tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post115235327170446318..comments2007-03-07T15:26:10.706-05:00Mike Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01125676207376106849mikeayoung@gmail.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152857335824127162006-07-14T02:08:00.000-04:002006-07-14T02:08:00.000-04:00Lol. I can do eggs either way. Or scrambled, which is rare in Britain, but they do scramble them. But I think I'm missing the point because I'm absolutely plattsetered and having a hard time typing. Anyway...I dion't think God and Plato are available enough to debate your poem, unfortunately. Sorry. I'll try to arrange it, but no guarantees. I'm going to pass out now. Bye.K.E. Hollandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02886995732431375283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152837391693776892006-07-13T20:36:00.000-04:002006-07-13T20:36:00.000-04:00Bryan:<BR/><BR/>Thank you for correcting the spelling errors. It's hard to spellcheck poems because the grammar checker gets angry about the linebreaks and I get bored.<BR/><BR/>The EAA, Experimental Aviators Association, was the name of the local planeflyers club in Oroville. They would have breakfasts on the second Saturday of every month. Pancakes and batter were as you describe them.<BR/><BR/>That's a good riff about airplane days. I like it.<BR/><BR/>Kate:<BR/><BR/>You are welcome for the comments. Thank you for yours. That's interesting about the American/English relationship over "quaint." Quaint is an interesting word. I'm not sure if any words are bad.<BR/><BR/>You are right: this poem is more clear and projective than some of my others, maybe. Less like a game. I'm not sure yet if that's a "good" thing. I would contest "random," but it's really not important and would probably lead to a discussion of attitudes toward analyzing and end with a discussion about God or Plato's universal forms or something. =)<BR/><BR/>I would like two literary critics to argue over whether my other poems are "random" or something else. I would like two eggs overeasy, or sunny-side up, which is the only way British people know how to cook them and the reason they get confused in American restaurants.Mike Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01125676207376106849noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152834595894279962006-07-13T19:49:00.000-04:002006-07-13T19:49:00.000-04:00"Quaint" is a word invented by Americans to try to put the British in their place. Fortunately, the British have mastered the art of the disdainful stare and use it whenver an American calls anything in England "quaint." :)<BR/><BR/>Great poem. I loved the bit about the trucker and the cockroaches and the grade-to-grade lunch lady sequence. Lots of images, kind of a maelstrom, and justifiably long. It's far less random than others of your poems, and I think I like that. Like Ms. Galvan said, the hangar keeps you anchored. <BR/><BR/>Btw, thanks for your comments about my wretched little poem.K.E. Hollandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02886995732431375283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152831894977904942006-07-13T19:04:00.001-04:002006-07-13T19:04:00.001-04:00'cherrios' is 'cheerios'<BR/><BR/>'tourst' is 'tourist'<BR/><BR/>sorry for fixing spelling errors. i can't help it.<BR/><BR/>i like it. have you ever had pancakes in an airplane hangar? we used to have 'airport days' at the various airports i grew up around, and the vets club or something (old men) would cook pancakes and eggs and sausages and bacon.<BR/><BR/>i loved watching them do the batter. the batter came out of these big batter holders, and fuck, there was a pancake! then we'd all walk around and look at airplanes. i broke my arm on airport day one time (which was also my dad's birthday). we were playing freeze tag, and i had to go to the emergency room so i couldn't see the blackhawks take off. i could hear them in the emergency room. i was next to a girl who put a pitchfork through her toe. <BR/><BR/>f 16's would fly by. other things would fly by. sometimes there were balloon rides. my sister and i went up in a balloon one time, but my mom wouldn't. she said when she was little, she'd promised her dad she'd never go up in one of those things.Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152831841442457892006-07-13T19:04:00.000-04:002006-07-13T19:04:00.000-04:00Oh yeah, forgot that. I've done that before. Thankee.Mike Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01125676207376106849noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152831358439408022006-07-13T18:55:00.000-04:002006-07-13T18:55:00.000-04:00haven't started reading it yet<BR/><BR/>but it's 'hangar' not 'hanger'Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13359105032248441307noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25161207.post-1152828374141582422006-07-13T18:06:00.000-04:002006-07-13T18:06:00.000-04:00The airplane hanger thing is an anchor. I don't think it's too long because it doesn't drag.A.S. Galvanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08628326041538817721noreply@blogger.com