From the category archives:

tumblr

O Wild and Dangerous Deeds

27 July, 2009

An index of marvellous realism—Wild and Dangerous Deeds—has been composed by the son of Cheryl Bernstein. Its original context was things not done at home, but it impressed me as well as suitably general guidelines for behaviour not appropriate in the workplace. Do see the original entry for a detailed transcription.

O wild and dangerous deeds:
On a dull working day
I you would do,
(save #20, eating a poo).

{ 3 comments }

Votes Indeed

26 July, 2009

in tumblr

It’s still a while until suffrage day here, but my international students and I have been looking at industrial modernity in nineteenth-century England, which includes a consideration of the suffragettes.

Combine this with the Sex and the City marathon that runs Sunday-wise on Comedy Central, and Ms. Beaton’s comic amused me considerably as a result.

{ 4 comments }

How big is your baby?

19 July, 2009

in tumblr

A found poem from BabyCenter.com.

Your baby … is about the size of a poppy seed
Your baby has grown to the size of a sesame seed
Your baby is as long as a lentil
Your baby … is as big as a blueberry
Your baby [is] now comparable to the size of a kidney bean
Your baby has grown to the size of a grape
Your baby [is] now barely the size of a kumquat
Your baby is now about as big as a fig

Your baby is … the size of a lime
Your baby has reached the size of a medium shrimp
Your baby [is] now as long as a lemon
Your baby has grown to the size of an apple
Your baby measures up to an avocado
Your baby weighs … about as much as a turnip
Your baby is as big as a bell pepper
Your baby equals a large heirloom tomato in size

Your baby has grown as big as a banana
Your baby [is] currently the length of a carrot
Your baby has stretched to the size of a spaghetti squash
Your baby weighs about as much as a large mango
Your baby has caught up with an ear of corn in size
Your baby rivals the average rutabaga in weight
Your baby is as tall as an English hothouse cucumber
Your baby is as hefty as a head of cauliflower

Your baby is equal in weight to a Chinese cabbage
Your baby is as big as a butternut squash
Your baby rivals a good-size cabbage in weight
Your baby now weighs as much as four navel oranges
Your baby … weighs as much as a large jicama
Your baby is proportioned like a pineapple
Your baby has bulked up like the average cantaloupe
Your baby [is] now as hefty as a honeydew melon

Your baby … is comparable to a crenshaw melon in size
Your baby is as lofty as a stalk of Swiss chard
Your baby [is] now as long as a leek
Your baby matches up to a mini-watermelon
Your baby is … around the size of a pumpkin

{ 4 comments }

Though lost to sight, to memory dear

16 July, 2009

in poems,tumblr

Colloquy with this post.

Isabella Foster, d. 1876

Dunedin in those days
was a town of omitters:
people whose life stories
were as webs, as ephemera.

The kind of town
where a mother and father
could drift in for a wedding
then wash out again.

Their son, hopeful young man
not long in the city
was the first time a widower
in less than a year.

Isabella
buried there
Catholic father,
Melbourne-born.

We found your name
at the Mormons
and when we cheered
they shushed us down.

Little girl, little wife
how long before no-one said your name?
By the time of my grandfather, at least,
his father — your husband — didn’t speak of you,
but then
he was an old man then,

by then.

Traces find their way through though, don’t they?
It was there in the marriage certificate — his, not yours —
it was there in photocopied script;
“Widower”. It was you. You were there despite the silence.

Little girl, little wife,
we talk about you all the time;
we’ve got your death certificate.
We say your name. You and your dad
there in South Dunedin cemetery.
Kin of our kin, little girl.
You’re in our story. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.

{ 13 comments }

Seven Sisters (on Matariki)

3 July, 2009

in poems,tumblr

Colloquy with this post.

At Seven Sisters I changed
(I think) to Edmonton Green.
To the north of North London.

There was a low-rise mall, with
market traders. You could walk
(I think) to Enfield Lock.

It wasn’t a long visit, but I forced
some decisions.

They may not have been the best,
but they were mine.