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Carol Peters
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Way: The Answer to Every Question Is Fishing
http://www.carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-answer-to-every-question-is-fishing.html
Sunday, July 26, 2015. The Answer to Every Question Is Fishing. The Answer to Every Question Is Fishing. Weather is either good or bad for fishing. Long wooden racks air-dry fish,. Cages anchored in fjords corral fish,. Awnings fray over tables spilling fish,. The whitest building in town freezes fish into bricks,. Ships dock at the pier to load fish. On independence day, the café serves dinner —. Grilled halibut to all able to pay. Maggi was to take us out, catch our dinner. Everyone into the sea. Phili...
Way: Alice Notley
http://www.carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2015/06/alice-notley.html
Wednesday, June 3, 2015. Toys and rose The zoo body zigzags. I think fish too. But I'm a polite. Social being, I'm a Ladle Lady or purple. And blue I write green letters and gold. Editorials for the Krystal Oxygen Company. I have one hip as far as I can see, that. I see as I write say. Is that a haiku? I fly over San Diego in some one or. Another real despair and ask you to comfort me. You. More or less do, you aren't even here. My best me my worldly me. My taste of spring my continuance my. Remember the...
Way: Bhanu Kapil
http://www.carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2013/11/30-november-2013.html
Saturday, November 30, 2013. Pratt Institute Writers' Forum. 3 A Healing Narrative. Fragments attract each other, a swarm of iron filings, black with golden flecks but without a soul. I stroke them with my finger so they scatter then relax. In the involuntary response to being touched. Against the tree, a woman is pinned, upright and strung with lights or gunpowder flares and nodes. Who stuck her there? Can you smell her burning fur? One day per room. It's raining. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
Way: Hahm Dong-seon
http://www.carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2015/07/hahm-dong-seon.html
Saturday, July 25, 2015. In Three Poets from Modern Korea. Translated by Yu Jung-yul and James Kimbrell. As if painted with a thick brush, the horizon. Goes down to dusk. And night begins to settle in the empty shoreline fields. My hometown, like the stars just blinking on,. Is somewhere on the other side of a wide, wide river —. More sensation, more memory than town. The raw-fish restaurant sways. With the dizzy give and take of the ocean waves. The lights from docked fishing boats are doubled. Shone be...
Way: Philip Levine & Donald Justice
http://www.carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2013/09/24-september-2013.html
Tuesday, September 24, 2013. Philip Levine and Donald Justice. S The Bread of Time: Toward an Autobiography. It was clear that, among those poems considered, mine had finished second best, and for this I was enormously relieved. What follows is the best, exactly in the form we saw it on that late February Monday in 1953:. Sonnet by Donald Justice. The wall surrounding them they never saw;. The angels, often. Angels were as common. As birds or butterflies, but looked more human. Beverly A. Jackson. Bhanu ...
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19
Days: 2012: September 2012
http://carolpeters2012.blogspot.com/2012_09_01_archive.html
Wednesday, September 26, 2012. Girl in the Swing. Jean-Honore Fragonard, The Swing,. How would I have written that if I lived in the age of Watteau & Fragonard? Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile. Where to find me. Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile. Girl in the Swing. Simple template. Template images by gaffera.
poems: Coming Home
http://carolpeterspoems.blogspot.com/2013/08/coming-home.html
Thursday, August 15, 2013. I mistake my kitten for a demon. Breathing sparks and trailing fire. He grew wilder. While I was gone. When I crouch low. Outside the front screen door, he raises his paws. Mewing like a child lost, now found. Back when I was eighteen, stranded. Without my car, the aged Pontiac I lived in. That summer between high school and college,. I saved my tips to buy. A Ducati —. All I could afford. Freshmen couldn’t have cars. At this women’s school, but no one thought. My mother aiming...
Days: 2012: October 2012
http://carolpeters2012.blogspot.com/2012_10_01_archive.html
Friday, October 5, 2012. Were You My Sister? After cyst removal surgery. She felt the spasms, watched the dark. Mass slither down the bowl. She was not surprised, she. Knew she would lose you, fourth. Child — Esperanza de Felicidad. She would go on. To bear a fifth, a second boy, despite. But no, no second abortion —. Remembering the bleeding after the first. So nearly killed her and would have. Negated three more of us —. She disregarded their male. Pleadings, taught John and me to read. You, my sister.
Days: 2011-2012: Playing the Dozens
http://carolpeterspo.blogspot.com/2011/12/playing-dozens.html
Sunday, December 18, 2011. Towns that look like pebbles or flushed quail. 8211; Jorge Teillier. Parrots that shriek like tickled babies or goosed nuns. Horses that pair head to tail like boxed shoes or mannikin feet. Beetles that twine in long hair like rope climbers or plastic beads. Blond skinks that speckle black like bananas or sand. Foxes that scale and rifle garbage bins like urchins or druggies. Ducks that dive like high school grades or barnstormers at town fairs. December 19, 2011 at 10:21 AM.
Days: 2012: Winter
http://carolpeters2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/winter.html
Wednesday, June 20, 2012. In slow, careful. I ask Pablo, "Can you make me two wooden boxes, 60 cm wide by 50 cm deep by 30 cm high, with top & bottom (. I stop to think. Algorrobo. Is the hardwood the builders used for our window and door frames. Pine is cheaper, algorrobo. Is more expensive," he says. His workshop is outdoors, a sea of wood and sawdust, partial & completed rustic-style furniture, two dogs. The table saw has a meter-long vertical blade. Morning or afternoon," I ask, knowing he will say a...
