…something about me. It’s that time again. May has bounced from the bedsprings and into the fields–that means it’s time for the MayDay poetry project to roll with the punched out verse. Along with a new year and some new poets, there’s a cool new look to the blog, which looks wunderbar (my spell check doesn’t like this word wunderbar and suggests perhaps I might be writing blunderbuss or underbelly–which of course, would more than likely be the more apt words for the poems I plan to post on the MayDay blog) .

So synchronize your settings for the May-athon of poetry!!

…people turn and face the world, some face facts, others face food.

Brenda contemplating the dump(ling)s on a plate and who can resist a video blog of Brenda facing strudel.

The view up the street from the window of our first hotel in Vienna. The street looks rather quiet now but it was alive with much action throughout the 5 nights we stayed there. We stayed at the Hotel-Pension Suzanne, which was fairly reasonable and quite closely located to all of the major museums on my list to see. We were lucky to get a breakfast, found a Starbucks right on the corner, as most places only serve espresso and cappuccino kind of coffee. We either walked or took the Ubahn (which was quite easy to navigate). By afternoon the corner in the upper lefthand portion of the picture would be carpeted with people. The crowds crawled the stores and tourists toured along the Karnternstrasse tugging at their pockets for wallets/money to purchase their souvenirs.

Brenda from inside the Kunsthistorisches Museum. There are quite a few sections to this museum and the palace itself is quite impressive.

This is a shot of the oldest church in Vienna– St. Ruprecht. I think this church, tucked in amongst the towering, regal architecture, is a real gem. We stumbled upon it our last day in Vienna (before heading out to Cesky Krumlov). It was old and felt old.

Our second hotel in Vienna. This hotel is sandwiched in an “alley” and butts its right-hand side against an old monastery ( I think). The mural on the left-hand side of the picture, which you just get a peek of in this picture, seems to indicate that might be the case.

We found evidence of superhero activity in St. Polten–

and the occasional Ariel sighting in Cesky Krumlov.

I will continue to add some pictures and stuff over the next few days, but check out the flickr on the sidebar for more photos of the trip.

…von St. Pölten, Austria.  Today we rode the train (I was a train virgin) from Wien to St. Pölten. Quite an interesting ride, seeing the countryside from the window of a train. Right now we’re at the Cinema Paradiso, a bar/cafe that gives free internet access to customers willing to purchase their products. So I’m having another bier, they’re cheap over here ($.79 (Euros) in the store), in fact often the beer is cheaper than water, and b’s having some more kaffee, and we’re posting while asking some nice young man beside how the hell to spell things.  The research has been going well; we’ve hit every museum and art gallery that could be possibly be associated with my project, often taking in more than mz fair share of divine art( the Mumok (Museum of Modern Art for example had a Yves Klein exhibit which included most of the blue series, as well as much art that included text and art), and then some. We’ve been to the Belvedere (a castle) which houses many artists, and wandered the gardens (which can’t even be described). We’ve wandered the garden of the Shönbrunn Palace, which are outstanding and immense. We’ve walked miles and miles in admist the cigarette smoke, the diving pigeons, the crowds, and the beautiful weather. Vienna is everthing and nothing like I expected it to be. The buildings are old and built one on top of each other.  So far I haven’t had to use much german as most people can speak English, although here in St. Pölten, they don’t quite speak as well, so I’ve had a chance to use my spattering of german rather hesitantly, but often successfully (probably due more to their knowledge of english rather than my knowledge of german). Navigating is the easiest. The germans are very efficient. The train was smooth, the U-bahn is easy to find/use; most of all, we’ve been getting by quite well. This is day 7 and one more week to go. Tomorrow more trains and a ride to Tulln. On the 18 we leave for Cesky Krumlov.  Computer connections are getting smaller and smaller. Tschüss!

…in more ways than one, burned itself out to find me here sitting with one week remaining on a trip I’ve been planning for months. I’ve spent the week trying to figure out a plan of research, and I’m slowly losing myself in the daydream of being on a Vienna street, watching the Viennese saunter past me, looking at the architecture, and immersing myself in the culture.

Last week I also read a book recommended by Brenda Schmidt (and borrowed from B, thanks) and by Lorri Neilsen Glenn (Halifax poet laureate). It was Joel Hynes first novel Down to the Dirt. It was a fast read as it was quite engaging. I enjoyed the narrative, which used three different narratives to portray the character of Keith, and how the slide into addiction/dysfunction coincides with the slide from the triple narrative, to a single narrative voice. “Gritty” is a very accurate description.

