The Colander Canon vs. I Don't Know What Everyone Else Did This Weekend
So. Let me start by saying I find a certain sexiness in the art of colanders - the word itself, too. I no longer have my grandmother's star-patterned aluminum colander; the one on my wall is more modern with clean lines, marring only visible from discreet angles. That's not why we're here, but it matters to the narrative. We're here because I've found myself entangled with a Gordian knot of poets on Twitter. Nothing edifies my strangled artistic octopus-heart more than volleying word-games. NOTHING. The weekend took a circuitous route through winter synaesthesia, poetry readings, and book-shelfies, ending with two important things: 1) Pablo Picasso published a book of poems while he was on hiatus from art. The surprise is not that he did it, but that I didn't know about it. 2) Colanderesque as a word is in use, mostly outside the United States. Somewhere in the middle of the knot was discussion of juggling muses, in which I was called brave. There...