Poetry by Beth Ann Fennelly

Beth Ann Fennelly, an OA contributor, reads at The Oxford American magazine's 10th anniversary Southern Music Issue release party at Ground Zero Blues Club in Clarksdale, Miss.

In my opinion, Beth Ann Fennelly who teaches at Ole Miss — along with her husband, novelist, short story writer, Tom Franklin — is the best US poet of this decade. Her poem, The Kudzu Chronicles, is the best contemporary Southern poem (and I have read a lot of them) out there.

First Warm Day in a College Town

Today is the day the first bare-chested
runners appear, coursing down College Hill
as I drive to campus to teach, hard

not to stare because it’s only February 15,
and though I now live in the South,
I spent my girlhood in frigid Illinois

hunting Easter eggs in snow,
or trick-or-treating in the snow,
an umbrella protecting my cardboard wings,

so now it’s hard not to see these taut colts
as my reward, these yearlings testing the pasture,
hard as they come toward my Nissan

not to turn my head as they pound past,
hard not to angle the mirror
to watch them cruise down my shoulder,

too hard, really, when I await them like crocuses,
search for their shadows
as others do the grounghog’s, and suddenly

here they are, the boys without shirts,
how fleet of foot, how cute their buns, I have made it
again, it is spring.

Hard to recall just now
that these are the torsos of my students,
or my past or future students, who every year

grow one year younger, get one year fewer
of my funny jokes and hip references
to Fletch and Nirvana, which means

some year if they catch me admiring
the hair downing their chests, centering
between their goalposts of hipbones,

then going undercover beneath their shorts,
the thin red or blue nylon shorts, the fabric
of flapping American flags or the rigid sails of boats —

some year, if they catch me admiring, they won’t
grin grins that make me, busted,
grin back — hard to know a spring will come

when I’ll have to train my eyes
on the dash, the fuel gauge nearing empty,
hard to think of that spring, that

distant spring, that very very very
(please God) distant
spring.

This poem opens her 2008 book of poems:

UNMENTIONABLES

Original Civil War Photographs

Variously referred to as The Civil War by most everyone, but in the South you'll hear it often called as The War Between The States. Oh, and for those "unreconstructed" Southern souls, it's sometimes called The War of Northern Aggression. Your call.

Click on the link below:

Original Civil War Photographs

Jackson Pollack - Mural

The critic Clement Greenberg, Pollock's principal champion, said he took one look at this painting and realized that "Jackson was the greatest painter this country has produced." A Museum of Modern Art curator, the late Kirk Varnedoe, said Mural established Jackson Pollock as the world's premier modern painter.


Decoding Jackson Pollack — Smithsonian Magazine

Lonely Hearts

Each month Smithsonian Magazine has a Last Page feature. This one, from an old 2007 issue, struck me as quite funny. But maybe it's just me. Click on it to read it.

A sample:

Time Out

When this posting fellow needs a break, he can always scan and post Ms. Posting Fellow's engagement picture from years ago. Click on.



Or I guess he could post some interesting video out takes from the below movie(s).

Bloodroot by Amy Greene

I've pre-ordered and I am anxiously awaiting the January 2010 release of this novel. I first came across Amy Greene's writing as I chased my passion, short stories, in literary magazines. I found her writing fascinating. Learning that she had debut novel, Bloodroot, accepted and scheduled for publication by Knopf further piqued my interest in her work. I contacted both her and her husband, Adam, also a writer, to tell them how much I enjoyed her work in the short stories I read. Amy and Adam live in Eastern Tennessee with their two children. Buy her book. You won't be disappointed.


Booklist Online is an irresistible book review site and a powerful collection development and readers’ advisory tool serving libraries, library patrons, and book lovers. Complementing and expanding on Booklist magazine from the American Library Association, Booklist Online delivers highly searchable and creatively linked reviews, columns, and features—all designed to help users find exactly the right book.











Bloodroot.
Amy Greene, (author).

Jan. 2010. 304p. Knopf, hardcover, $24.95

REVIEW. First published October 15, 2009 (Booklist).

