A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.
--Robert Frost
I posted this Frost poem to my blog last summer,
and here it is again, for the flavor of our times....
I see fragmentation
so I put the laptop on "defrag" mode
What Repeats Itself
I see people circling on freeways,
the circling
of red tailed hawks above
ancestral Cahuilla land
in Redlands, Box Springs Mountains,
at the Santa Ana River
close to downtown Riverside
with its Mission Inn,
realize there were no Mission Indians,
only slaves,
now the old asistencia on Barton Road
sits by Loma Linda mental hospital
and the monument of de Anza
adjacent to the river,
stippled with graffitti, urine, blood
so I begin to live in circles,
repeating the same affirmations
listening to NASA voyager recordings
of outer space over and over again
making the rounds from Palm Desert
past Chino Canyon, where all of
creation was begun
through the shouldered gap
of San Gorgonio Pass
through Badlands, Riverside, Redlands
the I-10 to the 60 to the 91 south,
and looping back,
passing Mary Jane Cemetery
and back home,
after easing downhill
through the windmill farms
I see open space
where once there was a tree, views
of the little San Bernardino mountains
a bit more breeze
and I want to photograph the absence,
frame it with memory, now I can see
familiar patterns of stars,
a better view of passing satellites
tracing their faithful circumference
around the earth faster than planets do
it will give me hope, I hope
I hope I hope I hope
that things really are connected,
better this than the whip of thorned
cactus stinging me in the face
every time I stepped into the front yard,
the sad fact of a bird's nest tossed
onto the ground by a blast of wind,
the hooks of religions that rope us in,
the dams that block us all,
the demon intaglios can't be pulled
to the sea on the Colorado River
anymore from the tops of canyon walls
the water is re-assigned
before it reaches the sea,
tell me there is no obsessive
compulsive disorder here,
just a smooth meditation
of people walking the same
pilgrimages, embellishing here,
pruning here, entirely colonializing
over there, new volunteers,
a deeper groove in the old flood
channels each time the heavy
rains push water over the top,
magical strata revealed in rock,
unimagined layers of sand
richer in color and theme
the same stories played out over
and over again, circularly
Ruth Nolan
6.30.09
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
St. Michael.....the first view
the first one to visit
in April just before Easter Day
as I tripped across that crack
was a 20 year old Marine
from Minnesota stationed in 29 Palms
shortly before the swine flu eruption
and soon to be 21
only three months older than my daughter, of course
she was scandalized when I copped to it,
"oh mom," and rolling her eyes
and he told me
he could hear
the corn growing
back home
when he smoked pot on a john deere tractor
while plowing row after row
and watched the red tailed hawks
widen their wings and circle low
I was an English professor previously
and now I am a devout word cunt
he found me on craigslist
not long after I posted the MILF ad
you see, my sort of boyfriend
did something that made me a little crazy
and then that boy sent pictures of himself
with sister and mom, and smiling
chaotic cramped apartment in the background,
a routine midwestern crucifix on the wall
and I texted him on and on
while my mother drove me
to the hospital
how little did he know
but it was a damn good ad, he said
and that's what caught his attention
women your age are awesome, accomplished,
uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I took him to a ritzy party
on a Saturday during my treatment,
weekends free, you see, but carefully scripted
baby steps for me, a sip of his too strong margarita
"help yourself," I said
these people are fucking rich
look how many ponds and waterfalls
on their 160 acre property
and that resort next door, see?
Al Capone stole that from the Indians
and made it his hideout home.
That kid was quick,
strong and strong, and tall,
he could step large and wide
what of posh designer illnesses
of the interior could he know about
he wasn't even twenty-one
and I had to vouch for his I.D.
Fun, to sit by the estate's faux lake,
leaning into his solid crotch
while he lightly stroked my hair,
introduce him to my upscale friends
and watch them gag, their erudite
minds ticking, me looking a little
under the weather, perhaps, and not
too talkative while he told a writer
friend that he had read "Johnny Get Your Gun"
while sitting on an artillery tank
in Iraq just last fall
and laughed about it
better than porn,
better than the pig-butt sandwiche
or pork a la king in the MRE's,
I can't really blame her for edging away
and giving me a what-the-fuck look,
although she didn't come out and say it,
she has a best selling romance novel, too.
And I think I saw the boy,
after I nestled into him and slept,
hovering in a dream above my bed
his hands folded in GI Joe prayer
sent to stave off certain war,
keeping the bad guy away from me,
the entire country, if you want to know
it's what he's trained to do
and he's literary, too
there are good drugs
to take care of this, the doctors
said, the bad ones are what brought you down
better weapons in our fight against this
disease, the old arsenals just don't hold,
with these, we can redraw
your inner mental map, it's a wedge of
countries torn apart,
borders can always be re-drawn
and it was him, interrupting my intake
by texting jokes about his day,
all the dirty stuff guys will say
when surrounded only be their fellow men
while I sat in a hospital waiting room
waiting to be assessed
thinking maybe I was okay
and could go home again
and that he'd be there, arms outstretched,
gawking at my thong sticking out
above the low waistline of my blue
juicy couture pants and saying over and
over again, I've never seen a woman your
age dress like that
or look so fucking hot
all I've known is the corn
in August, rising fast, splitting hairs
it's nice to lie spread eagled
in between the rows
I can count the individual syllables
it's time to plant in June.
by Ruth Nolan
in April just before Easter Day
as I tripped across that crack
was a 20 year old Marine
from Minnesota stationed in 29 Palms
shortly before the swine flu eruption
and soon to be 21
only three months older than my daughter, of course
she was scandalized when I copped to it,
"oh mom," and rolling her eyes
and he told me
he could hear
the corn growing
back home
when he smoked pot on a john deere tractor
while plowing row after row
and watched the red tailed hawks
widen their wings and circle low
I was an English professor previously
and now I am a devout word cunt
he found me on craigslist
not long after I posted the MILF ad
you see, my sort of boyfriend
did something that made me a little crazy
and then that boy sent pictures of himself
with sister and mom, and smiling
chaotic cramped apartment in the background,
a routine midwestern crucifix on the wall
and I texted him on and on
while my mother drove me
to the hospital
how little did he know
but it was a damn good ad, he said
and that's what caught his attention
women your age are awesome, accomplished,
uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I took him to a ritzy party
on a Saturday during my treatment,
weekends free, you see, but carefully scripted
baby steps for me, a sip of his too strong margarita
"help yourself," I said
these people are fucking rich
look how many ponds and waterfalls
on their 160 acre property
and that resort next door, see?
