Category Archives: wannabe hoochie mama

Many good reviews! of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”

Beginning with the video poem that is the source of the title of this, my 11th book, a video that is on youtube by the way:

 

 

 

 

Offering a peak at reviews of which  have positive  consideration of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code

 

first of all to hear me read three of the new poems, take a look, a listent o these:

Melissa Faliveno has uploaded my readings of poems  from “Wannabe “ here:

https://www.pw.org/content/wannabe_hoochie_mama_gallery_of_realities_red_dress_code

  1. Blue Coming (in response to Bob Holman’s “What You Can’t Understand Is Poetry Is Connected to the Body Again”
  2. The Glory Prelude
  3. Me and Bubble Went to Memphis

and a simply stellar review here:

 

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/book/wannabe-hoochie-mama-gallery-realities-red-dress-code-new-selected-poems

 

I will be reading at Literati Bookstore in Ann Arbor, on 18 November, details here:

http://www.literatibookstore.com/event/poetry-literati-thylias-moss

 

And a really big reading at Columbia University on 30 November 2016, details here:

http://arts.columbia.edu/events/fall-2016/moss

 

as it says on the Columbia website:

 

Thylias Moss
Poetry Reading: Thylias Moss
Series organized by Timothy Donnelly, Writing
Wednesday, November 30, 2016, 7 pm
Dodge Hall, Room 501
________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thylias Moss’s most recent collection, Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code: New and Selected Poems, will be published this fall by Persea. Her eight previous books of poetry include Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler, a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist, and Slave Moth, named Best Poetry Book of 2004 by Black Issues Book Review. Moss is the recipient of a MacArthur “Genius” grant and a fellowship from the Guggenheim Foundation, among other honors. She is is Professor Emerita in the departments of English and Art & Design at the University of Michigan and lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan.
_____________________

 

Coming up in 2017, details to be arranged, I will also be reading at Poet’s House in Manhattan; when I know the specifics, I will post them of course.  Looking forward to all of them

 

and let us n0t forget this marvelous review:

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Review!

 

Received just minutes ago, a stellar review of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”  

in “american poets”, the Journal of the Academy of American Poets” 

Fall-Winter 2016 Volume 51, Poets.org

 

I am delighted to see this.  Every word.  Please enjoy.

 

 

Hear me read three poems for this new collection here:

 

Melissa Faliveno  of “Poets  & Writers” has uploaded my readings of poems  from “Wannabe” here:

https://www.pw.org/content/wannabe_hoochie_mama_gallery_of_realities_red_dress_code

  1. Blue Coming (in response to Bob Holman’s “What You Can’t Understand Os Poetry Is Connected to the Body Again“)
  2. The Glory Prelude
  3. Me and Bubble Went to Memphis

And related to poem #3 “Me and Bubble Went to Memphis” 

is my video poam, “Bubbling”:

 

 

Please enjoy, and Happy Tuesday!   Hope you have opportunity to read this book!

Author Photo chosen!

Happy to report that the author photo for my forthcoming volume of poetry, book #11 “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“, Persea, September 2016, has been chosen:  Photo by Ansted Moss, a graphic artist Red Dress Code-02

wannabe_front

Artwork on the cover is used by permision and is “Untitled” from the New Orleans series, 1941, Gouache, by Gwendolyn Knight and may be seen at this website: http://www.phillipscollection.org/research/american_art/artwork/Knight-Untitled_NewOrleans.htm

 

Coming up “Other” and more

Tonight, Good Times Writer’s Buffet!

 

at:

PUBLIC POOL ART SPACE

3309 CANIFF AVE, HAMTRAMCK, MI, 48212

313.587.9572

FROM PUBLIC POOL’s about us page:

About Us

Public Pool is an art cooperative formed in 2010 that was designed to create and support a wide range of contemporary art experiences. Founding members include writer Steve Hughes and his wife, artist Anne Harrington-Hughes, author and Team Detroit creative director Toby Barlow, Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit (MOCAD) board member Jessie Doan, advertising-industry creatives Mary Trybus and Jim Boyle, who is also a former Detroit Institute of Arts executive, artist/curator Tim Hailey, who’s also the former co-director of New York City non-profit gallery HEREart, writer and musician Walter Wasacz, and artist/musician Jennifer Paull.

