Just got two sonnets published in the varied, lively, and well edited, by Tom Fink, journal The Marsh Hawk Review. Many Marsh Hawk poets here.

http://www.marshhawkpress.org/Marsh%20Hawk%20Review%20sprin…

The Marsh Hawk Review

Tom Beckett Arlene Ang Daniel Morris Natsuko Hirata Mark Young Susan Terris Carlos Hiraldo Carole Stone Thomas Fink/Maya Mason Thomas Fink Charles Borkhuis Jane Augustine Geoffrey Young Deborah Golden Alecson Jason McCall Sheila E. Murphy Vincent Katz Eileen R. Tabios Tom Randall Mary Mackey Lewis F…

MARSHHAWKPRESS.ORG

50 Days of Chocolate: 15

The large, crunchy yet gooiest, yummiest chocolate chip chunk cookie I've had in years, was brought to me by Caitlin Allen as we had another long wait at Memorial Sloan Kettering. The outer cookie was buttery crisp and it is a wonder how it can hold so much dark, and I presume milk, chips of chocolate. Sweet but not too sweet, and all melted choco goodness. Ah... She bought them from Culture Expresso, an expresso bar on 72 W. 38th Street.
I was so happy to see Cait, cuddle, and devour the cookie, that later, while in the chemo suite, a man and wife came up to us. He said, "If I had had a camera, I'd have had a Pulitzer Prize winning shot of the two of you, so much love!" I told him I was very lucky in both my daughters. "You have another one like this!?'" he exclaimed. "Different and just as delicious," I said. "What a lucky woman you are. And I agreed.

Writing a sonnet a day keeps the mediocrity away

No really, I'm not saying my sonnets are good, but the practice of writing in form: 14 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter; has been teaching me to better manipulate language to express a notion. I'm getting better at not creating syntax contorted sentences to achieve rhymes. I'm realizing there's a multitude of ways to say nearly the same thing, huge strength of English with its plethora of words. I'm getting more limber and friends tell me the writing has gotten better. I'm so pleased I finally attempted something I always thought was too hard ! The practice is the process.

50 Days of Chocolate so far..

50 days of chocolate: 14

This box of delectable was delivered Saturday night, late, to our door right off the truck. Exclusive handmade 5ive-o chocolates by Meghan Allynn Johnson. The Matcha Mint was the best mint filled truffle we've ever had, creamy, smooth, with an under taste of tea. The Blackberry with 60 percent filling was good, fresh, not too sweet, but not out of orbit remarkable. Cinnamon + Cayenne had a real bite and heat in an incredibly rich ganache with a hint of cinnamon, and I adored the Liquid Caramel Dome, caramel is soft, toasty sweet, melts in mouth, and as it goes the dark choco exterior becomes ascendant. Jim and I thank you Lenny Steinbach! An A+

50 days of chocolate: 13

A sip of Makers Mark bourbon, let its numbness fade to aromatic sizzle on the tongue and let one of the divine French Broad chocolates melt on that tongue and you will say it is a sweet valentine. Nadine Charlsen sent us these lovely "hand crafted" treats from Ashville, NC, and we thank her. Just had the hazelnut crunch, with a creamy milk chocolate filling and little chunks of hazelnuts. Enrolled in a delicious dark. Mmmmmm.

50 days of Chocolate: 12

Thanks to Rob Rosenthal, I had a tasting of two dark chocolates with home team Jim and visiting Natalie. We're eating Endangered Species 72% and 88% dark. Nat preferred the 88, I liked both, Jim hated the 88 saying it was like Bakers, yuck. Nat loves the little cocoa nibs. She suggested we try the extra dark with bourbon, a treat she and Jackson love. Not having any bourbon,we each got a shot of scotch. Jim changed his tune. I love the rich smooth complex flavor of these dark pure squares but for quick snacking the sweeter one.

Wonderful artisanal chocolates tend to go stale within a month. Me and my homie minions cannot keep up with the taste testing lab samples (in the home larder of the cool north facing window in my bedroom). I hit upon the happy and obvious solution of sharing them with my work pals. It is amazing how quickly a box of goodies empties in the canteen. Clearly the fact that AFMDA just earned the highest rating, 4 STARS!!!!, at Charity Navigator is making some of us smile, but I'd like to think the dark chocolate high is also lifting spirits.