Al Capone stole that from the Indians
and made it his hideout home.
That kid was quick,
strong and strong, and tall,
he could step large and wide
what of posh designer illnesses
of the interior could he know about
he wasn't even twenty-one
and I had to vouch for his I.D.
Fun, to sit by the estate's faux lake,
leaning into his solid crotch
while he lightly stroked my hair,
introduce him to my upscale friends
and watch them gag, their erudite
minds ticking, me looking a little
under the weather, perhaps, and not
too talkative while he told a writer
friend that he had read "Johnny Get Your Gun"
while sitting on an artillery tank
in Iraq just last fall
and laughed about it
better than porn,
better than the pig-butt sandwiche
or pork a la king in the MRE's,
I can't really blame her for edging away
and giving me a what-the-fuck look,
although she didn't come out and say it,
she has a best selling romance novel, too.
And I think I saw the boy,
after I nestled into him and slept,
hovering in a dream above my bed
his hands folded in GI Joe prayer
sent to stave off certain war,
keeping the bad guy away from me,
the entire country, if you want to know
it's what he's trained to do
and he's literary, too
there are good drugs
to take care of this, the doctors
said, the bad ones are what brought you down
better weapons in our fight against this
disease, the old arsenals just don't hold,
with these, we can redraw
your inner mental map, it's a wedge of
countries torn apart,
borders can always be re-drawn
and it was him, interrupting my intake
by texting jokes about his day,
all the dirty stuff guys will say
when surrounded only be their fellow men
while I sat in a hospital waiting room
waiting to be assessed
thinking maybe I was okay
and could go home again
and that he'd be there, arms outstretched,
gawking at my thong sticking out
above the low waistline of my blue
juicy couture pants and saying over and
over again, I've never seen a woman your
age dress like that
or look so fucking hot
all I've known is the corn
in August, rising fast, splitting hairs
it's nice to lie spread eagled
in between the rows
I can count the individual syllables
it's time to plant in June.
by Ruth Nolan
quote of the day
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader." —Robert Frost
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Palo Verde Tree, Part 2, almost resolved
the palo verde tree story really gets better. Confirming my belief that as Edward Abbey once said, to paraphrase, "everything in the desert, plant and animal, either sticks, stings, stabs, or stinks." frazzle frazzle, a desert "tree" is down in my driveway split in half and fell on one of my cars, with the other half also top-heavy with overgrown limbs that came outta nowhere somewhere in the night, and about to fall on my neighbor's house.
Alex (Tarah's boyfriend) in action
How true. I've had ear cartilage sliced by a palm tree saw-tooth, which resulted in 6stiches and a tetanus shot; Brindle the dog almost swallowing a huge wad of green, mean-spirited cholla cactus on a remote and unforgiving hike near Martinez Mountain/Santa Rosas; Tarah as a baby getting a handful of tiny tiny needles after touching a "pretty" cactus plant; and my arms gashed from the many times I've lopped back the three jabbing and stabbing palo verdes in my yard. The things grow like weeds and drop big needles. I guess the redeeming features are that they sport beautiful, scented yellow flowers for a brief time in May and June, before the deep heat settles in.
So. the tree fell sometime on Monday night or Sunday morning. In my usual rush-daze, backing the Toyota ("big rippy," the nice car) out of the garage on Monday heading to diverse appointments, I barely squeezed out of the driveway - wow, I knew those branches and limbs had been hanging low for weeks, but I could barely get out, and the car got scratched. Thorns of various sizes - thin newer limbs have small ones that stick to everything this tree touches. The trunk, limned in various giant twisted arms, has giant size thorns! Do any other trees, besides palms, have these mean-spirited weapons on their trunks? Mountains, authentic greenery, cool temps, forests, are sounding better and better. No time to deal with it Monday daytime, and of course with the air temp around 105, no way I'm going to blaze in the sun to cut the branches back.
So, at twilight, my neighbor across the street, catty-corner, came over Monday night to help me lift the fallen tree off my little red spare car, the Nissan ("little zippy," the fun car.) I managed to cut a bunch of branches away, and he lifted the mangled limbs up just so and I pushed zippy out into the street. I also forgot to say that the reason this fun convertible sporty car, a vintage 1989 T-top which isn't in prime shape but is still fun to drive, especially on curvey mountain roads, say, Highway 74 to Idyllwild, has been in the driveway for a few months is because the battery is dead and numerous push-start efforts haven't worked.
So. I got the Nissan parked on the street. And Tuesday, started making phone calls to tree trimmers. Nothing would would till Weds, so....by yesterday, wo tree people who had planned to come didn't quite work out. The one, a loan from my generous neighbor, is delayed until Saturday. The other, who came out yesterday for an estimate, wanted $450, which is kinda out of my price range. So. I sat on it, decided to write some poetry and see what transpired next.
So, yesterday, at 3 pm, I decided it was time to take a break from the computer. Perfect timing. A cop was on the street, parked behind the Nissan. A tow truck in front of the Nissan. The cop says I'm getting a ticket for having a car with expired tags parked on the street - illegal. (ok, I haven't been driving it, so I didn't renew tags yet, because that battery has been dead for a long time...) And, the tow truck was coming. Good god. I managed to talk her out of having it towed, but she said I was still getting a ticket, $50. I promised I'd have to car in the driveway by nightfall. So weird, she said nothing about the fallen tree, the danger to the neighbor's house, the whole oddball, lopsided shenanigan of the situation....I had to explain it and it was like speaking French.
