All night I heard two voices from out here in the hall
Today contained far more public transit frustration than it really needed to, but in the evening
lesser_celery came over and I showed him The Legend of Hell House (1973), which I love and he hadn't seen. It went over well. The obvious direction for next week is some other title containing the word "house," because he was joking that he couldn't remember if he'd seen The Haunting of Hill House or The House on Haunted Hill, but I am afraid that way eventually lies Obayashi.
I feel as though I'm writing more about my daily life than I have in a long time, but less about my thoughts. I find myself wanting to do something literary and unethical, like write in detail about the people I love: I don't know what point that would prove. I admire memoir as I do most genres I can't (have no idea whether I could) write, but I don't know if I want that much of myself in print for others. Then I don't know why I write that sentence, because it's not as though my recurring motifs are especially hard to decode. I think of myself as relatively transparent. It surprised me in January to find out how little I had let some people know.
(I looked to see what I was doing this time last year, in case it was diagnostic; looks like writing about British noir. Draw your own conclusions.)
That five-questions meme has come around again, this time set by
rose_lemberg:
1. Late at night, inside an old theater, you meet a friendly ghost. Who is it? (bonus: and where?)
One should meet an acting ghost in a theater. That doesn't narrow it down much for me—I have too many actors and playwrights who are no longer alive. (Seriously, it made me so happy when I realized there were character actors nowadays I could follow as enthusiastically as the ones who floruit 1935–1970. I still can't believe I saw Karl Johnson onstage years before he mattered to me.) The temptation is to say something like a stagehand from the Old Vic who could tell me all the footlights gossip, the stories I wouldn't know from reading the reviews years later. Or Aristophanes in the ruins of the Theater of Dionysos, so I can make him pronounce that 171-letter word from Ekklesiazousai. Oh, what the hell, I was just talking about The Master and Margarita. Mikhail Bulgakov at the Moscow Art Theatre. I could tell him his manuscripts didn't burn.
2. If you could choose only three poems to represent your work, which ones would they be?
I have absolutely no idea what makes a representative Taaffe poem, so let's say "Postcards from the Province of Hyphens," "Drowning Like You Mean It," and "The Clock House." Ask me again in six months and I'm sure one of these will have changed.
3. What is your favorite piece of clothing?
That I actually wear? Boringly, I really like my green corduroy jacket. I bought it over the summer of 2005 when I had to start teaching in the fall; it was my attempted concession to professional dress. It's moss-colored and beginning now to fray at the pockets, because I fill them with wallet, keys, cellphone, change, pocketknife, earplugs, chapstick, and whatever else I forget to take out—I have discovered everything from the well-wrapped end of a chocolate curry bar to small stones from a sea I hadn't visited in months, although I don't ever think I have enough tissues. I wear it to conventions. I wear it on the street. I will cheerfully put patches on it when it gets old enough. It goes well with the runner-up to this question, which would have to be the many-colored scarf
rushthatspeaks knitted for me two years ago: it started at six feet and wool stretches. I'd back it against Tom Baker any day.
4. A local museum is offering to decommission any piece of art from their collection and give it to you for free. What do you choose?
Oh, God. There are several objects in the MFA which I visit on a regular basis: Ellen Day Hale's self-portrait (1885), Childe Hassam's Boston Common at Twilight (1886), Joseph Stella's Old Brooklyn Bridge (1941), an Eighteenth Dynasty statue of Sekhmet, the cinerary urn of Aulus Folius Felix (when it's on view). I like Etruscan mirrors. I have a thing for ship's portraits and silver gelatin prints. It was only on display briefly, as part of the same exhibition where I got the words palissander and mazarine, but Giovanni Battista Piazzetta's Head of a Young Man Looking Down to the Left looked to me like the beginning of a story. But there is, in a glass-topped case of seals and gems from the ancient Near East, a beautiful little Babylonian stamp seal made of translucent bluish agate which I have been known to say I would steal if I ever went for art theft. It is in the shape of a duck with its head turned back against its wing; it leaves the stamp of a goat-fish—suḫurmāšu, symbol of Ea—with a little moon-crescent, I think, and an asterisk for a star. There do not appear to be any images available on the museum's website, but it looks a little like this. I've loved it since before I could read cuneiform.