50 days of chocolate: 11

This morning, as I got my breakfast 2 nibble (I'm part hobbit, I like a second breakfast) from Pret, the cashier asked me if I would like a mocha. It took me awhile to realize she was offering me a free choco-infused coffee that had not been picked up. I accepted it and felt like a chosen person.

The coffee was pleasant, "not too much" as advertised on the cup, and had a faint chocolaty under taste. It makes me think I should consider other mocha makers, more specifically, Caitlin Allen, barista extraordinaire at the Queens Kickshaw.
I also got chosen today in another, deeply moving, way. My name was thrown in a hat (at CancerCare) and I was picked to get a gift of theatre tickets, money for dinner, and a bag of chocolate goodies; all provided by a woman who used to love going to cultural events with her sister. This much missed sister led to a lovely gift for people like me. Best of all she expanded it to include both my daughters. So we are off to see Avenue Q tonight.

50 Days of Chocolate: 10

I have to be the most chocolate gifted person on the Upper West Side. Thanks to my friend Margo Fox, a lovely box of artisan chocolates arrived in the mail from Life by Chocolate. Jim got a rather long call this morning from his producer as I was jonesing for coffee, so I opened the brown box with its pale green stripes and ribbon, and very fetching chocolate covered goodies. I tried a mint filled piece and wasn't wowed...then I grabbed a bumpy one, that looked a bit like a falafel ball, and it turned out to be coated in cinnamon, maybe a dash of pepper, and crunchy raw sugar over the mother geode filling of ganash. The ganash was rather like icing but thicker and made of high quality ingredients. With Caitlin, Jim, and Austin, I tried the cherry filled chocolate cordial, and while appreciating the refusal to be too sweet, felt it was a tad too sour and needed a bit more juice. We also missed having an identifying list of the individual flavors. Thank you Margo, exploration to continue. A combined total of B- so far from a small sampling.

50 Days of Chocolate: 9

A box arrived at my door, a gift from Patrick Delaney. He figured he would add to my chocolate adventures with a "Collection of Vosges Dark Chocolate 65% Cacao Truffles." So I invited him over to dinner for an in depth taste testing on the dining room table portion of the home lab. Also lending their culinary attention were Caitlin Allen and James Racheff. The dark purple and gold packaging was enticing. Once we opened the box, a high quality scent of primo dark poured out. I cut the dainty truffles into quarters. Here are the results:
Budapest, sweet Hungarian paprika. It freaked Jim out to mix paprika with chocolate. I didn't mind the combo since the base chocolate was excellent. But I agreed with Patrick the spice left a bitter aftertaste unbecoming to the name truffle.
Chef Pascal, kirsch & dried Michigan cherry. I didn't get a piece with enough cherry, Jim and Caitlin did and liked it.
Oaxaca, guajillo & pasilla chillies & organic pumpkin seeds. Surprisingly tasty, the pumpkin and heat melting into chocolatey surrender.
Tlan Nacu, Mexican vanilla bean. Absolute favorite, practically orgasmic. The vanilla was fresh and not too sweet. A perfect blend.
I passed on the Polline di Finocchio, wild Tuscan fennel pollen & floral anise, but Caitlin and Patrick felt it was a delightful combo, especially since one doesn't think of liquorish and chocolate being a great meet up. Caitlin mentioned it really was floral.
We all agreed the 65% shell was utterly perfect, smooth and not bitter.
One won't necessarily love all the flavors, but it is such fun to try them. Overall a big A to A+ depending on your tastes! Thank you Patrick!

50 Days of Chocolate: 8

My brother Anders bought me this delightful bittersweet chocolate covered marzipan bar made by Niederegger of Lubeck, Germany. I brought it to the taste testing lab of my couch during reruns of Big Bang Theory. The filling is the freshest I've ever had, not too sweet, finely ground, and proves to me most marzipan treats I've had over the years were a crude sad sugary cement. The shell is great, but if I could change one thing, the shell would be thicker and give a more chocolaty shout back to the nutty almondy insides. This is an...A+ 

I shared the last third with my husband and he concurs with the rating.

