By chance, I was out walking in the Arb tonight, and I came upon
a stage and about 100 or so people sitting in front of it expectantly.
There were enormous, bright red drums on the stage and a gong
in the background. Marvelous! What a marvelous surprise. I sat down
beneath a sturdy tree and what ensued was nothing short of fantastic.

It was leaping! and pounding! and faster! and great! It was
about twenty Taiwanese performers in a show of choreographed, orchestrated
drumming that lasted about an hour and a half. I can't say enough good
things about it. It reminded me of a poem:

I just got home from the Arb and! The most amazing show of
Taiwanese performers! I'm
entranced!

Here is a small description of what I saw (from the UMS website):

"A compelling, seamless work of rhythm and movement, The Sound of Ocean traces the cyclical journey of water from drop to stream, from river to ocean. An intense physical and emotional experience, the work is animated by theatrical tension and propelled by rhythms beat out on temple bells, gongs, and drums. This rhythmically-based theatrical exploration of space, environment, and sound includes daring feats of speed and precision alongside a spare grace and clarity..."

And you can see a small picture at:

http://www.ums.umich.edu/

When earlier today I was just reading O'Keeffe's letters and came to the spot where she said, "I hope you are caring for yourself--something in you must quiet down so that you can get well--I wish I could help you." And I wondered how I could make something quiet down, and then the Taiwanese performers showed up and I feel very good. Exuberant even.

The only sadness--
I wish I'd had someone along to share it.

If you'd like to see the Drummers of Taiwan for yourself, they're giving two more performances at 8pm on Friday and Saturday at The Power Center.


*

And from earlier today...
I read that magician David Blaine has suspended himself in a see-through little box near London Bridge where he plans to reside for the next 44 days with only his journal and some water. This inspired an afternoon of ridiculous day-dreaming during which I wrote a poem for him.

Tan Clam With Seaweed


1.
tea in a green plastic cup
rings of the quilt interlock
a borrowed title

2.
here
put this furry red hat
upon your lamp

3.
the first one no good
white shirt
twentyfouryearold
(minty-mouthed)

4.
pink vanilla soap
thin as my shirt
tiny black vanilla beans
inside

5.
tan clam with seaweed
you could put it
in a gumball

6.
maybe, just maybe
it will go to Lake Constance
become a swan

(as if that's
never happened
before!)

7.
PLEASE RETURN
THIS CARD
AT ONCE

8.
PLEASE RETURN
THIS SWAN
AT ONCE

9.
A burst of yellow leaves
twirls through the air--
They like Mozart too

10.
Can you imagine
something so small and red
can make so much buzz

11.
you want to find the truth
so they send you
a cheeseburger
on a tiny helicopter
to tease you

12.
and it reminds you
of Kafka being taunted
by Mickey Mouse

13.
what will you say
once you've gotten
their attention

14.
you love everyone
or you love some people
or you love mom and dad
gran and gramp
or you don't love anyone

15.
or just glad to be alive
drinking your tea
glad to be alive

Alice und die Schildkroete


(Die vergessene Szene von Wunderland.)

Alice ist noch mal verloren
im Schwarzwald. Sie hat:
keine echte Tennis-schue
kein neue Kleidung
keine Vitamine, kein Alkohol
kein Zigaretten, kein Mann
kein Liebe, kein Medizin fuer ihr Gesicht, die
ein Feld von Erdbeeren geworden ist.
Sie hat ein Buch dabei, Rilke's
Duino Elegien, ein rot Hut,
Herbst allergien.

Sie lauft durch die Nachtwald. Sie will nach den Himmel gehen und weiBt nicht warum.

Ploetzlich kommt sie zu ein Schildkroete.
Er riecht wie lavender und pfefferminz.
Er hat das Moos in seinen Ohren und koennte
nicht viel hoeren. Er trinkt ein "Forty"
und iBt Sonnenblumekerne.
Er spuckt diese aus, auf den Fussen der Alice.

Die Schildkroete (in eine Stimme das ist langsam und faul): Ja. Hallo. Was willst du? Du siehst wie ein Tote Person aus. Was IST dein Problem?

Alice: Ich will zu den Himmel gehen um zu tanzen mit den Sterne. Das Realitaet ist zu traurig. Mein Korper ist, seit viele Jahren weg, mein Haare ist weg; ich weiB nicht warum ich lebe noch. Die Leute wollen ziemlich, dass ich sterbe, und ich will nicht mehr kaempfen. Lass die Welt zu die Arschloecher. Ich will nicht mehr sorgen.

Die Schildkroete: Also, du vermisst dein Kredit Karten? Du kannst nicht eine gute Salon finden? Dein Mann ist ein Schildkroete?

Alice: Ich kann nicht lacheln. Maenner wollen Weh machen, sie wollen das Gesicht von Weh sehen. Sie wollen, dass ich sterbe.

Die Schildkroete: Nein. Es ist nur, dass sie denken nicht so viel. Sie sind cynisch, aber nicht total Boese. Sie wollen nicht, dass du stirbst, so viel wie sie wollen leben. Sie wollen was sie wollen.

(Er zuckt)

Alice: Ich bin krank davon.

Die Schildkroete: Schade. Die Welt ist schoen, es ist wertvoll dadrin zu sein. Du denkst zu viel. Kannst du nicht einfach Leben ohne denken?

Alice: Warum lebst du noch? Warum bist du so wichtig?

Die Schildkroete: Ich habe nicht so viele Wuenschen. Ich will essen, trinken, und ficken. Ich sorge nicht ueber mein Reputation.

Alice: Bitte, lassen sie mir allein. Ich fuehle so schlecht, ich kann dir nicht erklaeren.

Die Schildkroete: Du weisst nicht was du sagst. Du denkst das dein Leben ist wichtig, aber es ist nicht. Es gibt viel wie dich. Du bist klein und kann verschwinden.

Alice: Das verstehe ich ganz gut. Danke fuer dein Beratung.

(Alice laueft weg. Die Schildkroete bleibt und trinkt sein "Forty.")

Why is O'Keeffe so fascinating? It's partly that she went to a place all alone--a place not particularly comfortable or welcoming to a human--much less a woman, and she Thrived.

I wonder what compelled her to go there.
What was is that she needed away from the machinations of society.
How did she break away, how did she sustain herself
with her own inner resources.

She worked and ate and slept all in one place
and was very careful about the food she ate
and very simple (some say austere, according to one book) in the clothes she wore; she didn't wear make-up or frivolous doo-dads
She was open, straightforward, and clear in her conversations.

She was also a Certain woman. What does that mean?
Do some people have more control over their fate than others? What was it about Mount Pedernal that compelled her to paint it over, and over, and over
again?