My image reflects how I look after having my butt-kissing hair done at Penthouse Hair Design, 561 N. Hewitt Sy. in Ypsilanti, MI, and  I am wearing the hat of a friend,  at   

I m 62 years old, and unretouched in every way, okay, my stylist Pat Freeman used some hair coloring to hide the little bit of gray hair I have.  Although it is fine to adorn hair any way that you like, indeed, hair is no more than an accesssory now; but it is fine if you must  have a feast in the mirror that way, but I don’t have to do that… Not than anyone is asking, but I weight on 98 poiunds, and I’ve never had to diet.  

Also upcoming: a reading from my new book, “Wannabe Hooche Mama, Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“, on 30 November 2016,  7:00 pm at Columbia University.  

will have more details about that later in the years, for now, just know how excited I am to read there, and hope to see all of my friends at the Columbia Reading. Huge thanks to Timothy Donnelly for inviting me… I will be reading, among other pieces for Wannabe! –my signature poem, soon to appear in “The Fiddlehead of Canada, “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia

Here’s what the Persea Page says about my 11th book:

wannabe_front copy

Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code: New & Selected Poems

Thylias Moss

Thylias Moss, one of American poetry’s great innovators, is a national taxonomist and secular preacher who catalogues our culture and responds in gorgeous outrage to its injustices. This career-spanning volume conveys the hypnotic spectrum of her full poetic output, from Hosiery Seams on a Bowlegged Woman, her 1983 debut, to Slave Moth, her acclaimed 2006 novel in verse, to more than fifty pages of new poems. Whether in early or recent writing, Moss makes no promises of smooth sailing: even when her poems begin with beloved cultural icons (Robert Frost, Doctor Who, the Statue of Liberty), they insist on new perspectives, truths, and realities. She is a fearless reimaginer of poetry’s possibilities, a writer who seems made for (and by) the digital age—its blitz of interactivity and reinvention—a futuristic archivist always compelled by the current moment.  Arranged chronologically, this volume offers us Moss as she has evolved through the past three decades, recognizable yet unpredictable, ever “a poet of fierce intelligence and radiant intensity” (Martín Espada). Wannabe Hoochie Mama of Realities’ Red Dress Code is in indispensable book, a record of who this essential writer has been and where she may be heading.

Praise for Thylias Moss

“Thylias Moss is a permanent American poet, canonical in the old, authentic sense.”—Harold Bloom

“As if the muse of Wallace Steves were transplanted into the body of a black, female pop-culture maven.”—David Yaffe, Village Voice

“It’s tempting to confuse Moss with the characters she describes, so deeply does she appear to inhabit their lives. . .[with] her trademark intensity and ferocious intelligence.”—Jabari Asim, Washington Post Book World

“Reading Thylias Moss is always dangerous and exhilarating, because one never knows exactly when the poem might explode and leave its reader marked forever.”—Raphael Campo, Parnassus Poetry in Review

“Thylias Moss names the black truths behind white lies. She is a writer who speaks bitterness and makes her own music of it.”—Marilyn Hacker, Women’s Review of Books

About the Author

Thylias Moss is a multi-racial Professor Emerita in the departments of English and Art & Design at the University of Michigan. Her eight previous books of poetry include Last Chance for the Tarzan Holler, a National Book Critics Circle Award finalist, and Slave Moth, named Best Poetry Book of 2004 by Black Issues Book Review. Moss is a recipient of the fellowships from the Guggenheim and MacArthur foundations, among other honors. She lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan.

There will be even more readings as time moves on, and I will be moving also, as soon as my house sells.  Time for a change, in every possible way.  Time to let go, as the commercial goes, and discover other possibilities, wherever that may be.  

Shout out to Thomas Higginson wherever he is, I will not pretend; I love that man, even while the world falls to pieces, as in:

“Of course, I read your Fb post about “Orlando” –and I even left a comment, but this longer message is about “otherness” itself, something I’ve been writing about practically since I started writing when I was six years old. And I even sent you a sort burst of a text message saying “The Pulse” Orlando. Not just the ‘Magic Kindom‘ anymore, or rather there is an”other” kind of magic now… 

I have two friends and former students who live in Orlando, one of whom has offered that I come live with her right after my house sells. She is lesbian, and the “other” is HIV+ and gay and one of my dearest friends, other than you, but after hearing your poem, I suspect that I am more to you than “just” (as if that is diminishing), “just a friend” –no matter what we do or do not become, with you, Mystery Man, I have the greatest friendship-love affair in my life.  Something I know you already know –an “other”-worldly romance. 

