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Jan. 8th, 2012 02:42 pmNo longer able to drink wine (have developed an odd allergic reaction to the tannins and sulfites) or most beers (unless they are 100% malt barely free - ie. 100% malt sorghum I can do), I am slowly but surely becoming a connoisseur of hard cider. So far the best that I've had is Crispin Natural Reserve - with Irish Stout Yeast - it has the consistency of an ale, sort of like drinking the Irish Stout version of Cider. (without all the nasty after-effects...if you are celiac that is). Original Sin isn't bad - trying Pippin now, it's a bit sweet, and very light, heavy on the carbonation and reminds me of sparkling cider. I'm drinking that now. Crispin by far has the widest variety. Karlesberg? Also a bit on the sweet side, and too sparkling for my taste. They have a pear and a raspberry, and just...no. Too syrupy. A good cider, should have just the barest touch of sweet, go too far...and it is syrupy. If just right...it can taste a bit like a bitter ale. The British and Irish are currently making the best ciders.
Church was comforting and interesting today. Reassuring is the best word. I felt reassured, as if a kindly hand patted me on the shoulder and said I was doing okay and not to worry.
Got three things out of it, besides the necessary social warmth of friendship - we all need a bit of that like it or not, being social animals.
1. According to Sufi tradition - it takes 40 days for a change to take place, 40 days to renewal, 40 days for two souls to intertwine, 40 days to fall in love. The rush, rush...can slow down in the winter months. Slowing down is not a bad thing at all. At least a little. 2) Poetry...there's a way to read it and a way not to...to read it in critical fury, or to read just to enjoy the asethetic appeal. But to read...each day, aloud. William Carlos Williams states that it is difficult to find or locate the news from poetry, men have died from the lack of finding it. 3) And finally? Turn off the mind. Distract it. It can be at times...your worst enemy. Think too much and you'll do yourself a serious injury. This I know from experience.
Conversations on Poetry...
Over the holidays, the Momster and I discussed poetry. She claimed not to like it much. Probably not helped by my Uncle's continued and prolific not to mention somewhat clumsy attempts. His poetry at times has more in common with Rod McKeon. I challenged this assessment. Because she does like the wit of Noel Coward - which is poetry. And the barbs of Dorothy Parker, also poetry. Or the rhyming verse of Robert Frost. Poetry I told her like all things is in the eye of the reader, it's what resonates with your mood or state at the time, that appeals. Also there's a very broad range. Some poetry tends to slide into the regrettably maudlin (I blame Hallmark for this trend), others into the regrettably self-indulgent (my Uncle), and still others seem to be merely interesting in rhyming games or linguistic calisthenics. But there is good poetry out there. Roz_K on my lj writes very good political poetry, with a sharpness of wit...that makes one think a bit of Coward and Parker.
The Minister at church today, who had been once upon a time an aspiring poet...stated that when she was young and in public school - the poetry in the text-books made her so angry. They'd somehow found the worst pieces of established poets. Inoculating students against poetry. So true.
Those of us who learned to appreciate poetry or grew to love it, discovered it on our own. And many of us wrote or struggled to write it. Unfortunately many of my poems had more in common with Rod McKuen than well Sylvia Plath or Dorothy Parker or even William Carlos Williams. I have a few, gems, in the mix. But very few. My prose is better. And attempting to write poetry, along with
learning to appreciate and understand it - has made me a better writer. Poetry frees emotion.
Frees the mind. The spirit. In a phrase...just a phrase...may lie the answer to multiple questions plaguing the mind, or it may simply shut the mind off for a bit.
I admittedly started out my morning resisting the minister's lecture...or sermon, although that seems the wrong word for it did not feel religious...God barely entered into it. Resisted going to church as well. Resisted poetry. All grouchy puss. But too restless to stay at home. I've been raging against poetry of late. Not sure why. Because when written well poetry can often quiet the mind, it can also stimulate it...and connect us to the spirit within. It can as William Carlos Williams wrote...provide the news that we are lacking.
Church was comforting and interesting today. Reassuring is the best word. I felt reassured, as if a kindly hand patted me on the shoulder and said I was doing okay and not to worry.
Got three things out of it, besides the necessary social warmth of friendship - we all need a bit of that like it or not, being social animals.
1. According to Sufi tradition - it takes 40 days for a change to take place, 40 days to renewal, 40 days for two souls to intertwine, 40 days to fall in love. The rush, rush...can slow down in the winter months. Slowing down is not a bad thing at all. At least a little. 2) Poetry...there's a way to read it and a way not to...to read it in critical fury, or to read just to enjoy the asethetic appeal. But to read...each day, aloud. William Carlos Williams states that it is difficult to find or locate the news from poetry, men have died from the lack of finding it. 3) And finally? Turn off the mind. Distract it. It can be at times...your worst enemy. Think too much and you'll do yourself a serious injury. This I know from experience.
Conversations on Poetry...
Over the holidays, the Momster and I discussed poetry. She claimed not to like it much. Probably not helped by my Uncle's continued and prolific not to mention somewhat clumsy attempts. His poetry at times has more in common with Rod McKeon. I challenged this assessment. Because she does like the wit of Noel Coward - which is poetry. And the barbs of Dorothy Parker, also poetry. Or the rhyming verse of Robert Frost. Poetry I told her like all things is in the eye of the reader, it's what resonates with your mood or state at the time, that appeals. Also there's a very broad range. Some poetry tends to slide into the regrettably maudlin (I blame Hallmark for this trend), others into the regrettably self-indulgent (my Uncle), and still others seem to be merely interesting in rhyming games or linguistic calisthenics. But there is good poetry out there. Roz_K on my lj writes very good political poetry, with a sharpness of wit...that makes one think a bit of Coward and Parker.
The Minister at church today, who had been once upon a time an aspiring poet...stated that when she was young and in public school - the poetry in the text-books made her so angry. They'd somehow found the worst pieces of established poets. Inoculating students against poetry. So true.
Those of us who learned to appreciate poetry or grew to love it, discovered it on our own. And many of us wrote or struggled to write it. Unfortunately many of my poems had more in common with Rod McKuen than well Sylvia Plath or Dorothy Parker or even William Carlos Williams. I have a few, gems, in the mix. But very few. My prose is better. And attempting to write poetry, along with
learning to appreciate and understand it - has made me a better writer. Poetry frees emotion.
Frees the mind. The spirit. In a phrase...just a phrase...may lie the answer to multiple questions plaguing the mind, or it may simply shut the mind off for a bit.
I admittedly started out my morning resisting the minister's lecture...or sermon, although that seems the wrong word for it did not feel religious...God barely entered into it. Resisted going to church as well. Resisted poetry. All grouchy puss. But too restless to stay at home. I've been raging against poetry of late. Not sure why. Because when written well poetry can often quiet the mind, it can also stimulate it...and connect us to the spirit within. It can as William Carlos Williams wrote...provide the news that we are lacking.