Poetry: Another Late Night

Sadly, it seems there’ll be no Leather this week. Once again, there’s just too much to be done, and by the time I get home I’m way too tired to consider writing. And so it’ll be a poetic week instead.

This is another poem written as a response to a painting from an Art History class I took back in ’92. This time, the subject is Albrecht Altdorfer’s The Battle of Alexander at Issus, which is kind of an amazing painting. If you have follow the link, be sure to look at the higher resolution version. It’s gorgeous and stunningly detailed.

Which informed the poem, really. And the kind of drive that has an artist go way beyond what anyone might expect of him.

Which, you know, can be said of writers too now and again.

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The Arrogant Writer and the Beached Mermaid

This entry is part 9 of 26 in the series Mythology of the Modern World

Welcome once again to the Myth of the Week. I’ve been putting together a list of myth requests from those folks what answered the last couple of open calls, to make sure I don’t forget any of the ones I can answer (sadly, I don’t always have the answer. I wish that I did.)

What I find interesting this time, however, is that two of the recent requests… well, fit together. First was Moe Lane, who is always knowledgable and cool. And he asked, because he wanted to:

If Magick is a matter of Will and Imagination, then why don’t the great writers live forever?

An excellent question. One often pondered at the back ends of parking lots and in the OOP areas of LARPS since at least the mid-nineties. And one that is singularly difficult to answer.

But as I said, there was another question raised. In fact, the very next question, raised by Joel Wilcox:

Why do 99.9% of webcomics suck?

Statistically improbable? Sure. But a valid question. Mr. Lane jumped right back in, however, to say (and I quote):

Dude, 90% of *everything* sucks. Sounds fishy, sure, but it’s like a law, and everything.

Now, Mr. Lane is a solid writer in his own right. As Mr. Wilcox may be as well. I don’t mean to make this a Moe Lane tribute. But as I know Mr. Lane better, it’s easier for me to discuss such things with and about him. And one thing I know for certain is that Mr. Lane is himself a bit of a mythologist. He has intuited his fair share of things, not the least of which involves Marilyn Monroe’s post-rictus career as a vampire hunter.

But I digress.

Regardless, without even realizing it, Mr. Lane had seen a hint — just the tiniest hint — of his own answer. Which I’ll be glad to tell you in a story we like to call…

The Arrogant Writer and the Beached Mermaid.

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Poetry: Pippo Spano

This is late. I’m sick. Thursdays are random anyway, so what the heck.

This is actually the first poem I ever published, in an issue of the Black Fly Review. It was written for an art history class where we had to select a specific painting and give a response. The example was a poem, and I misunderstood and thought we were supposed to write a poem, which pissed me off.

As it works out, this is one of the high points of my academic career — one of those moments that changes your outlook forever.

The painting is Pippo Spano, by Andrea del Castagno, written for his “Cycle of Famous Men and Women.”

Sorry I’m a bit nonlucid tonight.

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Two Poems from the 90’s

It’s Thursday, and that means it’s another Random day. Today, we’re going to have a couple of poems I wrote in the 90’s. The first is called “Gypsy Bell,” written in Fort Kent, Maine, during the initial love affair I had with poetry. The second is called “Calliope and I” and was written in Seattle, Washington, not long after I moved there.

Despite their being poetry, one of them still manages to involve people sitting at a table and drinking coffee. God help me, I need a new scene.

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