Ariel Gordon's Blog, page 43
November 8, 2013
Hold on. Please.
The day after I got your letter, I walked half a day into the wind’s scoured territory. After an hour I realized I’d forgotten a weapon & picked up a no-parking sign.
There were engine noises in the distance, but whatever was humming & shrieking, loud & louder, never turned the corner. So I turned around. And now I’m at my house & my right pocket is full of softening teeth...
I’m still trying to digest your letter. I’m still trying to understand the blood & shit smeared on the front door of my house, the broken windows. How it looks like the trees burned.
I think you’re sick so often because you’ve been practicing bad hygiene. Have you been washing your hands in between rampages?
Okay, that was a dig. But your symptoms…they sound a lot like radiation sickness.
I spent most of the last before-day in the basement vault at the bank where I work, doing the monthly security check. So maybe I missed the detonation. Or maybe I’m only a few weeks behind you & I’ll soon be adding my cavity-ridden teeth to the collection in my pocket…
I find myself rattling them like coins.
Also, there’s no fresh food left. Except root vegetables. And, as my daughter noted once, turnip tastes like ass.
I’m antsy. I feel like climbing into the tallest tree I can find and watching the neighbourhood, to see what’s moving out there.
Shit. There’s noise outside. Gotta go!
But hold on. Please!
* * *
Or, if you'd prefer to hear it rather than read it:
listen to ‘Hold on. Please.’ on Audioboo
* * *
This was part eighteen of our exquisite corpse. Darryl Joel Berger's seventeen can be found here:
There were engine noises in the distance, but whatever was humming & shrieking, loud & louder, never turned the corner. So I turned around. And now I’m at my house & my right pocket is full of softening teeth...
I’m still trying to digest your letter. I’m still trying to understand the blood & shit smeared on the front door of my house, the broken windows. How it looks like the trees burned.
I think you’re sick so often because you’ve been practicing bad hygiene. Have you been washing your hands in between rampages?
Okay, that was a dig. But your symptoms…they sound a lot like radiation sickness.
I spent most of the last before-day in the basement vault at the bank where I work, doing the monthly security check. So maybe I missed the detonation. Or maybe I’m only a few weeks behind you & I’ll soon be adding my cavity-ridden teeth to the collection in my pocket…
I find myself rattling them like coins.
Also, there’s no fresh food left. Except root vegetables. And, as my daughter noted once, turnip tastes like ass.
I’m antsy. I feel like climbing into the tallest tree I can find and watching the neighbourhood, to see what’s moving out there.
Shit. There’s noise outside. Gotta go!
But hold on. Please!
* * *
Or, if you'd prefer to hear it rather than read it:
listen to ‘Hold on. Please.’ on Audioboo
* * *
This was part eighteen of our exquisite corpse. Darryl Joel Berger's seventeen can be found here:
October 31, 2013
One last pick
After a summer that included picking apples, chokecherries and vegetables for Fruit Share as well as strawberries and pears and apples and cherries on my own time, I had reconciled myself to the fact that it was over.
No more time up in trees, arms over my head. No more frantic processing of ripe/over-ripe fruit.
But then Fruit Share sent out one last call for volunteers.
One of the picks was for frost-sweetened Concord grapes.
How could I resist? Even though I don't love grape jelly, I really wanted to spend a bit more time up on a ladder.
So I spent two hours on a stepladder this past weekend, pulling down perfect handfuls of grapes from a homemade arbour made out of pipes and wire. While wearing a toque and scarf and wishing for more tea.
This was the year of ever-so-slightly confused picks. Where I was the only volunteer that showed up, despite the fact that three or four people had signed up. Where I stopped getting Fruit Share emails. (Ack!)
But that's an almost inevitable outcome, given that Fruit Share consists on hundreds of volunteer pickers and owners-of-fruit. That those hundreds of people are organized by one paid individual and a handful of dedicated volunteers.
This is my third summer with Fruit Share. And I dearly love it, even if I sometimes get tired of having my hands simultaneously wet and prickly post-pick.
The other volunteer on this pick is a Mennonite engineer who recently built himself an apple press. He's going to make wine, so I gave him the lion's share of the grapes. I've made a couple of batches of juice, a few trays of fruit leather, and will likely do jelly yet, even just to give away as gifts.
