Dale and I had lunch at the Tomato Head with A.T. Noonan (could a girl be better fuller lively smarter lovely someone you say can we talk can we be friends gimme me a Camel) and Sarah, the poet it residence at the farm, who was very kind and thoughtful. She cried when I read the sex scene from Click. She lived Ronnie’s grief. She really got it. We talked rapid fire over a good lunch with the most uncomfortable table/chair situation I’ve ever had the misfortune to be in. I sat until my hips began to scream. Anyhow I do not yet know much about this farm, but I am going to get involved with this farm. I am going to go there and do a workshop. I will go there and feed goats.
So am going to write some Haiku. My translator wants me to do this and I figure I probably have a million in blog titles alone. This will be fun. And she wants to translate I Will Not Give Over. She has found someone who will publish for a trade--we translate his poems (100 of them dear the gods) and he will publish my book. We’ve tried to do things like this before and deals fall through and being published may mean five books or fifty. I am never clear on these details. Anyhow, I will be doing some translating consulting. And writing haiku. Haven’t written or thought about writing haiku since high school.
Well, my little beta blocker may be kicking my early morning too early brain. So signing off. Here’s to new friends and little birdhouses with green velvet couches.