Timothy Green's Blog
March 27, 2009
WHITE NOISE
Listen. How the wind whispers our secrets.
How a light rain will speak any language.
–from American Fractal
first published in Poetry Midwest
March 26, 2009
The best teacher I ever had died yesterday. 66, cancer. He was a legend in our little suburb, the kind of teacher that teenagers tell their younger siblings stories about, and then those siblings grow up and realize that all of the stories are actually true. If he caught you with a cheat sheet, he’d proofread it, correct any errors and slip it back where he found it. If you were doodling in class, he’d pull his tie up onto his forehead like a bandanna, yell out “Staple Man!” in a trademarke
March 20, 2009
AMERICAN FRACTAL
We are like two chasms,
a well staring up at the sky
–Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
two mirrors face each other my hands over my face the
porcelain soap dish an angel’s wings & a mile of its offerings
pink on pink on black tile I’m in the bathroom close the door
shut the light down the hall the tv too loud bob barker & the
price is right shut that out too
March 17, 2009
Really brief as-promised follow-up to “The Gender Question.” I spent the weekend doing the layout for the summer issue, so our contributors are now finalized.
The count: 46 men, 40 women = 46.7%F
Still leaning male, but Rattle #31 is more female than our 45% ten-issue-average, and we’ve bucked the disturbing trend of Gender Climate Change — apparently the recent spike in testosterone was due to random fluctuations in solar iridescence and the earth’s magnetic field, not men-made.
___________
An eve
March 16, 2009
We have to pick a winner for the 2009 Neil Postman Award by the end of the week.
Any suggestions?
Seriously. I’ve been gradually rereading the last two issues for a couple days, and there are just too many options. Do I go with a whole slew of metaphors, as in Martha Clarkson’s “How She Describes Her Ex-Husband…“: “He’s the joker pinned in bicycle spokes/ vanishing down the street.” Or a solid extended metaphor, as in ellen’s “Five Stages of Grieving” or Chrys Tobey’s “The Loss of Lemons“? The
March 13, 2009
SADDLED
Love is a horse, all sweaty suede and lean
muscle, heart bigger than its head. Love is a
dark horse, the unexpected silhouette, the anti-
man’s empty field—no shadow unattached
as darkness clings to light like a dead horse.
Look: I can make a dove with both hands. Now
a dog, a horse, an elephant. I can make love.
Love is a horse sound the throat makes when
it’s sore. I gurgle, I gag on a horse pill. But love
is an easy thing to swallow. Love is just horsing
around; it leaps like a wild horse f
March 11, 2009
I’ve been meaning to write a follow-up to Monday’s post about reader response, but it’s new-issue week for me — typesetting Rattle #31 before we send it on to our brilliant team of proofreaders — and time has been scarce. This is an important topic, and I really don’t want to half-ass it, but half an ass is better than no ass, right?
In listening to the feedback on issues of Rattle — whether in print or online, whether the commenters are writing letters or talking to me after readings — I alway
March 9, 2009
The graph on the right is “unique visitors” to Rattle.com. I had to crop out the y-axis, but you get the drift. On Saturday morning we went from our usual 1,000 or so visitors a day (is that good or bad for a website? I have no idea) to 20,000, thanks to the snowball effect of online networking. A couple people recommended the poem at StumbleUpon, and “Death and Tacos” by Nathaniel Whittemore went viral.
I love it when that happens, as it did last summer with Brett Myhren’s “Telemarketer.” The
March 6, 2009
AFTER HOPPER
Nighthawks, 1942
She says that everything is after Hopper.
That posh hotel—you looked about to slap her,
but never did. Sometimes she’d wait at night
in her blue robe, face folded like the note
you didn’t leave crumpled in a coat pocket.
Sometimes she’d stand in broad daylight, naked
before an open window, flesh so pale
and round and full it seemed about to pull
a tide of ruttish men up from the street.
But mostly it’s the red dress. The cut straight,
sleeveless, loose. And her mouth i
March 4, 2009
Since the book came out, it’s been a real treat trying to explain to friends and family what a fractal is. My grandma says she understood it one afternoon a few weeks ago, but can’t remember how it made sense at the time. Most people just assume it has something to do with fractions and leave it at that. The truth is, I’m not even remotely a mathematician (although it might have been my best subject in school), and don’t understand enough about the interactions between computers and modern ma


