Ramble literary memory before the beach

Surprises from inside my own brain.

Yesterday we went to a used kitchen equipment store.

Here’s a heartbreaking piece of crockery.

It reminds me of the video for Elvis Costello & the Attractions’s Everyday I Write The Book (1983)

The way you walk (the way you talk)
the way you talk and try to kiss me (the way you talk)
and laugh in four or five paragraphs (way you kiss me)
All your compliments and your cutting remarks
are captured here in my quotation marks (ooh hoo!)

It’s literary. The video features Charles and Diana as though they were not royalty.

Little did we know. Though I suppose the cracks in the relationship formed eventually.

I was pondering what my blog has outlived the other day.

It’s outlived many websites. “Social media” Orkut and Google+ and MySpace.

And it’s outlived my two marriages. And my bankruptcy. And the death of my mother and paternal grandparents. And a friend or two.

Words outlive.

I’m working on a book of poems my father has written. It’s still–germinating. Or maybe–“growing.” It’s in progress, let’s say.

That’s literary. Literary can describe that process of writing, of editing, of publishing.

But I think in the book business they distinguish a popular book from a literary book.

Sue Grafton? Not literary. Nabokov: Literary.

Silly distinctions.

All your compliments and your cutting remarks are captured here in my quotation marks

But the words matter. The words inspire. Or they can.

And who do they inspire? Well, whoever reads them.

And who reads them? Whoever the words get to.

Oh no now I’m weeping at the memory of my friend Jennifer Simpson.

Has it been 4 years? It has.

We once went on–a date–sort of.

My first marriage was in shambles. Separation.

We went to dinner. I don’t remember where.

And we went to Full Moon Poets in Encinitas. Her hood.

Full Moon Poets pretty much still exists 24 years later.

We got dinner. Then went to a warehouse studio on the train tracks in Encinitas. Everyone around a circle read poems.

I read a poem of mine. I think one of these but I don’t know.

Actually, I do know. Here’s what I wrote in 2002.

Jennifer Simpson is a cool friend. Some of her poetry is really awesome. I went with her to take part in the Full Moon Poets in September and it was great. She had many many poems, and some of them were quite moving and witty and good.

I myself read a version of Two Ships. How do I get to meet so many wonderful talented people? I don’t know. But I try to meet people. Getting out into the world is a good thing.

It’s funny, one of the best pieces of advice I got from my father when Jenny left me was that I should be writing, journaling, expressing myself. He said that such activity would be healthy and therapeutic.

He was 100% right.

The words!

And with the internet archive I can look at her site from 2002. Here’s a poem of hers.

First Dance

Bamboo covered walls,
tiki torches, and
drinks served in coconut shells

Tropical music lingering in the air

The Maui Lu Hotel Lounge.

This was the real thing, not some mainland reproduction

I wore a polynesian print halter dress
and white strappy sandals
My first grown up shoes

He was tan and tall, or so he seemed to me
Dark hair,
smiling eyes,
elegant in his blue aloha shirt and white slacks

He held out his hand and asked me to dance

I don’t remember the song,
but I do remember
the way I felt
when I stepped up
onto the tops of his shoes
and he twirled me around the room

Daddy’s little girl.

Jennifer Simpson, April 2002

Thanks Jenn.

I miss you.

It’s good to remember.

I am thankful today for this site where I can find my thoughts from 2002.

Time to go out to the beach.