My   Mystery Man wrote a poem about me, the most beauitiful love poem, I have ever heard, and I found him reading it online, and it changed my life again; because of that poem, I know how deeply —in his own voice!— this man cares about me; I know that this man loves me, and I insert a photo right here, to show that I listened myself; “cream in my coffee“, he writes a cup of coffee (Latte I had at B-24’s in Ypsilanti) thinking of his poem:

 Cream in my coffee

he calls me, among other things the: 

Cream in my coffee” 

swirls of me right there, I appreciate the caramel coloring, the blend and lines of multiple races, because that is who and what I am; cannot separarate me into parts successfuly, without destroying me , and this world does enough of that… Hiatus on destruction, please.

(my current Facebook profuile image): 

UNITED AGAINST HATE CRIMES

I cannot say more without possibly exposing his identity, and I like being involved with a mystery man…

And if you look through most of my books, Mystery Man, you will see that the poems deal with the “other”.  I was born as “other” –official census reports refused to acknowledge “official” existence of citizens not fitting into “neat” boxes of race. But not killing us physically; only diminishing us with that “one drop” rule, and some of the things I want you to notice about me also make me “other”… When I go walking momentarily –to you Mystery Man — as I do most days, it is an “other” who will walk through this neighborhood, and I guess it is an “other” who cares about you so much after seeing you such a few times –not normal; still qualifies me as “other”. My neighbor knows an “other” when she sees one. And I know that you know that in my mind, I always walk off that bridge to you, my ass-kissing hair really kissing my ass…

Now, for intelligence, my “otherness” was recognized in first grade.  Nothing but trouble because of this, and the dreadful things that happened at Syracuse University  (I was there only from 1971-1972, world was so different then…

I was from one of those “other ” worlds,because I was “other” , because I am “other”… And who knows, Mystery Man, maybe part of what you like about me?

–Lord knows, I will never completely understand nor ask about your taste in women, and although I’ve been faithful to you, I have never assumed that you have experienced similar faithfulness to me. I also know that no human man can perform the way it seems to me that women accuse you of, making you an “other” in your reputation…. Mind you, I like that reputation about you, because I benefit from that reputation whenever I am (lucky enough to be) around you –my how that reputation glows, Mystery Man

I now refer you to my poem, “Lessons From a Mirror” published in “Pyramid of Bone” originally in “Callaloo“, a poem that ends (as you may know, within the knowledge you have of me, more than anyone else; yes, I knew I was privileging you deliberately… The things you said to me, the things this “other” will never forget because you said them, and I believe whatever you say, because I trust you Mystery Man , as no “other” woman will ever trust you…); “Lessons from a Mirror” ends:

“When you look at me,

know that more than white is missing.”

And the end of, on the facing page, “The Wreckage on the Wall of Eggs

that contains and ends with:

“The easiest thing was to keep looking east and west

and hating girls who couldn’t control ancestry.

On the wall, all we ever want is easiness.

Egg shells keep turning up on the path, the humpty-dumpties

spill from me and die like so many babies mercy-killed

out of slavery.

My life on the wall is anything but easy.

I want to but can’t hate Heidi well.

I can’t maintain tragic responses to breaking eggs.

When I look down at the wreckage on the wall of eggs that

cane out of me, I see that what’s inside is as white and

gold as Heidi.”

Same book: end of “A Reconsideration of the Blackbird“:

(Also see this YouTube video in which my first name is mispronounced [should be THIGH-lee-us or THY-lee-us]; but that is highly unimportant –he found usefulnes for the words; that is what matters, usefulness for the words, beyond the usefulness I felt in writing, arranging them –in the arrangements, even in DNA –those arranegements say everything):

“Problem: No one’s in love with the blackbirds.

Solution: Paint them white, call them visions, everyone will want one”

Oh, and my poem, same book,”There will be Animalsto teach us

What we can’t teach ourselves….

Then once and for all we will know it is no illusion:

the lion lying with the lamb, the grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood

walking out of a wolf named Dachau.”

