microcosms

Today ended up being surprisingly cool, with that sort of bright diffused sunlight I imagine all tundras to possess. Good day for a walk with the old Nikon. And look at how beautifully this campus has "broken into blossom," as James Wright would say:







It seems as though every little tucked-away corner holds some brightly-coloured treasure--such colours I have never seen on daffodils or tulips. Even the dandelions and violets seem quaint. I love the knotgrass and the fiddleheads--there is something so wild and yet so quiet about them.

Tonight begins the SLC poetry festival, which should be amazing this year, as always. The Mister is coming into town for it, and so are our good friends J and Erin, who will be visiting tomorrow night. It promises to be a lovely weekend. Cheers to all.

time for a remodel

I realized recently that it's coming on two years now that I've bee keeping this blog (rather un-diligently, I'm afraid), and since I'm not entirely the same person that I was two years ago, neither should my greatest connection with the world-at-large. So, welcome to "vivre sans bruit", a name which I may change in the next few weeks but, nonetheless, pleases me now. Same URL, brand new story. Spring cleaning all around.

I admit this frequently, I know, but I am a VERY BAD BLOG MOMMY. I can complain till the cows come home about how much I hate it when bloggers post infrequently, but let's face it, I am the worst of the bunch. But, I'm hoping that maybe a little change of scenery will fix that.

This next month is going to be a very busy, very fruitful one for me, and I will do my very best to keep this blog updated, even through the chaos. This weekend is the Sarah Lawrence Poetry Festival, and before I leave for California in May, there will be research projects finished, new ones begun, concerts and readings attended, birthdays celebrated, and spring to enjoy. But I've made a pact with myself to carry my camera around with me more frequently so that when the inspiration to blog strikes, I will be armed and ready with new, lovely photographs.

For now, I want only to direct my readers to some new links in my blogs list--I have been more than fortunate this year to become close with a community of creative people here in Bronxville and Brooklyn who share with me a very unique set of aesthetic tastes, living styles, and artistic ambitions, and, those that I could, I have added to my links. This spring has been a time of great creative growth and a flourishing of community projects that I have been so thrilled to be a part of, and which help me gain hope and faith once again in my generation's ability to rethink art as we have known it for the last fifty years. I will be sure to make announcements as each of these are finished. Unfortunately, I have decided to disable my poetry blog for now due to complications in formatting my pieces in an HTML context, but I am exploring new options on this front and hope to get it figured out for good over the summer.

So, here's to spring cleaning, and to new beginnings.

Love to all,
Jules

le printemps pousse

In French, the lovely phrase above is what one uses this time of year. Figuratively, it means that Spring is arriving, or growing, but it literally means "the Spring is pushing," pushing up from the dark place it has slept all year, pushing the fine, bristled seed pods full to bursting. Here in New York I am on spring holiday, and am afforded this time to fully take in the beauty of this time of year.

To be honest, I never appreciated this time of year until I moved East. Growing up, I always thought of this time of year just as the beginning of the hot season I so disdained. Winter, with its mild rains and bright clear frosts was my favourite time of year, and as soon as the thermometer read over 85 degrees--which it did on a good fifth of the days of the year--I just headed inside, away from the sun.

Here in New York the spring has an entirely different meaning, in context with--GASP--other seasons. After several months now of wool coats, thick stockings, layers upon layers of petticoats, my poor fishy-white feet were rewarded today with this:
How wonderful after seeing no grass for months to finally dig your toes into some good, healthy sod. I couldn't help but grin like a fool as I walked about barefoot, shoes in hand, and enjoyed a bounteous dose of vitamin D. Here are the other fruits of my leisure today:





How many wonderful things are "pousse"-ing just now! Don't those daffodil buds just make the winter worthwhile?

I have one more work shift tomorrow morning, and then once again off to Manhattan, where I will buy a paté sandwich and meringues at my favourite French cafe for lunch, and then visit Erin at the photo shoot where she will be working--she is helping me knit my first hat, which has been a rather testy project, but will prove my competence as a knitter if it does not look awful. The weather the way it is, I may just be able to leave my coat at home for the week. :)

outside my window

I woke up yesterday morning to the most beautiful ice-land I have ever seen. I skated to work on an inch of ice, and all of the trees wore glistening, lovely, ice suits (some were not the better for it--several of our largest Pines on campus lost huge limbs under the weight of all that ice). I must admit that I see nothing in nature so beautiful as ice. It positively astounds me, with every new storm, every new winter.

