for read write poem: a new day, a new wife (welcome to the big event)
July 13, 2008
A letter of love
What can I say about the woman who has touched my life in so many ways? Writing poetry with Blythe has been a blessing ever since we first sat down at our computers and made those shy initial moves, laying ourselves bare one word, one phrase at a time.
It was slow going at first, and we both doubted ourselves. But we had an agreement at the outset that we’d never laugh at each other or expect perfection. We vowed that we could giggle when we faltered and rejoice when we succeeded. We set rules that would guide us but allowed each other the freedom to change those rules as needed.
And that’s what true love is, is it not? A place where rampant play and deep encouragement are prized. Where boundaries are established but aren’t so inflexible that they don’t take each other’s changing needs into account.
We’ve been writing together off and on since last October but have not shared most of what we’ve created. We are not in it for the look-at-us factor but because we both love language and rejoice at seeing words fold in on themselves then open back up like petals to reveal a strange small world, full of anthers, ovules, filaments, pollen and, of course, ants.
We never forget the ants. And if one of us does, the other is there to say, “Hey, look at the ants!”
So it is with love: seeing through one another’s eyes when needed, feeling the world through the other’s touch. I close my eyes and Blythe describes a world where airplanes love their passengers, where eels tighten on a groom’s chest as he stands at the altar. She gently reminds me that a wrench isn’t just something I use to repair my leaky pipes, it is also be a way emotion is squeezed and twisted out of me.
How many times when we’ve written together have we both gotten chills? To throw a word, a phrase or a line into the air to have it caught and returned metamorphosed, whizzing and popping with energy, is just cause for one’s hair to stand on end.
In short, with Blythe, I am a better writer. We navigate new worlds large and small, ordinary and extraordinary that, alone, we never would have considered or imagined.
In taking those careful steps toward one another last fall with letters clasped in our hands, we have created something new, and in so doing have engendered something new within ourselves.
We haven’t written much for the past few months because I was too ill to do so, and I just want to say that writing with Blythe again … well, it feels like coming home.
Now, as guests at our wedding, please feel free to respond to and/or critique the poem we wrote together to commemorate the big event. You can do it right down there in the comments section. But to leave a comment, you must also leave us a gift, since it’s a wedding after all. For your convenience, Blythe and I included our bridal registry in our posts. Please do stop in and leave a gift for each of us, since we like gifts. So give ’em to us.
Also, at the end of the poem there is a link to the comments section of the post where Blythe and I wrote the piece, so you can see our entire process laid bare as the poem unfolded. It’s pretty much entertaining, so check it out.
Bridal registry items
- 1 Anthony Bourdain
- 1 funnelcake stand (a no-brainer)
- 1 gryphon
- 1 helium machine (so we can talk in silly voices)
- 1 hot air balloon
- 1 ice cream maker
- 1 karaoke machine
- 1 lighthouse
- 1 margarita machine
- 1 mechanical bull
- 1 moonwalk
- 1 potbelly pig
- 1 spiritual healer
- 1 submarine (so we can see whales up close)
- 1 UFO (so we can get to our summer home in a galaxy far, far away)
- 1 walker (for Dana since she is older than Blythe)
- 2 body pillows
- 2 Britney Spears (clothing optional)
- 2 candy wedding rings (we really need these)
- 2 personal jet packs
- 2 rubber duckies
- 2 sets of fake fingernails (which we need to get on quick before the ceremony begins)
- 2 sets of stilts
- 2 Slinkies
- 2 sock monkeys
- 4 flying trapeses (in case we have friends over)
- 20 finger puppets
- 20 toe puppets
- a beer of the month subscription
- a lifetime supply of Wonderbras (34B and 34C, please)
- a magic school bus (Not the books or cartoons, but a real magic school bus. If you get us this you get an automatic invite to all our wild magic school bus parties.)
- a personal trainer/personal masseuse
- a plethora of feather boas
- all-we-can-drink Slurpies
- an 8-piece set of Pez dispensers
- BanangramsCanadian money (so we are poised to leave the country if needed)
- fake IDs that say we both just turned 18 (w00t! Barely Legal!)
- hair extensions
- jitterbug lessons
- lube (What? We need it.)