This stunning debut novel is a triumph of voice and setting. Following one impoverished family from the Depression up through the present, the story is told in six voices and set in a remote region called Bloodroot Mountain, so named for the rare flower that grows there, which can both poison and heal. The family’s struggles with poverty and human cruelty and their endless search for connection are set against the majestic Appalachian landscape, which is evoked in the simplest and most beautiful language. At the center of this dramatic story is Myra Lamb, raised by her loving grandmother and born with sky-blue eyes and a talent for connecting with animals and people. Allowed to run free on the family’s mountaintop, Myra is a charismatic figure who eventually draws the romantic interest of John Odom, the wealthy son of business owners in town. Their marriage, which starts out with so much promise, gradually turns abusive as Myra is imprisoned in her new home and prevented from seeing her grandmother. The long repercussions of their violent relationship, on both Myra’s children and Myra’s own sanity, are played out through the decades as each family member speaks to the lasting effects of John Odom’s hot temper. With a style as elegant as southern novelist Lee Smith’s and a story as affecting as The Color Purple, this debut offers stirring testimony to the resilience of the human spirit.

Lookin' for Love - Urban Cowboy

Don't know why, but I've always liked this silly little movie.

A Rather Short Story

Choosing Sunrise

Who knows how many words have been written about sunrises. Or how many paintings, or photographs. Or, in the age of video, how many times, from start to finish, has Earth's opening ritual has been captured. But seeing it with your own eyes is still seeing it for the first time.

She arrived on the beach when it was still too dark to see the ground and she bruised her feet on shells and rocks. She went forward though, until her feet felt the edge of the water and then she sat on the damp sand. She felt the water come forward and go back, but couldn't yet see it.

It starts with a glow, really, making it look like it’s the sea which illuminates the Earth.Then a few golden-yellowish rays shoot forward, like sentries coming to see if this area is ready to be lit. Finally, the almost indistinguishable shape begins to rise and, even with its tiny tip, it begins to fill up the whole world with light almost immediately. It did this this day it seems to let Ellen know that it (and other things) were much bigger than her or even this planet. She got the message and because of the Sun's debut, her body began to warm.

Somewhere, almost 17 miles away, her daughter was knocking on her door because it was time to go to the doctor. More tests. Ha! Ellen had, for weeks, contemplated writing her daughter a letter.Telling her what it was and that, for centuries, whenever someone in their family had it in their brain, it had never been anything else but a slow, painful death. She wanted to tell her that you have to live life and not spend so much (or any) time worrying about the end... because it will end. Worry instead about being able to maintain a closeness with those around you.

But she didn't write it, the letter, not one word. Because had her mother written such a letter before the screams of agony and writhes of pain began, Ellen would've discarded it as the final, senseless blathering of a dying old lady.The daughter would have to figure it out for herself and, hopefully, like Ellen, before it became too late.

The oxycodone began to kick in — she took triple her day's prescription this time — so, no pain but she felt the need to lie down, first resting her elbows on the sand, then bringing her whole body down.The soft, damp sand made a surprisingly comfortable bed and she wondered why she had never done this before, slept on the beach. Her eyelids grew heavy and she closed them for a moment.

The red hue of the Sun was still visible in her mind and she quickly opened her eyes again to see it.Yes, she thought squinting at the fully emerged Sun, it's one sight we haven't been able to ruin yet. She was drifting now and smiled because it didn't hurt, not at all. Her last, pleasant thought was that they may never find her out here and that that was okay.

DNJ

Cinderella Updated

Victorian Era Asylum Nursery - UK

Click on to enlarge the picture


Mental Asylum Nursery - London

© JP Godwin - Photographer

This is a picture from the children's nursery of a derelict mental asylum. The mental asylum has been derelict for decades, but most of it is in excellent condition, it was one of London's last great Victorian mental asylums, and was completed in 1903. The derelict complex is guarded by security, and strictly, nobody is allowed casual entry.

The children's ward, located inside the same building as the padded cells, housed those born while their mothers were behind the walls of the asylum. The room is actually just a converted prison cell.

The asylum is massive, around 100,000 sq ft, and walking around it is a nerve testing experience. You leave with images that stay in your mind for days. I've visited seven times and have documented most of the rooms inside the 20 large buildings that make up the complex. From the mortuary, to the padded cells, to the dentists operating room, everything remains almost as the same as the day it was left. — JPG

Nice Rack!

