• The Atlantic Ocean. This massive body of water did not formally enter my daily life until the autumnal months when I relocated (for the second time in a year) to Maine. I walk daily along a trail beside the ocean, stung by the scent, and have lazily collected shells and rocks (if I knew more about seaweed identification I would consider collecting the briny, crinkly strands found tangled to twigs and in rocky crags). I note the changing of the tide, it’s daily highs and lows, observing which direction the water rolls in as it rises (puzzled when it is at a severe 30°). Already I’ve gone as far as writing a hypothesis on how the tides affect mentality. I am increasingly amazed at the complexity of our world. The Atlantic Ocean, its endless blue sprawl converging with the winter skies, the unforgiving winds that whip ashore, quiet places along thick rocky banks to stare into vastness defined. It tempers me.
• Harvard/Cambridge. When I decided to begin studying at Harvard for my master’s in literature I was terrified. I was determined to do it (how could I resist? The best bone thrown at me ever), but had no notion of how I’d like what in my mind has always been a formal, homiletic environment, especially since I graduated over five years ago from a state school in the south. My first professor, Dr. Garber, is a world-renowned Shakespeare scholar who has written a handful of acclaimed books on Shakespeare (duh) as well as sexuality in culture. Her lectures were engaging and witty (much to everyone’s delight, since the poets we discussed were so damned piquant themselves). Harvard Square is a different universe altogether, as is Cambridge, a densely clustered community of intelligentsia complete with unyielding (no pun intended) drivers, a dreamy chocolate shop (Burdick’s), mouth-watering bookstores (Raven Used Books), and a delicious and exquisitely priced Indian restaurant (Haveli on Cambridge St). Don’t get me started on all the free lectures and seminars – for anything and everything under the sun. The convergence of people and ideas in Cambridge is dense enough to give one vertigo (on one given stay in Cambridge, I met a neurologist, a financier, and two French-Vietnamese civil engineers – business as usual, I suppose). Speaking of, anytime I could I snuck into the MFA with a friend’s membership pass (especially as Fogg Museum on Harvard’s campus has been such a mess with renovations). My favorite collections being, of course, sub-collections in the Art of the Ancient World: Greek, Roman, Emperors, Egyptian. I’d forgotten how much I adored Ancient Egypt until I observed all the sarcophagi, statues, the unique and colorful alphabet. Visually the Ancient Art collection is stunning. Next time I think to, I will schedule an appointment in the Morse Study Room, where they hide most of the sketches and drawings. Oh, and for you clothes horses, forget all the boutiques: over-priced shod. Scavenge with the hipsters at the Jamaica Plains Goodwill, or, better yet, get a sewing machine. Squander, read, study, travel. Thanks, Harvard, for keeping me in very serious check.
• Jazz. Admittedly, I never invested much in listening to jazz. Often I went to events that were part of the Outside the Spotlight Series in Lexington, KY, and often I’d listen to bootlegs of Vandermark 5, whatever Dave Rempis and Tim Daisy combo group had recently played, Triage, FME, Flaherty/Corsano and of course any Sun Ra, but I never dove into historically important and monumental tomes of jazz. My classic rock roots are showing. Anyhow, the most cherished listens of the year have been Coltrane’s Giant Steps, Ornette Coleman‘s Shape of Things to Come, Charlie Parker with Strings, McCoy Tyner Blue Notes, Nathan Davis, Art Blakey, McLean’s Let Freedom Ring. A pretty obvious line-up, but my adoration needs to go public. Ken Burns’ 20-hour documentary on jazz comes highly recommended, even with his prolonged attention on Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong, and Duke Ellington. The hours detailing bop/hard bop movements are revelatory. “Sustained intensity = ecstasy.” Like few other things in life, jazz opened a new world of interpretation. It’s world is the same as that of poetry, pointing with an ancient finger toward the theory that creativity knows no limitation.
• Day-twah. It would be sacrilege of me to not mention Detroit as part of the grandness of 2010. I intended to stay there forever among the ruins and vivacious characters, the permanence of the rest of my life instilled during my first week on Rosa Parks Blvd in February. The first days and nights were unlike any I’d ever experienced. Time suddenly was measured differently, slower, fuller moments. Everyone in the neighborhood bustled with projects and antics that seemed outrageous. Example: buy abandoned apartment structure from the city and convert it into a trade school operated via work compensation instead of tuition/rent, or pour a dump truck-full of leaves on neighbor’s car, or declare war against the mosquitoes, or build sculptures of salvaged wood and burn them, or plan a tent city, or use an old mattress to sled on the only Detroit hill, steal light bulbs from vacated businesses, construct a hydroponic system in basement, tattoo each other, brew coconut alcohol (this one was not successful – really really not) etc. None of these are out-of-reach, but indicate a liberated ambition of a caliber special to Detroiters. We did all those things mentioned, and then some. Everyday was a new adventure. It was unusual finding time to read or write, I was always sticking my hands in a pot, staying busy, meeting people, playing janitor to whatever hiccup we bumped along. Oh, and I was at the world-recognized Brother Nature Produce, run by the quirky, audaciously driven Greg Willerer, who, though eccentric as any Detroiter, quickly became a dear friend. The farm, now expanding, was something around an acre, stretching along an entire city block, complete with a climbing tree, a fire-pit, two Detroit street dogs, three greenhouses and just under a dozen or more 100 ft rows, all full of arugula, kyona mizuna, purple mizuna, ruby streaks, red