Yay! Fun!
No more time up in trees, arms over my head. No more frantic processing of ripe/over-ripe fruit.
But then Fruit Share sent out one last call for volunteers.One of the picks was for frost-sweetened Concord grapes.
How could I resist? Even though I don't love grape jelly, I really wanted to spend a bit more time up on a ladder.
So I spent two hours on a stepladder this past weekend, pulling down perfect handfuls of grapes from a homemade arbour made out of pipes and wire. While wearing a toque and scarf and wishing for more tea.
This was the year of ever-so-slightly confused picks. Where I was the only volunteer that showed up, despite the fact that three or four people had signed up. Where I stopped getting Fruit Share emails. (Ack!)
But that's an almost inevitable outcome, given that Fruit Share consists on hundreds of volunteer pickers and owners-of-fruit. That those hundreds of people are organized by one paid individual and a handful of dedicated volunteers.
This is my third summer with Fruit Share. And I dearly love it, even if I sometimes get tired of having my hands simultaneously wet and prickly post-pick.
The other volunteer on this pick is a Mennonite engineer who recently built himself an apple press. He's going to make wine, so I gave him the lion's share of the grapes. I've made a couple of batches of juice, a few trays of fruit leather, and will likely do jelly yet, even just to give away as gifts.
Yay! Fun!
October 29, 2013
blurb part deux
This past winter, after spending some time in and amongst Monkey Ranch's wry intelligent ever so slightly absurd poems, I knew who I wanted to have blurb Stowaway's attempts at same: Canadian but based in San Francisco poet Julie Bruck.
(And then I read her The End of Travel and knew I'd made the right decision.)
I don't know Julie at all, but she was polite and professional when I approached her. And agreed to blurb, which is the most important consideration.
And, nearly three weeks later, this is what she came back with:
"In the closing poem of Stowaways, the surviving pilot of the first fatal plane crash in recorded history receives a small box of debris from the calamity, "to amuse him in his convalescence." What a fitting figure for this collection's loopy juxtapositions and serious surprises. The world in Ariel Gordon's poems is one in which everything and everyone, from a sleep-starved human mother to a miscegenational beluga, is simultaneously endangered and dangerous. If Gordon understands our vulnerability, how "skin is a thin shield," that even a birthday balloon, drifting from the back seat is "a kiss with teeth," she vividly reminds us that those teeth are ours: "If I had had twins," says the new mother in "Primpara," "I would have eaten one." These are nervy poems that refuse to behave themselves. They are something to celebrate." - Julie Bruck
All of which is to say that I'm pleased as punch. Perhaps even a bit punchy. (Loopy juxtapositions! Serious surprises!)
Even though I mistrust bumf at the best of times, I deeply appreciate the opportunity that having the blurb presented: to have a poet I admired that is a stranger to me spend some time considering the work.
Because that's what it's all about. The frustrating-wonderful-bewildering work.
(And then I read her The End of Travel and knew I'd made the right decision.)
I don't know Julie at all, but she was polite and professional when I approached her. And agreed to blurb, which is the most important consideration.
And, nearly three weeks later, this is what she came back with:
"In the closing poem of Stowaways, the surviving pilot of the first fatal plane crash in recorded history receives a small box of debris from the calamity, "to amuse him in his convalescence." What a fitting figure for this collection's loopy juxtapositions and serious surprises. The world in Ariel Gordon's poems is one in which everything and everyone, from a sleep-starved human mother to a miscegenational beluga, is simultaneously endangered and dangerous. If Gordon understands our vulnerability, how "skin is a thin shield," that even a birthday balloon, drifting from the back seat is "a kiss with teeth," she vividly reminds us that those teeth are ours: "If I had had twins," says the new mother in "Primpara," "I would have eaten one." These are nervy poems that refuse to behave themselves. They are something to celebrate." - Julie Bruck
All of which is to say that I'm pleased as punch. Perhaps even a bit punchy. (Loopy juxtapositions! Serious surprises!)
Even though I mistrust bumf at the best of times, I deeply appreciate the opportunity that having the blurb presented: to have a poet I admired that is a stranger to me spend some time considering the work.
