our wednesday five

AintMarchincoverbyAlexFrom Civil War women to depleted uranium, nearly all my obsessions accounted for today.

 

 

 

Some news and a promise

I almost literally crawled under a rock toward the end of the year, in an effort to finally get this book completed. I can now report honestly that it’s almost there. (For a cheat sheet on its ultimate shape, check out my draft introduction at the book’s own site.)

Some  bits and pieces from around here – some more personal than usual:

  • With the book’s delivery in sight (promises, promises, I know, but….), I’m now blogging daily (ditto) at the Ain’t Marching site. Subscribe to its feed if you can so you don’t miss out. Today, for example, I comment on two medical-whistleblower stories, and on the intrepid reporters who’ve been crucial in exposing them.
  • Speaking of intrepid reporters, the unparalleled Jina Moore keeps breaking new ground, and rolling out new features from her work in Liberia (a project of the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting).  Check it all out at her new site: this week she has a LONG, smart piece in the Christian Science Monitor Sunday mag, but I’m also intrigued by her older, sly piece on the guy who stole all the lawbooks, citing intellectual-property laws. (He needs some African Stephen James Joyce to give him a spanking.)
  • The web magazine I edit, Women’s Voices for Change, just gave me a taste of what it’s like to be in the magazine world: huge changes, a few layoffs, and a hot new editorial director who’s promised to make it famous. I’ll keep you posted as things proceed.
  • Meanwhile, I’m waiting to see if these folks find my work interesting enough to invite me in and give me hell for a few years. Maybe I won’t have to write more than two books that took Ph.D,-level work without that degree to show for it.

and because it's still Poetry Friday

maria-and-gathering-words

Academically trained in German language and literature at Colby (BA), Tufts (MA), and Harvard (ABD), Maria Luisa Arroyo (www.marialuisaarroyo.com) is an educator, a single parent, a 2004 Massachusetts Cultural Council poetry grant recipient, a 2008 Massachusetts Unsung Heroine, a visual artist, and a self-taught poet. Her collections of poems include Gathering Words/Recogiendo Palabras (Bilingual Press, Tempe, AZ: June 2008). The poem below appeared in her self-published chapbook, Touching and Naming the Roots of This Tree (2007).

On Our Drive to North Haven

95 South and no signs to warn drivers of danger,

of deer attempting to cross this highway

as if deer were like the trees here-

too plentiful too many to matter.

The first doe we passed in the breakdown lane

had collapsed under thunder clouds.

The second sunk into the tar, the swollen tan

of her side a blur to the boys in the back seat,

who were whispering about John Cena, Batista,

the Undertaker’s possible return, wrestlers on TV

more real to them than the death of does.

95 South and no signs here either

to warn drivers of turtles trying to cross.

Far away, dark helmets or rounded tire scraps.

Up close, two turtles as the speeding car

in front of me swerved but still clipped

and flipped the second one onto its back,

its feet frantic for balance, for life.

So the instant the cream pickup veered

into my lane and almost hit the back of my car

where my son and his best friend sat,

I knew in those slow motion seconds

that it took for me to jerk the wheel to the left

and out of collision’s path, in those slow seconds

the boys yelled “Mom!” as the litany of swears

erupted out of my mouth and scared them more,

I knew that the does and the spinning turtles

were the missing signs of warning, of danger.

(Cross-post from Women’s Voices for Change.)

and because it's still Poetry Friday

maria-and-gathering-words

Academically trained in German language and literature at Colby (BA), Tufts (MA), and Harvard (ABD), Maria Luisa Arroyo (www.marialuisaarroyo.com) is an educator, a single parent, a 2004 Massachusetts Cultural Council poetry grant recipient, a 2008 Massachusetts Unsung Heroine, a visual artist, and a self-taught poet. Her collections of poems include Gathering Words/Recogiendo Palabras (Bilingual Press, Tempe, AZ: June 2008). The poem below appeared in her self-published chapbook, Touching and Naming the Roots of This Tree (2007).

On Our Drive to North Haven

95 South and no signs to warn drivers of danger,

of deer attempting to cross this highway

as if deer were like the trees here-

too plentiful too many to matter.

The first doe we passed in the breakdown lane

had collapsed under thunder clouds.

The second sunk into the tar, the swollen tan

of her side a blur to the boys in the back seat,

who were whispering about John Cena, Batista,

the Undertaker’s possible return, wrestlers on TV

more real to them than the death of does.

95 South and no signs here either

to warn drivers of turtles trying to cross.

Far away, dark helmets or rounded tire scraps.

Up close, two turtles as the speeding car

in front of me swerved but still clipped

and flipped the second one onto its back,

its feet frantic for balance, for life.

So the instant the cream pickup veered

into my lane and almost hit the back of my car

where my son and his best friend sat,

I knew in those slow motion seconds

that it took for me to jerk the wheel to the left

and out of collision’s path, in those slow seconds

the boys yelled “Mom!” as the litany of swears

erupted out of my mouth and scared them more,

I knew that the does and the spinning turtles

were the missing signs of warning, of danger.

(Cross-post from Women’s Voices for Change.)