Woodstock's 40th Anniversary - 08/15/69

As it's said, "If you remember Woodstock, you probably weren't there."

Click through these great Photos:

Then

And

Now

And...

Goin' Up The Country - Canned Heat

Stand By Me

This song is supposedly based on a 1955 Gospel version song of the same name by The Staples Singers. Ben E. King wanted The Drifters to record it, but the group's manager rejected it. After leaving The Drifters, King brought it to the legendary songwriting team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who gave it a more contemporary sound and polished it into a hit. The bassline at the beginning was Stoller's idea. Many others have covered "Stand By Me" , but give a listen. I like this version by street singer, Roger Ridley and others... much better.


Another one?

Bring it on Home: Roger Ridley

Sopranos Tribute

The theme "Woke Up This Morning" is by the British band, Alabama 3. They are known in the US as simply "A3".

Lead singer, Rob Spragg, wrote this song after hearing about a case in which a wife finally shot her abusive husband after twenty years. It was originally written as an expression of female empowerment.

Final Season (6th), Final Scene.

I think the Sopranos was great — and often very humorous — TV drama. To me, the series also featured some of the best in popular music exquisitely woven into the plot(s). My favorite character? Why, Uncle Junior, of course.

Great website dedicated to the Sopranos - for news, memorabilia, music and trivia. Check it out.

David Chase, the creator, writer and director, has hinted a movie may be in the future.

Street Scenes in Niamey, Niger

Want to take a walk?

Click on for a larger photo.

Library Book Drop

In Newton Massachusetts after a three day weekend



From the 07/28/09 issue of New Yorker magazine.

Love at the Five and Dime - Nanci Griffith

A favorite song.



R.I.P.

These Five and Dime — "downtown" — department stores are gone forever:

S.H. Kress (1896-1981)
J.J. Newberry (1911-1997)
F.W. Woolworth (1878-1997)
and others were the precursors to the big box stores
of today: WAL-MART, KMART, etc.

Deep Thoughts

From Jack Handey's interstitial segments on Saturday Night Live (1991 - 1998)

Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

Children need encouragement. If a kid gets an answer right, tell him it was a lucky guess. That way he develops a good, lucky feeling.

If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "Probably because of something you did."

The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face.

One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going to take my little nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old burned-out warehouse. "Oh, no," I said. "Disneyland burned down." He cried and cried, but I think that deep down, he thought it was a pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but it was getting pretty late.

Maybe in order to understand mankind, we have to look at the word itself: "Mankind". Basically, it's made up of two separate words - "mank" and "ind". What do these words mean ? It's a mystery, and that's why so is mankind.

The memories of my family outings are still a source of strength to me. I remember we'd all pile into the car - I forget what kind it was - and drive and drive. I'm not sure where we'd go, but I think there were some trees there. The smell of something was strong in the air as we played whatever sport we played. I remember a bigger, older guy we called "Dad." We'd eat some stuff, or not, and then I think we went home. I guess some things never leave you.

Back After This Commercial Break

(embed removed by video owner)

Click on:

Velvet Jones - Eddie Murphy

Neko Case

Deep Red Bells

“It’s based on the Green River killer,” she says. “When I was a kid in Tacoma, we were all scared all the time. I actually carried a knife to school with me. The ‘you’ in the song is one of his victims. They were all prostitutes, but we didn’t know that. They could have been anybody; they could have been us.”

When you know this, “hiding place” becomes pretty ominous, and “silver tongues” may allude to the way the killer — Gary Ridgway — used sweet talk and photographs of his son to lull his victims into trusting him.

This song's powerful lyric

Roseanne Cash

I like her.



Some more ?

I Don't Know Why
Seven Year Ache

Edvard Munch's "Scream"

The Kudzu Chronicles — Poetry of the South

By Beth Ann Fennelly. She and her husband, Tom Franklin, a short story writer, both teach at Ole Miss. In my opinion, Beth Ann Fennelly is the one of — if not the— best poet writing today. Her poems of the South and her life in Mississippi are simply captivating. This video is of her reading an excerpt from "The Kudzu Chronicles", a rather long poem. Contained within the complete poem are references to Faulkner, the Neshoba County Fair and her home in Oxford.


