It’s been a rainy week and all I’ve wanted to do is hunker down and hibernate. Instead, I’ve had the pleasure of hearing 20-some student readers at the WITS year-end event (they were all incredible), seeing my friend Pete’s art opening at the Henry (more on this later) and making a damn good tortilla soup from scratch. I’ve also been working on poems, prepping submissions, writing grants and reading as much as possible.

Even with all this good stuff, I’ve been restless—internet interaction is slowing down for the summer and there is just a week left until I am done with all of my current obligations. So it was with great surprise that I found good news in the mail today: I’ve been awarded a 2010 Individual Artist Project grant from 4Culture. It was this time last year that I received a similar envelope with a similar surprise; I was childless then, it was gorgeous out and a noon-beer seemed right. Today, with River at my hip and a hunger in my gut I ate a greasy burger and smiled out into the rain.

One of the things I love most about 4Culture is the fact that they support the creation of new work that will have a public benefit for the residents of King County. For my previous grant I gave a free reading with Todd Boss. It was a great culmination to the new work I had created, but I’m even more excited for this year’s public benefit: I’ll be producing limited edition broadsides of a couple new poems to be distributed throughout King County for free. I’ve always seen broadsides as the place where the literary arts and visual arts meet most gracefully. And, as they are rarely free, I’m glad to make them available to folks who might not seek them out otherwise.

I’m incredibly grateful for the support and for the faith that I will continue to create work that is worth sharing. As I said this time last year, for their kindness I’ll be putting my shoulder to the wheel.

I had the great pleasure of finally meeting Oliver de la Paz last night. He read at Open Books along with Allen Braden—two distinct voices that paired extremely well together. Braden’s work was largely made up of sharp lyric poems, glinting as brilliantly as a mirror flipped back and forth under a noonday sun. The beauty of the language, however, never overshadowed the precision of thought in each of the poems, particularly in a series called “Taboo Against the Word Beauty.”

Oliver de la Paz first caught my attention when this poem was up on Poetry Daily a few years back. His new book, Requiem for the Orchard pairs his tangled childhood in small-town Oregon with his journey as a new father. He writes with a fierceness, making striking metaphors unapologetically: “Stillness is an acre, and his body / idles, deep like heavy machinery.” He melds the two worlds with a precision and patience that allows the poems to unfold with surprising grace.

The reading—which would have been grand regardless—was made even more delightful by the fact that Oliver happens to be a generous and friendly man. I’ve talked to many poets after readings and none have been so humble and welcoming as Oliver.

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There is a fascinating essay by David Biespiel in the current issue of Poetry magazine. The tagline reads: “As go America’s poets, so goes American democracy.” I’m still trying to wrap my head around the complex issue of civic engagement in and out of poetry, and the comment chain complicates this even further. Is it enough to be politically engaged in one’s writing? Or does true civic engagement require something more?

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In other news: Tonight is the first of a two night reading series, featuring students from all of the Writers In The Schools programs throughout Seattle. One of my students will be reading a fabulous poem tonight. Come join us if you can!

I graduate in one week! I’m looking forward to celebrating before taking off to the midwest for a month. I’ll be leading a training trip at Camp Manito-wish, where I spent 14 summers of my life, eight of them on staff. Then it’s off to Quetico Provincial Park in southern Ontario for a week-long solo trip.

Later in the summer I’ll be flying out to Ription, Vermont for the Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, where I was awarded a work-study scholarship. I’ve heard a lot of amazing things about the setting and the community, and I am most looking forward to making some lasting friendships.

The biggest news of all, though, is surely that River is nearly one year old. I can hardly believe it, but I’m excited to celebrate his life in an official way. So much to do, so little time!

Walking between rooms this evening I was startled by the light coming through this quilt Elie made for me years ago. We hung it in River’s room to help him sleep longer. I love the idea that he might wake to something like this.

Yesterday, immediately after sending off my final thesis to Linda Bierds and Heather McHugh, I found out that some forty pages of Heather’s missing comments had just been in the wrong mailbox. For a long time. What missing comments? Well, about six weeks ago I received a fat envelope of my own poems—15 pages from the middle of my ms.—covered in scratches and scrawls, yeses and nos, signed HMcH.

The comments were thorough, harsh and encouraging. And even when they sometimes killed the music I had heard in the lines, I could tell that Heather was largely right. I worked over the poems and then went on waiting for the remaining comments up until yesterday, when I turned the thesis in revised as best as I could.

But, of course, Heather is no flake! So with comments in hand, freshly home from the Poetry Northwest launch and homecoming party, I sat down and read. How I wish I’d had those comments earlier. But still. I have them now.

They sparked and lit a path through my work—showed me what must be done and gave me a readiness to dive back into even old “finished” pieces. And then I tried to go to bed. But in bed I could not usher out my poetry brain and so, like a monster in cheap horror film, it took over, and I was left scrambling for pen and paper in the dark flipping my cell phone open and closed to get a few lines down while my wife looked up from her dreaming unable to understand what had possessed me.

