stuff i liked
POEMS>Poem Leonard Cohen
>The Secret of Saturday Morning Martin Lammon
>Why, on a Bad Day, I Can Relate to the Manatee Denise Duhamel
>Dawn, Morning, Day Wayne Daniel Berard
>The Quiet World Jeffrey McDaniel
>All There Is To Know About Adolph Eichmann Leonard Cohen
>We Real Cool Gwendolyn Brooks
>For the Anniversary of My Death W.S. Merwin
>Issa Izumi Shikibu
SHORT STORIES
>Seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning Haruki Murakami
>A Philosophy Class Unknown
>I've Learned Omer Washington
Poem
I heard of a man
who says words so beautifully
that if he only speaks their name
women give themselves to him.
If I am dumb beside your body
while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips
it is because I heard a man climb stairs
and clear his throat outside our door.
The Secret of Saturday Morning
It is a simple recipe, she says,
so I peek into her bowl
and, yes, even I can see
there is butter, flour, a little sugar,
and raisins. Do you like them?
she asks, and I know she means
the raisins, so I say
yes, but what I mean is
how beautiful you are
on a Saturday morning,
stirring a spoon slowly;
how it is the way your hand
turns and rolls, devoted to this
simple task, baking muffins
with raisins for us, and how
sweet I know they will taste,
but what I say is, yes,
and again, a little softer, yes.
Why, on a Bad Day, I Can Relate to the Manatee
The manatee tries a diet of only sea grass, but still stays fat.
Mistaking her for a mermaid from afar,
sailors of long ago lost interest when they got too close,
openly making fun of her cubbiness. She knows Rodney Dangerfield
would write jokes about her if she were more popular.
She's ashamed of her crooked teeth, her two big molars
that leave her sucking and grinding
with bad table manners. She swims toward danger
over and over, scars from motor boats on her back
reminders of her slow stupidness. She resents being called
a sea-cow. She hopes her whiskers don't show
in the light. She is the mammal who knows
about low self-esteem. I first met her on my honeymoon
in southern Florida. I was on a cruise in my one piece bathing suit.
The women in bikinis squealed and pointed to the nearby dolphins,
clapping so their sleek gray backs would come to the water's surface.
In the shadow of her prettier ocean sister, the manatee swam by also.
No one but I paid her much attention. I wanted to lend her
my make-up, massager her spine, lend a girl-friend-ear
and listen to her underwater troubles. I dreamt of her
as I slept in the warmth of my new husband. I dreamt of her
as he slept in the warmth of me. On a good day, too,
I can relate to the manatee, who knows
on some level that she is endangered
and believes in mating for life.
Dawn, Morning, Day
On the planet
a billion miles
wide at center
on the planet
rotating once
each thousand years,
on the dark side,
where fifty generations
know nothing beyond
moon-glow and pin-points,
in their classrooms
and cafes
when
(ancient legends
to the contrary)
pale scholars
and
couples with silver eyes
answer,
"Light?
We know
all about light,"
So was I
to love
before you.
The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
All There Is To Know About Adolph Eichmann
EYES:.........................Medium
HAIR:.........................Medium
WEIGHT:.......................Medium
HEIGHT:.......................Medium
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:......None
NUMBER OF FINGERS:............Ten
NUMBER OF TOES:...............Ten
INTELLIGENCE:.................Medium
What did you expect?
Talons?
Oversize incisors?
Green saliva
Madness?
We Real Cool
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
For the Anniversary of My Death
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveller
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And then shamelessness of men
As today wrting after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
Issa
Why hadn't I
Thought of it before?
This body
Remembering yours,
Is the keepsake you left.
Seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to ourpassing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might even end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning,miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent thewhole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
A Philosophy Class
A philosophy professor stood before his class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly he picked up a large empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks, rocks about 2" in diameter. He then asked the students if the jar was full? They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The students laughed. The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. "Now," said the professor, "I want you to recognize that this is your life. The rocks are the important things - your family, your partner, your health, your children - things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else. The small stuff."
"If you put the sand into the jar first, there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal. "Take care of the rocks first - the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."
I've Learned
I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them. I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back. I've learned that it takes years to build up trust and only seconds to destroy it. I've learned that it's not what you have in your live, but who you have in your life that counts. I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes, after that, you'd better know something.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do. I've learned that it's not what happens to people, it's what they do about it. I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides. I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you'll see them. I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences. I've learned that there are people, who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it. I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel. I've learned that true friendship continues to grow even over the longest distance same goes for true love.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that. I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgive by others, sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself. I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken, the world doesn't stop for your grief. I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other and just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that sometimes you have to put the individual ahead of their actions. I've learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different. I've learned that no matter the consequences, those who are honest with themselves get farther in life. I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of hours when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.
I've learned that writing, As well as talking, Can ease emotional pains. I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon. I've learned that it's hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people's feelings and standing up for what you believe. I've learned to love and be loved. I've learned.
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