As I drove south on the Taconic Parkway last night, I saw to my left the full moon and my first thought was there’s a new Lunar Dispatch awaiting me when I get home. My second thought: such a beautiful, bright moon, I almost don’t need to use my headlights.
Delightful, Will. I'd forgotten about Plath and Sexton being briefly in the same class. And Lowell - some of his best poems were written in Mcleans. That dry, flat, sardonic voice: 'Abramowitz ... so vegetarian / he wore rope shoes and preferred fallen fruit'.
It's mid-summer here in New Zealand. But it's also an El Nino, which means cloudy skies more often. On Friday morning, I was going to set my alarm to get up at 5 am, so I could take a look at the conjunction of Mars and Venus in the eastern sky. Mercifully I accidentally woke early the day before and took a look at the almost-conjunction around 5 am, because on the Big Day, the nor'wester was blowing early, bringing clouds, and the conjunction was hidden behind a raft of thick cloud. The Moon sailed on regardless, looking (I have to say) a bit smug behind the flying clouds in the north-western sky.
All this visible from the comfort of my own living-room!
Thinking about Lowell, Plath, Sexton, and all the people struggling with their lives – I've done a poetic version of a couple of verses from the Book of Job, Ch 7 (which started out as my Latin homework, since I worked from the Latin of the Vulgate). I especially liked the metaphor of the shuttle and the loom (such a homely image), but Job's use of it is arresting. It's here, on Substack: Anne's Newsletter 'The shuttle and the thread'.
Hope your health is better, dear Will! Thank you for this month's essay.
Thinking of you from the other side of the planet, where the Moon is the right way up
See, I *knew* you'd come up with something incredible. 🪄✨✨✨✨✨✍️
Also, I now feel certain your poem wasn't in Simic's trash bin. He'd have looked up when he heard your name, his eyes would have crinkled slightly at the edges, and then he would have opened a drawer.
❤️ Another delightful installment. Thanks, Will! Speaking of Robert Lowell, I recently read the book, "Great Granny Webster," by Lowell's ex, Lady Caroline Blackwood, and loved it. The book is loosely based on her childhood, growing up as an heir to the Guinness fortune and it is so funny, witty, and wild.
Beautifully interwoven stuff here! Jackets and lunatics, red threads - red ties-red lining-red jacket. Poetry in the rubbish, our earth atmosphere and our beloved scary moon. thank you again for hitting the mark so gracefully
In creative ward, I checked into School of Visual Arts to stay with my own kind of collective minds. Soon, helping a fashion buyer, a straitjacket dress of Y2K was zipped around me, a soft sheen truth-of-time quilted stitch fabric and chrome buckles, yet so comfortable and warm. Prada splurge for a moon visit is most worthy, but will there be Gucci shoes? I can only imagine the limits upon a carry-on.
Sanity is overrated. As my biggest delight of nearest the strike of full was a text message from Massachusetts, a friend since my 20s always disregarding time zone hours. Odd enough only to find in Instagram chat with a stranger, it poured gold into my soul. I prefer my friends who would scream in a street for my window over any sanity, for there is no sanity in love, or best friends. ... Happy full moon to you, howl away! 🌕✨🧚♀️✨🌕
Thank you for accompanying me in my lunacy with this newsletter.
From one poet to another --
Rebecca
As I drove south on the Taconic Parkway last night, I saw to my left the full moon and my first thought was there’s a new Lunar Dispatch awaiting me when I get home. My second thought: such a beautiful, bright moon, I almost don’t need to use my headlights.
Delightful, Will. I'd forgotten about Plath and Sexton being briefly in the same class. And Lowell - some of his best poems were written in Mcleans. That dry, flat, sardonic voice: 'Abramowitz ... so vegetarian / he wore rope shoes and preferred fallen fruit'.
It's mid-summer here in New Zealand. But it's also an El Nino, which means cloudy skies more often. On Friday morning, I was going to set my alarm to get up at 5 am, so I could take a look at the conjunction of Mars and Venus in the eastern sky. Mercifully I accidentally woke early the day before and took a look at the almost-conjunction around 5 am, because on the Big Day, the nor'wester was blowing early, bringing clouds, and the conjunction was hidden behind a raft of thick cloud. The Moon sailed on regardless, looking (I have to say) a bit smug behind the flying clouds in the north-western sky.
All this visible from the comfort of my own living-room!
Thinking about Lowell, Plath, Sexton, and all the people struggling with their lives – I've done a poetic version of a couple of verses from the Book of Job, Ch 7 (which started out as my Latin homework, since I worked from the Latin of the Vulgate). I especially liked the metaphor of the shuttle and the loom (such a homely image), but Job's use of it is arresting. It's here, on Substack: Anne's Newsletter 'The shuttle and the thread'.
Hope your health is better, dear Will! Thank you for this month's essay.
Thinking of you from the other side of the planet, where the Moon is the right way up
Anne
See, I *knew* you'd come up with something incredible. 🪄✨✨✨✨✨✍️
Also, I now feel certain your poem wasn't in Simic's trash bin. He'd have looked up when he heard your name, his eyes would have crinkled slightly at the edges, and then he would have opened a drawer.
I'm certain that in the wisdom of your later years, you've discovered the beautiful metaphor of fishing poetry out from under layers of garbage. ❤️
So clever of you to weave these stories together, Will. The red jacket one is hilarious!
Fabulous piece, personal and profound, space for poetry & madnesses
❤️ Another delightful installment. Thanks, Will! Speaking of Robert Lowell, I recently read the book, "Great Granny Webster," by Lowell's ex, Lady Caroline Blackwood, and loved it. The book is loosely based on her childhood, growing up as an heir to the Guinness fortune and it is so funny, witty, and wild.
Beautifully interwoven stuff here! Jackets and lunatics, red threads - red ties-red lining-red jacket. Poetry in the rubbish, our earth atmosphere and our beloved scary moon. thank you again for hitting the mark so gracefully
In creative ward, I checked into School of Visual Arts to stay with my own kind of collective minds. Soon, helping a fashion buyer, a straitjacket dress of Y2K was zipped around me, a soft sheen truth-of-time quilted stitch fabric and chrome buckles, yet so comfortable and warm. Prada splurge for a moon visit is most worthy, but will there be Gucci shoes? I can only imagine the limits upon a carry-on.
Sanity is overrated. As my biggest delight of nearest the strike of full was a text message from Massachusetts, a friend since my 20s always disregarding time zone hours. Odd enough only to find in Instagram chat with a stranger, it poured gold into my soul. I prefer my friends who would scream in a street for my window over any sanity, for there is no sanity in love, or best friends. ... Happy full moon to you, howl away! 🌕✨🧚♀️✨🌕
I'm trying not to let you scare me out of being a poet. :-)
this is lunar poetry in the best possible way.
This is one of my favorites of all the pieces you have written.
A delightfully engaging piece. Thanks very much!
What a beautiful, funny and moving essay. Thank you!
As always, expansive and incredible. Thank you for your writing!