Blake Matthew Bowlin, my new nephew, was born Sunday. Happy mother and father are doing fine at home and trying to get used to life not only with child, but also with family.

Listening to: Pat Metheny's Watercolors disc (actually on tape) IN MY NEW HOUSE!!! We are finally here! It seems like a crazy long journey, but I have finally moved. Tonya and I are really sore and tired, perhaps a bit cranky, but really happy to be here. The kids are figuring out how to live in a house, and the experience has been painful at times, and ecstatic at times. Max's favorite thing seems to be the water sprinkler, that and the TVR feature on the new Dish system. The twins seem to delight in chasing each other around. Alex seems to love her solitude in her room.
 
Took forever, it seems, but finally found the book I was reading, The Greatest Story Ever Told. Perhaps I've lost a little interest, but I had read a good third, and I'm committed to finishing. Plan to read Asimov's I, Robot next.

Ready to get back to some sort of routine of writing. I got a nice letter the other day from someone who actually reads my blog. The letter encouraged me to get back to work on an essay that has been bouncing around with me for some time. I'd also like to get back to submitting some stuff.
 
Did get news that two poems have been accepted for online journals. One is to be published at Dufus. It is titled, "Slam the door when you go." The other, "Fear at Burger King," is already available at Chronogram. I'm actually getting paid real money for the poem at Chronogram. So thanks to all that have looked so kindly on my little pieces. And reader, please go read.
 
Peace,
 

Back at the library, checking emails, trying to get some quiet, fighting various temptations, picking up a couple of movies.

We finally have a closing for Monday. Hopefully we can load the truck on Sunday and get out of the crap hole early. Have already gotten a couple of nasty notes from the apartment (which seems to have already changed managers after only a week of having a new one). We are excited, but a bit anxious. After all the roadblocks, I suppose we keep expecting a call that says the whole thing is off.

The whole ordeal has been, and continues to be, an exercise of faith. We have prayed and trusted that this move is the will of God. I've wondered if I was blinded by the house, and that these roadblocks might be confirmation that we are not to proceed. But faith untested is not faith worth having. We must have trials and difficulties to prove the faith real, not for God who knows us, but for ourselves, who cannot fathom the depths of our possibilities.

About a third through The Greatest Story Ever Told, and despite a couple of nagging problems, I am enjoying it. A couple of notes: first, I noticed in the Prologue that a chief motivation for writing the book was that so few people were reading the Bible, that biblical phrase in conversation brought stares and blank expressions. Mr. Oursler seems to have been sad that such an important document was fading from (my expression) cultural literacy. The book was published in 1949! Well, Mr. Oursler, it hasn't gotten any better.

Second, in the Prologue, the author explains that he took great pains, when the story would be made into a radio serial, to be sure that the story was accurate and would not offend (and I presume appeal to) Protestants or Catholics. He writes nothing of how it would be received by Jews. There are pains taken, it seems to my ignorant mind, to faithfully reproduce the people and times. However, there are little things that might stand out as inaccurate or even offensive, such as Jesus being described not only as having a perfect body (not a problem in itself), but coupling the image with notes that his skin was "lighter" than his companions. I don't know that a lot of people would notice it, but it did bug me a little. However, the story is still interesting. I'm sorry, actually, that I am past the part with Joseph's role in the story. I liked reading about his as a man of faith. However, I'm confident I will find similar tales of others in the novel.

Well, I haven't moved into the new place yet. I'm sitting in the library after reading my emails because I have no phone at home and thus no internet access. We were supposed to close a week ago. Argh!

Have finished reading The Best American Mystery Stories 2000 and a book of haiku poems I found a few days ago at Half Price Books. The haiku was not so great, but it is part of a series I have two or three books of. This is the first (I think, I'm not sure because the others are in my office). It wasn't terrible, but I suppose I have found some more satisfying. Of course, with haiku, one's state of mind has much to do with how it is received. And I have not been in a great state of mind.

The mystery stories were fine. I'm glad I finished before the move, but with my books packed up, I'm reticent to start much else. I did begin reading a copy of The Greatest Story Ever Told by Fulton Oursler. I have this first edition that isn't in great shape and it somehow didn't get packed with the other stuff. So far, I've read three chapters. I like some; some I'm not too keen on. We shall see.

