March The Daily (W)Rite March wk 4

The New Daily (W)Rite

wk o4

Sunday, March 23, 2o14

March 23, 2o14

Afternoon sits on the windowsill
along with Dead Elvis,
Dexter and the other guys.
I'm sure the spring sun's surprised
to see the plastic snowman smile
as he dances on the window ledge
in greetings to the spring ahead.
My Peeps won't last the summer
if I leave them there and the window ledge,
and that's somewhat of a bummer.
I want the world, the trees
in the Energy Center parking lot,
the gray squirrels that will spend
their warm summer days
eating nuts and things beneath
the shade of those wonderful trees,
yes, I want them ALL to see
the tiny creatures that haunt my apartment.
rrw o3-23-14

Yes, it certainly is spring! However, it is a bit chilly and rainy. Folks are still out on the streets in their stocking caps and heavy winter coats, and the trees haven't begun to give birth to their lovely green children. But the birds know it's spring. I know it's spring by the winds breath. Yeah, still a bit cool but there's something gentle to the touch of it on my cheek, in my hair. No doubt . . . it's spring!

Tuesday, March 25, 2o14



March 24, 2o14 (Spring Poem No. 5)

"May I climb on top of you?
I'm very hot . . ." she said.
David just finished brushing
the toast crumbs from his beard,
I stared like a dead eagle at her tattoos:
A wild stallion outlined in black
galloping up a green, bicep hill side,
a drunken Donald Duck
posed for a fight
on her muscular, bare shoulder.
Caption: WHAT the FU***
you lookin at!
"Sure." I'm sure I said sure.
I know I was smiling.
She leaps up, no
flies like Superman,
up, up, and away
onto the booth seat,
one hand playfully, skillfully
turns the thermostat knob down
to sixty-five degrees.
"Ah, that's better."
She then waddles past us
to the table that needed clearing
leaving David and me admiring
the heroic acts
of the tip driven waitress
who served us spring breakfast
this lovely afternoon.

 

Yep! Yesterday I did get David up and out of his apartment just in time for breakfast at The Diner. He ate pretty light, bird like. I, of course, scarfed down a plate full of scrambled eggs wrapped in a hot flower tortilla and home-fries (back in NM we called them papitas!).  Bette Maffucci was there. We said hi as she passed our booth. We didn't notice until we were finished eating that she was sitting alone right behind us! So, we went over and apologized for not inviting her to sit with us, and we sit down to chat with her. Bette owned and ran the old Town Tavern back when I worked here. She's the one who gave me my first job in Norman Town. A feisty woman even now with lots of opinions. VERY disappointed in me when I told her we were getting ready to go to Wal-Mart for groceries. She doesn't like Wal-Mart. She thinks you should buy only local. It was great to see her. It was great just to get out of the apartment and visit with the world . . . even if it was only for a little while.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

March 26, 2o14 (Spring Poem No. 6)
 
Spring rain brings hope.
You can see it on the sidewalks,
in the leisurely stroll
of those passing by.
No hurry in a spring's rain.
Even the cars that usually rush
passed my window . . .
patiently gliding along,
their engines sigh like . . .
like a newborn waking up
after a midmorning nap.
The sparrows too
seem somewhat subdued
when a clean spring rain
comes calling.
No yelling, no screaming,
no honking of horns.
We humans . . . a strange species.
Quite gentle we can be at times.
rrw o3-26-14

Sorry. Got busy doing . . . well . . . nothing actually. I just missed a day. It's late. Very late. I'll write something tomorrow.

 

 

March The Daily (W)Rite wk3

The New Daily (W)Rite



wk o3

Monday

David and I went to this last weekend's Art Walk. I know, every town or city that has an art community probably has an Art Walk of some kind either like ours or just like ours. I know Tulsa's Art Walk is almost identical to ours except theirs happens on the 1st Friday of the month and ours
talks place on the 2nd Friday of the month. So, all Art Walks are set up about the same . . . but each is its own experience, its unique self made up of artists from the area that they live in! Yes, there are some artists from other places, but for the most part the art you'll see is by local artists. The nice thing about Norman's Art Walk is that it gives you a chance to "mingle" with every type of human beings Norman has to offer. You can meet starving artists (is there any other kind?),  rich patrons, community  leaders, rich folk, poor folk, musicians, OU students, locals the young and the old. If you want to see Norman Town, the people that define it, our Art Walk is a good place to start.

Wednesday, March 19, 2o14

Finding it difficult to write. Well, finding it difficult to do anything except sleep and eat and watch TV. Takes all my will just to sit here and try to think of something worth putting down in my blog.

Could be a mental block. It could be physical in part. I am feeling rather tired, light-headed. Could be a combination of the two. More than likely it is both with a smidgen of depression which is always here inside me. . . or maybe the depression is caused by the mental and physical fatigue. No way to know for sure.