 

Same book, Pyramid of Bone, poem “To Eliminate Vagueness” –all these examples from my second book, 1989, “instructions: substitute irreversible damage for black wherever it appears”

In the red-legged locust’s black raids upon midwest soybeans,

in their illicit transmission of tapeworms and parasites

to quail, and Guinea fowl,

in all the black calendar days that are supposed 

to indicate the ordinary.

In operating rooms body parts black with gangrene

are excused and trash can seen to fill with dead crows.

There’s a black crust two miles thick in Soweto, some on bread,

some around eyes, most on streets where blood dried

into its own monument.

Then my mother’s black face nothing can soften, the sweating, 

the forgetting to sleep, the solidarity with anytime troubling,

the compassion only I knew she felt hugging a radio, singing 

spirituals, sequestering herself in her widow’s bedroom

praying for women unable to pray.

And what of Asians and Latins who are irreversibly 

damaged, whose gangrened minds should be excised but who are

  not black?

One day I noticed my mother’s face had poured onto mine

and had given me spirituals and lullabies.

I sang them when baskets of black clouds dumped

their transparent flowers over the convent

and the nuns’ basic black didn’t get wet

and they carted the flowers home in wheelbarrows

and arranged them like lullabies

and wept silently

as we were weeping, mother and daughter together

in my father’s old rocker, the damage already done.

                             for Gary and the English 401 staff, (the University of New Hampshire)

–where I was most definitely other, told by some that I was the first black person they had ever seen.. The only brown female grad student, the only!

The Durham police officer was convinced that I had to come from Harlem, NY, though at the time, I hadn’t been there… And one student who was genuinely curious, and asked me all kinds of things, and told me of his rituals at Wendy’s every Friday night, and his adventures at the mud-pit with his truck; he lived in an isolated section of rural New Hampshire and quite possibly had never seen a brown person in real life… I told him that he was lucky he was asking such questions of me, a non-threatening multi-racial woman [more than 2 races, so not ‘bi’], and some persons of brown heritages would not be as accepting of his questions, but I was, and enjoyed talking with him, and responding to his genuine curisity as best as I could; wish I remembered his name…

And the dorm where I was asked if I were Egyptian?  Yes, I said.  Sri Lankan? Yes, I said. From Peru? “” I said.  Colombia? ” “again.

Of course, I also heard a student, I did not know,  remark that blacks were the only people to have pubic hair on their heads; only you know what I have on my head and elsewhere, Mystery Man;  only you, you Lucky Devil .  

The Durham police officer wanted me to validate for him that  the stereotyical big city police life was the way it was portrayed on “Hill Street Blues” and I assured him that show was much more a documentary than fiction.

Here’s a little clip of the TV series:

This was also the place that my biracial student J whose father was a professor of African American history at Harvard Uiversity, as I recall, but had married a white woman, learned that her father did not think her beautiful because she had none of the assumed, and stereotyical  markers of biracial heritage, not the complexion, not the nose or mouth, and most importantly, she lacked the hair, that evidently, her father preferred.  Oh the scathing essay she wrote as she became  aware of this knowledge.  

She was totally rejected.

No one would date her; most of the black males were recruited for athletics, and just like stereotypes had their pick of white women, leaving J and other black women without dates.  

I was  the only brown female graduate student , and I was married, so I was asked to lead a series of meetings between the very popular black male athletes  and the dateless black women, including J (who with her mother, M wrote a book about biraciality –it’s on Amazon).

In these meetings, I shared sections of Toni Morrison’s “Song of Solomon“where Hagar nearly dies for want of Milkman who prefers hair color of a penny, who does not like, she says, hair like mine.  In a frenzy and desperation, Hagar rushes out and buys the clothes that she feels might make Milkman notice her and possibly want her.  The black men laughed, and the females were devastated; these two groups could not communicate.  Not human rejecting human, nothing like that, with “otherness” well-established.

(what a Google search of “other” reveals):

oth·er

ˈəT͟Hər/

adjective & pronoun

adjective: other; pronoun: other; pronoun: others

    1. 1.
      used to refer to a person or thing that is different or distinct from one already mentioned or known about.
      “stick the camera on a tripod or some other means of support”
  • the alternative of two.“the other side of the page”
  • synonyms:

          • those remaining in a group; those not already mentioned.“they took the other three away in an ambulance”
        1. 2.
          further; additional.
          “one other word of advice”
  • synonyms:
          1. 3.
            PHILOSOPHYSOCIOLOGY
            that which is distinct from, different from, or opposite to something or oneself.

verb

**verb: other; 3rd person present: others; gerund or present participle: othering; past tense: othered; past participle: othered

        1. 1.
          view or treat (a person or group of people) as intrinsically different from and alien to oneself.**

As Anne Frank writes (in “The Diary of  a Young Girl“):

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.