5. Which city would you set to music?
Boston, because I know it less well than some cities where I've never lived. If it were a song, I'd have to learn it.
Comment if you want five questions of your own. On the interminable bus this afternoon, I thought of a title for a chapbook of ghost poems. There would still need to be more history.
I feel as though I'm writing more about my daily life than I have in a long time, but less about my thoughts. I find myself wanting to do something literary and unethical, like write in detail about the people I love: I don't know what point that would prove. I admire memoir as I do most genres I can't (have no idea whether I could) write, but I don't know if I want that much of myself in print for others. Then I don't know why I write that sentence, because it's not as though my recurring motifs are especially hard to decode. I think of myself as relatively transparent. It surprised me in January to find out how little I had let some people know.
(I looked to see what I was doing this time last year, in case it was diagnostic; looks like writing about British noir. Draw your own conclusions.)
That five-questions meme has come around again, this time set by
1. Late at night, inside an old theater, you meet a friendly ghost. Who is it? (bonus: and where?)
One should meet an acting ghost in a theater. That doesn't narrow it down much for me—I have too many actors and playwrights who are no longer alive. (Seriously, it made me so happy when I realized there were character actors nowadays I could follow as enthusiastically as the ones who floruit 1935–1970. I still can't believe I saw Karl Johnson onstage years before he mattered to me.) The temptation is to say something like a stagehand from the Old Vic who could tell me all the footlights gossip, the stories I wouldn't know from reading the reviews years later. Or Aristophanes in the ruins of the Theater of Dionysos, so I can make him pronounce that 171-letter word from Ekklesiazousai. Oh, what the hell, I was just talking about The Master and Margarita. Mikhail Bulgakov at the Moscow Art Theatre. I could tell him his manuscripts didn't burn.
2. If you could choose only three poems to represent your work, which ones would they be?
I have absolutely no idea what makes a representative Taaffe poem, so let's say "Postcards from the Province of Hyphens," "Drowning Like You Mean It," and "The Clock House." Ask me again in six months and I'm sure one of these will have changed.
3. What is your favorite piece of clothing?
That I actually wear? Boringly, I really like my green corduroy jacket. I bought it over the summer of 2005 when I had to start teaching in the fall; it was my attempted concession to professional dress. It's moss-colored and beginning now to fray at the pockets, because I fill them with wallet, keys, cellphone, change, pocketknife, earplugs, chapstick, and whatever else I forget to take out—I have discovered everything from the well-wrapped end of a chocolate curry bar to small stones from a sea I hadn't visited in months, although I don't ever think I have enough tissues. I wear it to conventions. I wear it on the street. I will cheerfully put patches on it when it gets old enough. It goes well with the runner-up to this question, which would have to be the many-colored scarf
4. A local museum is offering to decommission any piece of art from their collection and give it to you for free. What do you choose?
Oh, God. There are several objects in the MFA which I visit on a regular basis: Ellen Day Hale's self-portrait (1885), Childe Hassam's Boston Common at Twilight (1886), Joseph Stella's Old Brooklyn Bridge (1941), an Eighteenth Dynasty statue of Sekhmet, the cinerary urn of Aulus Folius Felix (when it's on view). I like Etruscan mirrors. I have a thing for ship's portraits and silver gelatin prints. It was only on display briefly, as part of the same exhibition where I got the words palissander and mazarine, but Giovanni Battista Piazzetta's Head of a Young Man Looking Down to the Left looked to me like the beginning of a story. But there is, in a glass-topped case of seals and gems from the ancient Near East, a beautiful little Babylonian stamp seal made of translucent bluish agate which I have been known to say I would steal if I ever went for art theft. It is in the shape of a duck with its head turned back against its wing; it leaves the stamp of a goat-fish—suḫurmāšu, symbol of Ea—with a little moon-crescent, I think, and an asterisk for a star. There do not appear to be any images available on the museum's website, but it looks a little like this. I've loved it since before I could read cuneiform.