I have no ambitions of any kind. I don't care about anything . . . at least not today. Just don't want to write poetry, feel like there's nothing worth writing about . . . and yet I know there is plenty to write about. I just can't see it clearly. As I said before, I've been looking over my old poetry and find it hard to read . . . It's horrible writing, nothing but a bunch of clichéd observations . . . poorly written all of it. So, here's where I am right now: ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE. Hope I can pull it together soon. I think I'll signoff for awhile. Maybe later I'll have something more interesting to say. :(

Friday, March 21, 2o14

Yes, it's Friday. Even more important, Friday night! Well, Friday night use to be important. Back when you couldn't wait to get out to the bars to drink . . . and maybe pick up somebody for a little "after hour" partying. Yeah, you remember how it use to be. At work in the glass plant. Counting down the hours until quitting time. Jumping in the shower as soon as you got home 'cause the glass plant is a hot and greasy and you by working in it for 12 hours today is beyond filthy. Takes a good hour just to get the stink off  you. Lots of soap and hot, hot as you can stand it, water pumping out of the shower head. And then dry off with one of mom's fluffiest towels, shave, brush the teeth and slap on the Friday night threads . . . sometimes a tie but never knotted tight . . . loose, that's the way to wear a Friday night tie. And then to the bars. looking as you drink for that one set of eyes that continues to look your way. An maybe you both look at each other at the same time and maybe you go home (her place or mine) together and . . .

Well, that's night Friday nights any more for me. Mostly . . . well, mostly it's just watching TV and listening to the cars drive don Trout Ave. THEY re moving towards the bars. And if I stay up past 2 in the morning, I get to hear the college boys who live next door whooping and laughing their way into their house. Yes, sometimes I'm jealous of them. Jealous of their energy, their hope that something good will happen . . . if I can just get drunk enough.

6:17 PM

So, Spring in our humble Norman Town came to visit yesterday, and somehow that inspired me to write a poem about the "first day of Spring." AND that inspired me to write ANOTHER Spring poem today! So here they are. The first writing I have done in a while.

Spring Poems

 March 20, 2014

The first day of spring
as warm and comforting
as the thick coats,
the wool hats
we gratefully sling
into the darkest corners
of the cluttered closet.
The birds too conservative
with their happy cheeps and chirrups
they've known the warmer skies ...
that had transformed quite suddenly
into a harsh winter storm
the one they'd experienced
just the day before.

 March 21, 2014

Sparrows do not care for coffee.
This one is curious though.
Adventurous enough
to hop over to my cup,
jump up on its rim
and dip his beak in!
With a shudder
he flutters away.
I could never be a sparrow.
I love the bitter, bitterness
of black, black coffee
and the shady shadows
of a shadowy spring morning.

 

March The Daily (W)Rite WK 2

The New Daily (W)Rite

wk o2

Wednesday,

Here's my dilemma: I want to write everyday, but I never do it! Why? Hmmm, that's a damn good question. I tell myself I'm too tired, I'm too sick (sometimes), it's too cold, too hot, too "nice"  a day to not go out . . . Sometimes I tell myself there's nothing to write about. Of course, that's nonsense. There's always something to write about. Sometimes, I tell myself, you're not a good enough writer. That may be true. I've been looking over a lot of my poetry lately, and I really don't like most of it. The poems are just not right. Lots of clichés, misspellings, and the phrasing is just B-O-R-I-N-G! but I'll never get better at it unless I WRITE.

Things I Don't Like:

1.   I don't like the chubby little girl who pours my coffee into a paper To-Go cup but doesn't put a sleeve on it OR a lid. A new deal at the Gray Owl, I guess, that I must now put MY own

sleeve, MY own To-Go lid on the cup of coffee you just handed me! Why? Do you not know that the paper coffee cup is HOT and I burn my fingers as I try to carry it over to where the sleeves are stored on the condiment counter . . . five feet away? And when I ask her to kindly put a the lid on my To Go cup, she's so put out: that disgruntled little smile, that crucified sigh she makes as she begrudgingly slaps the plastic lid on.

2.   I don't like MSNBC talking about race all the time! Everyday there's something about race. Yesterday, the nice MSNBC news host, Joy Reid, showed her audience a bunch of people (white people) wearing pseudo-traditional African clothing, in different colored make-ups (gray, blue, red,) but not black, and then asks her viewers, "Do you think this is raciest? I think it's raciest." I don't know if everything is raciest. Just because a white person takes pictures of themselves dressed in African like garb and paints their faces different colors, doesn't mean their raciest. They may be insensitive to other people . . . but who isn't insensitive these days . . . or in any period of American history. Take the picture above that I worked on. Is it raciest because the skin color is brown? It's not. Doesn't have anything to do with race. I was just creating a fantasy TROLL character. But some would see it and see me, and because I'm "white" and I created it, I must be raciest. I know race is a touchy thing for all of us. But sometimes things we may create have nothing to do with race.


