One of the most serendipitous events of my life just occurred over a couple hour phone conversation with someone I am very excited to work for. I don't usually make these posts about personal events, but this is the point in my life where the conversation converges with the craft...and it is the most exciting thing in the world. I am afraid to address this new treasure in my life in too much detail...and I will leave it at that, and close by saying that book binding will be involved, but so will many things.
March Already, I Must Give A Party
from Cocktails With Brueghel at the Museum Cafe by Sandra Stone
There's a reason for the house to resonate like this,
like a catacomb. Company's due.
I don't need an excuse to doll myself in clothes of the deceased,
to implant a vase with green lilies.
Mirthlessly now, the chime, the assembly, totemic on the doorstep,
the porch light's blaze, an inverted horn.
Shall we begin with the salver heaped with place cards,
our names impaled on a pin? A refuge, the niceties.
Please be so kind, would you be so kind
as to sink completely into the plumped sofas,
the scintillants over there. Tell me about your children
and lives, the one, so demonstrable.
I love the sycophantic murmur at the table,
the tyrannical eye of the connoisseur
fresh from the auction, don't you?
-the baffle of curators, conservators, aestheticians,
the eminence grise, that tenant with his salient wit,
the complement of picks and tongs,
bon mot and bon bons, salts in their cellars,
the ceaseless ping of crystal, don't you?
The banality of candles. Also, the flame that gutters,
globules that wax the limbs of inherited candlesticks,
that clog shallow pocks bored by artisans
to create an impression of worms,
where real mites are interred.
They nibble inaudibly, they impinge on my nerves.
A rote welcome to all.
A merciless Chin Chin.