50 Days of Chocolate: 6

Sometimes you gotta try something healthy. I can really taste the banana, which is fine, and I appreciate the freedom from gluten. Fresh & Co. did a great job with a dark chocolate bitter purity...balanced by the cashews...but, sigh, one misses milk fats and that brain addicting sugar. The bar is somewhat soft and lacks a satisfying chew. This one is a C+

50 Days of Chocolate: 5

I just ate a talenti Double Dark Chocolate gelato pop. And it was goooooood. The outer dark chocolate "enrobing" shell was crisp, crackly, crunchy and not too sweet. Perfect. The dark chocolate gelato filling was nice, a smidge on the salty side, but not amazing. Maybe there wasn't enough differentiation in flavor from shell to filling. I know vanilla provides the contrast this treat needs. I give this an A-

50 days of Chocolate: 4

While wandering Chelsea Market with my foodie brother he noticed an enticing glass bon bon case and as soon as I saw it held Leonides Belgium imported goodies, I was set. My server, Emily, was great in helping me pick out dark chocolate truffles and more. I told her about the fifty days. Why are you doing that? I said the grim grayish days of winter required the brightening of chocolates. She was so behind my sentiment she gave me a free square of pure dark!

The last time I had devoured this brand was in Brittany, during an odd but memorable barge trip. I'd gotten a small box and the fresh amazing truffles had left me with a feeling I'd found manna from the gods.

Tonight I had 3 truffles, hazelnut, champagne, and ganache filled. They were good. But, alas, the magic of being in France and utterly fresh compared to slightly less fresh and on my couch on the Upper West Side took them from amazing to very good. Not legendary. Not revolutionary. About as good as the treats from my neighborhood place, Mondells. Were they better abroad? Hard to say. I am going to call this Tourist Effect. Grade, B.

50 Days of Chocolate: 2

My delightful loving brother Anders and my loving divine sister Christina visited me this last week with their spouses and kids and cheer. I had an amazing time and feel much loved. Christi left first so yesterday I went on a food oriented trip to Chelsea with Anders, wife Lyn, and their kids Max, Hayden & Owen. It takes out of towners to introduce me to things like the Doughnut Plant on 220 W. 23rd (btwn. 7th and 8th Aves.) and the overwhelmingly crowded Chelsea Market down on West 15th St. and 9th Ave. (More about what I got there later today!)
I highly recommend Doughnut Plant for fun decor, a wall full of doughnut pillows, a bench with more doughnuts illustrated in lucite, a fanciful if expensive selection of treats, and a delightful rich latte. I got the chocolate blackout cake doughnut and it was a chocolate layer cake somehow contained in an innertube shape, complete with frosting and filling. It was good...a B, but the creme brûlée and pistachio were my favorites of the ones I sampled with my relatives.
I need to go back and try some of the others. But no strong urge to get another triple chocolate doughnut. And alas, they only carry the marzipan ones on holidays, poor Anders. Although the pistachio was somehow ringing in harmony.

50 Days of Chocolate: 1

On the advice of my family, including Dr. Lyn Yasumura, I am officially starting my 50 days of chocolate. Today's tastings involved a Numi organic pu-erh tea (a gift from Cousin Becca) and big marble sized truffles from Harry & David (a gift from my parents). The tea had a light evanescence of chocolate over a solid black tea flavor with undertones of vanilla, cinnamon, and other spices. For a chocolate addict like myself, pleasant but missing the oomph. The truffle has a perfectly nice exterior of dark chocolate but the filling was harder to categorize, it took awhile to realize it was attempting cappuccino. It was a bit too sweet and bland. Overall the Harry & David cappuccino dark chocolate truffle was a C+, easy enough to eat but even easier to forget. The Numi tea was a B, nice for the nose but left my chocolate belly yearning for the real thing.

Essay into poem or poem into essay? Or try it as flash fiction...

This weekend I wrote an essay about a lavender labyrinth; I feel the writing was good but I still wonder if it would make a better poem. This kind of cross-genre hopping helps me figure out what is the most essential way to tell something. If I try it as a flash fiction, a poem, or short story and it doesn't feel more deeply itself, then the first form is probably the right one. But the exercise of writing from another angle reveals more of what can be said.