Yesterday, February Second, is the only day that I can think of in the year that carries with it not one or two holidays, but three whole holidays. Besides the most American tradition of Groundhog's Day (the quirkiest by far, in my opinion), this day also marks the celebrations of the Christian Candlemas, the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple and the blessing of the candles, and it's Pagan and Neo-Pagan counterpart, Imbolc, the beginning of the lengthening of days. Such hope for spring is wrapped up in these traditions (even Groundhog's Day) that I cannot help but feel that, despite the ice and snow, those first snowdrops are only a couple of weeks away.

Here's the icy sunrise-y view out my window this morning:

I know that I am, indeed, awful at this whole diligence thing. I must make this resolution right now: Once a week, at least, I promise to post here, even if it's just a few words. I feel I am becoming careless.

This morning , I awoke to this splendor:




Unfortunately, the lovely snow affected a late opening on campus this morning, which means that my new philosophy class was cancelled; while this class already met once on Tuesday, today was the second portion about which I am rather curious--the class is an integrated Chinese philosophy/movement class, and we have yet to meet for the movement aspect.

As the daylight grows longer and longer each week, I find myself once again in a terrible poetry slump. It seems that every January it hits me like this--So beautiful, so inspiring, and yet I am without inspiration.

Off to conference now, but more in the next week, I PROMISE!

witch baby!

Happy post-Halloween withdrawals to all who are suffering from the same 2/3-through-the-semester hump as I am! Aren't we happy that The Best Holiday in the World Because It Revolves Around Food is drawing near? Certainly I am. Here are pictures of my Halloween festivities with my housemates friends:
Me, of course, as ever-snarling Witch Baby. Note the bug shoes. Also, I made the tutu.
My other half, the G train.
From left, housemate and bestgirlbuddyinthehouse Claudia (no costume), and friend Hailey (some sort of lesbian cowgirl from her favourite book?)
Max, playing Devil's Advocate. There's a Powerpuff Girl in the background.
Housemate Dan and his new ladylove, Raven (the hair is not natural).
Santos, whose costume consisted entirely of props. Hailey's bloody cowgirl wounds in the background.
Jamie as Robin Hood or Peter Pan, depending. Sorry about the quality of these next few... I scanned them from disposable camera shots taken by my housemates.
Me, more snarling, this time with my full costume...The camera was essential. Note Santos in the foreground and a confused Hailey behind me.
He got used to the snarling and biting as the night wore on. Also, note the REAL Halloween decorations--pretty classy for a college party, no?
My favourite picture of the night, partially because I think I look so much like Witch Baby here, and because of all the great back and forth motion, with Jamie blocking both MB's camera and the one that took this photo.

And now we march onward toward the end of the semester! It's officially the end of fall here, and temerpatures are dropping rapidly.... I can almost smell the first snow.

the signs are prodigious

Today is Miss Jamie's birthday, so let's all say together, Happy Birthday Jamie! Ahem.

Now that we've finished with that, I must apologize for being so long absent from this URL for so long. I shall simply skip the excuses and distract you with these lovely images of autumn here in Bronxville:


I think this little guy liked the sound of my camera shutter...I was lucky enough to get a nice half-hour break in the rain to obtain these! This week is probably to be the doomed last of these colours, but it is a very lively one at Sarah Lawrence--this weekend is Halloween, which may be the best loved and most fervently celebrated of all holidays here, as well as Fall Formal and parents' weekend (we all know that they assign this weekend as family weekend on purpose, in some vain attempt to cut down on partying). I will be enjoying myself on Halloween with my housemates here, but this Friday, I have more important plans than a school dance: the Mister and I have tickets to see the wonderful Cloud Cult live in Brooklyn. Their September album, Light Chasers, is one of my favourites of the year, and presented me with a much-needed burst of autumn optimism earlier in the semester.

