Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Compendium of Lost Words

Compendium of Lost Words

I recently installed the cool FireFox add-on StumbleUpon, which took me to this site. Not sure if any of these words would pass the Scrabble test, but I love it anyway.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Resources for writers

I came across this exhaustive web links of resources for writers via Lifehacker. I have used a number of the links listed for years, but there are also a ton I'd never heard of. If you write, there's surely something here you'll find useful.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007


I just ran across this very cool site. Basically, you can get daily 5-minute chunks of litterature sent to you via email or RSS. For those of us who have busy lives but who would like to take a break to read some great writing.

There are hundreds of titles to choose from. So if you've always wanted to read War and Peace but never summoned the courage, maybe this is the way to go.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Sonata in G

Sudden as a broken string, Scarlatti
materialized after you left this afternoon,
shimmering, there, on the claw-footed stool.

Tentative at first, he warmed to our piano,
foot heavy on the sustain pedal, hands
rising like laughter while arpeggios of gold dust
suspended gravity in a sunbeam. Then,

with a quill pulled from the air, and ink
flowing under the nib, he began to scratch out
a sonata in G—losing all notion of time in the allegro three-eight.

You find it on the stand upon your return
and play, perhaps more legato than he;
I listen, secretly pleased, and resist the urge to say
that he is standing behind the door, smiling.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Siegfried Sassoon

I was away for part of last week and so wasn't able to listen to one of my favourite podcasts, the BBC's In Our Time. Last week's episode was on the British poet Siegfried Sassoon. Unfortunately, it is no longer available for download, but you can still listen to a streamed version here.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Life(r) in the front yard

S. and I have been birders for quite a few years, so no matter what we do the rest of the year, mid-May is always exciting because it's when the bulk of the migrators pass through.

But old birdwatching hands that we are, we were still absolutely thrilled this evening when, just after supper, a Cape May warbler decided to have its own evening meal in our front-yard Prunus. Since we don't use any pesticides in our yard, the tree was presumably a veritable smorgasbord. At any rate, it stayed around for a good long while, long enough for me to get a few shots, which I include here for your viewing pleasure.

And yes, it was a lifer for both of us.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Body Worlds 2

Last night, I had the great good fortune to attend the official launch of Body Worlds 2 at the Montreal Science Centre.

If you've never heard of Body Worlds, check out the Wikipedia entry for Body Worlds. It is the creation of Gunther von Hagens, an anatomist who patented a process called "plastination," and Body Worlds is an exhibition of real plastinated human bodies, displayed in various lifelike poses and showing human anatomy in great detail.

At first, the idea seems a tad gruesome, and indeed, the various Body Words exhibitions have been protested all over the world. France apparently still refuses to allow it in that country (so the Montreal exhibition is the first time it has been translated into French), and it remains controversial in many places. To cite the Wikipedia entry on von Hagens:
The exhibition went on tour in 1995, and has met with public interest and controversy in numerous cities around the world since. Critics contend that the exhibition is sensationalist and that the artistic, lifelike poses into which the plastinated cadavers have been fixed is degrading and disrespectful.
Personally, I found the exhibition to be highly respectful and, far from degrading, a tribute to the truly astounding beauty of the human body. I've been to many of these launches, and the public at these events is largely a glad-handing, PR-oriented, see-and-be-seen type of crowd. After a couple of glasses of wine, they generally breeze through the exhibit (if they view it at all) to get out of there as fast as they can.

But as soon as I entered Body Worlds, I immediately felt a difference. There was a hush over the exhibition hall, even with several hundred people inside. Even the most jaded visitor immediately understood that they were in the presence of real people. And the exhibition itself is fascinating and breathtaking, gently guiding visitors step by step from the tiny bones of the inner ear, through various individual parts and systems of the body, to culminate (from an emotional standpoint) in a pregnant woman with a five-month-old fetus. The exhibition's sheer beauty blew me a way, but it was also an exceedingly touching and thought provoking experience. Above all, it was human. I came away with a profound respect for the human body and the sense that beauty really isn't just skin deep.