Missionary Work — few folks really like poetry. Some say they do. By clicking on here, you may either read "The Kudzu Chronicles" or, if you prefer, listen to her reading it and discover her for yourself.

The Kudzu Chronicles

Another one:

Souvenir

Click on for more of this superb writer:

Essay



The University
of Mississippi
Department of English
Beth Ann Fennelly

Associate Professor of English

Office: Bondurant W104
Telephone: 662-915-7914
E-mail: bafennel@olemiss.edu

"Mad as Hell"

Wonderful Peter Finch (as Howard Beale) scene in the movie: Network. In my opinion, this is a great, satirical Paddy Chayefsky/Sidney Lumet film. Today, it seems sort of topical... to me.

Big Joe Williams

The material for this interesting post was provided by Joe B. Stewart, who knows an awfully lot of stuff about an awfully lot of stuff. You'll have to click on the photos to read the text. Sorry. My posting skills are limited.




Big Joe Williams, the famous Miss. blues man grew up on my grandfather Marion Stewart's farm outside Crawford, Mississippi.

I took George Cummings (a founder of Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show) to Crawford in May of 1978 to meet Big Joe. They sang and played together at that time on a back porch. It was memorable. So George and I arranged to take Big Joe up to Muscle Shoals, Alabama for a recording session in late August and early Sept. of 1978. We did this and a CD was released some years later in or around 1998.





Big Joe Williams is not to be confused with Joe Williams who was a jazz singer who performed with the Count Basie band.

Below is a picture of me and Big Joe with a 60 pound watermelon. (Joe B. Stewart)


This picture was taken in Crawford in August 1978 as we got ready to leave for Muscle Shoals.

Big Joe's signature song that he is credited as having written was:
BABY PLEASE DONT GO.
It has been covered by many artists from Mose Allison to Bob Dylan.

A first grade girl handed in this drawing for a homework assignment.

After it was graded and the child brought it home, she returned to school the next day with the following note:


Dear Ms. Davis,

I want to be very clear on my child's illustration. It is NOT of me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint. I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm. This picture is of me selling a shovel.


Mrs. Harrington

Mississippi Delta Blues, Robert Johnson

Robert Johnson is one of the most admired and influential Delta blues artists despite his short life and the small number of recordings that he left. His songs, such as "Sweet Home Chicago", "Come on in My Kitchen", and "Crossroad Blues", are blues classics -- played by thousands of blues artists and adapted by rock 'n' roll artists such as the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin and Eric Clapton. His life and work would later influence the growth and talent of such famous musicians as Eric Clapton, Muddy Waters, Bonnie Raitt, the Rolling Stones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and yes, Elvis.

Sweet Home Chicago - the song

Robert Johnson was a gifted singer, guitarist and songwriter whose life story is wrapped in mystery and legend. Only two photographs are known to exist of him and he recorded only 29 songs before his death in 1938 at the age of 27. Many of his contemporaries believed that he met the Devil at a lonely crossroads at midnight and made a deal to sell his soul in return for becoming the greatest blues musician of all time. More likely, he was blessed with enormous talent and spent a lot of time learning from other blues masters and honing his skills. He achieved some success and fame from recordings and performances during his life and was scheduled to perform at the first "Spirituals to Swing" concert at Carnegie Hall when he died.

Although his burial place remains uncertain (Gayle Wardlow may have tracked it down), it is generally accepted that his death was not accidental. Johnson was poisoned by a jealous husband (or girlfriend) while performing at a juke joint near Greenwood, Mississippi and died on August 16, 1938. He defined the 30s blues era, but died in 1938 at the young age of 27. Though he only wrote 29 songs, his impact on the world of music has been incredible. Many consider him the father of modern rock and roll.

A Favorite Poet

Triolet *

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,
The booze and the neon and Saturday night,
The swaying in darkness, the lovers like spoons?
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?
Does he hum them to while away sad afternoons
And the long, lonesome Sundays? Or sing them for spite?
Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,
The booze and the neon and Saturday night?

by A.E. Stallings

I really like her stuff.

*A Triolet is a poem consisting of eight lines with a rhyme scheme of abaaabab in which the first, fourth, and seventh lines are the same, as are the second and eighth lines.