3.   I don't like myself much. Particularly when I go off on some rant and become totally unreasonable. And I do that a lot. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't get so angry about it and express that anger in mean ways. But then again, is there anything wrong with being angry with current events, frustrated with other people? Of course not. Hell, we all have opinions, things we feel deeply. Most art is based on our views of the world, and a lot of that art is not pretty, not kind. I guess I'm not upset with myself for getting angry about life . . . I just need to find a "positive" way to express my feelings.

Thursday, March 13, 2o14

I'm thinking a lot about writing today. It's pretty simple. All I need to do is write. Yeah, but you know that old fear of failure troll that strolls around inside my brain housing group? That little turd ball can be quite intimidating. But I need to write. I need to do something with what little life I got left.

Way back in the 70s and 80s there was a photographer name Cindy Zimmerman - or as she called herself, Cindy Zimmerwoman, which we at The Tav shortened to just "ZIMMERWOMAN! -

decided to document The Town Tavern days when Bette Maffucci owned the little restaurant on Campus Corner. A great place for food, art and conversation. it was home to us "locals" and students. Some of the best times (and the worse times) of my life were spent at The Tavern. I worked there as a cook and . . .  an actor for Street Players Theatre. Anyway, The Tavern closed sometime in the late 80s. Just recently Bette started a Friends of The On & Only Town Tavern page on Facebook, and Zimmerwoman appeared with all these wonderful photos from The Tavern days . . . and I guess it inspired me to get started on documenting my "Life in Norman Town" through poetry and pictures. Yeah, I really want to do this. I mean, I gotta do something with my life, right? Something more than watching TV, staring out the window, drinking coffee and spending to much time wondering how the hell my existence got so . . . screwed up. if you want to know more about The Tav., try this site: https://www.facebook.com/groups/170260288976/

Friday, march 14, 2o14

 

Great art is the outward expression of an inner life in the artist, and this inner life will result in his personal vision of the world.

Edward Hopper

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/edward_hopper.html#jxlTaccG6zDzOwWX.99



Great art is the outward expression of an inner life in the artist, and this inner life will result in his personal vision of the world.

Edward Hopper

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/edward_hopper.html#jxlTaccG6zDzOwWX.99

"Great art is the outward expression of an inner life in the artist, and this inner life will result in his personal vision of the world. No amount of skillful invention can replace the essential element of imagination. One of the weaknesses of much abstract painting is the attempt to substitute the inventions of the human intellect for a private imaginative conception. The inner life of a human being is a vast and varied realm and does not concern itself alone with stimulating arrangements of color, form and design. The term life used in art is something not to be held in contempt, for it implies all of existence and the province of art is to react to it and not to shun it. Painting will have to deal  more fully and less obliquely with life and nature's phenomena before it can again become great."

Edward Hopper

Yes, I'm thinking a lot about art today, about writing, about photography as an art form. Where do I belong in art? What am I writing about? What do I wish to express?
I got turned on to Hopper because of a comment made on Facebook about one of my pictures I posted, "Where's Edward Hopper when you need him?" I took that statement as a slam. Of course I take everything as a slam. I wrote back, "Who's Edward Hopper?" ANOTHER friend spoke up, "You don't know who Edward Hopper is? Shame on you Woody!" And again I took offense to that remark . . . plus the fact that my friend spelled my name wrong. IT'S W-O-O-D-I-E, damn it!

But after I threw a private fit - my "friends" can be so pretentious sometimes - I decided to do a little research on the guy, and yes, I know WHO the guy is . . . okay, or least, I know one of his paintings, Nighthawks. And, yes, it is a favorite painting, though in all honesty, I don't think about it all the time.

And having read his biography, I realized I have a lot in common with this artist. His attitude towards art, his rather reclusive behavior . . . yeah, a lot in common with this guy. I found that Hopper quote about art on Wikipedia. Even though it's about painting, it really hit home to me about art in general. I need yet to discover my point of view, my 'voice" as a professor once said to me.

So it's Art walk tonight. Got my camera already to go. Taking shots tonight with the conscious 

idea of making pieces of art. Not just what I "see" but what my heart and mind see. Does that make sense? You see, I've been caught for awhile now between what I think an artist should create and what I as an artist want to create. For example, I want to take pictures that are not just pictures of a thing or a person but expresses something more. I like the idea of distorting pictures, using black and white, and color, and a mixture of both color and monochrome. like in this picture on the left.