Here it is as an essay, poem to come soon:

The Lavender Labyrinth Named Laverinth, on My Ex Husbands Farm

The 180 small plants are finishing their first year after a hard winter. The lavender, or more exactly the Lavandin Phenomenal hybrid (Lavandula x intermedia 'Phenomenal') are now the size of cabbages, but soft and prickly as fir needles. In a couple of years they should reach above my knees. They flowered earlier in the summer. The silvery green leaves and stems release a gentle floral and bitter camphor scent when I rub them with my finger. I remember the same aroma rising from my grandmothers dresser drawers where velvet gloves, buttressed girdles, yellowing handkerchiefs, and partial dentures rested in honorable rows. My husband Jim and I follow the path of clover through four quadrants in eight rings; our feet the beating rhythm that speeds the crickets and briefly flattens the white and purple clover blossoms. This is no maze where all but one path dead ends, too grim for contemplation, this is one path to the center of all things, under a shifting sky of cloud and early September light. 

The labyrinth is next to a quiet country road. As we turn the bends, our elemental spirit, the dog Sadie, at first follows on the tarp covered curves, where small bushes of lavender poke out of diamond cuts. She takes off and wants to cross the street to investigate the neighbors horses, and we call her back. She bounds, the size of a barn cat, long body leaping on short legs. She finds a musky spot between lavender and clover, and rolls in it, her black and tan limbs upside down dancing the joy of being. 

We talk and pace, taking photos, watching the sunlight and clouds alternately illuminate and cloak fields and barns, while our hosts bend and weed the 2,908 lavender plants (Lavendin Grosso, with less floral scent and a higher oil yield) in the fields on the hill behind their stone farmhouse. Once the plants mature, this will be the largest or second largest lavender farm in New York State. Dave, Diane, and our daughter Natalie tend the straight lines with mowers, scissors, and gloved hands. 

What should I contemplate in this curving artery of plants? My life plan no longer numbers in decades...I may have several years, or months, but the hope of a cure, or stasis, keeps me living less elegiacally. I embrace Dianne's wish I take a contemplative walk. I can accept there is this day, this turn on the path, this scent of evaporating dew released from leaf and earth. The air tastes fresh and the view is clear. My loving companion is just behind me. Our shoes and pant cuffs grow damp. The dog sniffs her journey. The crickets declare, "here now, here now," to lure a mate before the frost. They don't know this is their one season, they're hardwired to fiddle their desire. The sun heats my neck and shade cools it. Around and around, I begin to hear folk songs I once listened to on vinyl records. The Celtic music we play when we're feeling romantic. And around. I think of The Secret Garden, a novel that made a garden one of the main characters and made me want both children and roses to thrive. I hope to see this labyrinth grow to its full strength, just as I hope the Allen's make a success of their livelihoods here in the Adirondacks. I want my grandchildren to run or crawl through this clover, even if I don't get to greet them at the end or lead them in at the beginning. It may seem impossible I am friends with my ex and his wife, we defy convention. They are so better suited to each other than we were. Me a farmer? Never. My husband, my Jim, is in synch with me. We claim membership in the artist class, bohemians, or as my grandmother said, lives of genteel poverty. I have no regrets, Dave and I raised daughters who have become admirable women. We have good partnerships. Natalie and Caitlin will walk these pathways alone or with their loves. The same sun will warm their arms and ears. 

Whatever makes the clover spring back from footsteps is strong in me. My fingernails are tree rings showing bands for each round of chemo. Each time I must recover strength, appetite, sleep, laughter, and a desire to walk, write, draw, and take photos. Each time I must travel this path and recenter myself. Leave regret at the entry, not worry about what waits in the future, feel my weight shift from foot to foot, breathe in and out, until end of the path appears. 

This labyrinth is a shifting vista from the plants and insects at my feet to the 360 degree view.  Staying aware of the present moment, with my senses, takes practice. I am so used to tuning out conversations and sense distractions around me. I sink into the thin attachments of friendship in social media, exist in the chaotic replay of music fragments and to do lists, automatic analysis of type kerning, composition, and color (the side effect of being a graphic designer), rerun old hurts or difficult conversations, and replay scenes from miniseries and novels; that is my conscious mind. I am calmer and become a better writer when I live in the heartbeat of time. All the senses flow through the labyrinth. It can travel with me, if I need to relax. I can recall the cricket song, sun heating my skin, sharp sweet scent, an echo of clambering into the private spaces within hedges as a girl, small wind cooling my scalp, the crunch and rustle of my man and dog pacing behind or ahead of me, seeing the barn, horse, road, old schoolhouse filled with hay wheels, van, farmhouse, gigantic maple tree, lavender rows, hill, mountains, cloud, sun, and feeling my own body still carrying me, step by step, breath by breath through this chambered green heart on a hillside in Washington county.