5. Which city would you set to music?
Boston, because I know it less well than some cities where I've never lived. If it were a song, I'd have to learn it.
Comment if you want five questions of your own. On the interminable bus this afternoon, I thought of a title for a chapbook of ghost poems. There would still need to be more history.

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Translucent bluish agate. With intaglio.
I thought of a title for a chapbook of ghost poems.
Ooh!
Beautiful answers. You and your thoughts are intertwined.
I'll take five.
Nine
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The title poem would also need writing, of course.
I'll take five.
1. Which character do you like best that you would never want to meet?
2. What music can you no longer listen to? (You may also answer this question in the converse: what do you listen to now that you never thought you would?)
3. If you could ask any ghost of your family for a single story, what would it be?
4. What book (by another author) would you rewrite?
5. What artistic talent do you wish you had and what would you trade to get it?
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Right; no pressure!
1. Which job has given you the best stories?
2. Which superhero's alter ego would you choose to be?
3. What colors do you find most expressive?
4. Which item of clothing do you most wish would come back into fashion? (What item of clothing do you most wish would go away?)
5. With which plant do you feel the most affinity?
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I'll go questions this round.
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Sometime when you're in Boston, we'll go to the MFA and I'll introduce you to the Babylonian seals in person.
What were your Pretty Pictures of?
I'll go questions this round.
1. In what antique book would you most like to be mentioned?
2. What other atmosphere would you choose to breathe?
3. Do you have a favorite telescope?
4. Which extrasolar object do you wish more people knew about?
5. What fruit would you happily never eat again?
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"Head of a Young Man Looking Down on the Left" looks like how I imagine Justin Saint-Etain.
... I don't need a list of questions. I don't even need one question, but if you have one, I'll answer it.
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I also have a sort of slate-blue linen jacket for summer, but I actually have to patch the right-hand pocket on that one: the keys tried to get through.
"Head of a Young Man Looking Down on the Left" looks like how I imagine Justin Saint-Etain.
Interesting. I thought he belonged in Ostia Naye.
I don't even need one question, but if you have one, I'll answer it.
What kind of tree would you most like to speak to you?
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Hmm. Give me five, and I'll see what I can do.
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I cannot contradict that ambition.
Hmm. Give me five, and I'll see what I can do.
1. What is your favorite sea-creature?
2. Which god would you most like to find has been watching you?
3. Have you ever brought music out of dreams?
4. Which city would you like to meet in human form?
5. What artistic figure—past or present—would you most like to be mistaken for?
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Please, may I have five questions?
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Thank you!
Please, may I have five questions?
Absolutely.
1. Which trope of science fiction would you introduce to reality as we know it?
2. Which season holds the most memories for you?
3. Which decade (of any country and century) would you most like to drop in on?
4. Which decade (of any country and century) do you wish everyone else would leave alone?
5. Who would you like to find has been writing your life?
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Sounds like a fine idea to me. You don't necessarily have to publish it: it could be your posthumous gift to posterity.
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Interesting point.
Would you like questions?
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Hit me!
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1. Which character would you use as shorthand for your life?
2. Is there a language you would trade knowing English for?
3. How would you like to be remembered as a writer?
4. What dish do you find the most fun to cook?
5. What talent did you never expect to possess?
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Of course!
1. What has surprised you most about your child?
2. What now-extinct feature of English do you wish were still in use?
3. What feature of any other language would you import into English?
4. Who is your favorite nonhuman character?
5. Which filmmaker does your life look like these days?
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You may also be interested in a cheesy 80s horror flick called The Evil. Another haunted house story which is a lot of fun. And cheesy.