Still writing...a little. Haven't worked on the "grief" essay in a couple of days, but I think I'm nearing the end of the draft. I did finish drafting my first (can you believe it, after 40 years?!?) sestina. It is about the delay in moving. It is perhaps too dreamy, but I'm glad I finally did one of these. I think I'll do others.

Better run for now. Peace of Christ to all who read here.

Listening to Keith Jarrett, the two disc rarum set. Really nice. Just what I need these days.

To paraphrase Bart Simpson, I didn't think it was possible, but moving both sucks and blows. Tonya and I have worked out butts off this weekend and I feel like I'm barely any closer to being ready. Of course, if the little ones would quit dumping boxes or taking things out of boxes I've packed....

Trying not to be too cynical (cynicism is second nature to me), but I probably won't feel right about the move until we are actually in the house. And for a while after then I'm likely to keep expecting someone to show up at the door and say, "Oops, sorry, made a mistake, you'll have to leave." We close on the first and Tonya wants to move in right away. That's the middle of the week though, and I don't know how much help we will have. I certainly can't afford real movers. John, who brought some boxes by the other day, said he'd help if he wasn't working. And I think the little ones will stay with Tonya's parents the night before, so we should be able to get a thing or two accomplished. But I have my doubts.

Writing? Well, I even feel guilty doing this weblog. Tonya found ten more of my old short stories. They were in some slightly stinky folders with drafts of each. I wrote most of these when I was going through a self-indulgent phase (as if writing a blog isn't self-indulgent) where I assumed that long after I was gone, people would want to read every draft and note about every story I wrote, so I kept them together. Well, I took the final drafts out, scanned them, and threw away the rest of the stuff. I planned to throw away the final drafts too once they were scanned and I had made sure I had everything okay. But I've decided to keep them in a separate folder (I hope the Lysol helps). I have edited about four or five and even submitted three. I don't like most of these all that much, but they seem okay. I believe a few are worth publishing though they do represent a slightly different person than the writer I am now.

Have also, I suppose, been working on an essay. I started it a few days ago, and it was then a kind of comparison of my mother after her miscarriage and my wife at various difficult times in her life. But it has turned, it seems, into a different animal altogether. I wrote last about a funeral and a graveyard I used to walk through. I remembered a few things about growing up right before my Mom got remarried. I'm not sure what the essay will be eventually, but I suppose I have to write it to find out. I really don't know why it bothers me to think about some of this stuff, but it does, and I know I won't quite feel right until I finish this piece.

I don't believe, in all the ramblings I have made here about what I read, that I have mentioned the reading that I do with my kids. Pity. Anyway, we usually let the three youngest take turns choosing what "chapter book" we'll read next, and I sort of talked Christina into reading L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. We finished the chapter called "The Happy Medium" tonight. This is a wonderful book. I think the kids really liked it. The other day Max brought me one of the other books in the series and said that he might choose it when we are done (he has the next turn). Anyway, every time I look at this book I wonder why I don't read more by L'Engle. I have read one of her journals, a book of poetry, and maybe one of the other novels. She's terrific no matter what one experiences.

On a side note, I realized something as I read tonight. "The Happy Medium" is the chapter where the kids get to Camazotz. They see everything bland and the same. I could not help thinking of Ayn Rand's Anthem, which I read several months ago. I did not care for Rand's book so much, though I didn't hate it. I probably would have loved it in high school or college. Anyway, I was thinking about how both authors seemed to protest mindless conformity, but I like L'Engle's vision better. I don't think it is just because she is Christian while Rand is not, though I'm sure that has a little to do with it. I'm not sure I'll have to mull it over some. I just remember thinking of the two as I read.

Well, I don't know if I'll write again before the move, but who knows. Can't get much done at night anyway.

Listening to: Eberhard Weber's rarum xviii (the very good collection series from ECM). Will likely go to Wayne Shorter or Brad Mehldau after that.