A New Product — as seen on TV

"Hey, Billy Mays here, and this stuff REALLY works!
Only $19.95. But wait, there's more. Order today and we'll send you, no, not one, but two bottles..."

Vern Gosdin R.I.P.

August 5, 1934 - April 28, 2009

A favorite singer of sad, sad country love songs.

"That Just About Does It... "

"Do You Believe Me Now?"

"Till The End" w/Janie Fricke

Deep Sunset in Destin, Florida

Looking west, out over Choctawhatchee Bay.

Wringing out the last bit of day.

Kathy Mattea

Another singer I like.

"A Few Good Things Remain"

Used Poem VI

    Requiem for a Mind

Hands trembling hold the chair
Across her forehead knots of hair
Concealed her dying brain within,
Each tiny cell a requiem.

The vigorous spark of life no more.
Each dendron slack, still, a silent door;
Behind the curve of cranial bone
Knowledge lies without a home

The mind that once directed one,
Decisive action planned and done,
Now thrash in ragged disarray
To dull her glance with sad dismay.

This central power, this wondrous map
Of buzzing chemistry and magnetic zap
Will die and so, too, end all her confusion.
Her life gone, so then that mind’s occlusion.

DNJ

Don Williams

"Good Ole Boys Like Me"

This song pretty well "nails it" for many of us growing up in the '50s — in the South.

Korean Car Ad — Funny

A Favorite from the Eighties

I don't like many songs of the 80s. This one I like:



"The Living Years" – Mike and the Mechanics

Father: William David James
October 14, 1919 - December 12, 2006

Photos by Eudora Welty

Before she was a writer she was a photographer.
Photos are titled: "Sunday Morning", "Underwear"and "Kite".

More of her work shown here.

Eva Cassidy

September 2, 1963 — November 2, 1996

"Songbird"



More about Eva, her life, her sad death.

Despair

Aimee Mann

One of my favorite singers from her CD: "The Forgotten Arm" and the video is from some TV show called "House".

Click it to listen and watch:
That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart

Another From "The Forgotten Arm"
Video

Other Venues:
Save Me _— from movie: "Magnolia"
Red Vines

Namib-Naukluft National Park — Namibia

The Deadvlei area in Namib-Naukluft National Park — the dunes of the Sossusvlei — in the oldest desert on earth.

Gary Stewart — a tribute

May 28, 1945 - December 16, 2003

In my opinion, Gary Stewart is one great "Honky Tonk" Country singer.




His Sad Life's Story

I Love This Guy!
Want some more?

Drinkin' Thing

She's Acting Single, I'm Drinking Doubles

You're Not The Woman You Used To Be

I See The "Want To" In Your Eyes

Johnny Cash — a tribute.

February 26, 1932 - September 12, 2003


I Still Miss Someone

With Kris Kristofferson

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss

If five years ago, someone had asked me, “what about a duet fusing rock star, Robert Plant (age 63, former terrific lead singer with Led Zeppelin) with Alison Krauss (age 40, a terrific blue grass artist)?" I would have smiled and asked, “what are you smoking?” Well, well-known music producer, T- Bone Burnett put the duet together and created a CD: “Raising Sand”. I like a lot of music. A lot of different music. The best music I bought in 2008? Raising Sand.

Great blue grass! Click on:

Your Long Journey

Airlines - A Fading of Dynasties

By clicking on the below link, I promise you a treat.

The Way It Was

There are only a few of these airlines still flying. This
time next year more may fail with such fuel price volatility
and economic uncertainties. Everyone will enjoy this slide
show, whether you were an airline employee or a
passenger...we were all involved over the years
in some manner. Such great, bittersweet memories.

How sad that most have vanished, and how poignant is the
musical tribute: "Time to Say Goodbye", as sung by
Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli.

Those were the days, my friend(s).

Catching Her Drift

Going to college in Nashville, I had a girlfriend, Lynne Lastname, from Evansville, Indiana. Pretty. Tall, thin, long blonde hair. A “real” blonde. It‘s easy to tell. Anyway, I met her at a SCLC meeting about a month before Kennedy was shot.

On that sad November day, I was reading to a blind student from Kentucky, Larry Lastname, when my roommate, Terry Lastname, walked in and told me the news from Dallas.