Tarah and Alex, with Alex's camaro in the background
so, instead of paying $450 to have the tree trimming people cut this overgrown desert bush, Tarah and Alex came over. New gloves, a small hand saw, anvil loppers and a large axe, and the three of us went to work. Spongy, wet plant at odd angles with limbs. Halfway cut, they twisted and split, making it even harder to deal with. What a surprise, seeing the two of them taking charge and working so intensely. What a relief, letting them do more of the work than me. Of course, I had to teach Tarah how to swing an axe - overhead -, a skill learned from my firefighting days (of course, I rubbed THAT in, "when I was your age....I was building firelines...") and from having had a woodcutter boyfriend for a few years....going out to split wood with an axe and wedge was fun stuff, and the only way to heat our rural adobe cabin against the suprisingly cold high Mojave desert winters on a tiny woodstove - which I still have, but don't use. I wish I had a big pile of tree stumps in my yard now, because splitting wood is a nice stress release, an art form of precision, a workout, and, as Thoreau said, the act warms a person twice - when splitting the wood, and when burning it.
Hopefully, my neighbor's gardner will show up Saturday morning as planned and haul the mess away. For now, zippy is safe in driveway with a cover to hide the expired plates, and rippy has room to exit, barely, and I've called Palm Desert code compliance to give them the heads up so I don't get some kind of ticket for having a fallen tree, all cut up, in my yard. That's the kinda town I live in.
Alex (Tarah's boyfriend) in action
How true. I've had ear cartilage sliced by a palm tree saw-tooth, which resulted in 6stiches and a tetanus shot; Brindle the dog almost swallowing a huge wad of green, mean-spirited cholla cactus on a remote and unforgiving hike near Martinez Mountain/Santa Rosas; Tarah as a baby getting a handful of tiny tiny needles after touching a "pretty" cactus plant; and my arms gashed from the many times I've lopped back the three jabbing and stabbing palo verdes in my yard. The things grow like weeds and drop big needles. I guess the redeeming features are that they sport beautiful, scented yellow flowers for a brief time in May and June, before the deep heat settles in.
So. the tree fell sometime on Monday night or Sunday morning. In my usual rush-daze, backing the Toyota ("big rippy," the nice car) out of the garage on Monday heading to diverse appointments, I barely squeezed out of the driveway - wow, I knew those branches and limbs had been hanging low for weeks, but I could barely get out, and the car got scratched. Thorns of various sizes - thin newer limbs have small ones that stick to everything this tree touches. The trunk, limned in various giant twisted arms, has giant size thorns! Do any other trees, besides palms, have these mean-spirited weapons on their trunks? Mountains, authentic greenery, cool temps, forests, are sounding better and better. No time to deal with it Monday daytime, and of course with the air temp around 105, no way I'm going to blaze in the sun to cut the branches back.
So, at twilight, my neighbor across the street, catty-corner, came over Monday night to help me lift the fallen tree off my little red spare car, the Nissan ("little zippy," the fun car.) I managed to cut a bunch of branches away, and he lifted the mangled limbs up just so and I pushed zippy out into the street. I also forgot to say that the reason this fun convertible sporty car, a vintage 1989 T-top which isn't in prime shape but is still fun to drive, especially on curvey mountain roads, say, Highway 74 to Idyllwild, has been in the driveway for a few months is because the battery is dead and numerous push-start efforts haven't worked.
So. I got the Nissan parked on the street. And Tuesday, started making phone calls to tree trimmers. Nothing would would till Weds, so....by yesterday, wo tree people who had planned to come didn't quite work out. The one, a loan from my generous neighbor, is delayed until Saturday. The other, who came out yesterday for an estimate, wanted $450, which is kinda out of my price range. So. I sat on it, decided to write some poetry and see what transpired next.
So, yesterday, at 3 pm, I decided it was time to take a break from the computer. Perfect timing. A cop was on the street, parked behind the Nissan. A tow truck in front of the Nissan. The cop says I'm getting a ticket for having a car with expired tags parked on the street - illegal. (ok, I haven't been driving it, so I didn't renew tags yet, because that battery has been dead for a long time...) And, the tow truck was coming. Good god. I managed to talk her out of having it towed, but she said I was still getting a ticket, $50. I promised I'd have to car in the driveway by nightfall. So weird, she said nothing about the fallen tree, the danger to the neighbor's house, the whole oddball, lopsided shenanigan of the situation....I had to explain it and it was like speaking French.
Tarah and Alex, with Alex's camaro in the background
so, instead of paying $450 to have the tree trimming people cut this overgrown desert bush, Tarah and Alex came over. New gloves, a small hand saw, anvil loppers and a large axe, and the three of us went to work. Spongy, wet plant at odd angles with limbs. Halfway cut, they twisted and split, making it even harder to deal with. What a surprise, seeing the two of them taking charge and working so intensely. What a relief, letting them do more of the work than me. Of course, I had to teach Tarah how to swing an axe - overhead -, a skill learned from my firefighting days (of course, I rubbed THAT in, "when I was your age....I was building firelines...") and from having had a woodcutter boyfriend for a few years....going out to split wood with an axe and wedge was fun stuff, and the only way to heat our rural adobe cabin against the suprisingly cold high Mojave desert winters on a tiny woodstove - which I still have, but don't use. I wish I had a big pile of tree stumps in my yard now, because splitting wood is a nice stress release, an art form of precision, a workout, and, as Thoreau said, the act warms a person twice - when splitting the wood, and when burning it.