veined sorrel, bordeaux spinach (my favorite), tyee spinach, cilantro, a few varieties of basil, thyme, oregano. Let’s not forget the ever-so distinguished edible flowers: nasturtiums, scarlet runner beans, hollyhocks, squash blossoms. I have yet to find such treats in Maine. I ate like a princess. Greg wanted to provide out-of-the-way greens to the locals, and that he does. And the whole world is watching him, day after day. Visitors from all over sniffing around with their notepads, their university charm, their cameras, their accents. Some days I worried that we wouldn’t finish the daily harvest because of unannounced visitors (=interviews and/or tours). It drove me crazy, but I had my places and times of refuge, all of which I miss woefully, work and play, annoyances and pleasures. I met and befriended all shades of characters. They all carried themselves like survivalists, rarely a navel-gazer in the crowd. Always forging ahead.
• Monolith Magazine. Monolith Magazine is a literary journal that had been sitting behind the stovetop for several years until this past February. “Enough!” I yelled and began editing, printing, sewing, and shipping. Making the first Monolith was chaotic, involving a lot of stumbling and cursing and mind-numbing hours at a sewing machine. I loved every moment. Alex Brooks (a Fulbright Scholar currently studying in England, and bookmaker, and I dare to say poet, among other trades), Don Antenen (a writer and reader and vegan and library associate), Deanne Bednar (the face and muscle of Strawbale Studio in Oxford, MI), several friends and relatives all endured my madness more intimately for about a month. The result: 100 copies of Monolith Magazine, 13 pieces of literature, dimensions 4.5″ x 5.5″, five alternating covers, machine sewn with alternating thread colors, first 65 sold with one disc of music inside a handmade CD sleeve (five different mixes compiled, each with 13 tracks), all 100 magazines sewn into a 45 record sleeve. I could not have done it without the aforementioned folk. It worked! And the first issue sold out.
• Yoga/Ballet. I do a lot of eagle pose, not because I like it (I hate it). I also do a lot of standing forward bend, half frog pose, dolphin pose, one legged king-pigeon, sun salutation (lots of spacing out in downward facing dog), etc. I stretch every morning and evening because… Well, for a great plethora of reasons, but you might lose your mind a bit upon discussion of Geroge Herbert’s transgressive similes or the meaning behind Marvell’s syllabic alternations or how John Donne’s use of deixis displays Platonic love. I adore the literary world, but I need a healthy exit. Also, hello, arabesques, pliés, cou de pied, etrechats, allegros. I have a friend who refers to ballet as the Catholic version of yoga, which is fitting since I was raised Catholic for better or worse. My classmates are all teenagers, pre-teens, a few women in their mid 60s. My teacher neurotically claps the beats, calling out each position or movement in French while piano music resounds sharply. It is a terribly prissy sport to take up, but via ballet and yoga, I am finding an appreciation for grace and quiet physical expression. At least it’s kept me from speaking in Middle English. With the accent of course. And gaudy verse.
• Reading. While it’s true almost no reading occurred while I was in Detroit, I managed to finish Roberto Bolaño’s 2666 while I was in Oxford, MI the beginning of the year. Since I’d like to write a full review, but cannot currently, I’ll here direct you to Mr. Waggish. Perhaps when summer break begins I will re-read 2666 and keep a daily blog reading journal (I thought I’d do the same for War and Peace over winter break, but….), until then, however, I will simply say it is one of the best books I’ve read. Others from throughout the year:  The Road – Cormac McCarthy (+ Detroit = Why torture myself?), Wittgenstein’s Mistress – David Markson (for the second and third times, and it is still one of my favorites: highly suggested), How I Became a Nun – César Aira (a too weird narrative from the perspective of a 6 year-old boy/girl in Argentina whose first taste of ice cream changes his/her life), Nox – Anne Carson (this made so many top ten 2010 lists, and rightfully so, one of the most beautiful expressive books I’ve ever seen), The Story of a Year – Turn of the Screw – Daisy Miller – all by Henry James (I’m tinkering with the idea of writing a James analysis – these were all read during vacation at Lake Michigan with friends, to their chagrin), T.S. Eliot (speaking of tinkering, I’ve already begun a review of Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” incredible genius), Dr. Zhivago – Boris Pasternak (legendary, even the story of how it was originally published), Ludwig Wittgenstein: Duty of Genius – Ray Monk (excellent biography of a misunderstood, grumpy logician and philosopher), The Gospel in Brief – Tolstoy (speaking of Wittgenstein, this was one of his favorite books – think Jefferson’s Bible minus reverence), In Pursuit of Silence: Listening for Meaning in a World of Noise – George Prochnik (a memoir about noise, full of terrific sound-related stories), A Critical History of English Poetry – Herbert J.C. Grierson and J.C. Smith (I won’t list every school related text, but this was one I picked up from the library to get more extensive analyses about British literary atmosphere, was essential for the completion of my semester), Complete Songs and Sonnets of John Donne (I was immediately drawn in by the introduction, which led me to an old literary world I had written off. Here, however, my stubbornness found its maker), Ben Jonson (another of the metaphysical poets I studied under Dr. Garber, who I found both excessively experimental (paving way for all our modern and post-modern poets) and rather funny), Magic Mountain – Thomas Mann (just wow), Amulet – Roberto Bolaño (told from the perspective of Auxilio, a character briefly in Savage Detectives, she is kind of bonkers). Many other post-Detroit reads, but I doubt you want to hear me recite Andrew Marvell or quote Earl Miner’s literary analyses, now do you?