If you ever get a chance to see Body Worlds, I would suggest that you not pass it up.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Mark Strand on CBC

The CBC recently expanded its podcast lineup, and its program Writers & Company is finally available as a podcast. The program for April 1st, I have just learned, is a long and excellent interview with Mark Strand. If you're a poetry lover, you'll love this interview.

The CBC only archives its podcasts for four weeks, so if you hurry, you might be able to get it here (direct download). If not, it's available in a streaming version on this page. You can subscribe to Writers & Company in iTunes here, or simply pick up the RSS feed here. The Writers & Company home page is here.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Greek & Roman love poetry

That's the topic this week on the BBC's excellent program In Our Time. Melvyn Bragg and his guests start with Sappho and end with Ovid. A really interesting program and well worth the 40 minutes or so it will take from your busy, busy life.

You can get it here and you can thank me later.

[Update: a commenter pointed out that you can also read a summary of the program here. However, both he and I strongly recommend you listen to the podcast. I always find that doing the dishes or some other such chore is much more enjoyable when you're learning something at the same time. Thank you Paul Grieg (even if your blogger profile is maddeningly blocked, so I can't even visit your blog to thank you for the tip).]

Saturday, April 14, 2007

White day in spring, song sparrow
alights in a naked maple,
the first hopeful bird
in the yard.

No mystery, this telepathy,
buzzy trills and tremolos
come to mind,
byproducts of a vital message

The sensible hen is somewhere
south where April snow
knows to fall
as rain.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Joshua goes to D.C.

The Washington Post Magazine ran a really excellent article this weekend. The premise of the article was an incognito performance by violinist Joshua Bell in the Washington D.C. Metro. Read the article to find out how discerning Washington commuters are.

From the article:

There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell, or the ones who gave money, from that vast majority who hurried on past, unheeding. Whites, blacks and Asians, young and old, men and women, were represented in all three groups. But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

My favourite quote by Bell, referring to the $32 he made in just under 45 minutes: "That's 40 bucks an hour. I could make an okay living doing this, and I wouldn't have to pay an agent."

He was joking, of course. I'm bet the insurance premiums on that violin are more than many people make in a year.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Not long ago, I re-joined a live (as opposed to on-line) poetry workshop after a hiatus of a couple of years. I find the immediate and honest feedback a refreshing change from the goings on in some on-line spaces. One of this workshop's members, Maxianne Berger (this isn't the first time FFTMC has mentioned Maxianne's name), recently sent me a few links to some of her wonderful poetry, and I want to pass them on to FFTMC readers. I think you'll find them well worth the click.

Two poems in the Hamilton Stone Review

Two poems in ars poetica

A poem at Les Wicks' Australian Collaboration page for last years Trois-Rivières International Poetry Festival. The poems are in alphabetical order, so scroll down to a bit to read the ver funny Ode to a Round Tuit.

A translation of Maxianne's book How We Negotiate was also recently published by Écrits des forges. The translation is entitled Compromis.


Thursday, March 08, 2007

The International Edible Book Festival

I recently learned about the International Edible Book Festival. I love this sort of thing, which just happens to combine two of m favourite things: books and food.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Satires of Circumstance

From the title of this blog, you might easily guess that I am a fan of Thomas Hardy. I think FFTMC is one of the best novels of the Victorian era, and novels like Tess of the D'urbervilles and Jude the Obscure are also among my favourite novels.

You would perhaps be surprised to learn, therefore, that until today, there was not a single volume of Hardy's poetry on my shelves. I have a few poems in anthologies, but that is the extent of my acquaintance. Maybe it's because his poetry has been so vilified by so many critics over the years.

I haven't read any of those critiques, but certainly his poetry has the reputation of not being up to the standard of other great poets of the 19th century. I am trying to read him with an open mind--trying to let him be who he is. I must say, there's something very likable and approachable about what I've read so far. Yes, it does tend to be dark and morose, but for it to be otherwise would be surprising knowing his prose. And yet I find there is a great deal of black humour also, and I have always felt that the combination of tragedy and comedy the mark of an excellent writer.