 Diary of a Young girl

I care about this  Mystery Man very much, but he belongs to himself,  and if there’s ever anything else, he  will have to decide.

There is no mystery there.  

All his descision.  

EMPOWERED

Just walked nearly two miles on my treadmill, and as I walked, I realized that younger women have nothing on me. Not being my usual self-deprecating self; I have earned this vanity.

 

I LOOK GOOD! –And my hair swung wildly and rhythmically to Mansion Air, hold Me Down, (LCAW remix)… I will be 62 years old at the end of next month, and while I have these looks, I shall exploit them.

 

 

On Wednesday, I’m having my hair done for the author photo that will be on my new book, Persea Books, September 2016, “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”   –my eleventh book, and my best.

 

wannabe_front

My son will capture this photo, and I will be wearing a red dress, that I may need to purchase on Thursday; either way, I will look good. I have long hair and a figure that many women envy, and I know this.

 

I did think it best not to feel this way about something as fleeting as beauty, but no more! –while I’ve got this, I intend to enjoy it! I will post a new pic as soon as I have it,

 

and when my other book has representation, will be my twelfth, NKH I mean, because it will, I will travel to Chicago so that Tony Smith can photograph me for that.

 

“Looking for Forker Gyrl[1]

IN

NKH: New Kiss Horizon

 

by Adorabilis Flapjack[2] Tardis[3]


(Thylias Moss)

 

Will be only the start of something too wondrous for me to imagine –but it’s going to happen. I could see that clearly as I walked the final two miles to it.

 

I no longer need for anyone else to tell me that I am a beautiful woman, I know that I am.

 

I no longer need for anyone to tell me that I’m smart. I know that I am.

 

And “Wannabe” proves that this beautiful woman also has brains.

Lots of brains. Lots of booty and brains. AND ALL OF IT LOOKS GOOD!

 

 

My heart does indeed belong to someone; I’ve given it to him, and it’s his if he wants it, but, as I was walking this morning, I realized and accepted how beautiful I am… I can get a man, of that I have no doubt. None at all. The brains, the ideas may intimidate many men, but not the right man for me.

 

Up to him to claim me before someone else does…

 

What more could any man reasonably want?

 

 

I can (and sometimes do) put younger women to shame!

I am a prize, and I know it; I’m not going to pretend I’m not. No apologies.

 

Thank you

[1] ‘Forker Gryle” –names for “limited fork theory” <http://www.4orkology.com&gt;

[2] http://www.counton2.com/story/29374423/adorable-new-octopus-species-discovered-in-california

[3] TARDIS from wikipedia, < https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space) a most unusual, living space ship, female space vehicle of time travel, etc.

 

truth

Getting close to the Detroit Lit Walk sponsored by ML Liebler! I will be performing: “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia” and I couldn’t be happier about performing this poem!  19 September 2015. 1:00 pm N’Namdi’s in Detroit!

The N’Namdi Center for Contemporary Art

52 E. Forest Ave.
Detroit, MI 48201
Phone:  313-831-8700

Email:   nnamdicenter@gmail.com

 

“Thylias Moss: Artist on the Cutting Edge”

ONE OF MY POEMS (“A RECONSIDERATION OF THE BLACKBIRD”) READ BY SOMEONE ELSE

Thylias Moss: “Out of the Blue”

 

Actual Detroit lit walk poster2

“Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia” will be in my new & Selected collection of poetry: “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” scheduled for publication September 2016 by Persea Books.

 

I couldn’t be more excited about this book, and certainly about this poem!