…made an appearance at the first annual muse party that was held in conjunction with Talking Fresh 5. I have never tried Absinthe, but I did at the party, thanks to the muse shirted Brenda and Harvey Schmidt. B & H each made their own muse shirts, Brenda’s a lovely yellow shirt with a picture of her artwork, part of a painting she said, of H’s head, upon which was written a lively limerick edited by none other than the infamous George Murray and John MacKenzie, and H had a white shirt which held dictionary definitions of the word muse (so, pictures of these super shirts would be nice seeing as the host didn’t have the time to get any, hint, hint). Also, there was talk of an edgier limerick that didn’t make the shirting. Perhaps another time/place/muse. Another muse party goer, Annette Bower, brought me my muse of flowers (they’re still standing at attention on the fireplace mantle, as if waiting for another party). Next year will be bigger and better I figure, now that I’ve got the green fairy lurking about the house, and of course, the first year’s goers are ready to outdo themselves in creating their muse, which should encourage new muse-goers to create a-musing muses.

Talking Fresh, of course, was terrific. This was my fifth partial attendance; I didn’t make it to the panel on Friday afternoon, but I went to the readings, which were fresh and interesting. Maybe one of these years I can attend the complete event. Saturday was a full day of interesting conversational style discussions with each of the authors. The topic on hand was faith and the wonderful audience participation/interaction provided many intriguing insights and thought-provoking moments. The weekend was a great success for the 5th time, so thanks to those responsible for providing such a great literary exchange.

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In another note, I will be leaving on my research adventure soon enough (2 weeks and counting–don’t know if I’ll be able to provide any blogging while away, but perhaps if I can swing it, a pic or 2).

And speaking of treks, I’m planning to follow this blog this summer as Suzanne Steele and her family trek to raise money for Victoria’s NICU.

“Losing your way in writing is good and bad. Good is the possible finding of the way back, that shifty process of discovery, disclosure, random foraging. But being lost is free fall. You’re out of control. One morning you wake to the sort of day or condition of soul when sensation is so heightened that it awes and frightens. Foliage whisking outside the window sounds like big breakers hitting the beach; bird-song so magnified it seems aberrant, more inside than outside the skull; bus doors hiss shut like pressure valves exploding; a plane so high and silent that it looks about to vaporize. Everything terribly keyed-up, and you feel at once exposed and protected. Your ears mute the sound and resonance of your own voice—you’re talking into a scarf or stiff wind.”

by W. S. Di Piero

…must be made this week, life must change/alter/defy the ordinariness we impose upon it. Because of this, I’m asking myself what it means to have money, to use money, to be entrenched in a cultural system that requires money. What if we bartered our services? I’m thinking of the guy that bartered his way up to a house. Why don’t we have more bartering in our systems? Or do we, and we just don’t recognize the non-monetary system?

And in celebration of Rhett’s new reading/open mic series Soundlines (how did it go?) I found this site online. I wonder if one can barter a poem for a meal? This could come in handy.

…THIS week has crawled along painfully slow as I attempt a re-entry into the real world. This means that I’ve been trying to write from a noisy room while construction occurs on the rest of the basement, trying to do 3 weeks of work (barbering) in one week, trying to do 3 weeks of laundry in one week, trying to listen to 3 people at the same time, trying to listen to my new cd at the computer (Serena Ryder’s latest) (the post title is a line from “This Wheel’s on Fire”, a song written by Bob Dylan and nicely redone by Ms Ryder, and the title of the new cd) with my new headphones because I stepped on the old ones (I didn’t hear it happen because the sound of the whirling saws drowned completely the sickening crunch underfoot), trying to figure out how to get the cd that’s in the car stereo unstuck (all part in parcel with the fact that I left the car lights on for the first time this year (which is great, because last year by this time, I’d left the lights on approximately 5 times) and the stereo does strange things after resuming power, say, like eating my cd), and trying to figure out how to work a tab/right hand margin for a table of contents in word ’03(blech).

So yeah, things are pretty much rolling normally along.

One month and counting to my trip, and I’m excited to the point of buying out Winners just in case I need something for the trip.

Yesterday I had the good fortune of being told by Ariel Gordon that the one of my poems had been shortlisted for the February ‘s Guardian’s Poetry Workshop with Aidan Andrew Dun. I’m pondering his wonderful comments (which is the nicest part of being shortlisted) and curiously contemplating what he means by metaphysical. My customer survey today was asking people what they thought metaphysical was, is, or could be. No one is quite sure what, why or how it is. Hmm. That’s the nature of the world I guess. How metaphysical is that?