Lynne and I spent a lot of time together in late November being pissed off at the senselessness of the assassination and quite depressed along with the rest of the country. I was profoundly affected. So much so, I wrote a short, sophomoric poem:

John is dead.
The world asks,
“Why”?
And Dallas asks,
“Why here?”

In the spring, Lynne moved off campus into an apartment. In the house next door lived a transvestite. His name was Larry. Many evenings, at or near dusk, Larry would prance out on his back patio dressed for an evening out and I guess looking for love. Slinky, almost always in a dark dress, pumps, stockings, well - coifed wig and lots of make-up: red, red lipstick, heavy mascara and eye shadow, etc. We never knew her name.

We used to laugh about it. Lynne said, "There’s a man and woman living next door. We never see them together, though. Strangest thing is they have the same shoe size".

One night, I said, "Imagine what trouble he must go through. I mean shower, probably shave his legs and maybe underarms, put on make-up, shape up and hook up his padded bra, rummage through the closet to find something fetching, check his stockings for runs, pull it all together, dress and go out to find what the evening has to offer... her. Imagine all the effort"

Lynne looked at me with a wry smile and said, "Yeah, just imagine."

Photo and story. Mystery solved.

I've been haunted by the frightened beauty of this little girl since I first saw her photo in National Geographic Magazine the mid-80s.

For the story: Click on.

National Geographic's Afghan Girl, Sharbat Gula- then at 13, found again at 30.

Photography ( the eyes have it.)

Photography and Photo Titles by Stefan Beutler
Subject: Katharina
Location: Erfstadt, Germany

Click to enlarge
"In The Dark"

"I Feel You"

An Edward Hopper Retrospective

For those who don't know, Edward Hopper is a mid-20th century realist painter and print maker. He's a favorite of mine.

This slide show video of his work is set to the song, "Saturday Night" (by The Blue Nile, a Glasgowegian group), sung by lead singer, Paul Buchanan. I think the music well-compliments a viewing of Hopper's work.

"My Lover Will Go"

The Photography?
by Daria Endresen

The Music?
by Ane Brun

Used Poem V

Foster Woman             

Her needful body’s chain of custody 
Was often passed around.
And she sometimes called herself 
The Isle of Man. 

Her magic, bold and Circean eyes   
Promised a warm harbor.
She bid the Manships berth
To offload generous seed.

Not one of these off-loaded vessels
Stayed beyond a night.    
She only paused at each
To accept proffered bounty.

She said she only found
The life she needed.
She said she never found
The life she wanted. 

DNJ                     

Must Love Dogs... to Love this Book.

I’m not much good at writing a book review. I’d much rather discuss it with someone who has also read the same thing, but, when I finished reading my pre- release copy – I was given an early heads up by “Book Slut”, a blog I follow — of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle , I became its evangelist, and touted it to everyone who would hold still. I finished the 566 page puppy in early June and since then have given copies as birthday presents (3) and Christmas gifts (4) and prevailed upon seven or eight other folks to read it. Based on their responses I’ve come to realize that there are probably two types of people in the world: those who will love this novel, and those who will hate it. The two opposing camps either say: “ I was up nights late with it, unable to put it down.” ( this was me, too ).

Or:

“To be honest, I hated it. I skipped entire pages of it. The narrative was really boring. He could have cut out half of the pages”. ( its heft alone will prevent many from choosing to read it on a whim. )

I was drawn to Wroblewski’s debut novel for two reasons. First, because dogs play a large part — a large part . The second reason was because I read that the story draws a parallel to Shakespeare’s Hamlet. And so it does. I think to fully enjoy the story’s sensibility one has to believe that dogs are thinking, feeling beings and also accept that the dogs dealt with in the novel are very special, highly intelligent animals. Indeed, Wroblewski goes to great lengths to persuade his readers of these traits, detailing the years spent developing the breed and the grueling hours of training each day it takes to make “a Sawtelle dog". Anyone who can’t accept dogs playing such a large role in a novel of this length isn’t going to be able to stand the book.

Almondine is the dog ( and, interestingly, the Ophelia character ) who nearly raises Edgar (the book’s Hamlet figure). Edgar’s first memory is this:

Between the honey-colored slats of the crib a whiskery muzzle slides forward until its cheeks pull back and a row of dainty front teeth bare themselves in a ridiculous grin.

