Monday, January 31, 2005

Lock up your computers!

I fear I'm turning into a computer geek. This happens whenever it's time to upgrade and I start hanging out at computer forums, trying to figure out what the right machine is for me. But it's getting out of hand this time. I think I'm starting to understand too much about how a computer works. The geeks' guild may have to seek me out and either force me to become a full-fledged member (OK, apprenctice really) or kill me if I refuse. I may have to go into hiding.

Part of the reason I'm learning more than I want to about my computer is that bad things keep happening to it or its periferals. Last fall my hard drive crashed and I learned how frighteningly hard it is to replace one in my iBook (surely it's a symptom of encroaching geekhood that I post a link to this). Luckily, I found a professional to do this job, so obviously I'm not completely corrupt, but I found the process strangely fascinating, and the fact that my hard drive is now twice its original size is much more interesting to me than it should be were I not infested with some geekiness.

Then the other day, my wireless router died quite abrubtly (I am now glomming off the neighbours' open network; that I feel a certain thrill and absolutely no guilt at this is, I'm certain, another sign of my impending demise). I've spend too many hours today fiddling with wires and settings, trying to get it to work--to no avail, alas (a ray of hope, perhaps?!). So I have packed it up and will be sending it back to D-Link for a replacement under warantee.

I'm trying very hard to imagine that there's a poem in all of this (can you say "grasping at straws"?); if there is, it's surely a lullaby. Heck, I'm putting myself to sleep with this post.... zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Recuerdo también

That morning, we swam in turquoise and swore
it wasn’t cold, though soon scampered up the rocks
to sit in the sun and swat the ruthless flies.

I saved you from a rattlesnake:
scolded it gently into the bushes
then ushered you calmly past.

We rented a boat and roared out into the lake
you stood up front, a breathing bowsprit
wind blowing your animal scent sternward.

At noon, we paddled into the park and found
a private beach, ate cheese and olives and almonds
then swam again in shallow green.

We ate supper on a battle-scared picnic table,
listened to Edna’s wavering voice read “Recuerdo,”
drank cheap wine until the summer sun finally set.

We went inside and talked of crazy neighbours,
the inside-outness of our different sides,
of ghost trains passing before us.

A bear stopped by the dumpster in the night.
When we came out, its eyes glowed from across
the road, waiting for us to go back to sleep.

As if that were possible, giddy as we were
with wine and words and the wonder
of being together again at last.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

After “Piano Lessons” by Billy Collins,

The piano stands in the darkened room,
hockey player grin daring you to bash it
in the face with Chopin or Liszt.

Instead, you tickle it with jazz
“It Might as Well Be Spring”
feel it tremble under your hand

Sunday, January 09, 2005

After “Le tombeau des rois” by Anne Hébert

This bird/cat, a falcon/panther,
flies/races out of the tomb
across the barren tundra/savannah
her eyes/ears instinctively
look/listen for something
they can no longer see/hear.

It swoops/dashes north/west toward the
pole/sea, another instinct takes over
leads it along lines of magnetism.

With every mile, the falcon/panther knows this way
is true, can feel the ancient forces guiding blindly.
She perches/sits in a crag above a ravine,
can see/hear the figure lying prone below,

hops/lopes down to the cadaver hanging desiccated
from the overturned car pecks/licks at the eyes,
which look like a cave in a cliff,
which beg her to peck/lick that she may see again.

Friday, January 07, 2005

I'm baaaaack

Sunday Snow

You walk among falling stars,
think of each one dying as it hits
earth's bulk, of all the wheres
this one might have buried itself, and marvel
that it chose this place and not some other to end the journey,
to ready itself, like a mayfly, for the day it will
emerge from the water to fly up and home again.