Marly Youmans's Blog, page 86

The Bell Ringers

Imagine a group of young bell ringers, dressed in black pants and pleated tuxedo shirts with red bow ties and cummerbunds. The one young woman is dressed like the young men, except that she has on a black skirt. They have the requisite white gloves and gleaming instruments, a bell to each hand. One of them, Andrew, is very eager, and when he is listening, his face is intent and mobile. 


They

Slog & sundry (+ requests)

Ruth Sanderson, from The Twelve Dancing Princesses


I'm afraid today is a Great Slog Day. Ruth Sanderson is coming soon, and I must quarry out the guest room, which is full of rummage sale items--too much stuff in this house!--and Scouts gear from the trip to the Grand Canyon. Do you know Ruth? Here she is at her Golden Studio, where you can learn about her painting and books. I met her when

Poetry. Channeling Tesla.

If you want to know the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.  -Nikola Tesla





Via Prufrock, I looked at these wonderful Chladni-plate sand pictures. Description from Colossal: Youtube user Brusspup . . . who often explores the intersection between art and science just released this new video featuring the Chladni plate experiment. First a black metal

You've come a long way, baby--

From an article (by a man) on longevity as a writer in the SFWA Bulletin, 2013



The reason for Barbie's unbelievable staying power, when every contemporary and wanna-be has fallen by the way-side is, she's a nice girl. Let the Bratz girls dress like tramps and whores. Barbie never had any of that. Sure, there was a quick buck to be made going that route but it wasn't for her. Barbie got her

American tumbleweed

“We live in a time and place in which we are conditioned to leave our hometowns,” Dreher reflects. “Our schools tell our young people to follow their professional bliss, wherever it takes them. Our economy rewards companies and people who have no loyalty to place.” Probably most importantly of all, “The stories that shape the moral imagination of our young, chiefly by film and television, are

Poems, essay at Mezzo Cammin--

Poems up at Mezzo Cammin, three of them from The Book of the Red King manuscript:



Tree Girl
The Garden at 4 a.m.
The Alchemist to the Fool
The Red King to the Stricken Man


I also have a little essay on Kathleen Raine in Mezzo Cammin's Fifteen by Fifteen, a celebration of fifteen women poets by fifteen women poets. And thanks to editor, poet, and West Chester Poetry Conference director

Fireworks, and clarity--

The speculative writing world has gone off like fireworks again, this time over remarks about "lady writers" and "lady editors" and then later about woman's "quiet dignity" (referring to Barbie, of all things!) As someone who, thanks to two Southern fantasies written for my children and a post-apocalyptic blank verse poem, is occasionally invited to the speculative party and asked for anthology

Longing for Isaac Bashevis Singer

"Cloister gate" (detail), courtesy
of sxc.hu and Alfred Borchar of Lindlar, Germany

At times one (this one, anyway) aches to bring back a certain departed writer and see what he would do with some absolutely delicious material. In this case, I wish that Isaac Bashevis Singer could be here in plaid suit and mismatched tie to give us a wondrous story inspired by Ari Mandel, the ex-Chassidic man

Morning after storm--

Wendy Chidester is one of the artists discussed in the Spring
2013 issue of American Arts Quarterly. Her paintings of out-
of-date machinery are like "relics ... the wonder-working
bones of saints" (p. 42.) Liquid Fuel Iron, oil on canvas,
24 x 26. I like this labor-saving relic of the past, and can't
help personifying the lady iron and her little caboose-
and-papoose child. Looks a bit

Other people's thoughts--

Yesterday was taken up with a trip to Greenwich to drop off a child for a summer job, with stops for supplies--no luck!--and finding the new boss and the place to stay. Afterward we went out to dinner at the Dish Bistro on Main Street, where I met one of the owners, the Susan Garth--a bright, engaging chef who knows how to cook. I had a Moroccan chicken stew, and my daughter a salad with pear and