- matching monogrammed bowling balls
- nipple rings (obviously)
- porn (just kidding, kinda)
- waterless shampoo (for the days we feel like being hippies but still want our hair to look washed
- what the hell, some books of poetry (but only good ones)
What happens at the altar stays at the altar
By Blythe and Dana Funnelcake
I press the flesh of my palm
into your inexplicably chubby face
while the hiccupy rent-a-priest
folds at his midsection like a closing book
and crashes to the ground with a
papery thud. Of course, the rice thingies,
bagged and bowed in a frenzy last night,
will soon be swallowed by all the unsuspecting attendants,
who are half-mad with hunger and heat.
But I digress. Which brings me to your dress:
When I agreed to the chartreuse bride
spied in my mail-order catalog,
I assumed you came with the filmy white dress
worn by lucky Barbies ’round the world
(and even some confused Kens).
So when they shipped you in coveralls,
and musty ones at that, I felt the
slippery eel of panic slither ’round my chest.
And my balls (I must be honest) maneuvered
their way into a chamber deep within my body
whose existence I was, until that moment,
entirely unaware of. But after the requisite
ten-hour charge your instruction manual mentioned,
relief flooded through and engorged me — like Mom’s
Thanksgiving dinner filling and warming my alimentary canal —
when your eyes fluttered open, your lips parted, and you
began to emit a whoooooooo sound not unlike dank air
winding through a French horn’s valve tube.
We locked eyes, you smiled a bit, and said,
whoooooooo, whoooooooo, whoooooooo,
which of course I interpreted as I. Love. You.
And I, dear, whoooooooo, whoooooooo, whoooooooo, you too.
To see how this poem unfolded, go here.
To read other contributions for Read Write Poem this week, go to readwritepoem.org.
Comments
42 Responses to “for read write poem: a new day, a new wife (welcome to the big event)”
Got something to say?
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This work is licensed under Creative Commons.
If you don’t credit Dana (by using her full name and preferably by linking back to the appropriate post) for however you copy, distribute, transmit or adapt her words, you are being bad. And naughty. And she will have her servant monkeys hunt you down and cut your hands off so you can never copy, distribute, transmit or adapt anyone’s work again and call it your own.
(Unless, of course, you were to use your butt cheeks to manipulate your keyboard with the copying, distributing, transmitting, adapting and whatnot, but Dana fortunately has only met one person whose butt cheeks are that talented. He could play a major third on a piano using nothing but his ass. She kids you not.).
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Sweetness and life. What a post; wonderful glimpses into a creative life that is more-than-real.
I’m down for 1 gryphon.
whoooo, whoooo, whoooo
I’m so glad you’re well enough to be back. I’ve missed it terribly. Thanks for asking me to write with you and to get married. Such fun, the both of them!
Deb, we are so happy for the gryphon. We are loving and squeezing him and naming him George right now.
Hey, say something about the poem!
(Thanks for performing the ceremony. We’ll be sending a long a little gift shortly, something we receive at the wedding that we have no use for. Probably a butter dish in the shape of a cow.)
Blythe, aren’t you choked up? Aren’t you crying? Where are your tears of joy?
Oops… tweeted that I was crying and forgot to say so here. The letter really did get me choked up. Writing means so much to me, and you have made it so much richer. And it makes it that much sweeter that it means the same to you.
Now, let’s wipe our eyes and blow our noses. I believe we have some partying to do! And then honeymooning!
Blythe, you’d better be crying. I want my love for you to hurt. I’m branding you later, too. On the hiney.
Dude, judging by the way you slinked out of your gown, I’d say we’re already honeymooning. Now where did I put my branding iron?
(P.S. Facebook still has not confirmed my name change. I am really sad about that.)
Well, that is just… neat. But aren’t all priests rent-a-priests, really, when you think about it, which I’m not, but I’m just saying so?
Palinode, you still owe me the rest of a collaborative poem you bailed on midway through. Until then you are in my “bloggers who largely ignore me” category in my sidebar. So there. And where is your gift? And are you visiting Blythe, too? If not, you’re just being a meanie.
Hey, can we discuss this branding deal? How about matching tattoos instead? (Done by a professional?)
What is with the facebook? How did you request it? Did you just add it on to your last name? What if it’s the four-name deal?
Maybe they just threaten to inspect every request but really only look at a select few, and you won the lottery. Like security checks at the airport. I always get pulled for those things.
(Are we flying anywhere for the honeymoon? You know I’m a nervous flyer. Will you hold my hand?)
