Dr. Seuss

I meant what I said and I said what I meant.

Proust

But when nothing remains of a faraway past, after the living beings have died, the objects destroyed, there alone remain--frailer yet more lively, less material yet more tenacious, more faithful--the fragrance and the taste, for a long time lingering as spirits, recalling, awaiting, hoping, upon the ruins of everything else, supporting without bending, as upon a nearly intangible droplet, the enormous edifice of memory.

Langston Hughes

Poetry is the human soul, entire, squeezed like a lemon or a lime, drop by drop, into atomic words.

Small Release

To find ourselves spoken for in art gives dignity to our pain, our anger, our lust, our loves. We can hear what we hope for and what we must fear in the small release of cadenced utterances (Kenneth Gorlick).

Prospective Immigrants Please Note

Adrienne Rich

Either you will
go through this door
or you will not go through.

If you go through
there is always the risk
of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly
and you must look back
and let them happen.

If you do not go through
it is possible
to live worthily

to maintain your attitudes
to hold your position
to die bravely

but much will blind you,
much will evade you,
at what cost who knows?

The door itself
makes no promises.
It is only a door.

Syllogisms

Lewis Carroll

1) Babies are illogical.

2) Nobody is despised who can manage a crocodile.

3) Illogical persons are despised.

____________________________________

Therefore, babies can not manage crocodiles.

Steve Martin

I'm not going home tonight:

I'm going to Bananaland,

a place where only two things are true,

only two things:

One, all chairs are green; and two,

no chairs are green.

from Born Standing Up, Steve Martin

Simon & Schuster, New York, 2007

The Ladder

Michael Chitwood

He worked for years on the tablet,

deciphering the pictographs. He knew

it was a kind of language, those images.

An eye. A bird, maybe a crow.

A basket of wheat. A ladder.

Did the order of the images matter?

He cross-referenced similar texts.

He studied the history of the region

and satisfied many hours in the tablet's service.

In a cousin language, a ladder

was the word for happiness, to rise up,

to be lifted above the ordinary.

After years of work, he sorted it out.

It was poetry, bad poetry, adolescent.

It read: "Today, I am happy,

happy all this day, today."

from Clamor, 2010

Nasty Rumors and Final Remarks

Excerpted from a play by Susan Miller

MAX, a woman in her forties, talks to her female lover, Raleigh, who is in a coma.

The nurse said I could have a couple of words with you. [...] We're having a bitch of a time here with all your worldly goods, such as they are. I'm probably going to sell my car and buy yours from the kids. They could use the money. And, besides, I like the way your car smells. As far as the taxes and bills and all the business shit, Nicky's got a good lawyer....except you did stuff the Sears bill between pages 104 and 105 of Tennessee Williams' collected plays, so God knows where the Dept. of Water and Power will show up. Now all of this is just in case. This does not mean you have to take it seriously. You can change your mind. I'll keep my crummy car. I'm only telling you these things so you won't be worried about details. But you can sit up and shock the hell out of everyone, as far as I'm concerned. This place could use a little slap in the face, you know. Or...I mean, if that's too hard, right now, just move your index finger. Curse. Whatever. All miracles accepted. Clap if you believe in miracles.

This is terrific. I could sit here all day and talk, repeat all my old stories and you can't even tell me to shut up. Except you aren't laughing and that's really what's kept me talking all these years.

(Pause)

Actually, I'd love to hear you say SHUT UP. Go on, go ahead. Just for old times sake. Give it to me good. C'mon. SHUT UP, Max. Huh? How about it...please. Please tell me to shut the f--k up!

(Pause)

God, you're beautiful. You're not supposed to be that beautiful. This is intensive care, remember?

One on One, the Best Women's Monologues for the Nineties

Applause Theatre Books, New York, 1993

Night Sky

Excerpted from a play by Susan Yankowitz

A female astronomy teacher stands within a star-filled night sky completing a lecture to her class.

ANNA: ...But do you realize that what we see represents only ten percent--possibly only one percent--of what exists? Most of the universe is hidden, invisible to us still, a mysterious absence. We know very little. Even the most basic insights elude us. How many stars are there, and how do we know there aren't more? Why do the planets spin, and if they don't spin, where do they go? If a black hole is truly black, and it it is really a hole, how can we be sure it's there? And within that dark matter, somewhere, does life exist? Oh, that reminds me: the word "consider" means literally "with the stars."

One on One, the Best Women's Monologues for the Nineties

Applause Theatre Books, New York, 1993

White Heron

John Ciardi

What lifts the heron leaning on the air

I praise without a name. A crouch, a flare,

a long stroke through the cumulus of trees,

a shaped thought at the sky--then gone. O rare!

Saint Francis, being happiest on his knees,

would have cried Father! Cry anything you please.

But praise. By any name or none. But praise

the white original burst that lights

the heron on his two soft kissing kites.

When saints praise heaven lit by doves and rays,

I sit by pond scums till the air recites

Its heron back. And doubt all else. But praise.

From Sightings, Sam Keen, pg. 177,

Chronicle Books, LLC, 2007