not working on the train ride was contrived and yet it worked, because I liked that she made a connection with Roberto and his kids), and got downright irritated with Lena's moping over Kostos (didn't she put this away years and years ago? it was her choices that led to her not being with him, and so I got annoyed). I knew it was going to turn out that Tibby hadn't killed herself, or if she actually had, it was because she was already dying, and I was unsurprised that she'd had a kid, but the parts with Bee and Bailey (she named her daughter Bailey, so yes, I sobbed) were lovely. And I knew Bee wasn't going to end her own pregnancy, because that would never happen in these books, but I'm glad Bee came to the decision herself rather than having been talked into it by the nurse or Eric.
I liked that Tibby was able - FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE - to sort everyone out, and I do think that there is some truth in the way friendships shift and change as we get older, and the way you question everything when something so huge happens and you didn't know about it, or even see it coming, even if occasionally they all felt like they'd regressed back to their 16yo selves.
So I'm glad I read it, but I don't think it'd work unless you really liked the other books.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/451730.html.
people have commented there.
Why I Am Not a Painter
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
~Frank O'Hara
***
I posted a story yesterday:
Another Country (at AO3)
Avengers (2012); Bucky/Natasha; adult; 1,355 words
Natasha has reconciled herself to the past in ways he can't yet, in ways he might never be able to.
I really wanted some movieverse Bucky/Natasha, but there isn't much out there. I guess when (comics) canon is doing so well by them (and, oh, it really is; you should totally be reading Winter Soldier), fic is kind of superfluous, but the heart wants what it wants. (my heart also wants hot Steve/Bucky/Natasha threesome porn. because yes.)
This was also an attempt to find my way into Natasha's head, because she is very difficult but I have come to love her and want to write about her, so...
Also, I am a terrible person for forgetting to mention this before now, but kalakirya recorded a podfic of "64 Colors", aka, the one where Darcy colors with the Avengers, and it is lovely.
***
Yesterday, I read Sisterhood Everlasting the final Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants book.
The thing about this book is HOLY CRAP, SHE KILLED TIBBY! Talking around that, I feel like if you really like spending time with these girls, you will probably find this book compelling? I do, so I did, and despite the fact that I could see every blatant manipulation of my feelings coming a mile away, I still felt those feelings strongly.
I thought she did a good job with Bee's depression after the news, was mixed on Carmen's isolation (really? CARMEN isn't on the phone all the time? her phone not working on the train ride was contrived and yet it worked, because I liked that she made a connection with Roberto and his kids), and got downright irritated with Lena's moping over Kostos (didn't she put this away years and years ago? it was her choices that led to her not being with him, and so I got annoyed). I knew it was going to turn out that Tibby hadn't killed herself, or if she actually had, it was because she was already dying, and I was unsurprised that she'd had a kid, but the parts with Bee and Bailey (she named her daughter Bailey, so yes, I sobbed) were lovely. And I knew Bee wasn't going to end her own pregnancy, because that would never happen in these books, but I'm glad Bee came to the decision herself rather than having been talked into it by the nurse or Eric.
I liked that Tibby was able - FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE - to sort everyone out, and I do think that there is some truth in the way friendships shift and change as we get older, and the way you question everything when something so huge happens and you didn't know about it, or even see it coming, even if occasionally they all felt like they'd regressed back to their 16yo selves.
So I'm glad I read it, but I don't think it'd work unless you really liked the other books.
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/451730.html.
people have commented there.