I'm sitting in the library at Collin County Community College as my twins are at Girl Scout "Camp". Making some minor changes to the webpage and maybe getting a little writing done.

The move appears to be very much on! We met with the builder yesterday for the "walk through." I actually got excited seeing my backyard that needed mowing. I've been fantasizing about the computer in my new study and letting the kids watch television or play in a room that is not where I am reading and not having to chase away a roach when I get a drink of water. I sure hope Royce City is ready for the Morris family.

So far, I have not done much writing on the novel. I did manage to put together a chapter or so, but in the past week, I think I've contributed about 1,000 words to the project. That doesn't depress me as much as I thought it would, I suppose because I have been working on a couple of essays. I think it I came out of the summer with some publishable stories and essays, I might be okay.

Have been submitting work pretty much every day I can. So far I have probably a dozen or so decent stories under consideration. That does make me feel like I'm getting something done. Most of the publications are online. This is because I just have not had the time (I work on this mostly at night) or resources (do you know how much postage and paper costs, never mind that my printer dies some time ago?) to commit to much for print journals. I also see a couple of other advantages here. Most of these "zines" are pretty good. I do think they get read by some important people. I also have been able to read sample work before submitting. This, I know, increases my chances because I won't waste their time sending something that is nowhere near the kind of story, poem, or essay they publish.

Some places take novel excerpts. I have only submitted the first chapter of Of All Things, a couple of time, and was rejected each time. Perhaps, however, something online would like that.

Now listening to Brad Mehldau Trio's Songs: The Art of the Trio, Volume 3. Should probably go somewhere and write. It occurred to me the other day that I have never attempted a sestina. So I've been thinking about it, but haven't gotten very far.

Speaking of not getting very far, I'm still muddling through (not really the best word choice, I know) the Best American Mystery Stories of 2000. Finally finished this novella that is in the middle of the dang book. I really like most of this, and the stuff I don't love is still entertaining, but I hate taking so long to get through a book. But I suppose despite my vacation, I've been pulled in many directions. At least most of these directions are good ones. I'm broke, tired, and stressed, but having a pretty good summer so far.

Have yet to write anything about Father Chuck leaving. His leave taking service was Sunday and I admit I did cry a little during his last regular service. Not so much during his sermon, but at communion. Communion is a pretty emotional moment of church for me anyway, and I guess looking up at him as he said, "Body of Christ" for what is likely the last time got to me a little.

Chuck has meant a great deal to me as a spiritual man, but he has been a wonderous champion for my family. He is not only a well-grounded man as far as all the spiritual "stuff" of theology, scripture, and tradition is concerned. He is also a well-grounded man of this world. He understands real life. His patience and love for us has taught me a great deal and while the many ways he has helped me in temporal way has meant a great deal to us, he has helped me hang on during some rather tough spiritual times. I sure hope the congregation in Waco really understands the blessing they have coming to them.

Listening to Coltrane, but not very loud. The more "out there" pieces are on and everyone else is asleep. I ought to be, but I've screwed that up by taking a long nap.

We have been doing some cleaning in anticipation of the move. Tonya found some folders of my junk the other day and one had some important stuff, at least to me. There was a volume of my personal journal from around 1986 or 9, I don't remember which. There was a small note pad that I must of gotten to write some sort of devotional pieces in. And there were a couple folders with some stories and poems I wrote a long time ago.

The really great thing about this discovery is not just that I found some writing that I had pretty much forgotten, but that I found a few pieces I didn't hate. There were two decent short stories, one I think is still pretty good. I have scanned it all in and the stuff I think is publishable will go out with the rest of the stuff I've been sending out this summer. I've already sent off the story I liked most, "Promise."

A few weeks ago, I got the idea of collecting some old poems in a small chapbook and perhaps shopping it around, entering it in a contest or two, or making an e-book to sell somewhere. When I had this idea, I spent the better part of an afternoon finding and retyping some poems I thought wouldn't be too embarrassing to publish (some have been). But I only had 13 poems, and a couple of those were written in graduated school. I have found 11 more. After some editing and revision, this might make a nice little volume. It is not a project I had expected to work on this summer, but I think it might be worthwhile.