So with that preface, I'd like to share the following vignettes of Hardy's that I discovered today. I found them quite compelling. I have two or three favourites among this lot. What are yours?




The kettle descants in a cozy drone,
And the young wife looks in her husband's face,
And then at her guest's, and shows in her own
Her sense that she fills an envied place;
And the visiting lady is all abloom,
And says there was never so sweet a room.

And the happy young housewife does not know
That the woman beside her was first his choice,
Till the fates ordained it could not be so . . .
Betraying nothing in look or voice
The guest sits smiling and sips her tea,
And he throws her a stray glance yearningly.



"And now to God the Father," he ends,
And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles:
Each listener chokes as he bows and bends,
And emotion pervades the crowded aisles.
Then the preacher glides to the vestry-door,
And shuts it, and thinks he is seen no more.

The door swings softly ajar meanwhile,
And a pupil of his in the Bible class,
Who adores him as one without gloss or guile,
Sees her idol stand with a satisfied smile
And re-enact at the vestry-glass
Each pulpit gesture in deft dumb-show
That had moved the congregation so.



"Sixpence a week," says the girl to her lover,
"Aunt used to bring me, for she could confide
In me alone, she vowed. 'Twas to cover
The cost of her headstone when she died.
And that was a year ago last June;
I've not yet fixed it. But I must soon."

"And where is the money now, my dear?"
"O, snug in my purse . . . Aunt was SO slow
In saving it--eighty weeks, or near." . . .
"Let's spend it," he hints. "For she won't know.
There's a dance to-night at the Load of Hay."
She passively nods. And they go that way.



"Would it had been the man of our wish!"
Sighs her mother. To whom with vehemence she
In the wedding-dress--the wife to be -
"Then why were you so mollyish
As not to insist on him for me!"
The mother, amazed: "Why, dearest one,
Because you pleaded for this or none!"

"But Father and you should have stood out strong!
Since then, to my cost, I have lived to find
That you were right and that I was wrong;
This man is a dolt to the one declined . . .
Ah!--here he comes with his button-hole rose.
Good God--I must marry him I suppose!"



They sit and smoke on the esplanade,
The man and his friend, and regard the bay
Where the far chalk cliffs, to the left displayed,
Smile sallowly in the decline of day.
And saunterers pass with laugh and jest -
A handsome couple among the rest.

"That smart proud pair," says the man to his friend,
"Are to marry next week . . . How little he thinks
That dozens of days and nights on end
I have stroked her neck, unhooked the links
Of her sleeve to get at her upper arm . . .
Well, bliss is in ignorance: what's the harm!"



"You see those mothers squabbling there?"
Remarks the man of the cemetery.
One says in tears, ''Tis mine lies here!'
Another, 'Nay, mine, you Pharisee!'
Another, 'How dare you move my flowers
And put your own on this grave of ours!'
But all their children were laid therein
At different times, like sprats in a tin.

"And then the main drain had to cross,
And we moved the lot some nights ago,
And packed them away in the general foss
With hundreds more. But their folks don't know,
And as well cry over a new-laid drain
As anything else, to ease your pain!"



"My stick!" he says, and turns in the lane
To the house just left, whence a vixen voice
Comes out with the firelight through the pane,
And he sees within that the girl of his choice
Stands rating her mother with eyes aglare
For something said while he was there.

"At last I behold her soul undraped!"
Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself;
"My God--'tis but narrowly I have escaped. -
My precious porcelain proves it delf."
His face has reddened like one ashamed,
And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed.



He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair
Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,
A type of decayed gentility;
And by some small signs he well can guess
That she comes to him almost breakfastless.