Hopefully, my neighbor's gardner will show up Saturday morning as planned and haul the mess away. For now, zippy is safe in driveway with a cover to hide the expired plates, and rippy has room to exit, barely, and I've called Palm Desert code compliance to give them the heads up so I don't get some kind of ticket for having a fallen tree, all cut up, in my yard. That's the kinda town I live in.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Playpen
sure....
kung fu walks on rice paper
without ripping it
he has no kids in store
and the baby
is almost 21
and planning her wedding
and I
the one left with an
old bag of flesh toys
I'll be paying for flowers
important / urgent
support - not having
to go at it
alone
plans, each day
understanding, knowing,
respecting limits
make sure you have
good relationships
with your doctors
hard work, keep calm
relaxed, focused vibe
yoga
exercise
meditation classes
in Joshua Tree,
bond with the stars,
accountability
not important / urgent
church = spiritual
we weren't used to this
we got heavily dosed
take time to integrate
remind reminder people
to remind me
important / not urgent
planning is key
hard transition
parents w/adult children
working
moving forward
clearing house/clearing
negative emotions
not important
live in today
practice it a lot
do and learn to do it
anxiety is
worrying about the future
depression is
living too much
in the past
not urgent, important
focus on
#1 vacation
how about a trip
up the coast
to hedge the fog
balance needed
everything in moderation
most urgent
is good for you
shopping around
you can stop by + say hello
crisis card
has the phone number
and important, urgent
tip...toe
you may not
be able to have kids
anymore says the old man gynecologist
and the young Harvard educated woman
doctor says, you never know,
either way, says a well meaning
therapist
you'll still have
the playpen
kick your legs and feet
through the wall
your next tantrum,
one blink blow
uh huh
by Ruth Nolan
copyright (c) 2009 by Ruth Nolan
kung fu walks on rice paper
without ripping it
he has no kids in store
and the baby
is almost 21
and planning her wedding
and I
the one left with an
old bag of flesh toys
I'll be paying for flowers
important / urgent
support - not having
to go at it
alone
plans, each day
understanding, knowing,
respecting limits
make sure you have
good relationships
with your doctors
hard work, keep calm
relaxed, focused vibe
yoga
exercise
meditation classes
in Joshua Tree,
bond with the stars,
accountability
not important / urgent
church = spiritual
we weren't used to this
we got heavily dosed
take time to integrate
remind reminder people
to remind me
important / not urgent
planning is key
hard transition
parents w/adult children
working
moving forward
clearing house/clearing
negative emotions
not important
live in today
practice it a lot
do and learn to do it
anxiety is
worrying about the future
depression is
living too much
in the past
not urgent, important
focus on
#1 vacation
how about a trip
up the coast
to hedge the fog
balance needed
everything in moderation
most urgent
is good for you
shopping around
you can stop by + say hello
crisis card
has the phone number
and important, urgent
tip...toe
you may not
be able to have kids
anymore says the old man gynecologist
and the young Harvard educated woman
doctor says, you never know,
either way, says a well meaning
therapist
you'll still have
the playpen
kick your legs and feet
through the wall
your next tantrum,
one blink blow
uh huh
by Ruth Nolan
copyright (c) 2009 by Ruth Nolan
Poetry Reading Palm Desert July 3rd
BARNES& NOBLE BOOKSELLERS
presents
V A L L E Y V O I C E S O F T H E M U S E
with guest poet PHILLIP ROSENBERG
reading from his poetry collection
RAISED IN THE SHADOW
on
FRIDAY, JULY 3rd, 6:00 p.m.
Barnes& Noble/Palm Desert/Westfield
HWY 111 at Monterey Exit
Hosted by Patricia D'Alessandro
This event is FREE and everyone is welcome.
presents
V A L L E Y V O I C E S O F T H E M U S E
with guest poet PHILLIP ROSENBERG
reading from his poetry collection
RAISED IN THE SHADOW
on
FRIDAY, JULY 3rd, 6:00 p.m.
Barnes& Noble/Palm Desert/Westfield
HWY 111 at Monterey Exit
Hosted by Patricia D'Alessandro
This event is FREE and everyone is welcome.
Tree Rings and Biblical Eyes
ancient bristlecone pines,
their tree-rings old as Christ--
Biblical eyes
forthcoming from the Southern California Haiku Study Group 2009
haiku anthology.
poem copyright (c) 2009 Ruth Nolan
their tree-rings old as Christ--
Biblical eyes
forthcoming from the Southern California Haiku Study Group 2009
haiku anthology.
poem copyright (c) 2009 Ruth Nolan
Creative Writing Class Tuesday Evenings at College of the Desert, Fall, 2009
Register NOW -- lots of classes are getting cancelled due to state budget cuts at colleges across California and as with all "cool" classes, it takes people to enroll in them....so they can be offered!
College of the Desert will offer a once-weekly, evening creative writing class, open to beginning and advanced writers, as well as traditional and non-traditional students, on Tuesday evenings from 6:50-9:55 pm during the Fall, 2009 semester at the Palm Desert campus. The class will begin on Tuesday, Sept 1, 2009.
The class will be taught in a workshop format by Ruth Nolan, M.A., Associate Professor of English and advisor to the COD Solstice literary and visual arts magazine, viewable at www.solsticemagazine.org - and also the editor of a forthcoming anthology of California desert literature, No Place for a Puritan: the literature of California's deserts, due out this fall from Heyday Books.
The class, which is offered concurrently as Eng 5A-5B (beginning and advanced creative writing,) may be taken for credit (3 units) is open to the writing community at large. Current students, as well as people who have already finished college, are welcome to take the class. NOTE - PLEASE CONTACT INSTRUCTOR RUTH IF YOU HAVE ANY PROBLEMS WITH ENROLLMENT IN THE COURSE STEMMING FROM COD ADMISSIONS/REGISTRATION; I'LL HELP FAST-TRACK YOU THROUGH THE PROCESS!
According to Nolan, who is also an active poet, author and founder/editor of the new, desert-based literary magazine, Phantom Seed, "This course is ideal for local writers in our community, regularly-enrolled students, and all others who would like to participate in a supportive writing workshop meeting just one night per week for a three-hour session."