Can't sleep...again! Seems if I take a nap, I can't sleep until two or three in the morning, but if I don't, I'm able to conk out about one.

Finished The Best American Mystery Stories 2003 the other day. I'll write more about it when my hand doesn't hurt so much. Let me say that I only hated one story. Out of twenty, that's pretty good.

Reading the 2000 book of the same series. I read a couple of the stories some time ago, but I don't remember when, so I guess some of it is getting re-read. Plan to read some New Yorker stories in the next few days as well.

Have submitted some work, a little each day, for the past few days. Most of these are to online publications. This isn't exactly what I want all the time, though some of these are really, really good. But this is easier. I can research and submit on the Net without printing and mailing and all the hassles. I wish more print publications accepted e-mail submissions, though I can see why many don't.

Fingers numbing. Typing too loud. Gotta stop for now.

Can't sleep. It's two something in the freakin' morning. I'm listening to Bill Evans Live at the Village Vanguard. Fine disc. Wish I could play it a little louder, but oh well.

Maymester is over. Glad of it. Did like my class. I think it went well.

Thought I'd ease into writing this week. Piddle around a bit with some stories and essays and then next week try to get back to the novel that was started last summer. Have stumbled partial drafts of two essays and started a draft of a story. The story will have Eddie Pacer, speaker and protagonist of the mystery I am writing, as one of its characters. This will be in third person going between the killer and the investigator (Pacer).

Finished Block's Hit Man a couple days ago. Really liked it. Each chapter is a short story, and the episodic tale works. Very enjoyable as a read. Some stories bothered me, but I think that was on a personal level. I didn't like some of what Keller (protagonist) does. But he's a hired killer, so how much of him should I like. But maybe that's the point. Block makes him a real person and I DO like him at times. I think this is a strength. I'm interested in Keller and not just to see what he will do next. Not as dark as the Scudder books and certainly not as light as the Burgler stories, this may be Block at his most philosophical. Certainly one of the better Block books I have read so far. I had intended to wait a bit for the second in the series, but I may change my mind.

Have been reading The Best American Mystery Stories 2003. I'm up to the story by Joyce Carol Oates. So far, I've only really disliked one of the stories. I'll probably write more when I have finished the whole book.

Well, time to go for now. Happy reading!

Listening to: Chris Potter. (More specifically, I'm listening to a playlist on my computer of sax jazz.)

Finished grading papers this afternoon. Hoped to finish yesterday, but happy to not have them hanging over my head tomorrow. Have the last week of the maymester pretty much planned out, so hopefully the grading is all I have to worry about. Fifteen of the original nineteen left. Seems to be a pretty good class, and I sure could use one.

Alex had a tournament today. They dropped two of three games, but they played hard and I'm pretty proud of them. Good kids these are. Go you might Sugar and Spice!

Finished Steve Martin's Shopgirl on Friday. I liked it a lot, but want to reserve more specific comments on the novella until Angela has had a chance to read it. For some reason, I'm very interested in her opinion of this book.

Started Lawrence Block's Hit Man. I'm in the fourth story/chapter and so far like it. The main character, Keller, is a hired killer, and we get to see him in not necessarily a positive light, but certainly a human one. I have been interested in writing about characters the people usually write off as inhuman (not always killers), and so this sort of story intrigues me. I also like the idea of writing a novel so that the chapters are stand alone stories. (This was a device I may have first seen in Walter Mosely's series involving Socrates Fortlow.) I think I will likely read the sequel to this one when I am done. If it isn't good study work for me, it certainly will be entertaining. Even when Block's books don't knock my socks off, I'm not disappointed.

And now the mighty Coltrane blesses us with his "Song of Praise." So I suppose it's time to get back to reading.

Doing a little writing as my students do research.

Why the blame game, particularly with educators? So many teachers are willing to just write off a person because of behavior that is not acceptable or because they haven't figured out a way to solve it. They often pick one answer and assume that if their "methods" or "strategy" doesn't fix it, then there is nothing that can be done. Further, many teachers seem to just do what comes easy: blame the parent.