Laverinth: a lavender labyrinth for meditative walking.

My dog Sadie bounding through the labyrnth.

A cricket sings from the safety of the lavender leaves.

Croissant and Viennoiserie Diary

August 2014

As I left a meeting with my oncology nutritionist, on Manhattans Upper East Side, I noticed Gotham Café advertising Balthazar goodies inside. I've been craving a gluten treat ever since my daughter Caitlin sent an email from Paris describing the perfect crunch, chew, and buttery savor of a superb croissant. Granted, sweet carbohydrates weren't on the doctors recommended foods list; but I have been eating gluten free for years and wanted a bit of carpe diem during chemo. I'll soon be eliminating carbo sweets, except for rare occasions, and embracing cruciferous veggies within a Mediterranean diet to better improve my chances against the cancer. But this week...I'm on a farewell spree...

Balthazar Almond Croissant

It smelled buttery and almondy as I bit the end to ascertain the quality of the dough. It was texture perfection, lofty and well layered, flaky crunch outside, softer but maintaining tender layers inside, and a perfect golden brown. The flavor was good, butter and flour were fresh, but the taste didn't leap to heavenly. My next bite, with base and topping, sent me into bliss. The majority of the croissant had toasted almonds slices set into a thin frangipani coating on the top. The almonds amplified the crunch and shatter of the outer crust. The marzipan flavor was perfectly calibrated to the ratio of dough in a mouthful. Sweet but not too sweet. As I waited for my bus and took bites I must have looked like an addict scoring a hit. It was the best almond croissant I've ever had. Balthazar has a commercial bakery in New Jersey supplying many cafés in the city and a walk in bakery at 80 Spring Street, in SoHo, NYC.

The delicious Balthazar almond croissant is sold in many locations.

Yes, the inside of the Balthazar almond croissant is as good as it looks, crisp and tender buttery  layers, lofty and light.

Balthazar Chocolate Croissant

Having read online that Oren's Daily Roast, in my Columbia University neighborhood, sold Balthazar baked goods, I waited on the long line as my husband and dog regarded me mournfully through the window. The rack held a line of chocolate croissants that were uniform and squarish with a shiny top layer that proved to be a thin brush of egg glaze. Unfortunately the croissants were dark and appeared to be over baked. They looked factory produced, while the Balthazar almond croissants have more variety in shape, giving them a hand crafted appearance. The over baked proved to be true, when sniffing them there was an smoky scent. The multilayered dough had a dry slightly bitter burnt flavor. The real surprise was in the chocolate filling, deliciously bitter sweet and respectfully subdued in quantity so as not to overwhelm the other flavors. I wished I could have experienced one baked correctly and I need to do so to make this a fair review. But even so, I suspect this chocolate croissant will only prove to be good but not memorable. My husband said good layers, burnt flavor.

Balthazar chocolate croissant, over baked.

Balthazar chocolate croissant, lovely texture, chocolate restraint.

La Toulousaine Raspberry Croissant

I discovered there was a French bakery nearby on 942 Amsterdam Avenue (between West 106th and 107th Streets). I got there with Jim and our hound by 8:30 am to have a large choice of fresh offerings. The raspberry croissants were large long irregular rectangles, lavishly dusted with confectioners sugar, and smelled delicious. Despite being somewhat flat, there were many layers inside. The crust didn't have quite as much crunch as I like but was tasty, well layered, and baked to a golden color. The inner layers were soft, due no doubt to the wet influence of jam during baking. The filling was thick and very sweet but not over powering. It was utterly delicious and earns the reviews it gets online. Bring a wipe or napkin for the powdered sugar and sticky jam that will trace a smile around your mouth.

La Toulousaine pain aux raisins on left and the amazing raspberry croissant on the right.

La Toulousaine raspberry filling, just the right amount of goodness.