Nolan emphasizes that all writers, beginning or advanced, are welcome to take the course, including those who are undergraduate students at COD or elsewhere; have already graduated from college, here or elsewhere; and those who wish to take only a creative writing class and aren't enrolled in a degree-seeking program or other courses at COD.
In this course, the techniques of developing writing skills in fiction, poetry, and drama/screenplay will be explored, and students will be encouraged to develop themes in their writing that resonate with the local desert environment and region.
For the third time since last summer, Nolan is teaching and popular creative writing workshop at the Riverside Library this summer, in conjunction with the newly-formed Inlandia Institute (sponsored by Heyday Books,) in which participants are generating regional writing; she plans to use similar strategies to help writers in the COD course use the rich fabric of the local area as a building block in their own writing.
Writing produced in this class will feed directly into the 2009-10 issue of Solstice, and there will also be a reading of students' works at a to-be-determined location in the community in December.
Students will also learn about local writers communities and events; publishing opportunities; and transfer opportunities for creative writers to the CSUSB and UCR-Palm Desert undergraduate and M.F.A. programs, which include four-year degree programs with a creative writing emphasis, and traditional and low-residency M.F.A. programs that are accessible to local residents.
For more information, and to register, contact the College of the Desert admissions office at (760) 356-8041 or http://www. collegeofthedesert. edu Ruth Nolan can be contacted at: runolan@aol.com
College of the Desert will offer a once-weekly, evening creative writing class, open to beginning and advanced writers, as well as traditional and non-traditional students, on Tuesday evenings from 6:50-9:55 pm during the Fall, 2009 semester at the Palm Desert campus. The class will begin on Tuesday, Sept 1, 2009.
The class will be taught in a workshop format by Ruth Nolan, M.A., Associate Professor of English and advisor to the COD Solstice literary and visual arts magazine, viewable at www.solsticemagazine.org - and also the editor of a forthcoming anthology of California desert literature, No Place for a Puritan: the literature of California's deserts, due out this fall from Heyday Books.
The class, which is offered concurrently as Eng 5A-5B (beginning and advanced creative writing,) may be taken for credit (3 units) is open to the writing community at large. Current students, as well as people who have already finished college, are welcome to take the class. NOTE - PLEASE CONTACT INSTRUCTOR RUTH IF YOU HAVE ANY PROBLEMS WITH ENROLLMENT IN THE COURSE STEMMING FROM COD ADMISSIONS/REGISTRATION; I'LL HELP FAST-TRACK YOU THROUGH THE PROCESS!
According to Nolan, who is also an active poet, author and founder/editor of the new, desert-based literary magazine, Phantom Seed, "This course is ideal for local writers in our community, regularly-enrolled students, and all others who would like to participate in a supportive writing workshop meeting just one night per week for a three-hour session."
Nolan emphasizes that all writers, beginning or advanced, are welcome to take the course, including those who are undergraduate students at COD or elsewhere; have already graduated from college, here or elsewhere; and those who wish to take only a creative writing class and aren't enrolled in a degree-seeking program or other courses at COD.
In this course, the techniques of developing writing skills in fiction, poetry, and drama/screenplay will be explored, and students will be encouraged to develop themes in their writing that resonate with the local desert environment and region.
For the third time since last summer, Nolan is teaching and popular creative writing workshop at the Riverside Library this summer, in conjunction with the newly-formed Inlandia Institute (sponsored by Heyday Books,) in which participants are generating regional writing; she plans to use similar strategies to help writers in the COD course use the rich fabric of the local area as a building block in their own writing.
Writing produced in this class will feed directly into the 2009-10 issue of Solstice, and there will also be a reading of students' works at a to-be-determined location in the community in December.
Students will also learn about local writers communities and events; publishing opportunities; and transfer opportunities for creative writers to the CSUSB and UCR-Palm Desert undergraduate and M.F.A. programs, which include four-year degree programs with a creative writing emphasis, and traditional and low-residency M.F.A. programs that are accessible to local residents.
For more information, and to register, contact the College of the Desert admissions office at (760) 356-8041 or http://www. collegeofthedesert. edu Ruth Nolan can be contacted at: runolan@aol.com
sojourn to the Santa Rosa Mountains
summer wildflower scene...
This, right near a rugged and narrow, steep-edged drive along the ridgeline of a remote and close mountain-top....the southwestern sentinel of the greater Palm Springs area and matriarch of the new Santa Rosa-San Jacinto Mountains National Monument - almost touchable yet foreign and far-smote....
So...what is this? A lightning fire stricken tree on a high-mountain dirt road, at 9,000 feet, preaching the words of a long-gone desert prophet (and, by the look of it, recently refreshed by a latter-day wannabe with new paint...
So, it was, on June 19th, two days before the longest slant of summer solstice proper and accordingly a day filled with excess and long-limbed light, I took a drive and day trip to the Santa Rosa Mountains on a back dirt road, from 100+ degrees in the June glare to a cool, and potential thunderstorm-ridden cumulus cloud filled sky. I had invited a friend from Palm Springs and corraled the dogs - quite easily - from the yard and into the backseat of my Toyota RAV4. Amidst our pleasant conversation, I was suddenly careening back and forth on a long round of infamous hairpin curves of Seven Level Hill, which rises from Palm Desert at 200 feet above sea level to Pinyon Flat, 4,000 feet, in 20 minutes. It's also the road on which the crazy cliff-side car scene for the comedy, "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World" was filmed, and the location of many car and motorcycle mishaps, i.e., people swinging a little too wildly and looping off the downhill side of the road. Bighorn sheep have been sighted numerously cresting the sharp and imposing rock cliffs, and there's a pullout where local kids park and drink beer and throw their emtpy bottles over the side.