Update to this post: A small declaration of even newer life:
What I said day before yesterday:
I am steadily working on building a new life for myself. Despite what hurts, what helps, and what sometimes does both. I was stupid to stay so long in a relationship I knew wasn’t right practically from the beginning! He was cheating on the teenager me right from the beginning –I found out two weeks after the wedding, and yet I stayed –for forty years, Just glad to be out of that marriage… And now… My own poetry is suffering, my new and selected volume due out in the fall of 2016 will contain a poem written while I was married and my “signature” poem about myopia seems to be about him, and I can’t allow my new book, first book since 2006, to appear to center on him… I have submitted a revision, and at least it was true at the time of the revision. I can live with more recent –temporary– truth, than I’m willing to live with old truth no longer true at all, and not in my poetry where truest forms of me reside… I remain hopeful that newer temporary truths will prevail so my 2016 NEW & selected (emphasis on NEW) will steer me towards newer forms of life that I become able to find….

THE UPDATE:
I have learned that my poetry editor agrees with me concerning the revision; a version of the revision WILL BE! in my new collection, my editor said the re-vision is “a ‘very’ impressive poem. Amazing work, you!”
–I could feel it as I wrote it! Embedded in the words and my need for those words to be heard! –and they were!
That tremendous music!
I really had the sense of surviving all of what I’ve been through!
Poetry indeed has such power!
Poetry is saving my life!
The truest forms of me can learn how to breathe again through that poem! My editor read them and felt it too!
A surging of current!
A form of merger between multiple ways of trying to understand, trying to see “myopia!”

 

7:05pm
As I attempt to live my new life without baggage, I specifically mean without the lies. I WANT TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH! I AM NOT LIVING BACKWARDS ANY FURTHER. Sorry if this direction disconnects you from me. Absolutely necessary. My name has been “Moss” for 42 years! –all of my books have been published by “Thylias Moss” –yes; at the divorce, I was offered the chance of resuming my maiden name, but as all of my professional life was as “Thylias Moss” I kept the name! I like MY NAME NO MATTER HOW I GOT IT. –AND I WANT NO DISCUSSIONS ABOUT MY KEEPING THE NAME! –the name is mine! –whether or not I remain married… My post! –make a post of your own if you want one; say whatever you like on your page, just as I will say whatever I like on my page… Every official document I have says: “Thylias Moss” is who I am, because that’s true! –THYLIAS MOSS IS WHO I AM! –if MY name is baggage, this is the only luggage I will continue to carry. Be careful how you respond. MY LIFE, MY PAGE, MY “BAGGAGE” with a luggage tag for “THYLIAS MOSS” because that’s who I am! Period.

Some TRUTH I try to live by:

My words to live by (with thanks to Linda Hedrick whose post led me to them). I am not going to allow either my MS or my traumatic brain injury to rule my life. Period!
Billy Connolly is refusing to let Parkinson’s disease bring him down.
The 72-year-old comedian was diagnosed with the brain condition in 2012 – in the same week he was told he had prostate cancer and had two hearing aids fitted – and although it has prevented him from playing the banjo he doesn’t dwell on the degenerative impacts.
He said: “I am doing as well as can be expected. Some people get grim, but I do not.
“Funny doesn’t go away it just changes slightly, maybe some people get grim but I don’t. I think it is an attitude – you say screw it, let’s get on with it.
“You cannot sit at home wondering about your symptoms. It is not going to go away.
“It has never crossed my mind that I am gonna die. What is dying anyway? It is just a light going out?”
‘The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies’ actor admitted the disease is a constant reminder of his late friend Robin Williams who had the same condition before committing suicide.
During a radio interview promoting his Canadian tour, he explained: “It depressed me terribly. You don’t find a way out of it. You find a place to put it where you can access when you want it. Like your mother or father’s death you never get over it, you just find a place to put it.
“We were both angry about things.
“For instance the guy who gave me the final diagnosis that I had Parkinson’s said it was incurable. Now I think that is terrible; he should have said we have yet to find a cure … Leave me a little light on in the corner for Christ’s sake.”
From: http://www.irishexaminer.com/breakingnews/entertainment/billy-connolly-on-his-parkinsons-diagnosis-funny-doesnt-go-away-it-just-changes-slightly-694531.html

 

_______

No matter what, it is the truth I want, the truth I need, and that means no longer pretending that the niece of my ex is my daughter, or that he child is my grandchild or her grandchild, my great grandchild.  THIS IS THE TRUTH!  Her biological mother is alive, a sister of my ex! –her child has a living grandmother, a biological grandmother! And her grandchild has a living, biological great grandmother, and it isn’t me! –THAT IS THE TRUTH! 

