Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you all have a lovely holiday. Here in Marietta, the leaves have come up trumps and provided an appropriate spectacle, matched only by the number of dishes set out on the counter for feasting.

At home, Jeremy and I added a pumpkin, several apples, and a blue wine bottle to our moose antler to create a cornucopia. If I had a picture of it, I'd add it to the post, but since I do not, here instead is a photograph of something I'm thankful for:

What I've been up to

So most of you have probably been thinking, "With this whole Barry Bonds indictment thing and all, I know Jeremy has been doing some work on Stetson Kennedy, Zora Neale Hurston, and Ntozake Shange, but what has he been doing to distract himself from that? How has he been avoiding work? " Well, friends, here's your answer:


That's a guitar neck to the right, a set of bent sides stuck in that mold, and a hand plane I've been restoring to make it all easier. I've got the top of the guitar mostly done as well, and the back is close. From here, it's mostly assembly and finish work. I'm hoping to have it done in December. And I hope that ya'll have a wonderful (or wunderbar, as Jonathan might say) Thanksgiving.

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Today, in 1953, Dylan Thomas died at St Vincent Hospital in New York City. He was only 39. There are several of his poems at the Poetry Foundation, and there are a couple of readings at the Poetry Archive. I love the contrast in the following poems.
... ... ...

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
- John Donne

... ... ...

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

Under the windings of the sea

They lying long shall not die windily;

Twisting on racks when sinews give way,

Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;

Faith in their hands shall snap in two,

And the unicorn evils run them through;

Split all ends up they shan’t crack;

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

No more may gulls cry at their ears

Or waves break loud on the seashores;

Where blew a flower may a flower no more

Lift its head to the blows of the rain;

Though they be mad and dead as nails,

Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;

Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,

And death shall have no dominion.
- Dylan Thomas