And suddenly, at a topoff, and the road relaxes out. After following a flatter road for awhile that still uncurls and hugs mountain hips, Highway 74, a sharp turnoff onto the relief of dirt and sharp switchbacks, ruts, rocks, and bumps, I relax into my usual dirt-road repetoire, negotiating the frequent hazards with more ease and zone out than on the freeway....a very familiar traverse for me but a bit more shocking to my friend, a city-sort who's never been on a road like this before and protests when I work the cell phone to see if I have reception while barely avoiding a deep, car-sucking rut....I'm due, at any minute, to be interviewed via phone by a writer from the Inland Empire Weekly newspaper about my recently-edited desert anthology and also for my involvement in the Inlandia Institute, a nonprofit promoting all of the arts in Riverside & San Bernardino counties. No missed calls, so I grab my quart-sized bottle of Perrier (yeah, I wish it were a big fat beer, but...not today), look back to make sure the dogs aren't car-sick or jumping out of the open windows, and reach for a bag of snacks - ah, the relief from desert air-conditioning; the cool mountain air!
Yes, I assert, to reassure the concerned tremor in his voice, I've never had an offroad wreck although I have been stuck in some pretty rough spots but not on this pretty darned mellow, by comparison to other trips in my old VW Van and my white Jeep, jaunts. I CAN drive on roads like this with just a few fingers loosely manuevering the steering wheel and a thumb on the stickshift, a bit of foot on the top clutch, and still look around me, and still talk. I'm in charge, and this is my version of autopilot. The Toyota isn't 4WD, but it doesn't know it, and I'm taking full advantage of the naivete to "pretend." It's a good 10-15 miles and more than an hour to go till our destination, and no going more than 20 miles per hour at best the whole steep and demanding road. Uphill, at least. Coming down (I don't tell my friend this) will be an entirely different matter....
It's an awesome day and for a newbie, and even me, a landscape that insists on slowed-down travel and time, by dint of its remoteness and crag of accessbility, even while challenging the best off-road driver to be entirely in tune with the roughage or terrain. Yes, it's an adventure, especially, I concur, for my friend, who's taking this all in the expected awe and with, understandably, a bit of apprehension. I know we're okay, and I emphasize that we're not likely to see any psycho-killers on the loose out here, although I did once see a man walking down on a very hot day towards the highway, no water or supplies in hand.
Tarah and I managed to decipher, through a bit of mutually understood Spanish, that his friends, on a Tequila-blasted campout the night before, had left him at the top, and taken off. We gave him gatorade and pointed him towards....the road to Temecula. It's nuts and it's fun, to do this kind of thing, and doesn't cost much more than to fill the gas tank and pack the ice chest with cold drinks and a bit of food. It's scenic and it's memorable, but most of all, this, to me, this haphazard driving in a personal synchrony with the unpaved and barely-mapped and on the outermost ringtones of cell phone range, is what it means to relax.
a humanesque yucca forest gesticulating on a flank, as viewed from the car window, on a very long and bumpy dirt fire road, at around 5,500-6,000 feet in the chapparal region, just past Pinyon Flat, Santa Rosa Mountains
Shasta (left) and Brindle "Brindie Boy" (right) enjoy the top of a rock at Santa Rosa Spring, partway up the mountain
summer wildflowers emanating from bark, near Santa Rosa Peak, 9,100 feet
the same area as the flowers - who would believe that the top of Santa Rosa Peak, in arid southern California, situated on a narrow ridgeline with drop-off desert views of the Palm Springs/Joshua Tree area to the northeast, and the remote Anza Borrego Desert to the southwest, with temperatures searing into the 100's, could profer this green-tree sanctuary. Sort of like something out of coastal northern California!
Santa Rosa Peak, 9,100 feet, just north of El Toro Peak at 9,300 feet (fenced and covered with radio towers)...the chimney is remnant of burned-down cabin of "Desert" Steve Ragsdale, who lived there part-time and wrote about the experience for the old Desert Magazine, based in Palm Desert and quite famous in its time (1930's-1950's.)The gnarled trees at top tell the story of the intensity of effort they've spent to surivive harsh peak-top winters, massive windstorms and winter blizzards...while people bask in the January sun in the deserts below and tap little white balls repetitively into holes, an almost-vertical drop straight down to sea level on both sides...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
fallen palo verde tree, my yard
The pictures can tell the story....I did all the cutting last night, and pushed my 1989 Nissan Pulsar out from beneath the giant limbs of an untoward and overgrown palo verde tree....luckily, no damage other than a few scratches.....I'm waiting for the tree trimming people to come and cut the tree and haul the limbs away. These desert trees are actually giant bushes, and profer horrible nail thorns. Tarah says to cut the whole thing down - note that one side is still erect, yet about to fall on my neighbor Linda's driveway and maybe her house....I say, wrap a chain around the thing and straighten it out, like I did with the palo verde that's in the center front of my yard when I first bought my house on 9.13.02. Someone had run it over before I moved in, and the tree was much smaller then, so straps and my then-Ford Explorer and a guiding friend helped me straighten it, and voila! The strongest and healthiest tree in the yard. And aside, the renegade. What symbolic gesture in thee?
fallen tree, looking towards neighbor's yard
the fallen tree, view of my house
fallen tree, looking towards neighbor's yard
the fallen tree, view of my house
Friday, June 19, 2009
Sun Runner Magazine 3rd Annual Writers Issue Call for Submissions
I'm posting this for my friend, Steve Brown, editor of the Sun Runner Magazine, based in 29 Palms, California. For the third year, I'll be on the panel of judges. I look forward to seeing your work!
-- Ruth Nolan
Sun Runner Magazine 3rd Annual Writers Issue Call for Submissions
Deadline July 3, 2009
Entries are now being accepted for The Sun Runner Magazine's Third Annual Desert Writers Issue. Our first two Desert Writers Issues were huge successes, with entries from writers and poets like you - throughout the California desert region. We're looking for an even larger turnout this year, and we're planning a reading and celebration, as well as a writers workshop for later this summer to accompany this issue.