2011. I have yet to create any resolutions, uncertain if I will at all. I have many hopes, mostly that 2011 will be as personally fruitful as last year, more so even, and that both school and environment new will become more familiar, and that nurturing will become more natural. I hope we all get a little closer to the truth and to treating each other with respect. I hope we all seek with pure hearts, pure intentions, and give with the same tools.

Mercury in Sagittarius A time of expanding your mental horizons is at hand. Religion, philosophy, law, and education are some of the things that may have special importance for you now. Being in touch with  faraway people and places satisfies an intellectual yearning – curiosity will take you anywhere and maybe everywhere.

Venus in Libra As this new cycle takes hold in your life, romance and social interaction take on a greater importance for you. Harmonious ties to others are what you yearn for; refinement and elegance are what you seek. The ideal partnership, the perfect balance, the highest standards of truth and beauty – these are some of the things that quicken your pulse now.

Mars in Sagittarius Ideology is a keynote of the new phase you have begun – the power of ideas and the power they wield over people. Religious, cultural, or philosophical controversies and crusades have a way of stirring your blood. Travel and adventure are compelling temptations as you dare to test your mettle and stretch your horizons.

Jupiter in Pisces Mysticism, sensitivity to the needs of others, and an awareness of karma (the link between the present and the past): these are your paths to spiritual growth now. Addressing these issues brings you gain and satisfaction at many levels. A tolerance for differences, an understanding of human frailties and shortcomings.

Saturn in Libra Relationships and fairness take on a special importance in your life under the cycle you have just begun. An insistence on principles that don’t allow room for personal differences can be a self-defeating tendency. True partnership means commitment and being responsible to the other person – a lesson that takes on greater importance as this cycle progresses.

Uranus in Pisces Radical mysticism, idealistic visions, new insights into the linkage between the past and future: all these things are accentuated now, as you come into a new cycle. Experimenting with artistic norms and breaking the rules satisfy an inner need, yet may exact a toll if you are not conscientious about it.

Neptune in Aquarius Humanistic ideals and a belief that technology and social reform can create a utopia become powerful and inspiring images at this time. Personal and selfish concerns seem petty and ignorant – and all the more so if they are part of the status quo. Liberty, equality, fraternity: are they the ultimate answers or only the foundations for something that transcends them all?

Pluto in Capricorn As this new phase dawns for you, the pursuit of social/political power and status has a way of seeming necessary and inevitable – and let nothing stand in its way. It starts out small, but has bigger consequences than you’d think. Ambition, responsibility, a place for everyone and everyone in their place…

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Multi-lingual speakers and writers:

Poetry Limits: 3 pieces

Fiction Limits: 3,000 words

Please include a brief biography and whether or not you need assistance translating your work. Indicate, also, your preferences or limitations regarding audio recordings of your submitted work. All submissions and/or inquiries must be sent to monolith.magazine@gmail.com.

Deadline not marked until a later date.

Fiction limit: 3000 words.

Poetry limit: 5 pieces.

Art limit: 3 pieces.

Every single submitter, however, can submit art as well as literature.

Deadline: 15 April 2010.

Send submissions and inquiries to: monolith.magazine@gmail.com.

FYI: You saw correctly, this time I am accepting art submissions.

While I’m at it, and since it’s on the brain:

• Criterion Collection Explanation of Bad Timing: The Men Who Didn’t Know Something
• And if you want to get serious about it, a robust collection of criticism for Roeg’s film: Shooting Down the Pictures