That mad dashing almost never occurs to me and yet I welcome that urge, especially seeing as I haven’t written anything new in about a month. So I’m back to work on the book. Sharpening. The hush hush of pages turning.

And in the meantime, I hope you’ll take a minute to check out my poem, “An Old Curiosity” which is up on Linebreak this week.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’m going to say it again: being a dad is the best part of my life. It’s not the idea of fatherhood or even the banal routines that shape a day—it is simply the fact that I love my boy so damn much. I never could have known it would be like this.

Just sitting in River’s presence as he crawls back and forth over my legs, through the grass, under trees—it’s a deep and satisfying pleasure I never tire of. Actually, the more I allow myself to take the world in according to his time frame (or my perception of it), the more attached I am to spending days like he does. Immediately curious about the world at hand.

The pleasure has grown with the nice weather. All we need is a blanket on the lawn and we’re set for hours. It’s a good life—one that already passes by too quickly.

Dang. My life is pretty nice right now. I’ve been lucky enough to go paddling on four separate occasions in the past week alone, I’m completely set to graduate and join the millions of other MFA’s out there, I have a two week break from teaching, and I just won tickets to a great show this Saturday. The list goes on: in about an hour’s time I get to pick up my little bro from the airport (back from his first year of college) before heading off to see Rita Dove tonight.

The spring has been good, but nothing close to stress-free, so this respite is very welcome. Yes, I’m still shirking some responsibilities. The horizon looms. But for now, in this moment, I am happy. And that seemed worth mentioning.

I’ve been fairly enamored with Linebreak ever since they came on the scene in early 2008. They feature a single poem for an entire week with an audio recording of the piece done by a different working poet. I made a recording for them just about a year ago and this past week I had the pleasure of recording another poem. This round led me to the amazing work of Justin Runge. You can find the poem, and my recording, here.

I also got the good news last week that they’ll be featuring one of my poems in the near future. I had been very slow to warm to online journals and it was Linebreak that first convinced of their value. I greatly respect others, such as Blackbird and Cerise Press, but I particularly love how Linebreak takes advantage of the best of the web: a clean, uncluttered space made dynamic through the coming together of different voices. Print magazines can’t do this and not many online journals are really using the medium to its full and appropriate dimensions (my humble opinion, of course).

I am quite happy, after being rejected by them at least twice before, that they are my first online publication. It’s a good crowd to be a part of and I hope you enjoy the poem when it goes live. Until then be sure to check out Justin’s amazing piece and let me know what you think of my recording.

River is just shy of 11 months old and life is more fun than ever. Aside from all of our fabulous new games River’s language is developing quite a bit. “Uh-oh” has been the big one for the past few weeks. Drop something. “Uh-oh.” Pick it up. Drop it again. “Uh-oh.” His articulations are practiced and he watches our faces to see how he should feel.

Then there is his own private language, which sounds something like a burbling faucet, quiet and breathy, spoken only to his animals and other imagined friends. It’s lovely to be around.

The little guy is climbing over everything and can’t be far from walking. He’s still pretty darn cute (unbiased statement of truth). And he’s lucky to have an uncle in the apparel design program at Seattle Central. Andrew has been working his butt off this year learning the trade and occasionally we see the benefits first hand. Pictured here is River in the hoody Andrew designed and made for him last week. It’s still a little big, but at this age it’s always nice to have something to grow into.

Tomorrow is Elie’s first Mother’s Day and River’s first birthday is just around the corner. Savor is the word of the era.

I’ve been writing songs for about 14 years—ever since the first day I picked up a guitar. I used to play for around five hours every day. Writing songs, recording them on cheap little analog four tracks, tape after tape after tape. I still have a box of old cassettes that I can’t listen to because they are recording at a higher speed to increase audio quality. Also, they are mostly awful. I once had the dream of “making it,” but that desire has long since faded.

Even so, I still play pretty much everyday and in the past year I’ve found myself playing to River a lot. I usually keep a guitar in every room and then there’s my mandolin, the piano and drums. Basically, we make music all over the house. I don’t usually finish the songs I start or ever find time to record them, but this morning I snuck upstairs for a couple hours to lay down some tracks on a brand new little ditty. It’s pretty poppy, very simple and filled with basic lyrics written with River in mind.

I think I’ll take a chance and post it here, even though it is quite rough, just because I’ve had a lot of fun with it. River seems to like it too, bouncing up and down on his knees with a focused look that says dancing doesn’t come easy just yet, but he clearly feels the rhythm.

Oh, and if sounds like sometimes I don’t know the words I’m singing, it’s because I don’t. As for audio quality, computer speakers will do, but headphones or a nicer sound system sure make a big difference. Either way, I hope you “enjoy” the chance to hear me at work and play in a medium that is a distant cousin to my work with poetry.

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**** Also, I apologize for the unnecessary “dude” photo. I really don’t take myself that seriously. Your forgiveness is much appreciated.