Sunday, September 27, 2009

All the Pretty Horses.

Since it took me so long to actually get to this book, &even longer to read it, I figured that I would give you an honest, yet humble review.
I suppose my favorite thing about this book was that it took me a while to break it in. Or it took a while to break me in. Western fiction is not a genre I have any particular affinity for, and there is plenty of other literature in the world for me to sit around with. So, even though the book came highly recommended from a reputable source, I would be lying if I said I wasn't mostly intrigued by the cover.
McCarthy's mastery of style, however, could not be ignored, and luckily, like a green colt, I was broken in after about sixty pages. The poignancy of McCarthy's diction, the structured coherence of his characters, and his overall knowledge of the craft made this novel worth taking a little more time on.
Here is my favorite passage in the book; it's on page 135.
She watched him, not unkindly. She smiled. Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real. The events that cause them can never be forgotten, can they?

Find this book and read it. There's some caballos in it, too.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

on standing still.

"knowing well that those that know don`t talk & those that talk don`t know."

Sunday, September 20, 2009

i still have

the scars on my knees reminding me that we are not immortal,
dragging patellas under water over painted concrete,
weary sun bathers resting in shade.

orange picking in the groves about a half mile from your house,
stretching on tip toes with pulp-stained fingers
cows watching lazily in the summer field.

quiet sunday afternoons for hushed whisperings of conversation,
falling asleep under the table, dreams of moving back home--
it`s not such a bad place.

bare-footed evening lopings through the vineyard,
your hand in mind, letting go to check on the Chasselas or Gamay or Petit Rogue
running back towards the trail, flashlights in hand,
zig-zagging slices of light.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

on thistles

there are birds out of doors right now. i don`t know how many. i don`t know what kind.
but they are singing up a storm.

i can learn from that.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

on happy meal toys.

so, there`s some thing sweet about a boy who will pretend to be your dad and ask the drive-thru which beanie babies are available.
&there`s some thing even sweeter about a back seat rider leaning her head out the window and laughing till it hurts.
but the sweetest thing of all is the one behind you; the one who rolls the eyes & says, "just be sure to pay me back."
well i know that with one hand wrapped around a dripping 89-cent-cone and the other clutching my immature pride,
i could never really pay you back.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

&i counted all your fingers
and i counted all your toes
just to make you sure you had not lost any since the time i had seen you last.
you held my claws gingerly, showing me around like i was some mute wild thing
unaware of my own strength and unable to control it.
&we nearly made it: up all those crossed and crooked streets, crumbling stairways, wooden books.
for a couple of hours my mouth opened up,

&i could see.