…I dreamed of trains. The old fashioned kind with grilled triangular fronts and the bodies heavy with black metal. The look of coal trains that chugged their way through the fresh laid tracks of so-called civilization.

The reason for the dream–Anna Karenina. I was watching this 1997 production last night on Bravo, thinking how much they’ve left out, how much they’ve captured, how sad it is, how romantic it is, how lonely it is, how lonely it is to be watching at 1am on a Thurs., how romantic the theme of the book/movie, how sad the realism is, and how poignant the music is with interludes of Rachmaninoff floating throughout the background (I love Rachmaninoff (Moments Musicaux op. 16 no. 3 in b-flat minor, being one of my faves, although I’ve yet to learn how to play it–the b-flat minor is a haunting space)–there’s something so evocative in his music, and it really suits this Tolstoy story, (although most of the movie is underscored by Tchaikovsky, it was the Rachmaninoff that I noticed more) the haunting melodies just underneath, like the world underneath the romance that Tolstoy alludes.

What exactly is it that I love about the realist/pre-modernist novel? I wondered, even as I watched, why am I so drawn to the romance of death, the romance of life, the romance of romance? I love the realist novels–such as Dickens, and Trollope, for the very reason most people hate them, the realism. But I also love them for their romanticism. What was once romantic and realistic to their way of life, is lost to us in the present, and when I read these authors for their realism, and in some way, their small beginnings of existentialism, I enter the unreal, the realm of imagination. I think, even though I dream of being chased by gigantic black metal steam-engines, there’s nothing wrong with that.

…impatient I’m passionate. I was reminded of that tonight as I stood patiently waiting to speak to Leona Theis (she was popular, and rightly so), as my child yanked my arm several times, telling me to give up, asking me why we couldn’t just leave, demanding to know why we had to stay and chat if the reading was over.

Of course, all this was after a hectic day of two exams, back to back, a few hours of work, and a wonderful book launch. Joining Leona in launching were our future poet laureate, Robert Currie, Marie Elyse St. George, and Gail Robinson. Unfortunately Martha Blum was ill and couldn’t be there. There was an awesome crowd, the readers were terrific, the food was spectacular, and I was able to sneak away before 9pm.

…my computer I have placed a few things. To the left is a reproduction of an old botanical print of the peach (yes, that’s dust on the frame–a little imperfection never hurt anyone), a Glen Sorestad poem “We Need These Silences”, given to me by Glen when he edited my book, and the latest postcard that I received in the mail, a lovely Picasso. Now on the right, I’ve placed “Homage to Lucille’s Hips”. Inspiring. This also means that I’ve figured out how to put pictures here without a url. Excellent news.

…I’m doing my part by spreading the news of the rockstar’s amazing ability to give.

… 2D:4D, but what does it all mean? I’m not sure they think they know, but staring at my hand for 10 minutes, although rather an unusual thing to do while at a computer, is somehow entertaining. No matter what I do my index finger is longer than my fourth finger.

…those looking for their fill of AGM highlights there is a great low-down at Brenda’s house.

For those wondering anything else, I can’t help you, although I can tell you that my hips are in the mail, thanks to Cara . I can hardly wait to get Lucille’s hips in the mail. So cool. I will put them next to my post-card collection, and my computer.

…or not. That’s the question today. I’ve been studying modern British poetry (this poem is my favorite from this week) for the past month and a half, and this week we focused on the unusual belief system of William Butler Yeats. The whole system is interesting, in the way it gave Yeats a foundation for his poetry. The many references to his system infuse the works he produced. Of course, whether he fully believed the system isn’t really something I worry about, afterall, he produced what he intended to produce (poems) by producing a system within which to produce it. If that makes any sense. We make sense of what we can I suppose.

…the jar of salsa (sorry, no picture here will satisfy the intense craving one will feel upon seeing the delicious condiment–so I thought I’d spare you), and I’ve burned a copy of the Klazz Brothers Cuba Percussion (this band happens to be playing in Vienna when we are there :-)).
I’m retiring from my duties as an SWG Board member, sad but true; I’ll miss the Friday line-up of events, so I’ll be expecting a full low-down from whoever goes, but hopefully I’ll be arriving in town in time to catch some of the Saturday afternoon readings, and, of course, in time ultimately to amuse some people.

I’m looking forward to the John V. Hicks Award Dinner, and congrats to Barbara Sapergia, Gordon Portman, and Geoffrey Ursell on the wins.

And don’t forget to visit the rockstarpoet‘s new blogosphere. It seems every day is a new blog template. Or not.

…I haven’t been sleeping much, and now I’m slightly behind on my school reading. I think its all just a byproduct of the weather, but nonetheless, it has laid me up with a nasty chest cold. I think the necessary remedy is to pick up one of the “real” books I keep staring at (I’m thinking of Lynn Coady’s short story collection Play the Monster Blind)–I’m sure I could read a few stories before I must cook.

The turkey is under my wing today, so Happy Thanksgiving. Eat lots of pie–some of you stop eating so much pie.

…and in the words of someone I know, good grief!

So, they were $2.99 for softcover, and $5.99 for hardcover. Here is my new list (which is kind of weird because I never finished reading the last basket of books before the school semester started, and I’m not likely to get to these until Christmas–but I’d like to think I’m ambitious about my reading lists–or not).

The Falls–Joyce Carol Oates

Wild Dogs–Helen Humphreys

Deafening–Frances Itani

Gilead–Marilynne Robinson

Due Preparations for the Plague–Janette Turner Hospital

Thieves–Janice Kulyk Keefer

Beyond Good and Evil–Nietzche

Slouching Toward Nirvana: New Poems–Charles Bukowski