I learned yesterday that my ex had led his sister to believe that he was the biological father of my only biological son, but NOTHING COULD BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH! –MY EX IS INFERTILE! –he did not father my child, he COULD NOT FATHER MY CHILD OR ANY CHILD! –he also led his sister to believe that I had more pregnancies (that he fathered)  after my son, pregnancies that ended in  miscarriage, and this is A BALD-FACED LIE, when all I want it the TRUTH! –I’ve had only two pregnancies in my life, the first when I was fifteen and raped, becoming pregnant as a result of that rape… I did not have that baby; I was in high school… my only other pregnancy occurred when I was 36 and so ready for a baby!  I revisited fertility centers I had visited with my ex in Cambridge , Massachusetts where we lived, and the outcome was always the same, and of course, the woman was always blamed for the childlessness…  We even tried in-vitro fertilization three times, my eggs and my ex’s sperm in a Petri dish, and nothing happened… When asked if we would consider a sperm donor –as was recommended,  I agreed, but my ex said: “ABSOLUTELY NOT” Nothing I could do right then, but I was not about to give up my only opportunity to be pregnant because of that selfishness and inability to accept his infertility, a protection of an outdated sense of manhood.

So I returned to a fertility center, and requested a donor, and I became pregnant right away, and I was told by one of the fertility clinic’s doctors, “What a difference a good sample makes!”  I WAS NEVER THE CAUSE OF THE INFERTILITY… SEEMS SOMETHING MY EX JUST WILL NOT ACCEPT AS TRUTH ABOUT HIMSELF.

I JUST WANT THE TRUTH!

 

Greatest poem ever! –HIGGINSON MATTERS! –in my book of New & selected poetry, 09/2016

Happy to report that I have now written the greatest poem of my life! –“HIGGINSON MATTERS IN MAGNIFICENT CULTURE OF MYOPIA”  one of the new poems that will be published iin my collection: “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”, a volume of New and selected poetry scheduled for publication September 2016…

 “

Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Codes”

The very magical poem I have somehow managed to write!

I am steadily working on building a new life for myself. Despite what hurts, what helps, and what sometimes does both. I was stupid to stay so long in a relationship I knew wasn’t right practically from the beginning! He was cheating on the teenager me right from the beginning –I found out two weeks after the wedding, and yet I stayed –for forty years… Just glad to have survived and to be out of that marriage… And now… My own poetry is suffering, my new and selected volume due out in the fall of 2016 will contain a variation of a poem (“Magnificent Culture of Myopia“) written while I was married (Published in Tokyo Butter, and my “signature” poem about myopia seems to be about him, and I can’t allow my new book, first book since 2006, to appear to center on him; even my myopia has changed, optic-neuritis, now, part of my MS… I have submitted a revision, and at least it was true at the time of the revision. I can live with more recent –temporary– truth, than I’m willing to live with old truth no longer true at all, and not in my poetry where truest forms of me reside… I remain hopeful that newer temporary truths will prevail so my 2016 “WANNABE HOOCHIE MAMA GALLERY OF REALITIES’ RED DRESS CODES” NEW & selected (emphasis on NEW) –to be published by Persea Books— will steer me towards newer forms of life that I become able to find….

THE UPDATE:

I have learned that my poetry editor agrees with me concerning the revision; a version of the revision WILL BE! in my new collection, my editor at Persea,  said the re-vision is “a ‘very’ impressive poem. Amazing work, you!”

–I could feel it as I wrote it! Embedded in the words and my need for those words to be heard! –and they were!

That tremendous music!

I really had the sense of surviving all of what I’ve been through!

Poetry indeed has such power!

Poetry is saving my life!

The truest forms of me can learn how to breathe again through that poem! My editor read the poem and felt it too!

A surging of current!

A form of merger between multiple ways of trying to understand, trying to see “myopia!”

I will be performing this very magical poem as part of the Detroit Lit walk, sponsored by ML Liebler on 19 September 2015, between 1:00 pm and 2:00 pm EST at N’Namdi in Detroit: 

52 E. Forest Ave. Detroit, MI 48201

Here is a flyer about the event; please come all who can, and I will perform “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia” to the best of my abilities!

Actual Detroit lit walk poster2Please attend if you can! –a wonderful day is anticipated!