a welcome inspiration Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 

back tracks and from my diary , , , , , , , , , , , richibi 10:14 am

these earlier “back tracks”, of which the following is one example, are pieces I consider still to be worth your while

please enjoy                                                                                  

                             __________________ 

                                                                                                                                                                    March 15, 2006 

                                                                                                                                                                      as though the fire were out I was finding no spark of inspiration lately, though spring now, and some verve, have conspired at last to reignite my flailing prose

not even that I couldn’t match the noun to an apt and attractive adjective, that I couldn’t find the time or case of an ornery verb, that the metre of an iambic was perhaps recalcitrant or the lilt of an onomatopeia tired and worn, but rather and more decidedly, more fatally finally for my few sputtering words, for my flagging, foundering vowels, for my crumbling, turncoat consonnants, that were deserting me in droves, that I couldn’t turn open even the page, couldn’t find my way even to the paper that would allow me to write, to fill the vast waste of whiteness at my hand with the bouquets of wild and fragrant flowers that usually I find along the path of my itinerant imagination

this is no longer, evidently, the case

the ink is again flowing, the spring of art is in the air along with the spring of sap and blossoms

today I drew fleurs-de-lys on my walls, heraldically, which I’ll anoint in several colours to stand out against the variety of colours painted there already, I live in an array of colours, just like in a fairy tale

yesterday, to enhance that fancy, I received a mirror, a beautiful mirror, its craftsman told me it is made to reflect specifically one’s inner beauty

what if that could be

perhaps that craftsman ’s a magician

he was at least a wise man

and a welcome inspiration

 

 

    _______________________________________

 

blogging, first steps Tuesday, Feb 5 2008 

from my diary , , , , richibi 4:13 am

January 31, 2008                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

with little more than the word “blog” at my elbow I headed out this week to my first blogging class, the night was mostly clear, the sky was black already at seven thirty in the evening, I imagined spring and comfortable jaunts under the late afternoon sky instead of this artificial and edgy glitter of neon street lights along, for me, a more guarded way, night time is for less restricted activities, the fray of people who are younger now than I am

a couple of unlikely snowflakes suddenly crystallized, dully twinkled and duly danced before me to my surprise, I hadn’t counted on winter

I went into the class, tucked away in some corner I had to ask about, full of computers, of course

I sat at one

slowly not quite a dozen maybe others followed, found places, including the teacher

I hope this is going to be fairly elementary, I said to spark the air, classroom energy, with a question, I thought, from everybody

absolutely, she said, or something no less peremptory, no less categorical

we were all, I think, well satisfied, I certainly was

we all stated our reasons for being there, one of the few last I declared that I was, I am, a writer, in my, at least, heart, I write like others organize flowers, setting my metaphors to otherwise barren phrases, alliteration, onomatopeias for lilt and delight, synonyms sometimes maybe for variety, in a bouquet, I imagine, of words, I like to offer them as letters, communications, to friends and people, I thought I’d try to enlarge on that, confined as I am to my address list right now, my “captive” address list, an uncle of mine once said, a curmudgeon, who called the patients I hoped I was serenading with my still novice flute at the palliative care unit where I volunteered then my “captive audience”

he had a point, though an ornery one

                                                                                                                                                                                                                  it’s like stepping into traffic for me right now, I expressed about blogging when I was asked, the rube in the big city, I need some help to get around, what’s a blog, it was more or less what I thought it was, a web log, she said, a web diary, now I had a road map, next we started one, each one of us individually at each our computer, I got stage fright immediately, couldn’t find a thing to say, couldn’t find a word to write until just now, three days later

this is my introduction

welcome to my space    

                                                                                                                                                                                                               outside, the two snowflakes, that dully twinkled, duly danced, remember, had become a wonderland, snow like down fell, my path crunched and glistened, I thought of poetry, of course, enchantment, my literary aspirations, noted my leaving clear and crackling impressions in at least the snow, like metaphors, I thought to myself, crisp, stark metaphors, all the way home     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        richibi