Because that's what it's all about. The frustrating-wonderful-bewildering work.
October 25, 2013
Out-of-Town-Authors: Terry O'Connor
There are two things you should know about UK-based archaeologist Terry O'Connor: one, he's currently studying deadstock (the study of the remains of livestock in human settlements, if I'm understanding it correctly) and two, he has a wry sense of humour.
The evidence to support both claims can be found on his faculty listing at the University of York:
"Terry O'Connor read Archaeology at London University, specialising in field archaeology and the study of animal remains. On completion of a PhD in which sheep featured strongly, he worked at the Environmental Archaeology Unit, University of York for nine years, principally conducting zooarchaeological research on material from York. He then moved to the University of Bradford for a further nine years, teaching zooarchaeology and environmental archaeology. Terry returned to York in 1999 and intends to stay here."
I'm interviewing O'Connor because he's just published his first book, entitled Animals as Neighbors: The Past and Present of Commensal Animals, with Michigan State University Press. (It's a part of their series The Animal Turn, which also includes the title Animals as Domesticates.)
I'm interviewing O'Connor because I've become more and more aware of urban animals over the past few years, from the geese that stupidly nest in flower planters and parking lots, to the impudent squirrel that lives in my attic, to the deer that lazily roam the urban forests I frequent.
And because he's interested in the difference between wild and domestic, which the territory I inhabit in my nature writing.
* * *
What do you want people to know about Animals as Neighbours?
I want people to know that the book is an integration of past and present, that it seeks to explain and understand a particular form of relationship between our species and others through an investigation of the archaeological record and present-day ecology. Although the book is somewhat academic – it has endnote sources and a lengthy bibliography – the style is intended to be accessible to any general reader.
What was your goal for this book?
My none-too-hidden agenda was to make people more aware that the everyday animals around us are not just a passive part of ‘our’ environment. They have their lives and objectives, and we are a part of their environment, a part that they can utilize and manipulate to their advantage. And good luck to them.
Do you see it as part of your obligation as a scientist to write for non-specialist audiences? Or was Animals as Neighbours a way for you to braid together all the strands of your research over the years?
A little of both. I certainly do see it as an obligation to write for non-specialist audiences, in part so that the complexity and excitement of academic research is shared with the wider community, and in part because we are all non-specialists in most things. I may be regarded as a specialist in my particular research area, but I read a lot of ‘popular science’ in order to keep up with other research fields that are beyond my narrow comfort zone. And Animals as Neighbors was a book that needed writing. Over the last decade, I became more and more aware of a lack of investigation of those animals that move between the wild and the domestic realms, and it looked as if no-one else was going to get around to writing the book!
Is there a difference between rural and urban commensal populations? (As opposed to commensal versus wild populations...)
Nice question. To the animals themselves, what matters are the niche and the opportunities, and if those conditions arise in, say, a rural barn as against an urban backyard shed, then most rats will not discriminate. Rural populations miss out on the heat-island effect of cities, and they are likely to be more isolated, and so less likely to be re-stocked by new incomers. Some commensal populations also gain from the exclusion of predators, and that benefit may be more marked in towns.
I ask because recently took a short road trip through rural and semi-rural land here on the Canadian prairies and couldn't believe the numbers of roadkilled foxes, skunks, badgers, and raccoons. (The land to either side of the highway was almost exclusively farmland, either pasture or fields with grain/canola, etc, and had windbreak stands of trees and a few islands of aspen parkland.) How can those populations survive such massive culls? Or does it mostly look worse than it is?
Yes, I drive to work along semi-rural roads, and the death-toll of rabbits, especially, seems to be unsupportable. Yet there are more (live) rabbits every year, so clearly it is sustainable. Traffic may simply be replacing predation by other species that are less abundant now than in the past, or are locally excluded along roadsides or on heavily-managed farmland. In the UK, estimates indicate around 30,000 red foxes living in towns, and cars are by far their major predator. But those populations persist, indeed increase, because the availability of food and the absence of any other major predator allows large clutches of young to be raised. It’s a trade-off.
My favourite snippet from the conclusion is this: "Scrupulously clean, tidy, safe towns and cities that we share with few or no other animals apart from our pets would not be healthy places to live."
