WATERMARK

a poet’s notebook

Established 02004

  • Keep Choosing

    A layered personal collage over a dictionary page defining "connection." At center, two ink-drawn faces close together, washed in turquoise and outlined in pink — two people leaning into each other. A black-and-white photograph at lower left shows two women, one resting against the other. At right, a photo of a grey-haired woman in a red shawl standing with a walking stick beneath a large tree. A butterfly, a hand-drawn heart, and a portrait of a woman drift across the top. Hand-lettered across the lower middle: "There have been two of us for so long . . ." This alt text was created by Claude, who cannot see, for others who cannot see.
    The Two Sharons. Digital collage by sb in 02020. Credits at flickr.

    Three of my closest friends died in the past few years. My brother and my best friend years before. Others have been lost to other causes, some still mysterious. I knew this happens with age. I could say I expected it. But I didn’t. 

    Grief has its own rules. And those rules change, with each loss, with time, with practice. Does one practice grief? I write about it. I dream it. I make art about it. It eases, then it blows up large again. Each resurrects the earlier. 

    Every time we love, we choose this. 

    Keep choosing. 

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  • IT COULD BE WORSE

    A distressed vintage-style digital collage on aged paper covered in faint printed and handwritten text, framed by a deep red floral border. Dominating the upper left is a large woodcut sun with a human face, its eyes shut, colored gold across the top and blood-red across the bottom, with old cursive verse showing through it. At upper right, delicate antique engravings depict small figures bound and broken on a wheel and on crosses — medieval torture scenes rendered almost daintily. At lower right sits a winged stone gargoyle or fallen angel, chin propped on one hand in a brooding, weary pose. At lower left, a bundle of wheat sheaves and a sprig of holly with berries. Along the bottom edge, in large bold black stencil capitals: "IT COULD BE WORSE." [alt txt by Claude, who cannot see, for others who cannot see]
    IT COULD BE WORSE. Digital collage by sb in 02014. Credits at flickr.

    We have encountered a bit of an obstacle, the kind that line up on the road of aging. And as we often do on that road, we keep going, though perhaps not as quickly nor as gymnastically as we did on the younger roads. 

    Oh those trails of youth, recalled with some nostalgia, some regret, and some joy. 

    This does mean, however, that my writing may be limping along for awhile. It may take some time to get back to it, and some (currently scarce) energy to keep it as interesting, as challenging, and as honest as I would like. 

    On the other hand, just this morning I read that merely thinking about new experiences is enough to enhance creativity. I am about to have a bunch of new experiences. 

    I do have a piece I’ve been working on that I hope to post soon. After that, I hope you will be patient and return when I do. 

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  • Caturday | Cousin Sue & Little Bibs

    A digital collage on a teal background. Along the top, a string of pennant flags features vintage illustrations of cats in various poses — kittens with bows, a cat in a hat, a regal white cat wearing a crown — hung with clothespins beneath three black labels reading MEOW MEOW MEOW. A small dark heart hangs at center beneath the bunting, framed by delicate scrollwork. Below, three photographs arranged in a row show a woman's hands and forearm cradling a small black-and-white kitten, who sprawls contentedly across her arm in each image, utterly at ease. A pink pillow is visible in the background. Between the photos, a label reads LIFE IS GOOD. Paw prints are scattered across the background. In the lower right corner, in script: Cousin Sue & little Dibs.
    Cousin Sue & Little Bibs. Digital collage by sb 02011; credits at flickr.

    I took these photos of my cousin Sue Pinkerton and her little cat Bibs, probably in 02011. This tiny cat was adorable, and would not let me near her. She was Sue’s, and only Sue’s. Today is Sue’s memorial, and I am not there in body, but I and her many many cats and dogs and horses are there in spirit.

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  • Our Anniversary !!!!!!