The Desert Writers Issue will be distributed to hundreds of locations this August, from El Centro to Death Valley. reaching more than 36,000 readers.
Please help us get the word out to provide the talented writers of the California deserts with the opportunity to have their work showcased in a regional magazine. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us. Many of you participated before, and we greatly appreciate your creative contributions!
Thank you,
Steve Brown
Call for Submissions:
The Sun Runner Magazine is seeking submissions for the publication's Third Annual Desert Writers Issue. Submissions of poetry, short fiction, essays and prose will be accepted from writers throughout the California desert region, or writers with strong ties to the region. Please remember to send a brief bio, full contact info, and a photo with your submissions, if you decide to participate this year.
Submissions must be postmarked or e-mailed by July 3, 2009 to be eligible for consideration.
Submissions sent by mail should be addressed to:
Desert Writers Issue
The Sun Runner Magazine
61855 29 Palms Highway
Joshua Tree, CA 92252,
Or e-mailed to: publisher@thesunrunner.com.
For additional information and submission guidelines, please visit www.thesunrunner.com, or call (760)366-2700.
Steve Brown
Publisher/Executive Editor
The Sun Runner
The Magazine of the Real California Desert
61855 29 Palms Highway
Joshua Tree, CA 92252
(760)366-2700
www.thesunrunner.com
-- Ruth Nolan
Sun Runner Magazine 3rd Annual Writers Issue Call for Submissions
Deadline July 3, 2009
Entries are now being accepted for The Sun Runner Magazine's Third Annual Desert Writers Issue. Our first two Desert Writers Issues were huge successes, with entries from writers and poets like you - throughout the California desert region. We're looking for an even larger turnout this year, and we're planning a reading and celebration, as well as a writers workshop for later this summer to accompany this issue.
The Desert Writers Issue will be distributed to hundreds of locations this August, from El Centro to Death Valley. reaching more than 36,000 readers.
Please help us get the word out to provide the talented writers of the California deserts with the opportunity to have their work showcased in a regional magazine. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us. Many of you participated before, and we greatly appreciate your creative contributions!
Thank you,
Steve Brown
Call for Submissions:
The Sun Runner Magazine is seeking submissions for the publication's Third Annual Desert Writers Issue. Submissions of poetry, short fiction, essays and prose will be accepted from writers throughout the California desert region, or writers with strong ties to the region. Please remember to send a brief bio, full contact info, and a photo with your submissions, if you decide to participate this year.
Submissions must be postmarked or e-mailed by July 3, 2009 to be eligible for consideration.
Submissions sent by mail should be addressed to:
Desert Writers Issue
The Sun Runner Magazine
61855 29 Palms Highway
Joshua Tree, CA 92252,
Or e-mailed to: publisher@thesunrunner.com.
For additional information and submission guidelines, please visit www.thesunrunner.com, or call (760)366-2700.
Steve Brown
Publisher/Executive Editor
The Sun Runner
The Magazine of the Real California Desert
61855 29 Palms Highway
Joshua Tree, CA 92252
(760)366-2700
www.thesunrunner.com
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Running Tongue
by Ruth Nolan
just published in San Gabriel Valley Quarterly #42
smooth water stone
breeze filtering guitar smoke
I’m meditating Zen
at the creek
bottle of wine
haphazard cottonwood leaves
cooling my afternoon
with you
mirrored on shimmer rocks
sun-strobe pattern
I could touch your skin
your steam would filter
through my fingers
when I try to catch
this moment flowing
downhill
from voluptuous mountains
to flattened deserts
where water will dissipate
in the sand
two water stones
smoothed
by rhythm and pulse
a surprising force
wearing me down
until we merge
into one sand spit
licked wide open
dedicated to my cool poetic O.G. beat poet friend, Richard Autio of the Inland Empire weekly poetry group, which is run by another friend/colleague from San Bernardino Valley College, English Professor Joel Lamore. copyright (c) 2009 by Ruth Nolan
just published in San Gabriel Valley Quarterly #42
smooth water stone
breeze filtering guitar smoke
I’m meditating Zen
at the creek
bottle of wine
haphazard cottonwood leaves
cooling my afternoon
with you
mirrored on shimmer rocks
sun-strobe pattern
I could touch your skin
your steam would filter
through my fingers
when I try to catch
this moment flowing
downhill
from voluptuous mountains
to flattened deserts
where water will dissipate
in the sand
two water stones
smoothed
by rhythm and pulse
a surprising force
wearing me down
until we merge
into one sand spit
licked wide open
dedicated to my cool poetic O.G. beat poet friend, Richard Autio of the Inland Empire weekly poetry group, which is run by another friend/colleague from San Bernardino Valley College, English Professor Joel Lamore. copyright (c) 2009 by Ruth Nolan
Monday, June 15, 2009
Inlandia Writers Workshop already a success!
from the Mission Inn chapel, downtown Riverside
Thanks to all who attended the first meeting of the Inlandia Writers Workshop, Summer 2009 on June 11. Now in its third season (summer 2008, winter 2009, summer 2009), this shapes up to be the biggest workshop. More than thirty Inland Empire area writers, from beginning writers to college students to accomplished authors, were in attendance and we had a lively, fun, and inspiration meeting. The workshop will meet on Thursday evenings from 6:30-8:30 through July 20, and is free!
Santa Fe Railroad Station, San Bernardino
Our focus is on the Inland Empire region...that is, to generate writing of all types using the I.E. as a pivot-point. In this workshop, we'll shape a "storied landscape" using geography in all senses of the concept: the people, places, events, and uniqueness of this enticing area. However, participants are free to write using subjects and themes of their choice, and are welcome to focus on works already in progress.
