October 27: Halloween Poetry Reading, Thomas Lovell Beddoes, "Dirge"

Let me apologize for my absence yesterday.  I was giving a Halloween poetry reading at my local library.  Then I was drinking beer at a local microbrewery.  By the time I got home, I was in no shape to compose anything.  I barely made it past ten o'clock without falling asleep on the couch.

The reading went well.  There were many people--family, friends, and a few strangers.  Those strangers became friends after a few drinks.

Busy weekend ahead.  Writing.  Reading at a Halloween show.  Working on a teaching narrative (yes, that is as awful as it sounds).  Tonight, however, I plan to relax and watch a couple episodes of the second season of Stranger Things.

Saint Marty has a nice Halloween poem about ghosts and graves for tonight . . .

Dirge

by:  Thomas Lovell Beddoes

We do lie beneath the grass
          In the moonlight, in the shade
     Of the yew-tree.  They that pass
          Hear us not.  We are afraid
               They would envy our delight,
               In our graves by glow-worm night.
Come follow us, and smile as we;
          We sail to the rock in the ancient waves,
Where the snow falls by thousands in the sea,
          And the drown'd and the shipwreck'd have happy graves.

October 9: Halloween Poetry Reading, Bigfoot Poems, Classic Saint Marty

Greetings, loyal disciples, on this Sabbath day.

As with most Sabbaths, I have been working on various projects most of the day.  Church this morning, playing in the band.  This afternoon, I spent a few hours planning a Halloween poetry reading that I'm doing in a week at our local library.  I've been working on a sequence of Bigfoot poems.  My bandmates are going to be doing music (think "Creep" by Radiohead).  And I will be unveiling some works in progress.

This afternoon, it's school stuff.  Midterm to create.  Essay rubric to put together.  Quizzes to grade.  Plus, my family is having a belated Saint Marty's Day celebration.  Tapioca and presents.  The whole shebang.

Today's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired two years ago.  More about the Swedish Academy and its short-sightedness.

October 9, 2014:  A Special Award, 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature, Peter Modiano

"Attention, please!" it said.  "Will Mr. Homer Zuckerman bring his famous pig to the judges' booth in front of the grandstand.  A special award will be made there in twenty minutes.  Everyone is invited to attend.  Crate your pig, please, Mr. Zuckerman, and report to the judges' booth promptly!"

Yes, Wilbur gets a prize at the end of the book.  Zuckerman gets twenty-five dollars.  Fern gets Henry Fussy (or vice versa).  And, above all, Charlotte reaps the rewards of all the writing she's been doing in her webs.

This morning, Peter Englund, Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, announced the winner of the 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature in Stockholm.  And the winner was...not me.  It was some French novelist named Peter Modiano.  I was going to say "obscure novelist," but then I risk sounding like some Anglo-centric, ignorant American.  From what I've read, Modiano is one of the greatest French writers alive.  He's published over thirty-plus novels.  His subjects are memory, identity, and time.  Blah, blah, blah.

I know all my disciples are crying foul tonight.  Once again, I have been robbed of an award I so richly deserve.  Instead, the Swedes have chosen to bestow their prize on yet another writer who will, no doubt, fade from memory faster than you can say "Pepé Le Pew."  So what if the French people love him?  The French awarded Jerry Lewis the Legion of Honor.

I am not bitter or jealous, however.

Peter Modiano won the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Saint Marty's going to the Wisconsin Dells this weekend.  Who's laughing now?

The winner of this year's Nobel 
Prize in Literature