Amy, Diane and Emily

While reading Manila Bulletin's interview with novelist and recent Manila visitor Amy Tan just yesterday after it came out Monday, I took note of this interesting question asked: "Is there any person, living or dead, you want to chat with to write their biography or a book based on their story?"

Her reply: "Emily Dickinson because every one of her poems was so profound. Her poems are very deep and emotional but not in a predictable, sentimental way. I want to know, how did you have these thoughts?"

Today I happened upon a profile of actor Diane Keaton in a back issue of The New York Times (online edition, of course). She was asked what her favorite literary genre is. She then asked if quotes count as a literary genre or sub-genre because she hoards them. One such quote that she had scribbled on the back of an envelope are these lines from Emily Dickinson:

"In this short life that only lasts an hour, 
How much — how little — is within our power."

Coincidence? Synchronicity? A nudge--but towards what direction?

It's uncanny but as I encode these words, the fog in Baguio is rolling in, and I am reminded that I must bring in the laundry from the clothesline before they get damp all over again. I think that is today's message. That's the direction I am taking after I upload this blog for today.

By the way, "I must go in, the fog is rising" were supposedly the last words Ms. Dickinson said. A fitting thought before we all observe Dia de Muertos that has somehow been trivialized by a commercialized Halloween. Funny how of all the images of Ms. Dickinson, it's the one above that captured and captivated me totally.

Those last words won't be mine yet. And I'm not about to spook myself while alone in the house.

Thank you just the same, ladies.

PSTD

“Psychological trauma dims tens of millions of lives around the world… But what is trauma, exactly?

 “Both culturally and medically, we have long seen it as arising from a single, identifiable disruption. You witness a shattering event, or fall victim to it — and as the poet Walter de la Mare put it, ‘the human brain works slowly: first the blow, hours afterward the bruise.’ The world returns more or less to normal, but you do not.”—David Dobbs,  “A New Focus on the ‘Post’ in Post-Traumatic Stress,” The New York Times, Dec. 24, 2012.

To the memory of Federico Licsi Espino

who died on a week holy in 2011

 yes, you do not

return to normal

no matter how you

repeatedly do

the exercises in

teaching your pain

how to sing,

to paraphrase

one arthur miller

who knew what loss

& similar shattering

events were like

 

it can start with something

that seems on the surface harmless:

a query

a warning

a letter

a phone conversation cut short

the clicking of the line

at the other end so loud

that the already shattered heart

shatters another time

 

& then it begins

the mind's slow descent 

to seductive orpheus-land,

the tangling of already

untangled webs begins anew

 

it’s the kind of spinning

even a mother spider

can stop to watch

in fascination & admiration

 

the road back to the light

can take, if you’re lucky,

oh, two, three weeks, 

half a year, even more,

if you’re unlucky,

with a gentle tweaking

of medications & consultations

with psychological/psychiatric experts

 

meanwhile,

you whistle in the dark

 

it helps, sometimes

 

--Babeth Lolarga 

Dec. 26, 2012

10:39 a.m.

Source of photo: http://www.globalresearch.ca/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd-us-military-neglects-soldiers-medical-needs/19633

Big Mama Sez

"I think it’s nearly impossible to write something fictional without having it be about yourself in some way or another. My book could have been about any kind of addiction. But what I think makes food more compelling than other vices is that if you have a complicated relationship with it — and this could be on either end of the spectrum, you could eat too much or too little — you have to contend with it every single day, with every meal."--novelist Jami Attenberg in an interview with The New York Times

having  been a fattie

for much of my adult

life, i've learned to like

it, this whale-like blubber

that is my material self

no matter how unseemly

it is to the moral majority.

the layers of fat make for a soft

coat of armor that tells

the others indirectly, 

please, please,

do not approach me

to give a familiar

kiss on the cheek,

do not hug me.

here is my right hand

offered for firm

yet sincere handshakes.

besides, we're not

that close to exchange

kisses & hugs.

what evidence do we have

of shared intimacies or

even shared memories?

was there a trace of 

true camaraderie

in the first place?

so do me the favor

of standing back.

the elephants & the whales,

those gentle giants 

on earth,

in water,

now there's what i call

good company.

their examples

i try to emulate, not elude,

& those are

to cultivate a long memory

for hurts & distress,

to learn to swim away

at the first signal

of more dangerous

scarrings.

-Babeth Lolarga
Dec. 21, 2012
12.36 p.m.

Source of quotation: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/books/obesity-with-jami-attenberg-and-samuel-d-hunter.html?emc=tnt&tntemail1=y&_r=0

Photo of silly blogger on Santa's chair taken by Suzy Lolarga