"I have called--I hope I do not err -
I am looking for a purchaser
Of some score volumes of the works
Of eminent divines I own, -
Left by my father--though it irks
My patience to offer them." And she smiles
As if necessity were unknown;
"But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles
I have wished, as I am fond of art,
To make my rooms a little smart."
And lightly still she laughs to him,
As if to sell were a mere gay whim,
And that, to be frank, Life were indeed
To her not vinegar and gall,
But fresh and honey-like; and Need
No household skeleton at all.



"My bride is not coming, alas!" says the groom,
And the telegram shakes in his hand. "I own
It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room
When I went to the Cattle-Show alone,
And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps,
And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps.

"Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife -
'Twas foolish perhaps!--to forsake the ways
Of the flaring town for a farmer's life.
She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says:
'It's sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest,
But a swift, short, gay life suits me best.
What I really am you have never gleaned;
I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned.'"



"O that mastering tune?" And up in the bed
Like a lace-robed phantom springs the bride;
"And why?" asks the man she had that day wed,
With a start, as the band plays on outside.
"It's the townsfolks' cheery compliment
Because of our marriage, my Innocent."

"O but you don't know! 'Tis the passionate air
To which my old Love waltzed with me,
And I swore as we spun that none should share
My home, my kisses, till death, save he!
And he dominates me and thrills me through,
And it's he I embrace while embracing you!"



"But hear. If you stay, and the child be born,
It will pass as your husband's with the rest,
While, if we fly, the teeth of scorn
Will be gleaming at us from east to west;
And the child will come as a life despised;
I feel an elopement is ill-advised!"

"O you realize not what it is, my dear,
To a woman! Daily and hourly alarms
Lest the truth should out. How can I stay here,
And nightly take him into my arms!
Come to the child no name or fame,
Let us go, and face it, and bear the shame."



"I stood at the back of the shop, my dear,
But you did not perceive me.
Well, when they deliver what you were shown
_I_ shall know nothing of it, believe me!"

And he coughed and coughed as she paled and said,
"O, I didn't see you come in there -
Why couldn't you speak?"--"Well, I didn't. I left
That you should not notice I'd been there.

"You were viewing some lovely things. 'Soon required
For a widow, of latest fashion';
And I knew 'twould upset you to meet the man
Who had to be cold and ashen

"And screwed in a box before they could dress you
'In the last new note in mourning,'
As they defined it. So, not to distress you,
I left you to your adorning."



"I'll tell--being past all praying for -
Then promptly die . . . He was out at the war,
And got some scent of the intimacy
That was under way between her and me;
And he stole back home, and appeared like a ghost
One night, at the very time almost
That I reached her house. Well, I shot him dead,
And secretly buried him. Nothing was said.

"The news of the battle came next day;
He was scheduled missing. I hurried away,
Got out there, visited the field,
And sent home word that a search revealed
He was one of the slain; though, lying alone
And stript, his body had not been known.

"But she suspected. I lost her love,
Yea, my hope of earth, and of Heaven above;
And my time's now come, and I'll pay the score,
Though it be burning for evermore."



They stand confronting, the coffin between,
His wife of old, and his wife of late,
And the dead man whose they both had been
Seems listening aloof, as to things past date.
--"I have called," says the first. "Do you marvel or not?"
"In truth," says the second, "I do--somewhat."

"Well, there was a word to be said by me! . . .
I divorced that man because of you -
It seemed I must do it, boundenly;
But now I am older, and tell you true,
For life is little, and dead lies he;
I would I had let alone you two!
And both of us, scorning parochial ways,
Had lived like the wives in the patriarchs' days."



"O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave there were?

"If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,
Maybe you'll raise her phantom soon!"

"Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!"

"Ah--she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?"

"Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the others were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of."

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Jorge Luis Borges

To kick off the new year, the excellent BBC program/podcast In Our Time is featuring Argentine short story writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges. Check it out here. I haven't listened to it myself yet, but I'm sure it will be very interesting; this program rarely fails to please.

I wish all my readers a very Happy New Year, full of the only thing that really matters: love.