Days: 2012: Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile
http://carolpeters2012.blogspot.com/2012/02/fondo-los-ruiles-pencahue-chile.html
Friday, February 24, 2012. Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile. Mike and I spent much of February 18th-19th at Fondo los Ruiles, an 1,100 acre farm recently purchased by Simon Black. Entry to Simon's farm. The property is a working farm that produces and markets crops of blueberry, plum, tomato, and wine grapes. Simon plans to sell lots — 36 in total, that includes one for him — and hoping to create an amicable community of freedom-loving people. Mike walks up the road next to the plum orchard. I suppose S...
poems: After Watching Another Video of the Tsunami
http://carolpeterspoems.blogspot.com/2013/08/after-watching-another-video-of-tsunami.html
Thursday, August 15, 2013. After Watching Another Video of the Tsunami. Half a city flooded on top of the other,. Houses broken apart, whoever. Was inside them gone, whether. Or not anyone reported them missing. Gone because the houses are downriver. Once these were homes. Many who lived in these homes. Don’t care, they’re dead. After Fukushima. Who remembers how many died —. Many more, we suspect, will die. Why not watch, again and again. The wave when it arrived, how it damaged. 8212; 13 August 2013.
poems: Mrs. X
http://carolpeterspoems.blogspot.com/2013/07/mrs-x.html
Wednesday, July 31, 2013. The woman pulls her wealth behind her. In a wheeled cart. If she’s my mother. It’s because between our last visit. The day my family told me she died —. Alone in her sleep — she escaped,. Queened herself onto a plane. To San Francisco, a bus to Santa Cruz,. Her white blouse tucked into frayed slacks,. Permanent curls though she’s transient —. She’s taller now, seems thinner. But bustier, if foundered swells signify —. Cratered-moon face, moth-wing hands,. 8212; 9 September 2013.
Days: 2011-2012: The Dawn of Summer
http://carolpeterspo.blogspot.com/2011/12/dawn-of-summer.html
Saturday, December 17, 2011. The Dawn of Summer. These days of half sun,. Half cloud at the dawn of summer. When cool drops fall from a blue sky,. The violent spring winds. At last have died. Sheets hang motionless,. At noon pillowcases merely sway. This Saturday, two more left in December,. Running out of things to say. Aware of a noise. Above the vigorous digging of its hole,. Climbs to the top, listens,. Climbs higher and sees me. Northern peaks are lost in fog,. Southerns gray and black.
TOTAL LINKS TO THIS WEBSITE
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Days: 2004-2012
S Toward a New Poetry. I think that poetry is an act of problem solving, which means that if there are no problems solved there is no poetry to be written. . . . The purpose of the poem is to complete an act that can’t be completed in real life. . . . What real poetry was all about was creating a personal mythology rather than simply participating in the mythology of your culture. . . . Links to this post. S The Collected Poems. Who says it’s cool says wrong. For it rises from the city’s. A music so volu...
Carol Peters
Carol Peters is a jazz pianist who enjoys creating her own arrangements of traditional and contemporary worship songs, hymns, gospel songs and Christmas melodies. Each arrangement has its own unique style, showcasing her diversity and creativity. Carol's latest album, A Christmas Tapestry, is coming out just in time for Christmas 2013. For this album, Carol has weaved some of her favourite traditional Christmas tunes to make new jazz melodies. A Christmas Tapestry by Carol Peters. Photos by Anj Peters.
Carol Peters – Singer & Songwriter
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Days: 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012. Barn owl, Tyto alba. Throbs like a pulse. Monday, November 5, 2012. First a fuzzy knob. Swelled from the side of a spiked column. Slightly larger week by week. Til suddenly a vertical sprout. One morning — this. Saturday, November 3, 2012. I have been in the middle. For a very long time —. Of being a wife, mother,. Grandmother, sister, aunt, cousin, niece,. Though my niece-ness soon. Enough will come to an end —. Mary in her upper nineties. I’m in the middle of. She would go on.
Way
Sunday, August 9, 2015. From A. R. Ammons. Coming to a pinywoods. Where a stream darted across the path. Like a squirrel or frightened blacksnake. I sat down on a sunny hillock. And leaned back against a pine. And picked up some dry pineneedle bundles from the ground. And tore each bundle apart a needle at a time. It was not Coulter's pine. And not Monterey either. And I thought God must have had Linnaeus in mind. Orders of trees correspond so well between them. Had meant the human mind to fit. Weather i...
Carols översätteri – kraft av ordmakeri
Heter Carol Petersen och arbetar som översättare, frilansskribent och lektör, ibland även som spökskrivare. Främst översätter jag från engelska till svenska, men det händer även att jag arbetar med danskt, norskt, tyskt och franskt material. När det gäller mina egna texter erkänner jag en dragning åt svart humor, men jag har även skrivit en rad trivselnoveller och deckarföljetonger för veckotidningspressen. Deckarspåret har även gått igen i spökskrivandet. Det regnar köttbullar (Cartoon Network).
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