La Toulousaine Pain aux Raisins

The circular raisin ring had been treated with a thick pour of clear sugar glaze and a central sprinkling of chunky sugar crystals. Both choices worried me, these are treatments I'm used to from vending machines and Dunkin' Donuts. The dough wasn't sufficiently flaky. In taste it was superior to commercial products but fell far short of what I'd expect from a real French bakery. I took only two bites. My daughter Caitlin, just returned from a month Europe, where she became an expert consumer of pain aux raisins, said it wasn't bad, she's had worse, and only took one bite. If you prefer your pain aux raisins extra sweet and soft, you may like this, but for me it was only passable due to the fresh ingredients.

La Toulousaine pain aux raisins interior. Too sweet?

La Toulousaine Almond Croissant

It is clear the pastry chef at La Toulousaine prefers the Viennese approach which adds creamy fillings to the interior. This almond croissant appeared limp on the rack and looked insufficiently baked inside. I found the overall flavor to be decent but had no desire to eat more than a third of it. The interior was unappealing, it tasted like wet under baked dough. The outer crust didn't shatter or crunch although it had a good flavor. The next day I stopped by and said the croissant had been under baked, "oh no,'" said the woman server, "it is the filling." I had not experienced it as a filling, only clumpy gooey dough. Another rack of damp defeated almond croissants waited on the shelf. I wouldn't recommended this when such better alternatives exist; do order the raspberry croissant.

La Toulousaine almond croissant

La Toulousaine almond croissant interior.

I am interviewed in my role as book designer!

Mary Mackey, author herself, interviewed me about designing book covers. Here it is:
http://marymackey.com/how-to-design-a-book-cover-that-sells-books/

More inking fun on 1 train commute

I love drawing with my Japanese ink brush pen. I do a quick pencil sketch and expand it with wet ink line. I realized, it was a flash really, that I don't have to anxiously keep bobbing my head around to keep one person in view to do a portrait. Or gently nudge someone so I can see past them! As people move on and off the subway, or get obscured, I simply look for someone a bit like them at nearly the same angle and keep drawing. I had people on the left and right of me watching eagerly as I discovered this and they too were swiveling around to see who would model an ear or mouth or jacket. So now I've invented the composite portrait. Ta da!

The Quest for Jello

Today I was on a clear liquid diet in preparation for tomorrows colonoscopy. I went out at lunch hour and bought a chicken broth from a sushi place and began searching lower midtown Manhattan for another approved item on the list, Jello. It has the illusion of being a solid. 

At the corner convenience store the manager said "Yellow? Yellow?" as I said "Jello, Jello?" We did this a few times. He clearly didn't have any.

I next tried the upscale healthy mini-lunch, artisan coffee, artful minimal decor place. There the terribly buff and shellacked looking guy said "Noooo, we don't sell...Jello." You know, as if I'd asked for beef jerky or a jar of pickled pig trotters. "I'm on a liquid diet today, I really need to find Jello!" He sniffed. I left.

I tried and tried, diners, bagel shops, delis, a pizza place...no Jello.

Finally, realizing there were several bar/eateries on the street, I waddled into the first one wearing my Nepalese knitted cap, two coats, pink scarf, and neon red plastic knee high boots. Brisk walking just is not possible in an ice storm wearing this gear while carrying my take out bag with the soup. I asked the wait staff "do you have Jello, like in Jello shots?" They sort of backed away from me. "Actually all I want is the Jello part?" They glanced at each other and with barely smothered smirks said "no."

In the second bar I asked the hostess if they had Jello shots. She stared at me for a moment and said "we don't serve Jello" and when I pleaded "but I'm on a liquid diet today," she looked at me with something like pity and said "no Jello, we don't serve that here." She glanced meaningfully at the exit.

I gave up. Midtown is officially a Jello-free zone. And I don't even like the stuff.

more "Inktober" efforts

I'm doing daily ink sketches and I generally can't resist adding color. I may try black line and gray wash as a compromise--so I will get more line aware. I'm still startled by drawing with a bold thick line...but I'm having fun.
Will soon go back to a daily poetry prompt too. Having Pocket Park published is great, but it also leaves me empty of a current poetry project. And until I get obsessed with new themes, time to just do it, keep writing and drawing. It is so good to do throwaway creative exercises. Occasionally something worth keeping, developing, comes out of it.

October is for familiars and witches.

Houndlet performs the Danish play.