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I haven't, actually; do you recommend it? I understand (mostly from
You may also be interested in a cheesy 80s horror flick called The Evil. Another haunted house story which is a lot of fun. And cheesy.
"Pokey, are you drunk on love?"
"Yes. Also whiskey. But mostly love. And whiskey."
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5 questions
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You got it.
1. How would you cast yourself in a film made in 1939?
2. What was the last book you took a life lesson from?
3. Which historical speech would you like to have heard in person?
4. What is the most annoying instance of chess-as-metaphor you have encountered in fiction?
5. Do you have a favorite composer?
I guess if nothing else the wedding is soon.
I would like to see you before then!
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This sounds like fun. Please, ask away.
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1. Whose mask would you hang on your wall? (Why?)
2. What piece of technology do you feel most nostalgic about?
3. Which oracle would you take your questions to?
4. What was the first language you wanted to learn?
5. What song reminds you of four in the morning?
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In the meantime, I'll take five.
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Thank you! It's from 2005; I don't know if you'll have heard any of the poems in it. (A couple were reprinted in A Mayse-Bikhl.) The title poem is one of the pieces I remain proud of, and occasionally amazed that I didn't think it was ambitious at the time.
In the meantime, I'll take five.
1. Which Greek hero would you offer at the shrines of?
2. What kind of zombie would you be most distressed to find out really exists?
3. What would you change shape into if you never could change back?
4. Do you have songs that mean different years in your memory?
5. What is your favorite depiction of Death?
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You can give me five if your not too tired of the meme.
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So noted. I've had the film described to me by a couple of friends; I'd gotten the impression it might hurt my brain.
Although its not a Obayashi film i still haven't been able to get my hands on "Kuroneko" - another Japanese horror fable with more cats!
Kaneto Shindo just died! And I have seen neither Kuroneko (1968) nor Onibaba (1964). I should watch them in his memory.
You can give me five if your not too tired of the meme.
1. What dream have you remembered the longest?
2. Do you have a favorite sea?
3. What season do you sleep best in?
4. Which book would you adapt yourself (for any medium: stage, television, radio, film)?
5. What movie would you live in for a week?
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...I thought of a title for a chapbook of ghost poems. There would still need to be more history.
I would love to read this.
But there is, in a glass-topped case of seals and gems from the ancient Near East, a beautiful little Babylonian stamp seal made of translucent bluish agate which I have been known to say I would steal if I ever went for art theft.
I can relate. In the British Museum there is a little figure of Epona which I have loved since I was ten or eleven years old.*
I think of myself as relatively transparent.
I suspect most of us think of ourselves as this.
I've a terrible feeling I didn't respond to five questions from you at some time in the past. I think I bookmarked the entry, and will do something about remedying that as soon as possible. Tomorrow I'm playing at some sort of a street fair, trying to drum up business for a cultural society; this is assuming it's not all rained out. We'll see what happens.
*I'm not feeling very certain about chronology right now.
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Oh, nice.
Tomorrow I'm playing at some sort of a street fair, trying to drum up business for a cultural society; this is assuming it's not all rained out. We'll see what happens.
Have fun! Cultural societies need all the business they can get.
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Guilt as the dynamic force of the universe . . .
1. What is the most important ritual you observe?
2. Which songs remind you most of spring?
3. What is the earliest story you can remember retelling?
4. Do you have a least favorite holiday?
5. Where would you choose to drown?
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1. Which dead artist would you like most to illustrate your work?
2. Would you want to know if the classical Muses were real?
3. What has surprised you most about being an editor?
4. Do you have a favorite music video?
5. Whose version of the Devil would you like to come to the crossroads when you call?
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---L.
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Nah.
1. Which myth would most like to find yourself inside?
2. What is the earliest favorite character you can remember?
3. What adjective do you wish no one would use anymore? (In any language you know.)
4. What story do you retell the most?
5. Would you write a poem on the transit of Venus?
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