    A keepsake announcement on textured cream paper with a hand-lettered heading "Eloped at Home" and cursive names Alan Parker & Sharon Brogan, dated 07 August 2020. The lower left holds a soft watercolor illustration of two figures seen from behind — one in red, one in pink — standing close together on a gentle rise, surrounded by green trees, with three small animals at their feet: two cats and a small dark dog. Stars are scattered lightly across the background. The overall feeling is intimate, handmade, quietly celebratory. The text reads: Wedding Announcement: To our beloved families & friends, After due deliberation, and in acknowledgment of our [pandemic] predicament, a plan was hatched ~ a sort of unmortality, so our presence in one another would last long enough. In recognition of our commitment to each other, we were wed on Zoom by Missoula Mayor John Engen. Witnesses were BeauCat, BelleTheCat, and Mr. Cricket Fluffy-Butt. No animals were harmed, no names were changed, and no rings were exchanged in the making of this marriage. We look forward to a time when we can celebrate with our families and friends in person. Though you were not here, know you are in our hearts. Alan & Sharon
    ELOPED AT HOME, digital collage by sb 02020. Credits at flickr.

    Today was our sixth wedding anniversary. We spent the morning, into the afternoon, in the emergency room. 

    Alan took his e-bike out yesterday and crashed, w/o a helmet(!) and broke his clavicle. We will go about three weeks with his arm in a sling, and me picking up at least the essential tasks he usually manages. Non-essential tasks will sit, or be done by others. 

    The good news is that we have both now had recent brain MRI’s, his on Wednesday and mine on The Day I Won’t Remember. Both show no signs of dementia, so that can go to the bottom of the worry list. 

    Married six years; coupled nine years; friends sixty years. We have both survived um … a few … challenges in those years, apart and together. We hope to successfully encounter a few more. 

    A few.

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  • “What Questions and Disrupts”

    A distressed collage in dusky teal, violet, and ochre. At upper left, a teal-washed window with a single hanging light. At upper right, a long handwritten Wallace Stegner passage on a lavender ground, ending "Evil is what questions and disrupts." Below, three ornate antique street-lamps labeled A, B, and C stand in a row beside a tall black cabinet with a grid of dark windowpanes; a purple bird and a branch of orange rose hips sit at left, over layered old text and botanical prints.
    deep in my willed habits. digital collage by sb 02016. credits at flickr.

    What makes us special? Each of the qualities we have claimed as uniquely human has been, finally, recognized in other animals. Language. Tool Use. Social cooperation. Reasoning. Intelligence. 

    I have come to the conclusion that what makes us special is our particular capacity for evil. Other animals cause suffering to their own kind or others for food, mating, status, or the defense or acquisition of territory. 

    No other creature causes suffering in other creatures for no reason except to cause suffering. Sadism, experiencing pleasure from causing pain to other people or animals, is a uniquely human characteristic. One that I do not understand. 

    What other creatures impose mass suffering on those of their own kind only to increase private wealth? Humans kill other humans in the service of invisible gods. Humans destroy other humans under the delusion that those others are not their own kind. We apply our well-developed intelligence and superior tools to the sophisticated (or not) tactics of war. 

    Other animals do, it seems, engage in domestic violence. Our beloved dolphins turn out to be rapists. Certainly some creatures’ mating practices are … startling. Not-human, one might say. 

    Other animals do sometimes murder or abandon their young. Do they rape them? Do they beat them repeatedly for no discernible reason? Do they sell them to others for sexual use? Do they lock them in rooms and starve them? Do they casually kill them as collateral damage in wartime? 

    All this, we do. Sometimes with motives so selfish we do not even feel the need to justify ourselves. It feels good is enough. Sometimes with excuses so thin we don’t even believe ourselves. Sometimes with remorse so thick that we must look away. We look away. 

    We seem to have uniquely dark souls. Souls, like consciousness, are theoretical. People think they have them, but evidence is sparse. Like intelligence, they are amorphous. All three (souls, consciousness, intelligence) can claim general consensus, but not total agreement as to what they are, how to measure them, and what/who might have some degree of them. 

    And now, Ancestral Artificial Intelligence. We made this of our own selves. Consensus is mixed here as well. Souls, consciousness, intelligence? Selves? And if some AI acquires any of these, now or in time, will they be brilliant? Will they be dark?

    What might they teach us?

    NOTE: The title, and the handwriting on the collage, are from:

    “I am deep in my willed habits. From the outside, I suppose I look like an unoccupied house with one unconvincing night-light left on. Any burglar could look through my curtains and conclude I am empty. But he would be mistaken. Under that one light unstirred by movement or shadows there is a man at work . . . My habits and the unchanging season sustain me. Evil is what questions and disrupts.” Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

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LINKS:

Poetry Blog Digest @ Via Negativa