to make up for being a bum for the last couple of days, i wrote a poem!

labelle is on the cover of JET magazine. i’m about to check their new album right now!

aw:

see the rest from White House photographer Pete Souza, here.

i’d like to start writing poems everyday. despite the various i-should-write-about-this moments that i’ve had lately, i haven’t written anything since i turned in the first draft of my thesis. right now it’s all essays and applications. haven’t read for pleasure in a while either. think i might cut back on the internet and/or use my 1.5 hours of daily commute more productively.

cheers!

just discovered starting today: poems for the first 100 days. what a good idea. check it out.

a pinch of lovely from day 2’s poem by matthew rohrer:

the president said we could
write poems again saying “president”

*shout-out to tara for the heads-up!

so class has started again, and after seven months of independent learning, i must say, my return to the american classroom has been surprisingly painless. while the commute is something new for me, i find myself more engaged in my classes and in my reading. i’m feeling intellectually recharged, as if my brainpower and will to learn have gotten a delicious jolt. after seven years of prep school and undergrad over-achievement, i was feeling rather burnt out by the end of junior year. but now, i’m back in the game. it’s senior spring. i’m taking three classes, and working on my thesis on the side. i’m going back to brasil for spring break and soon after my return i’ll begin to hear back from schools, fellowships, jobs. i’ll have some choices to make. i’m excited.

i’ve been making space in my life for changes and new additions…heh, not babies. just a little bit of re-arranging here and there. i already feel myself shifting. i am unfolding myself to possibilities. moving forward with open mind and healthy heart.

the other day, granny and i were chatting, as we occasionally do, and she asked me if thought boopiece was “the one.” i didn’t want to crowd my thoughts with an idea like that. it seems like a simplistic yet onerous title. one full of weird unrealistic expectations. my relationship has enough weird circumstances, i don’t need any more. that said, i am very much in love and am still trying to figure out how to transcend continental boundaries to be with meu amor. i don’t want to jinx my current plan, but if it doesn’t work, there may be a fulbright in the coming years. well, there might be a fulbright coming along anyway. we’ll see.

if you were listening to umüvme today, you heard my poem “elegy after the flood.” if you weren’t listening, you can hear the poem on youtube.  tonight’s show also featured some lovely poems by a young sonia sanchez from her first album, A Sun Lady for All Seasons. news to me, it was made in 1971. i just bought the album on itunes and i love it. you should get it, too.

something to keep in mind:

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In the ancient Chinese book *Poets’ Jade Splinters,* Lu Ji says: “Avoid the morning flower in full blossom and gather instead evening buds which are not yet open.” He’s telling his fellow poets not to rely on what has already ripened, but rather to concentrate on what’s still in embryonic form. Lu Ji’s colleague Song Zijing adds a complementary thought: “If you always use a compass to draw a circle and a ruler to draw a square, you will always remain a slave.” Both Lu Ji’s and Song Zijing’s counsel will work very well for you in the coming year, Aquarius, even if you’re not a poet.

“What if the mightiest word is love.”

Here is the inaugural poem in full as provided by CQ transcriptions:

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

just watched elizabeth alexander deliver her inaugural poem. it was sad to watch all the people walking away. i heard a lovely line though: “each one of our ancestors on our tongue.”

more later.