So, my goal is to start discovering my voice as a photographer AND a poet. I wanna start doing things my way and not the way everybody tells me I should do it, DAMN IT! :)
 

March The Daily (W)Rite wk 1

The New Daily (W)Rite

wk o1



 Saturday, March o1

   Yes, Saturday. The first of March. Not an exceptional day. Cold, yes. A little drizzly out their in Norman Town. Not really wet, more slimy than rainy. Sort of like a snake. Not even close to the entrance of the lion that someone, somewhere, some time ago labeled the month as being. But it's understandable. The weather patterns are changing drastically . . . but NOT due to Global Warming (smile).
  
   Days are beginning to fade into each other. Months are too. I'm finding it difficult to keep up 

with time these days. One minute, an hour, a day . . . they're all blending together forming a giant blob of aging existence. Hmmm, okay. A bit too heavy handed with the bleak imagery, the metaphors, the similes. But I'm a poet struggling to find his real voice. So, going overboard with the phrasing . . . should be expected.

   If you haven't guessed yet, dear, reader, I am feeling a bit fragile today. Well, no surprise there. Fragile seems to be a constant state within me. But today . . . well, today . . . The past is creeping up on me taking its sweet time too rummaging inside my head looking for . . .  what? Actually, it is probably more truthful to say that I'm stalking the past because the past can't do anything . . . it's the past. Only I can conjure up all the misery of my life . . . or should I say, "lives?"

   I'm a bit worried about my friend, David. Has had a lot of different surgeries and "procedures" these last two weeks. Had a couple root canals . . . a battle with cancer . . .  cirrhosis of the liver . . . and just getting old. Time hasn't been that kind to either of us. Or maybe we just haven't been that kind to time.

Sunday, March o2, 2o13

Okay, so here's the big scoop for Norman Town today  . . . It is frigging cold! Yesterday it did climb up to somewhere in the 50s. But today? Holy crap! 14 degrees, snow, sleet, THUNDER and LIGHTING? The way you love me is frightening! Yea, I'm well aware that other states have it much worse. But no matter what it is in Minnesota, Alaska, New York . . . IT'S FRIGGING COLD HERE!

It is rather nice to sit all day in my semi-warm apartment (I do have my ratty blue sweater on, of course.), the coffee is warm and the view from my computer table window is rather exciting. Yes, I'm excited about watching people suffer through the weather. The neighbor with the very cute girlfriend spent about a half hour outside (thick gloves, winter hoodie) scraping an inch or so of ice off ALL the windows of his girlfriend's car. She hid out

in the apartment while her man slaved. So much for equality. AND as usual, I saw Bicycle Girl riding her mountain bike down the snow and covered street. I should change her name to Mail Girl 'cause nothing stops her from riding that damn bike!

So, what have I been doing all day? Nothing too exciting. Didn't get up until 11 AM. Yes, I know, I'm a mess. I need to get up earlier and DO SOMETHING. I haven't felt much like it. I have been writing a bit (as you can tell). Not just here. I have been "think" writing. You know what that is? It's just writing sort of stream of consciousness only. . . conscious that I'm doing it. I've come to the conclusion that I suck as a poet. I'm out to make myself less of a sucky poet. So, I write a lot and watching how I write it. I am going to be an important poet! So, I need to work for it.

Monday, March o3, 2014

 

Spent most of yesterday (12:30 PM to 11 PM) watching the Oscars festivities. I find it odd that I love shows about fashion considering I have no fashion sense at all. T-shirts, jeans, sweaters and chucks that's about all the fashion I care for when it comes to my personal dress . . . Oh! And hats. I do love a good hat. So, I'm a simple man, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I do love watching celebrities during the award season, I love listening to the self-proclaimed fashionistas gab about what the "beautiful people are wearing. And I DO love the Oscars because . . . well, I love movies, actors, directors . . . all of the performers in performing arts.

 

What I don't like, however, are all the criticism I heard today about last nights Oscars ceremony. All these wannabe artists, all those political movers and shakers had nothing but distain for a show I found to be very pleasant and fun. The worst was Rush Limbaugh as usual.  He disrespected the winner for best picture, 12 Years a Slave, without even seeing the movie. Why? Well, because Rush like a lot of other people knew that this movie would win ONLY because it had the word "slave" in it. And we know what he meant by that. But to be fair, just as many people on the Left had things to say about it too. MSNBC "experts" said it was good that it won, but there's still not enough movies made with African-Americans in the lead roles. Both sides got highly political about the Oscars and Hollywood. Which is the way it needs to be right now. Equality in America for ALL her citizens won't be achieved unless we keep fighting over it. But some time in the future the color of skin, the gender of a person, the political beliefs of individuals won't be as big a deal as it is now. Things are changing on both sides of the argument. It just isn't going to happen overnight.