Little Reviews: Poem for Friday, Wolf of Wall Street, Fannish Legos

Friday, January 17, 2014

Poem for Friday, Wolf of Wall Street, Fannish Legos

Summer in Winter in Summer
By Noah Eli Gordon

The bottom teeth of summer
in winter, braided into
whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow lengthen.
Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you
brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness.
Daily, the bottom teeth of summer
in winter, chewing through
ropes, raree show rapunzeled, which is realism
like this that there can be. These are really happened
tell me again stories I will. I will again against it.
Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere.
A perfect piece of pink cake
complicating perfection's tendency to falter.
Who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room
as though through a composition? The speaker enters quietly,
closes a window, clearing dust from the chair
to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated
with inky awkward blankness.
The bottom teeth of summer
in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon
splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown.
The day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits
in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever
walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying
to put down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker
in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared
to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll.
Your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you
can say you love in a poem's inky blank awkwardness
your paper boy. Sun sun sunflower seed summer you
to the soundest perforation. My paper life. My paper doll
in water. The loudest electric sound is nothing compared
to put-down roots. Summer in winter like a speaker
walking a cut lily back to water. Crazy epic crazier still trying
in its buoyancy. Imagine a life and live in it. Imagine dead as ever
the day is long. The bed, wide as a battleship, waits,
splashed over two dozen calendars. Here, the kids are grown
in winter chattering: here's the moon. Here's the moon.
The bottom teeth of summer
with inky awkward blankness
to sit in the center of the poem, invigorated,
closes a window, clearing dust from the chair.
As though through a composition, the speaker enters. Quietly,
who left it on the counter? Who walked through the room
complicating perfection's tendency to falter.
A perfect piece of pink cake.
Diving bell in a glass of water. Cacti atmosphere,
tell me again stories I will I will. Again, against it
like this that there can be. These are really happened
ropes, raree show rapunzeled. Which is realism
in winter: Chewing through
daily the bottom teeth of summer?
Brittle blossoming something the room clears of dailyness?
Sun-pocket. Sunflower. Seedling, you
whomever stood on the green green bridge watching her shadow lengthen
in winter, braided into
the bottom teeth of summer.

--------

Adam had his last day of finals today and Daniel went out to lunch with my mother, so I had several hours working at home with Paul, whose knee is a bit better but still hard for him to walk on since it hurts when he puts pressure on it. I forgot that it was Oscar nomination morning till after they'd been announced, but since they didn't give long-shots Hugh Jackman one for Prisoners or Geoffrey Rush one for The Book Thief, I didn't mind that I hadn't watched live. I was a little surprised Robert Redford didn't get a nod, let alone Tom Hanks, but all the women I wanted to be nominated were, and Christian Bale sometimes gets overlooked just because he's so good in everything -- not this time. (While I enjoyed American Hustle and thought the performances were terrific, I feel about it like I felt about Argo, that it's not a genre breakthrough and I'm surprised it's been so highly praised in so many categories.) The total lack of interest in The Book Thief is sad.

I saw another bunny -- probably the same bunny I saw on Wednesday -- though it was colder. Adam has no more studying or homework till next week, so I picked him up in the afternoon after track practice. Then, speaking of Oscar nominations, we took him and a friend plus Daniel to see The Wolf of Wall Street. Everything you've heard about the porny sex scenes, endless depictions of drug use, and 500+ uses of the F-word is true; if my kids were any younger than they are, there's no way I'd let them see the movie (I am hoping they took it as a cautionary tale, though the movie keeps undercutting itself by portraying its main character in a much better light than he deserves). The women's roles are all types rather than fully realized characters and to a large extent I felt the same way about Jonah Hill's character; his performance is good but there's so much comic excess that there's no way I'd vote for him over, say, Bradley Cooper's similarly somewhat over-the-top performance in American Hustle. DiCaprio is great, and tireless -- he's in pretty much every scene.

Deborah gave me a Lego mug for my birthday -- it has indentations for the bricks and figures to attach -- which made me start pulling out all the Legos we've had in a bin since the kids were young. Plus I had to buy one of the online-only Jor-El mini figures for obvious reasons. Here are some of the results.