I am a parent and a teacher, and I am well aware that both have influence on a young person. But there is too much damn oversimplification when things are not working and I am seeing that many children are hurt in the process of adults working to shift some of the responsibility off of themselves.

It is no wonder Jesus said that one must be like a child to enter the kingdom of God.

On another note, I downloaded all but one song (ironically the title track) of Jack DeJohnette's Parallel Realities. I really love it. I like DeJohnette, but I think it the combination of his playing and Metheny's presence that really make me take notice. And happy day! I found the ECM rarum edition of DeJohnette (and Metheny and Bill Frisell) at the library yesterday. Much good stuff to listen to for awhile. (I already have all the Metheny stuff from other discs, but I’ll enjoy this as a collection.

Finished The Burglar On the Prowl. It isn’t great, but I did enjoy it. Bernie's adventures are a wonderful escape. Perhaps I’ll post a more detailed review later. Perhaps not. I’m reading Steve Martin's Shopgirl now. Hope to finish it by the end of the week. I want to spend the weekend on other reading.

That's all for now.

Written May 17, 2004.

Watched the series finale of Frasier the other night. There were tons of cliches in there: dog eating the wedding ring, cannon going off every time, the name of the married couple is mentioned, pregnant woman having the baby in a place not expected (with the two "doctors" not capable of real assistance), the show ending with the main character heading off to find the love of his life and a "new start." But I really enjoyed the program. I found myself laughing even when things were obvious. I had lost interest in the show as a whole some time back, probably after Niles and Daphne finally "found" each other. It was still okay, but I suppose it had lost its charm, and I think my family was interested in some other show that was on another network. (For the life of me, I can’t think of what it was, and I should chide myself for my laziness.)

But near the end, I have to admit, I cried. Frasier recited one of my very favorite poems, Tennyson’s "Ulysees." That poem always gets me. I have trouble teaching it sometimes because I always feel I have to read it, and my voice cracks just little each time. Frasier begins saying it to his family and friends and then the scene fades to him at the station reading it to his radio audience. And there I am in my living room bawling, my twins looking at me and wondering what’s wrong.

Listening to: three Lyle Mays cds shuffling on my computer. I like all his solo work, but I think Fictionary is probably my favorite. Terrific piano trio in the vein of some of Mays’ own influences. One track is called "Bill Evans," and it seems appropriate. Street Dreams and Lyle Mays are enjoyable, though I might think so because there are some hints of that Metheny sound in there. But not so much to make me think it is a clone; just enough perhaps to help me see just how much of an influence Mays has on the songwriting of the group recordings. I really like Solo: Improvisations for Expanded Piano. I feared Solo would remind me too much of Keith Jarrett (not that this would be terrible), but it did not. I bought it the summer it came out, and listened to it a lot in my hot car. The only think I don’t like about it is that some of the quiet moments are perhaps too quiet.

But Fictionary is my fave. I really don’t quite know how to describe a jazz album I like, and maybe I don’t have to. (A friend told me once that I didn’t have to understand jazz, just enjoy it.) I only really listened to this disc a few months ago, but I know that it already is one of those that seems right no matter what my "mood" is. It is strong where it should be, subtle where it needs to be. Of course the disc isn’t hurt by having Jack DeJohnette on drums and Marc Johnson on bass.

That reminds me: I need to get some DeJohnette for my collection. Downloaded "Cantaloupe Island" and something else a few months ago. Have a disc of him with Metheny and I think Dave Holland (what a fine band that is!). Noticed he has something new out.

The Metheny group, I read, is working on a new studio disc. That would make my summer even better!


blog written May 14, 2004

Listening to: my daughter practice her violin. Was listening to Bruce Hornsby.

Reading Block's The Burgler on the Prowl. A little over a hundred pages into it. So far, I don't love it as much as others in the series, but I think it is getting better. Found paperback first of Steve Martin's Shopgirl. I think I'll read that next. I hear it it will be made into a movie.

One week into the Maymester. Looks like I have a pretty good class. Graded first set of major papers and the second set comes Monday. I am enjoying myself more than I thought I would, but I am very much looking forward to the summer.