I come from a household that hates grass and is more likely to leave leaves on the ground than rake them, but even so, this sounds counter-intuitive to me. And it'll sound counter-intuitive to municipal governments, who like to levy fines when boulevards aren't mowed, for instance.
How do you think this idea (or cluster of ideas) can be communicated to the public?
I think the challenge is not so much to persuade the public as to persuade those who work in the public’s name. The topic of re-connecting children with ‘nature’ is being discussed in the UK right now, and the skepticism and opposition comes in part from journalists and commentators who see this as another bit of propaganda from tree-hugging, bunny-loving, knit-your-own-muesli socio-economic failures, and in part from municipal managers who wrongly equate tidy with efficient. Parents of young children are much more receptive to the idea that outdoors is good, that children need to appreciate wild animals and plants for the sake of their futures and ours. So I think the strategy is entryism, by encouraging the well-disposed public to talk to their friends and to put pressure on local councils and planners, who may not listen to writers and academics, but who will listen to voters.
Is there a reason deer are excluded from Animals as Neighbours? In North America, they're reaching very high densities in city and country alike. Local authorities have even resorted to allowing hunting within city limits to try to control the population.
I thought about deer, and appreciate that a case for their inclusion could have been made. In the end, though, I felt that deer living in urban parks and green spaces are essentially living as rural deer, showing little adaptation to their urban environment. That makes them less interesting from the point of view that I was trying to get across in the book. But maybe in the second edition!
What are you reading right now? What are you writing right now?
I am currently re-reading John Marzluff and Tony Angell’s delightful Gifts of the Crow, a book that combines highly technical neuroanatomy with fascinating lab work and anecdote to show what complex and smart birds the crow family are. As for writing, I am just getting underway a synthesis of thirty years of work on excavated animal bones from the city of York, investigating livestock husbandry, human foodways and the urban ecology over 2,000 years. That could take a while.
The evidence to support both claims can be found on his faculty listing at the University of York:
"Terry O'Connor read Archaeology at London University, specialising in field archaeology and the study of animal remains. On completion of a PhD in which sheep featured strongly, he worked at the Environmental Archaeology Unit, University of York for nine years, principally conducting zooarchaeological research on material from York. He then moved to the University of Bradford for a further nine years, teaching zooarchaeology and environmental archaeology. Terry returned to York in 1999 and intends to stay here."I'm interviewing O'Connor because he's just published his first book, entitled Animals as Neighbors: The Past and Present of Commensal Animals, with Michigan State University Press. (It's a part of their series The Animal Turn, which also includes the title Animals as Domesticates.)
I'm interviewing O'Connor because I've become more and more aware of urban animals over the past few years, from the geese that stupidly nest in flower planters and parking lots, to the impudent squirrel that lives in my attic, to the deer that lazily roam the urban forests I frequent.
And because he's interested in the difference between wild and domestic, which the territory I inhabit in my nature writing.
* * *
What do you want people to know about Animals as Neighbours?
I want people to know that the book is an integration of past and present, that it seeks to explain and understand a particular form of relationship between our species and others through an investigation of the archaeological record and present-day ecology. Although the book is somewhat academic – it has endnote sources and a lengthy bibliography – the style is intended to be accessible to any general reader.
What was your goal for this book?
My none-too-hidden agenda was to make people more aware that the everyday animals around us are not just a passive part of ‘our’ environment. They have their lives and objectives, and we are a part of their environment, a part that they can utilize and manipulate to their advantage. And good luck to them.
Do you see it as part of your obligation as a scientist to write for non-specialist audiences? Or was Animals as Neighbours a way for you to braid together all the strands of your research over the years?
A little of both. I certainly do see it as an obligation to write for non-specialist audiences, in part so that the complexity and excitement of academic research is shared with the wider community, and in part because we are all non-specialists in most things. I may be regarded as a specialist in my particular research area, but I read a lot of ‘popular science’ in order to keep up with other research fields that are beyond my narrow comfort zone. And Animals as Neighbors was a book that needed writing. Over the last decade, I became more and more aware of a lack of investigation of those animals that move between the wild and the domestic realms, and it looked as if no-one else was going to get around to writing the book!