This time, just ink and ONE color.

Book Launch for Pocket Park

Friday, November 15, 2013, 7 p.m.
Poet's House
10 River Terrace, New York, NY
(212) 431-7920
poetshouse.org

Pocket Park is published!

Yes, October 1st came and the status of my book is no longer "forthcoming" but "adopt me!"

Going on press to check color was a huge good thing to do. I was sick with a cold, but with tissues on hand, I took the LIRR out to East Rockaway, NY. where Sandy McIntosh, publisher at Marsh Hawk Press, picked me up and drove us to the printers, Sterling Pierce. After four tries we approved a better cover than Michael Arguelles, the color tech guru, had at first shown us. He was patient and ultimately shifted the cover to another machine that was able to deliver more contrast and saturation than the one printing the interior.

The interior looks really good, it helps to be on glossy brochure style paper. After getting a first set of proofs at home last month I'd adjusted color slightly on nine of the interior photos (too dark or too light) and now they printed just fine. I've created a color setting in Photoshop for each printer I use so the screen emulates their color. It's working, I'd guess about 90% on target, since a piece of printed paper will never be as bright as the stained glass effect of a glowing monitor. Or in design-speak, two different color spaces, CMYK vs RGB (like comparing Olive Oil to Popeye in a battle of color strength).

Digital color printing still isn't the equal of a traditional full 4-color press...but...it's gotten a lot better in the last several iterations of the machines that churn these pages out. The digital printers are basically a seven foot long photocopier. Traditional presses can be the length of an Olympic sized pool and wide as a semi! My photos don't depend on subtle shifts in skin tone, that would be hard to do digitally. Pocket Park, visually, is about mid-tone gray and tan geometric urban planes contrasting with saturated hues of water and foliage. An urban park in color. With poems in black ink Garamond.

Sandy asked me to pick some photos from the book to put on the Marsh Hawk Press gallery section of their website. And to talk about how the book came into being, including my experience working with digital color. So here is my day wearing three hats: poet, photographer, and book designer. All three happy.

The skilled Michael Arguelles with me at Sterling Pierce, printers.
Due to head cold, I'm having a massive bad hair week.

Sandy McIntosh, publisher at Marsh Hawk Press.

4 pages to a sheet.

Look! My title page! Sandy tends to blink into the flash,
honestly he looked lots happier than this.

Good color all the way through.

Approved to print & bind.

Inktober, or how to get practice for a month drawing in ink

October is Inktober. Who knew? Now you do too. One a day.
Here is Mr. Acorn, based on nuts stolen from squirrels on a walk with my daughter Caitlin 2 weeks ago in Central Park. She also draws in ink, in her case, the blue and black of everyday ball point pens. This was drawn with a Pentel marker/brush and colored pencils.

Mom, Julie Harris, and me, a cautionary tale

My Julie Harris story.
When I was 9-3/4, my mother took me on her yearly weekend trip to Vermont to visit her old high school. We stayed at the Woodstock Inn for a night and visited the town, woods, and ski slopes where she'd perfected her "Christys," and drove by the turn-off to the Woodstock Country School as she extolled the delights of hiking and fresh air in her Brooklyn accent. Larry Hagman had also gone to that boarding school, a year or so ahead, but they weren't friends, especially since Mom wasn't a bit interested in dating boys.
On our way back from the pilgrimage to my mother's youth, we pulled into a restaurant in Connecticut to get a late lunch and help me recover from the car-sickness I felt from my mothers smoke filled-car and its rough rocking suspension.
"I'm sorry, we just closed."
"My girl really needs something to eat, could you please see if someone in the kitchen could help us with a bite?"
I was pale and swaying.
"All right," said the waitress returning from the chef, "but you can't sit in the dining room, we have a private party there, we can seat you in this side room."
As we followed her, Mom glanced through the dining room door as it swung shut and grabbed my arm and hoarsely whispered "Oh My God! Julie Harris. JULIE HARRIS!!! is sitting in there!"
Mom kept muttering Julie Harris to herself.
We sat down. I gulped my water and ate a breadstick. Mom stared at me. She tentatively tried to straighten my bangs (impossible), push the topiary of curls out of my face (hopeless), and reposition the cat-shaped tortoise shell eyeglasses that habitually slipped off-tilt down my nose.
"You're cute, all kids are cute," she began. I could see she was doing her best to believe this. The drool stains from when I'd managed to fall asleep sucking on a stick of licorice hardly showed on my shirt.
"Look, you're out of water, you walk in there with that empty glass and nicely ask the waitress for more water and then when Julie Harris looks at you tell her how much you loved her in The Member of the Wedding. She played a kid in that. Perfect. Go on." She wiped my mouth with a corner of her napkin. Squinted. Removed my glasses. Then wet her palms with water and squashed down my hair. "Go now. Better without the glasses, go on."
I was deeply myopic. I only bumped into a few chairs heading into the dining room peering about for the waitress… Julie and the man were absorbed in one of those tense weird adult conversations full of silences and conversational stabs. I tip-toed over. My heart hammered. Julie was skinny and not that much bigger than me.
"Could I please have some waaaa…." I began.
Julie and her companion startled and stared at me with the same expression one gives a newly produced hairball.
"I told you we wanted privacy, privacy, get out, get out!!" She shouted over my head.
The waitress ran in, a white aproned blur.
"Get out!"
I ran.
"We're never coming back here! Get me the check." was the last I heard.

I rejoined my mother, breathless and red-faced.
"How did it go, did you get her autograph?"
I shook my head.
"No…I don't think she likes kids."
"Mmmm, actresses, probably don't know what they're missing not having a girl like you."
I put my glasses back on and decided I'd earned French Toast with whipped cream for lunch.
"How could she not like you, you're so cute?"
"I dunno."
"Why didn't you get water?"
"Waitress wasn't there."
"That's where you went wrong! You should have waited to ask the waitress for water, you don't ask Julie Harris for water."
"I'll never do it again, Mom, promise."

Let the book get printed, embrace promotion!

I am almost ready to send Pocket Park to the printer! Print proofs look good, I did final adjustments to a half dozen photos... It is getting one last proofreading before it goes because, you know, I don't want any new typos creeping in and having you, dear public, gently point them out.

My friend Flash suggested I could lead a workshop on how to take a regular lunch hour hangout and turn it into a project of seeing, of being there, using more of your senses, in the course of a year. That would be fun!

As I let this project stop, no more changes, revisions, additions, or deletions, I am still aware of the more perfect book I wanted it to be. This ghostly betterness has once again slipped my ability and I'm left with doingness.  I created this book to the fullest, the most that I could and that feels right. I wish I had better mental and physical equipment (a small DSLR would be able to capture motion, which my pocket camera cannot) but hey, I can only be the me I am and as much as I'd like to borrow some O'Hara, Sylvia Plath or Donald Justice, Diane Arbus or Vivian Maier... I was stuck with me. No, revise that, I was me but I paid attention.

I will give readings and see if the Eventi Hotel wants to work with me on a way to celebrate the book. I can create a site. I'm agog.

My mind is turning to new books, in the perfect blur of possibility. Like falling in love. The work-in-progress is saying, Claudia, this time, this time you will get closer, and in the process surprise yourself. So here I come, goodbye done, hello beguiling.

My first article on making fantasy maps is published!!!

I just received my copies of The Portolan, journal of the Washington map society. In 2011 I gave a talk in the map room of the library of congress to the society. The editor of the journal, Tom Sander, asked me to turn it into an article, with some of the images that had been in my PowerPoint slideshow. Since I'd sort of gone off script in the talk, my nervousness just miraculously evaporated as I spoke, I recreated the jist and added more to explain what I've learned over the years of making literary invented worlds become visible. I also looked at how changes in technology shaped how I worked. Not to mention fitting a universe in a tiny poorly printed paperback page. I got a bit more personal than the journal was expecting, but hopefully, their readers will enjoy hearing, again, about the joys, and sometime failures, of this particular craft.




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Final moments on cover and then I WILL MOVE ON

Creating the ad for Fall 2013 Marsh Hawk Press books...there are two launching. Pocket Park has met its final count down. So will it be PATH, REFLECTION, or TREES?

Cover me round 2, more abstract mostly

I thank everyone who voted on the covers I put together yesterday, your comments and reactions got me thinking about getting more mysterious, abstract, and focused. So here are today's contestants (click to see larger):

A, front runner from yesterday

B

C

D

E

F

G