Speaking of which, I may have written this already, but I am hoping to spend at least an hour each morning writing and after a day of walking, reading, and playing with the kids, another hour in the evening editing past drafts. If I don't have to do too much other stuff, then I think I can get something accomplished.

Looking into buying a house. Yea! Don't know if we'll manage it this summer, but we've taken the first step.

I am thinking that I will get more blogs done if I write them first on the word processor and block them here. Have so much to learn about computers. At any rate, hope to say a thing or two about Nick Berg's tragic death and the last episode of Frasier.

Enjoy the day!

Listening to: Ken Burns Jazz: Miles Davis (specifically, "So What"). Today's poem: "Photograph of My Father In His Twenty-Second Year" by Raymond Carver. Some of my students are writing about his "Cathedral." I wonder if any will see something connecting both.

Twins came out fine. Christina even made it to her art show last night. Was nice, but had to stand a long time. She was tired, but just when I thought I needed to take her home, someone would come and admire her paintings and she would jump up and down happily. I think she needed the nice strokes.


Thought this morning about being forty. I didn't like it. The actual age isn't the problem, but the feeling in many ways one isn't much different than at 30 or even 14. Sigh. Then there is the sense that certain accomplishments one hopes for (forget about dreams) might not really happen. But what do I know? I'm probably just tired.

Gotta go. Have coffee to drink and class to teach.

Listening to: Nothing. The kids are asleep, twins on the couch, and it's late. But I've been going between Herbie Hancock and Dave Brubeck much of the day.

Twins have surgery in the morning to get tubes out. They have been looking forward to it. What do kids know? Tonya has been a wreck about it. She helps me worry.

Somewhat productive weekend. Got some school work done. Got some of the place cleaned. Was going to avoid television this weekend, but when that plan got altered, I didn't feel bad about watching the Mavs whip up on the Kings.

Alex's game got postponed. That means if it doesn't rain next weekend, we'll have two games to go to. Three little girls spent much of the weekend at Grandma's. Angela's show wrapped up. Bummed, I didn't get to see it.

Had to move the Villager because a sticker's out of date and the the apartment is nuts about stuff like that. I haven't been driving it, but it is crazy. I've been through too much for that blasted vehicle. Will probably sell it.

Friday got a rejection notice for my story "Fixing the Sandwich." Guess it bums me a little, but I'm okay. Need to find time to update my spreadsheet about what I have out and what has been rejected. Need also to submit some work to a few places that don't have email submissions. While sick I could take advantage of the net. Now that I'm working regular hours, I haven't had time to keep up with all those details or to seek out those places.

Need to work on the workspace here at home. Can't type long without the carpel tunnel getting me. Not good for a guy who plans to spend his summer writing.

Listening to: KNTU over the net. Listened to Weather Report's Heavy Weather in the library earlier.

Today's poem: "The Return" by Anna Ahkmatova.

Students working on research papers. Some things slowing down. Calm before next week's storm. Sorry for the cliche.

At the student art sale, I bought a new coffee cup the other day to add to my boring little collection. My favorite color is blue, but something told me to go with something with some earth tones. The cup I purchased is taller and a tiny bit thinner than most coffee cups and has a blue ring near the top that blends nicely into the greenish-brown-black of the majority of the cup. Nice big handle.

Why does this matter? Don't know. Just thought I'd write about it. I get a sense of peace/pleasure from such simple things as a nice cup of coffee and I suppose the cup is as much a part of the overall experience as the music I'm listening to or the book I'm reading or what I'm writing.

Speaking of reading, I skipped my quiet time to prepare for class this morning. Have done too much of that lately and so I want to take care of it now while I have an opportunity. Enjoy the day!

Listening to: Patrick O'Hearn, Mix-Up (I don't know why).

Most of my students are in the library this week doing research for their final essays. This gives me some time to catch up on a few other things.

World Lit class is covering Crime and Punishment, one of the greatest novels of all time. This is my first time to teach it. My class seems enthusiastic, but we are going so slow. I don't think we will cover anything else before the end of the semester.

Recovery going fine, though I have had some fatigue and soreness the past couple of days. I can't quite account for this.