The poem is awesome, amazing, brilliant, I loved it and I find it almost impossible to believe it’s a collaboration, so smooth it is…….I’d be honoured to gift you a potbellied pig and may I say the list rocks too!!!!
Well, as long as it’s virtual, how about I send you a spiritual healer?
Loved the poem.
Great poem. The fun you had writing it is all there. I’ll give waterless shampoo though I think the washed look is overrated.
I am proud to know you freaks.
Oh, my god, this is such a riot! Fun, fun, fun! And a fantastic poem to boot!
Here’s my gift: a margarita to die for! Well, this makes more than one but one person can drink the whole thing!
12 ounces decent tequilla (Sauza gold works well for me)
1 12 oz. can of frozen limeaid (in the frozen OJ section)
1 12 oz can of 7 Up (not Sprite!)
1 12 oz bottle of Corona
Just blend it all together (not in a blender; holy shit, what a mess!) and enjoy!
Blythe, matching tattoes is totally what I meant by branding. And, p.s. look on yer hiney. I did it already. Likey?
Facebook might be onto us because of not one BUT TWO people asking for the last name Funnelcake. Those a-holes and their fancy machines. I just know they have fancy machines, like radar but … different. (I just woke up. No good thoughts in my brain yet.) I requested it thrice through their name change dealy, and they said they had to approve it. Then they went silent.
Craolee is supposed to be working on the honeymoon details. Just like her ~ attend the wedding then leave us at the altar. Humpfh.
I will always hold your hand. If you hold back. And tickle me sometimes.
Jo, yay! I am the one who wanted the pig, but I am not allowed to bring him into the house … much. (Only when she’s away on business trips.)
Catherine, and what about the poem, eh? We are all here to talk about the poem, aren’t we?
Thanks for the healer. Why does he look suspiciously like Bill Gates? Is this what Gates is doing now that he’s retired from Microsoft?
/yells
“Bill, what are you doing on our computer??? Quit trying to install Vista; it’s a piece of ___ ____ _____________ ___________ ____!!!”
Thanks Nathan. Why don’t you ever link to your site in your comments? It would make it easier for us all to get to ya. I’m just sayin’.
I’m so using this shampoo today ~ Blythe tousled my hair good last night. She’s such a little firecracker. Actually, she’s more of a sparkler.
Again, nobody is talking about the poem! The poem, the poem, my kingdom for talking about the poem. It’s for serious, people ~ ’tis not a cardboard facade of a poem!
C’mon, slippery eel of panic??? Someone say something about that.
Plus, we’ve opened it up for critique. Critique away!
Dave, where is your gift! Why weren’t you at the wedding we had on Twitter?!(I know it was kinda late your time.)
Linda, thanks for the gift! (hiccup) 7-UP is waaaaay better than Sprite. (hiccup) Where’s the … oh, I forgot what I was going to say. *giggles wildly* *then drools a little and passes out*
That poem is brilliant!!
Be on the lookout for a brightly wrapped package from me, containing fake IDs and toe puppets. (Oh wait, should I have surprised you?? Oops.)
Love, love, LOVE the poem, ladies! And sign me up to get you both sock monkeys (sock monkeys and I go way back).
Debm thanks for the stuff! It’s OK that you told us what it is. We already ripped through all the wrapping.
Katie, THANK YOU for saying something about the poem! And yay for sock monkeys!
(Will check out your link in a little bit … by end of day.)
i echo what dave said (but i get bonus points and extra street cred b/c i was at the ceremony): “I am proud to know you freaks.” (i was the one throwing the confectioners sugar — for the funnelcakes, get it? — instead of rice)
i’m gifting the magic school bus, but i have to confess it’s only b/c i want the invites to the magic school bus parties.
and what’s this about a poem? there’s a poem?
just kidding. of course there’s a poem.
as someone with a dank air filled french horn in her actual possession (i should have been asked to play at the wedding, by the way), i like that image in there … of the wind, the voice, the exhilaration meandering its way out the big giant bell.
and the 10-hour battery charge was a great detail.
and the tequila — what an image. what? the tequila’s not in the wedding poem? oh, i see, it’s in the poem, i mean recipe, from linda. oh, heck, a good margarita recipe IS pure poetry. …
anyhoo — congrats!
although i have a mad crush on anthony bourdain, and i will miss him living in my closet, i am gifting you ladies with my anthony. he make look like cardboard, but he’s the real deal. honest!