Is there a difference between rural and urban commensal populations? (As opposed to commensal versus wild populations...)
Nice question. To the animals themselves, what matters are the niche and the opportunities, and if those conditions arise in, say, a rural barn as against an urban backyard shed, then most rats will not discriminate. Rural populations miss out on the heat-island effect of cities, and they are likely to be more isolated, and so less likely to be re-stocked by new incomers. Some commensal populations also gain from the exclusion of predators, and that benefit may be more marked in towns.
I ask because recently took a short road trip through rural and semi-rural land here on the Canadian prairies and couldn't believe the numbers of roadkilled foxes, skunks, badgers, and raccoons. (The land to either side of the highway was almost exclusively farmland, either pasture or fields with grain/canola, etc, and had windbreak stands of trees and a few islands of aspen parkland.) How can those populations survive such massive culls? Or does it mostly look worse than it is?
Yes, I drive to work along semi-rural roads, and the death-toll of rabbits, especially, seems to be unsupportable. Yet there are more (live) rabbits every year, so clearly it is sustainable. Traffic may simply be replacing predation by other species that are less abundant now than in the past, or are locally excluded along roadsides or on heavily-managed farmland. In the UK, estimates indicate around 30,000 red foxes living in towns, and cars are by far their major predator. But those populations persist, indeed increase, because the availability of food and the absence of any other major predator allows large clutches of young to be raised. It’s a trade-off.
My favourite snippet from the conclusion is this: "Scrupulously clean, tidy, safe towns and cities that we share with few or no other animals apart from our pets would not be healthy places to live."
I come from a household that hates grass and is more likely to leave leaves on the ground than rake them, but even so, this sounds counter-intuitive to me. And it'll sound counter-intuitive to municipal governments, who like to levy fines when boulevards aren't mowed, for instance.
How do you think this idea (or cluster of ideas) can be communicated to the public?
I think the challenge is not so much to persuade the public as to persuade those who work in the public’s name. The topic of re-connecting children with ‘nature’ is being discussed in the UK right now, and the skepticism and opposition comes in part from journalists and commentators who see this as another bit of propaganda from tree-hugging, bunny-loving, knit-your-own-muesli socio-economic failures, and in part from municipal managers who wrongly equate tidy with efficient. Parents of young children are much more receptive to the idea that outdoors is good, that children need to appreciate wild animals and plants for the sake of their futures and ours. So I think the strategy is entryism, by encouraging the well-disposed public to talk to their friends and to put pressure on local councils and planners, who may not listen to writers and academics, but who will listen to voters.
Is there a reason deer are excluded from Animals as Neighbours? In North America, they're reaching very high densities in city and country alike. Local authorities have even resorted to allowing hunting within city limits to try to control the population.
I thought about deer, and appreciate that a case for their inclusion could have been made. In the end, though, I felt that deer living in urban parks and green spaces are essentially living as rural deer, showing little adaptation to their urban environment. That makes them less interesting from the point of view that I was trying to get across in the book. But maybe in the second edition!
What are you reading right now? What are you writing right now?
I am currently re-reading John Marzluff and Tony Angell’s delightful Gifts of the Crow, a book that combines highly technical neuroanatomy with fascinating lab work and anecdote to show what complex and smart birds the crow family are. As for writing, I am just getting underway a synthesis of thirty years of work on excavated animal bones from the city of York, investigating livestock husbandry, human foodways and the urban ecology over 2,000 years. That could take a while.
October 22, 2013
piggyback
All photos Assiniboine Forest, Winnipeg, MB. October 13, 2013.October 18, 2013
Blurb/blubber
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October 17, 2013
A single rock
Part sixteen of the exquisite corpse Darryl Joel Berger and I are building, limb by limb:
listen to ‘A single rock’ on Audioboo
(My character's a little woozy. He's just spent a week or so staring out of the window at a windstorm....)
Here's Darryl's part fifteen, over at SoundCloud:
listen to ‘A single rock’ on Audioboo
(My character's a little woozy. He's just spent a week or so staring out of the window at a windstorm....)
Here's Darryl's part fifteen, over at SoundCloud:
