September 1: "No Time," Swamp Time, Love/Hate

I spent a good portion of today in a swamp, 

It was the annual Bayou Art Walk.  Artists, musicians, and writers set up booths throughout the bayou to hawk their wares.  I was there to pass out poetry and talk to a lot of really lovely individuals.  It's amazing to me how people get so excited about the gift of poetry.  I had a box of poetry collections and journals, and every person who walked by got to choose a book and/or haiku postcard.  Some grabbed several postcards.  A few took two and three books.  High school and college students.  Seniors.  Twenty-, 30-, and 40-somethings.  

Nobody was in a hurry.  Time sort stood still in that green, green place.

But Billy Collins has no time at all . . .

No Time 

by: Billy Collins

In a rush this weekday morning,
I tap the horn as I speed past the cemetery
where my parents are buried
side by side beneath a slab of smooth granite.

Then, all day, I think of him rising up
to give me that look
of knowing disapproval
while my mother calmly tells him to lie back down.

My relationship with time has always been a love/hate one.  I love that most of my days are boiling over with activity, but I hate how exhausted and peopled-out I get most nights.  I love teaching and poeming and hosting library events, but I hate grading papers and submitting poems and being hyper self-conscious.  I enjoy friends and family and audiences, but I crave solitude.

Most of all, I wish I had more times like today when I'm not obsessively aware of passing seconds, minutes, and hours.  I want to be unhurried, peaceful.  I guess what I'm saying is that I wish I could spend more time in a swamp where frogs gobble schedules like mosquitoes or flies.

Saint Marty just needs to sit on a lily pad, strum a banjo, and sing "The Rainbow Connection."  Find his inner Kermit.

March 30: Passage of Time, Billy Collins, "No Time"

Thinking a lot about time this morning.  The passage of time.  The slowness of it.  The speed of it.  How it gets away from you, from sunup to sundown.  To-do lists left undone.  Books left unread.  Poems left unwritten.

I wonder if it was the same for my parents.  My mom and dad always seemed to get shit done, all the time.  They didn't procrastinate.  I don't think it was part of their makeup.  Perhaps that's my generation's contribution to society.  That and parachute pants.

Here's Saint Marty's to do list for today:

1. Vacuum, sweep, and mop at home.
2. Straighten the living room.
3. Clean off the kitchen and dining room tables.
4. Pick out music for Mass.
5. Play the pipe organ for Mass.
6. Finish reading the book for Book Club.
7. Put together the discussion questions for Book Club.
8. Revise poem that I wrote on Wednesday.
9. Stare into the abyss.
10. Roll into a ball and contemplate the meaninglessness of everything.
11. Practice self loathing.
12. Make the beds.

A poem that makes me think of my sister standing up in the cemetery and looking over her glasses at me, like she always did . . . 

No Time

by:  Billy Collins

In a rush this weekday morning,
I tap the horn as I speed past the cemetery
where my parents are buried
side by side beneath a slab of smooth granite.

Then, all day, I think of him rising up
to give me that look
of knowing disapproval
while my mother calmly tells him to lie back down.

May 13: No Time, Ellen Bryant Voigt, Another Sonnet

I have no time this evening to reflect poetically.  My daughter is breathing down my neck.  She wants my laptop.  Plus, I have to get to work on my nature essay.  I've got a little research to do about memory and smell.  (When I post my nature essay, that statement will make sense, I promise.)

But, I have to give Ellen Bryant Voigt some space.

Saint Marty has enough time to type fourteen lines.

from Ellen Bryant Voigt's Kyrie:

He planned his own service, the pine box,
the open lid, which hymns, chapter and verse,
who would pray, how long, who'd carry him out.
He wrote it all down in a fair hand,
stroking the shawl around him in his chair,
and gave away his watch, his dog, his house.

Emmett said, he'd have lain down in the grave
except he needed us to tuck him in.

He shaved each day, put on his good wool pants
chosen for the cloth and a little loose
as they lowered in another son-in-law.
Sat by the door, handrolling cigarettes
three at a time, licking down both ends,
and wheezed and coughed and spit in a rusted can.

You tell 'em, Vlad

December 9: No Time, New Poem Tomorrow, Partings

I really don't have a lot of time to post this evening.  I spent the time I did have working on a new poem.  I finished the poem, which is about loss and partings.  However, I don't have time at the moment to key it in.  Sorry.  I will give it to you tomorrow, along with a new cartoon.

You have Saint Marty's word.

I solemnly swear, you will get a poem tomorrow

December 4: No Time, Birthday Party, New Cartoon

I literally have no time today to do an extended post.  I have to get to church for my daughter's birthday party.  In just a few minutes, I will be hosting a throng of ten- to eleven-year-old children.  It's going to be a thrilling afternoon.  Then I have a bunch of cooking to do this evening.

Well, Saint Marty hopes you have a better night than he's going to have.

Confessions of Saint Marty

June 19: Vacation, New Cartoon, First Communion

Yesterday, I obviously took a break from the computer.  Actually, I didn't have much of a choice.  My wife had a baby shower to attend, my daughter went fishing, and I took a nap with my son.  That was my morning and afternoon.  Then I had to go to my niece's first communion at church.  After that, it was a first communion party for my niece and a graduation party for my nephew.  I had no time at all to even think about blogging.  Well, actually, I thought about it, but sitting down at a computer was out of the realm of possibility.

I did, however, have a chance to draw a new installment of The Confessions of Saint Marty, which you will see at the end of this post.  The cartoon was the only creative thing I managed to do yesterday.  However, it was a nice little vacation.  But, to make up for my absence, I have two posts for today, both cartoons.  I hope you enjoy seeing them as much as I enjoy drawing them.  I don't often have a reason for sitting down with my drawing notebook.  My comic strip gives me a reason.

Saint Marty contemplates communion.

Confessions of Saint Marty