Went to the Bone Star Jam last Saturday and saw Kansas and some local bands. Was really fun. Kansas played about three songs I haven't heard them do in concert before including all of "Magnum Opus". Sound was great and though we were pretty far back, we could see most of what we wanted. Alex went with Brad, Nikki, and I, and I think she had a great time.

It was a big weekend for her. She had a retreat and soccer game (they won 3-1, go Sugar and Spice!), and then the concert. The next day was her First Solemn Communion. Much thanks to Jenn and Donnie for coming out for that one. Then she had to take pictures for Girls Scouts. Last night, her strings class performed at the Eisemann. Mucho merci buckets to my wife for being willing the chaperone that!

Looking forward to summer. I like what's left of my classes and enjoy my students, but I need a break. My body is breaking down and I need to recharge my spiritual and emotional batteries. I would like to work out a schedule where I write for an hour or more in the morning, spend the day with the family, and spend an hour or so each night doing revision of some novels I've already written. If all goes well, I could have at least a new novel and my e-book on writing finished (at least in good drafts) I could revisions of two novels ready to submit for publication. All before classes start in August.

Read X.J. Kennedy's Dark Horses some time ago. Wish I'd written a review while I still had it fresh in my memory. Mr. Kennedy writes formal verse or poems that build from traditiona forms. They are humerous often (sometimes dark and sardonic). In "Emily Dickinson Leave a Message to the World," the poetess tell us: "Though often I had dialed adn rung/The Bastion of the Bee --/The Answer I had hungered for/Was seldome Home -- to me--" Some of Kennedy's poems are tranquil and as the cover says, "meditative." Note the following from: "Staring into a River Till Moved by It:" "Inert, your hand dropped from my hand./Unbudged. rocks in the stream stood/And as we dragged our shoes to land/The drydocked trees raised hulls of wood." Anyway, I liked the book and recommend it particularly to anyone who enjoys rhymed verse. Actually I recommend it also to those poets who can't seem to believe anything creative can be done with traditional forms.

Have been reading a poem a day to my students (well, most days I have) in honor of National Poetry Month. Don't know how the students enjoy it, but it has been much fun for me. Trying to mostly use poets who are alive and still writing (though I did begin with Thomas Merton's "For My Brother: Missing In Action, 1943." Have read from Eliot's "The Waste Land" too.). I'm thinking I need to do Anna Akhmatova soon, and perhaps a Carver poem since some of my students are writing about his story "Cathedral." Perhaps "Photograph of my Father."

I went to the library the other day to look for a book, and as often happens (particularly when I do not find what I want), I ended up checking out three books. I wanted to read a few volumes of poetry. One of these was Things of This World by Richard Wilbur, which won the Pulitzer and National Book Award in 1957. For some reason I had trouble getting into the book. I'm not entirely sure why. Possibly I was more distracted in reading than I have been in the previous weeks when reading poetry. Perhaps there were allusions I didn't get and that threw me. I thought at first that I was bothered by how formal most of the poems were, but actually one reason I have liked Wilbur at other times is his mastery of form. I guess that some of the poems felt dated. But that's no excuse. I think I should give the book another chance eventually. I started to get into it more toward the end (another reason that I think I may have been a bit distracted).

A poem that stood out to me was "Boy at the Window." I don't know that I "got it," but I liked the picture of the boy looking out sadly at a snowman and the snowman looking back sadly at the boy. (Just noticed that this poem is included in The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart. Interesting.)

Don't know that I'll get to the other two books. Still reading the Merton book and have also gotten another Merton book via interlibrary loan. We shall see.

Whew! Tired by the time the afternoon rolls around, but glad to be back. Trying to get caught up and read.

Realized that I subscribed to Poets and Writers, got one issue and have not received any since. Guess it is nasty letter writing time.

Well, tomorrow I'm back at school. Have missed my students, my colleagues, my office. Managed to get graded almost everything I had.

Finished the Grisham book. Wasn't going to read it because I didn't want to get back to school with an unfinished book on my hands. But I started and really got into it so I finished it yesterday. (The ironic thing is that once done, I had to have something to read, so I started rereading a book by Thomas Merton, Life and Holiness. I won't finish, of course, but I've already read it so I guess I don't mind.)