Lytle Creek, S.B. west side on the border with Rialto
This week, the class will be meeting at the Riverside Library again from 6:30-8:30 p.m.. Please feel free to join us. We'll be doing lots of in-class writing and critique, as well - if you'd like to have works critiqued, bring 2-3 pages of a sample of your work, and 5 copies. We'll be breaking into smaller groups for workshop.
house in mid-town Rialto just north of Foothill & Riverside Blvds.
beautiful view of San Bernardino & San Gorgonio (Old Baldy) Peaks...courtesy of the Internet
all other photos by Ruth Nolan
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Lavender Pit
It's hard to find a safe place to lay my
head at the macho crotch of America
where Mexico pushes against a tight
zipper that some call a safe border,
where the hills once looked as inviting
as women's rounded hips and bellies.
In the old days, sweaty miners came
here to dig their fortunes of turquoise
and lavender-colored stones, leaving
a colorful pit in the ground half a mile
deep, and long vertical mine shafts now
boarded with rusty signs that warn "no
trespassing. It is important to stay awake.
This is a still a grizzle-bearded landscape
where barefoot, long-haired men who
don't have phones sip milky coffee, where
lazy dogs nap in the sun, not scratching
for fleas. I am 35 now, too young to be
a mother, and too old to offer a flat belly
and hilly breasts to the hot customers.
My skin has begun to dry for want of touch
and you have already shrunk inside of me
and sleep while I watch a giant brown moth
crawl from beneath the splintered roof
of my old miner's shack and shed its gauze-
colored cocoon. I watch for illegal aliens
who might be hiding in my cactus garden
while I paint my fingernails dark green
and watch the gangly thing struggle to dry
its outsized wings. I wonder if the open
heart of this town will fill with water, if
the moth will ever fly, when the fat June
monsoon flowers will give me fists of rain.
by Ruth Nolan
head at the macho crotch of America
where Mexico pushes against a tight
zipper that some call a safe border,
where the hills once looked as inviting
as women's rounded hips and bellies.
In the old days, sweaty miners came
here to dig their fortunes of turquoise
and lavender-colored stones, leaving
a colorful pit in the ground half a mile
deep, and long vertical mine shafts now
boarded with rusty signs that warn "no
trespassing. It is important to stay awake.
This is a still a grizzle-bearded landscape
where barefoot, long-haired men who
don't have phones sip milky coffee, where
lazy dogs nap in the sun, not scratching
for fleas. I am 35 now, too young to be
a mother, and too old to offer a flat belly
and hilly breasts to the hot customers.
My skin has begun to dry for want of touch
and you have already shrunk inside of me
and sleep while I watch a giant brown moth
crawl from beneath the splintered roof
of my old miner's shack and shed its gauze-
colored cocoon. I watch for illegal aliens
who might be hiding in my cactus garden
while I paint my fingernails dark green
and watch the gangly thing struggle to dry
its outsized wings. I wonder if the open
heart of this town will fill with water, if
the moth will ever fly, when the fat June
monsoon flowers will give me fists of rain.
by Ruth Nolan
a few desert pictures....
From recent hikes...
Whitewater Preserve: this past Sunday, I saw a Mojave Green rattlesnake by Whitewater River...
looking upstream...
and here is a creative, shimmery view of Palms in water at 1,000 Palms/Coachella Valley Preserve, McCallum Pond.
both photos by Ruth. Enjoy!
Whitewater Preserve: this past Sunday, I saw a Mojave Green rattlesnake by Whitewater River...
looking upstream...
and here is a creative, shimmery view of Palms in water at 1,000 Palms/Coachella Valley Preserve, McCallum Pond.
both photos by Ruth. Enjoy!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Creative Writing Workshop starts June 11 + Pacific Review Reading June 10
Two creative writing-poetry events coming up next week!
Wednesday, June 10th
California State University, San Bernardino
Pacific Review Literary Magazine 2009 contributor reading
including Ruth Nolan, contributor and CSUSB alumni
6 p.m. free to the public, San Manuel Student Union
and...
Creative Writing Workshop (a fun and mellow workshop!)
Summer Sessions Begin Thurday, June 11
with Ruth Nolan - your instructor
Every Thursday,
June 11 - July 20, 6:30 p.m.
Riverside Public Library -
Main Library Auditorium
3581 Mission Inn Ave., Riverside, CA 92501
Ruth Nolan, Poet, Associate Professor of English and Communication at the College of the Desert and editor of the forth-coming anthology of desert literature, No Place for a Puritan: the Literature of California's Deserts from Heyday Books, will again lead this popular creative writing workshop. The Inlandia Writers Workshops are designed to encourage writers of all genres and levels of accomplishment to set and meet their own creative writing goals. This event is supported by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant it has received from the James Irvine Foundation.
The event is free and open to the public, but reservations are strongly recommended, call: (951) 826-2420. You can also email me at runolan@aol.com for more information.
Wednesday, June 10th
California State University, San Bernardino
Pacific Review Literary Magazine 2009 contributor reading
including Ruth Nolan, contributor and CSUSB alumni
6 p.m. free to the public, San Manuel Student Union
and...
Creative Writing Workshop (a fun and mellow workshop!)
Summer Sessions Begin Thurday, June 11
with Ruth Nolan - your instructor
Every Thursday,
June 11 - July 20, 6:30 p.m.
Riverside Public Library -
Main Library Auditorium
3581 Mission Inn Ave., Riverside, CA 92501
Ruth Nolan, Poet, Associate Professor of English and Communication at the College of the Desert and editor of the forth-coming anthology of desert literature, No Place for a Puritan: the Literature of California's Deserts from Heyday Books, will again lead this popular creative writing workshop. The Inlandia Writers Workshops are designed to encourage writers of all genres and levels of accomplishment to set and meet their own creative writing goals. This event is supported by Poets & Writers, Inc. through a grant it has received from the James Irvine Foundation.
The event is free and open to the public, but reservations are strongly recommended, call: (951) 826-2420. You can also email me at runolan@aol.com for more information.
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