I won't go too far into what about this album was so important for me, but I think it has to do with the end of a long spiritual search for the songwriter and the literal birth of new chance for he and his wife. His and the band's story can be found at length on Wikipedia, and it's compelling enough to warrant a read even if you aren't a fan. Something tells me that Light Chasers will be the last Cloud Cult album, maybe for a while, maybe forever, but I think it's a fitting end to a story that is both heartbreaking and deeply triumphant. I am looking forward to a good, hard, empathetic cry at this concert.

In other news, I have been holing myself up here, gearing up for the second half of this semester. I'm two-thirds of the way through Spenser's The Faerie Queene for conference work in Bill Shullenberger's class, and studying Symbolism at length for (get this) an eight-page paper written entirely in French! I must admit that this is a wholly masochistic mission on my part, and one that continually challenges me when I receive potions of it returned to me positively splattered in red pen. But I'm learning... slowly but surely.

I have also been cooking. Intensely. So much cooking. Some of my sweetheart's and my most successful experiments have been: sweet-potato-and-edamame pancakes with baked apples; acorn squash stuffed with grains, hazelnuts, and figs; eggplant, chard, tomato and rice casserole; butternut squash with butter and sugar (for desert!); leeks vinaigrette, which has quickly turned into "any steamed vegetable vinaigrette"; Perfect Miso Soup; and lots of homemade bread. Unfortunately, and this may be very cruel on my part, I haven't any recipes. The two of us have decided it's useless to write down recipes that we come up with--we never end up following them, and we often like to make things just once. But rest assure that they were all delicious, even if completely unreproducible.

I will be home for Thanksgiving weekend, which (hopefully) means that I will make something somewhat like these for my family and maybe have recipes! FOr now, though, I am off to read more George Herbert and teach my housemate Gabe to make bread... Pictures later, and certainly after this weekend!

Mabel Nimble

Here are some pictures of the newest edition to the Slonim 9 family--my new bicycle, Mabel:



Mabel was a gift from M. Benjamin, who found her cheap and put new wheels on her, and tweaked her to suit me. He also found me the darling little bell with the fawn on it--which I like not only for its association with the "Nimble" written across Mabel's frame, but also because of its association with the darling man that introduced her to me. I've had the basket for a while, a gift from my Grandparents on my birthday, and I think it looks just splendid on her--plus, I like the doily look with an old lady name like Mabel. :)

Classes are progressing with ease, and I am loving life here in my cozy little house. We've put up some bookcases in the common room now, so they're filling up with books and this place is really starting to feel like a home. Still haven't quite gotten into the writing groove yet, but... I will sooner or later. New poetry going up on the trees speak riddles this morning, also.

A Snippet from Keri Smith

Here's a wonderful quote I found on Keri Smith's blog that resonates with me and makes sense in the context of my life. So often I become discouraged when considering post-modern life and society, corporate greed, the bored and boring literature from the last twenty years, and this feeling that I and a few selected peers alone are gifted with a Sight that goes beyond success and convenience. And then Keri Smith posts something like this to cheer me up:

The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in US life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. The anti-rebels would be outdated of course, before they even started. Dead of the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachonistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels. Real rebels as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations, of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh, how banal.”

–David Foster Wallace

the sound of settling

And, here I am once again, slowly easing back into life in New York. Scratch that. How about tumbling ribcage-first into a hectic first week of travelling, moving, interviewing, shouting sheepish greetings at people I've negleced to contact all summer, and somehow still managing to start classes yesterday with some semblance of collection and restfulness. To say the least, this second year of living in limbo has somehow managed to be more difficult and stressful than the first year. Add to this sleeping on a vinyl dorm mattress after a summer of cushy pillowtops and you have a girl who doesn't remember whether she's showered today or even yesterday.

That said, moving always gives me the excuse to do my favourite thing in the entire world: nest.
This is my new room in Slonim 9! Small, I know, but I also have a large common room with a kitchen at my disposal, to share with my seven housemates. It's a rather cozy little space, if you ask me. Hopefully, in the next few days, I will be able to share with you pictures of my housemates: Dan, Claudia, Gabe, Max, Isabella, Talia, and Santos.

So far, I've already attended my first French class and my first Metaphysical Poetry seminar with Bill Shullenberger--this afternoon is my first poetry workshopon "Masks, Personae, and the Literal 'I'", which I'm hoping will give me the incentive to continue writing the poetry I've left off all summer. I do have some ideas, though....