Okay, so here's an informal review of John Grisham's The Last Juror. I have enjoyed every Grisham novel I have read (have listened to a handful on audio tape). I'm a bit biased to books where legal matters are at the center, so one can take that for what it is worth. I have not yet read his mainstream novels, though I am certainly interested in doing so, particularly after reading this story and The Testament.

The Last Juror, set in 1970s Mississippi, is more than a legal thriller. It is a kind of cross between mystery and mainstream, slice of life novel. The narrator of the story is a young man who comes to work at a small, county newspaper and ends up as the paper's owner. Willie Traynor, shortly after writes the first profile of a black citizen, a woman named Callie Ruffin. After he reports about the trial of a notorious citizen (Danny Padgett) for the brutal rape and murder of a single mother, Traynor finds he is selling paper after paper, and making an extraordinary group of friends. Padgett is released from prison after serving nine years and Ford Country deal with a mysterious reign of terror.

What I like about the book. The story could have bogged down in the sleepiness of the rural area, but doesn't and does not resort to cheap tricks to keep the reader interested. The characters themselves are interesting and real. I am particularly grateful that Mr. Grisham has the guts to portray a Christian as a real person and one whose faith is not something to ridicule. Even if one doesn't agree or like everything Miss Callie says, it would be difficult to despise her religion. Grisham created another favorably drawn Christian in the missionary in The Testament. I hope more of this occurs. There is no preaching in Grisham's book, because there doesn't need to be. The "message," if there is one is clear and strong, but doesn't sacrifice good storytelling. A non-believer is likely to find the characters as interesting as people in different places in their spiritual lives. I also liked the fact that the person telling this story is not a lawyer (though there are certainly interesting lawyers here). The story encompasses more than those who are involved in the murder. As in the real world, these deaths affect everyone. So this is a story about many people.

What bugs me. Mostly the loose ends. One of Miss Callie's sons has disappeared. We find out why, but then we are suddenly told that he has contacted the narrator. The contact isn't part of the story, but just told to us. Then he returns, and though he is guarded, the person who most wants to hurt him simply disappears from the story. There are less important places where the narrative could use some tightening, but they do not detract from a good story.

Concern. I don' t want to give anything away, but I'm wondering why nearly every Grisham novel ends with the protagonist leaving his profession. Most of the characters leave the legal profession, and given their individual circumstances, I can see why. But here is a guy who spend nine years becoming a part of life in town and building a successful business. I can see why he gets "tired" and maybe fed up. However, I still wonder. If I could interview Grisham, I would have to ask him about this.

Okay. There it is. I strongly recommend the book, but had to get my reservations off my chest.

Forgot to mention the other day when I was rambling about the books I've been reading that I also read a novel by Stephen Lawhead and his son Ross entitled City of Dreams. This is the first of a trilogy of books that are based, as best as I can tell, on a rock opera and a series of comic books/graphic novel. Ross Lawhead is the penciler (sp) for the comics. I have liked every book I have read by Stephen Lawhead. His Byzantium is not only the best historical novel I've encountered, but the most fascinating story of a spiritual journey published by a living author.

City of Dreams is obviously part of the gospel story told for a modern audience. The main character is Alex Hunter, an agent trying to find the killer of a prophet named Washer John who is the cousin of power spiritual leader named Joshua Jones. The story, in many ways, is a typical thriller. Hunter is dedicated to justice to completing his mission, to redeeming his own good name and making up for past mistakes. He doesn't know who to trust, but relies on his wits more than gizmos to survive and find his way. And the narrative is fast-paced, never dull. Even when I feel like I know where this thing is going, I don't mind. The ride is exciting.

What troubles me is the ending. I know this is the first of three books, but the story seems to end without closure. One expects at least a couple more chapters. One thing that makes Stephen Lawhead's book so good is that even in the midst of a series (and few of his novels are not part of a series) one gets the sense that the story stands on its own even while you are primed for the next book.

Okay, I've rambled on far too much. Time to get busy on real work.