The nose quivers. The velvet snout dimples... Fine, dark muzzle fur. Black nose, leather of lacework creases, comma of nostrils flexing with each breath... At once, the muzzle he knows is awake. It snorts. Angles right and left. Withdraws. Outside the crib, Almondine’s forequarters appear. Her head is reared back, her ears cocked forward.

A cherry-brindled eye peers back at him.
Whoosh of her tail.
Be still. Stay still.

Much of the novel is like this, simple communication between a boy and a dog. But, there is a complication: Edgar is a mute, so he signs everything to the dogs. The only point in the book where I was tempted to put it away, doubtful that dogs could do such a thing, was when Edgar has the dogs portray the murder of his father, to test his uncle, Claude’s conscience. But, remember this is Hamlet. The play within a play. But acted out by dogs? I was doubtful, but the training of the dogs to do this seemed somewhat plausible, and I willingly let Wroblewski pay the story forward. After all, the dogs memorize a simple sequence:

Roll on your back.
Carry this to the other dog.
Tag that dog.

One aspect of the novel that I feel makes “more” sense than in Shakespeare’s original is the relationship between Trudy ( the Gertrude character ) and Claude ( Claudius ), her deceased husband’s brother. In this story, she’s a complex woman, trying to run a farm on her own in rural Wisconsin in the mid-Twentieth Century. It makes sense for her to accept Claude’s offer to move back to the farm and help her to continue the line of Sawtelle dogs. We get to see far more of the inner workings of this relationship than in Hamlet.

Of course, Wroblewski takes a big risk here. But it’s one that works for me. But I must tell you this: I read much of the book sensing my best friend for eleven years, Joe, my big ol’ black Lab (deceased 10/2010), was reading along with me. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle isn’t for everybody. If you genuinely like dogs and maybe even have pictures of your dog on your desk ... or in your purse or wallet, I think you’ll be delighted with this tale. If not, I don’t know if you’ll make it past the prologue and first chapter. Me? I love dogs. I loved this book. "Saw Tell"(e).

Carolina Chocolate Drops

I know I posted this on the "class" blog a few months ago, but, I love these folks.

Used Poem IV

Two Different Worlds

The boy was sure of something,
She was just the one.
The girl was sure of nothing,
Her life had just begun.

For him, he'd found his partner,
There was never any doubt.
For her, he was fine for now,
But there was more to learn about.

He thought it was a perfect start,
Something bound to surely grow.
She thought it may be but a pause,
But had no words to tell him so.

DNJ

Herding Cats

A Song By Lucinda Williams

"Something About What Happens When We Talk"

Used Poem III

Silence Is The Perfect Answer

For days, she painted blue.
She painted until she was drunk with blue,
Until lines grew thick, like Picasso’s blue—
Not bones, but the shadows of bones
In desert's harsh light. 

She was painting in the place of making
And unmaking. Everything spilled 
Open, tugging loose, breaking the dry river
Stones until their geode hearts bled, not red,
But with the cerulean she chose to use. 

She heard the hawk cry thief, thief, 
Marking the air. In the silence after, 
She could almost trace the sound
Back to the beginning, to blue lines, 
Liquid with light, She named them. 

The Canyon. The Sediment. The Layers of Rock. 
Then she dropped the hawk’s feather from high 
Above and waited for the echo when it touched 
The canyon floor. She waited forever and forever 
And forever. No echo ever came.

DNJ

Lake Okeechobee, Fl- Fishing w/Son.

Photos: #1 At dawn, #2 9lbs.10oz, #3 Snowy Egrets

"Dublin Blues"

I'm really taken with Texas Country Rock.
I think it's the honesty I feel in the lyrics. Maybe it's another acquired taste... like martinis.

"Crying", Roy Orbison & K.D. Lang

Great song. These two enhance it with one of the best duet treatments of a popular song. Movie out takes in the video are from "Hiding Out" a 1987 film with Jon Cryer and Annabeth Gish. Frivolous, but not a bad '80s genre film.

"Blue Girl"

By Sabrina Cabada

Graham Gordy - Great article on writing

Double click on each page to make the type large enough to read.

Farm Sounds