Friday, June 30, 2006


Blogger fixed the problem and has found most of my blogs! It apparently was a techie vs conspiracy/stalker issue. (All blogs should be back online by end of the day, except for the old Hay(na)ku Blog which a spammer had gotten; pls note the link to new Hay(na)ku Blog here). In any event, I and the poker-playing angels will nonetheless continue to blather our love at y'all from this blog...though the ever-beloved CHATELAINE'S POETICS is now back online.

So, looking back at the CHATELAINE'S POETICS, I just want to repeat, though, one of its recent post below as it may not have gotten sufficient attention due to the blog problem, to wit:


As of this writing, if all of the commitments pan out, the next issue of Galatea Resurrects will contain new reviews of about 62 poetry publications/projects. Sure, it's possible that some reviewers may not be able to meet the deadline at the last minute (that's happened a couple of times for each of the last two issues), but that is still a hefty, number, don't you think?!!

62 new reviews compare impressively to 38 in Issue No. 2 and 27 in Issue No. 1.

And we still have plenty of time until the Submission Deadline of Aug. 5!

Whoo-hoo! And speaking of whooo-hoo!, just this morning I got an email from a poetry lover in New Mexico who sez: "...and I must admit I've purchased a couple books based on the reviews you've posted..."

Well now! I shall keep saying how fabulously amazed I am at all these poets and poet-critics volunteering their time -- is it the w(h)ine poured by Galatea (heh)?

Do feel free to join the party by checking out the contents of Moi Purse! That is, authors and publishers may wish to send review copies! I can tell you that of the 62 commitments for new reviews, 39 were generated by the list of review copies. So peeps are trawling through that site, folks.

And speaking of wine, and Moi am ever speaking of wine, remember that members of Oenophiles for Poetry will review the first four issues of Galatea and their favorite review, I mean, engagement will garner a bottle of wine for its author!

The best news about continously getting offers to review is that, obviously, people are reading Galatea's site!


Here is Mama Moi with Achilles when he was still a puppy (see how one of his ears is still bent?), fresh from having had his heel healed by the Blind Chatelaine...because Poetry is powerful mojo [grin].


Moi dear dear Mark writes:

I cannot see how Blogger, even with all its foibles, would selectively delete all your blogs at once. Sure you can delete individual blogs, deliberately or accidentally, but there seems to be no one screen or linkage that would take them all out at once.

...I arrive at the inescapable conclusion that somebody has logged into Blogger using yr name & password &, one by one, with malice aforethought, deleted each of your blogs.

& that horrifies me at a global level, & frightens me at a personal level, & causes me great grief at the specific level because of all the people I share this electronic world with,...

For Mark's entire missive, go here.

And to Mark -- yes, I did think of this possibility. I thought of this possibility because there's at least one person that I know of out there who's been e-stalking me. I accept such craziness with compassion. When deep in a wine cup, I even think it a perverse compliment -- that someone would care so much about a poet to spend much of his/her life focusing on me. So who's the victim here, Dear Stalker?

Because dear Stalker -- you cannot harm the Chatelaine.

And if, perchance, dear Stalker, you are noticing that things are going, um, awry in your life -- are you unhappier...more bitter....? -- perhaps it's because the Fallen Angels are on to you. For each attempt you make to harm the Chatelaine, it all goes back worse at you. The Chatelaine is *also* a poem, which is to say, also a mirror -- you will never see the Chatelaine, dear Stalker. Only yourself.

Thank you for your prayers, Mark. It helps and I thank you.

And dear Stalker, a P.S.: I forgive you ...


Thanks to all the support and love expressed for Moi's recent blog meltdown. As John backchanneled, however:

"...the story of Thomas Carlyle completing his [manuscript] of *The French Revolution* (a book so thick it makes your “brick” look like a pamphlet) and loaning it to John Stuart Mill....well, for some reason Mill’s housemaid tossed it into the fireplace, where the whole thing burned. Mill had to go tell Carlyle (that must have been fun!). So you know what Carlyle did? He wrote the whole thing over again! Somehow, I’m sure this setback won’t stop you any more than Carlyle was stopped – "

Whatever Carylyle can do, Moi can do...! And so here we are again in Galatea beaming lovingly at all of you! WELCOME!

I'm still working on updating various blog links. But please note that Galatea Resurrects is continuing its business here. And the brand-new HAY(NA)KU BLOG!!

Thursday, June 29, 2006


The Chatty Mama dines with Achilles at Napa Valley's Bistro Jeanty who allows dogs on their outdoor patio:

At home, Artemis often allows herself to be the subject of many adoring gazes by Achilles:


To generate text for "test" posts while creating this blog, I cutnpasted from some "caption-poems" inspired by some of Max Gimblett's lovely paintings. Each title also is the title of a Max Gimblett painting. I'd delivered this with slides of Max's paintings at a presentation on Ekphrasis (with Archie Rand and John Yau) at Asia Society, NYC, a few years back. Here's another one doing duty as a test post:


You don’t need to wear saffron robes to believe: gold is consciousness. Not a symbol for. Is the embodiment. Thus, the photographer finds it impossible to capture the alchemical surface of a painting without also portraying his reflection. (Is that the scent of jasmine you and I suddenly share as the storms linger outside?) Had the photographer manipulated the image to delete the shadowy sign of his presence, he would have compromised purity into a false definition of encaustic. While at it, consider the black curve. It can be a perfect circle if you open. If you transgress. If you open. If you


Or was it that one hot day? When the sun liquefied into a molten light. We were wading through a river. An eagle loosened a feather. I wore a red silk sari in preparation for Kama Sutra. The water was cool against our ankles. Velvet air scarfed around bared napes. Where the river bended, I knew you would take me away from water. You wanted to be the one to teach me how: within fever, dancers hurl their bodies fearlessly courting the fall. Within fever, there exists no compromise.


If you become the brushstroke instead of looking at the brushstroke, the photographer thinks as he edges over to the other panel, what would vision reveal? I know the virgin who photographed this painting is in the audience today. So I want to tell you, the circle is the edge of my skirt flaring as I twirl. I sculpted my skirt from velvet stained the color of fertile moonstones. If I ever give birth to a girl, I shall name her Jade. Second name: Angelika, the angel who plummeted towards wet jagged boulders in order to own her vision. In the beginning was the Word, Angelika whispered. She taught me with the sweetest of smiles, Sometimes, Compromise unfolds the enlightened path towards a particular fragrance we can recover from memory.


You live somewhere along my spine. I have begun integral yoga to squeeze you more efficiently from my bone marrow. I fail to see why I should always be waiting for you to reply. Something besides light exists beyond the horizon -- something waiting to ravish my avid eyes. Foolish girl, she is suddenly reminded by a raven’s wing floating past the windowpane. Once, his fingers had forked through her hair before he clenched their jasmine scent with his fist. He hooded his dark eyes as he growled, “Always wear your hair loose. Don’t ever compromise.”