A party! A party! I love parties, but I can’t dance. And I’m already hiccing up, so nothing to drink for me, please. Except maybe a little of Milk of Magnesia in a mug, with a straw. You can count *hic* on me for a walker, Dana. It is borrowed, of course, and I’ll need it back *hic* by the middle of August. It has a basket, though, and I will decorate it with monkeys! I am soooooooo Exci *hic* ted!
I gift you Canadian money, which has pretty silver stripes and pleasant images of Elizabeth II. It’s sure to help you go on the lam, if as a couple the need should ever arise.
Kind of a funny coincidence, every Saturday in the summer is bride Saturday in Montreal. I took pictures of at least ten brides, walking down the street with their whole bridal party. Could the Funnelcakes have been there?
Love the whimsy and affection of this poem. I needed to hear some tenderness and joy, don’t know why, I feel vulnerable today, so this was good, took me outside of myself.
I will write you an epithalanium. Who should I collaborate with?
*oh.* (disappointment) I see someone has already spoken for the sock monkeys. Oh, well…. Wait, I know! Then I’ll decorate the basket with nipple rings instead! I have a drawer full of them. Some of them are old Ross Perot campaign buttons, though.
ps who in the *hic* is anthony bourdain????
PDW, if you weren’t playing the French horn, what was that I heard during the ceremony? Thanks for the magic school bus.
Jill, I think my friend Andre was going to get us that, but since he’s nowhere to be found, we’ll accept it from you. And thank you, although we kind of wanted a new Anthony, not a used one.
Joyce, thanks for the walker! And you can give us more sock monkeys if you want to. I don’t know who Anthony is; Blythe wanted him, not me. So I got even with her by ordering two Britney Spears.
Christine, oh you are back. Hai. The Funnelcakes had their ceremony on Twitter. If you look at your tweets, you will see it all there. It was the good times. You missed the good times. Check your blog: We tagged you to write something with Deb, so maybe you can write that epiwhatever together.
dana, you should have warned me - i just spilled coffee all over my 5-year old laptop! thank God its still working. love, love, love the poem! whoooooooo! (i hope i got the number of o’s right :P)
~ since i believe ice cream solves everything, i’m sending an ice cream maker your way ~
OMG!!! The presents, the presents!!!!! I’m going to comment on everything here, but first, Jill, I must give you an over-eager hug!! (You know, the awkward kind.) Thanks for Anthony!
palinode: It’s neater than neat. For realz.
Jo: First, thanks for the kind words about the poem. (It is smooth, indeed.) And about the list. And, um, thanks for the pig. (What keeps the wifey happy keeps me happy.)
Truly, glad you had some fun with us!
Catherine: I’m good with our Bill Gates spiritual healer. He can fix my chakras and my ipod a la vez.
Nathan: You really just gave us 30 more minutes of loving. THANK YOU.
Dave: As you should be!
Linda: Ah, the gift that keeps on giving! Many thanks!
Deb: Dana’s right. We’re terrible about the waiting. We opened your gift before you even bought it. BECAUSE WE LOVE IT SO MUCH.
Katie: Thanks! (And I’m so making Dana that sock monkey dress!!)
PDW: Aren’t you full up on street cred? And thanks for thinking of the birds.
PDW2: You win for the best poem comment. Thank you for reading it! Dana did the French horn line, and the battery detail was mine. I like that you picked out one each of us did. Doesn’t Dana bring the dankness of the French horn to life? Dana, did you *play* the French horn, or was that from your mighty imagination? (No, wait, you’re a flute player. Flutist. Flautist. Duh.) Did I ever mention I played French horn?
Jill: Thanks again!
Joyce: First things first: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthony_Bourdain And thanks for all the wonderful gifts. Dana is now able to get from one end of the house to the other without rest stops. And we can never have too many sock monkeys, nor too many nipple rings.
Odessa: And for your kindness, I have left a tub of my special recipe pistachio ice cream in your freezer.
Thanks!
I can only give you both cyber hugs!
congrats! on the poem, the concept, the bridal gift registry! the poem expresses the energy love and fun you obviously share
for my present, even though it’s not on the fabulous list, i am sending you a gift certificate for 10 yoga sessions with mariachristina, poet/yogini! (i couldn’t find the mechanical bull in a shippable condition)
Oh wow, artpredetor! What a fine gift this is. (Did you notice the internal rhyme and shit in the poem? We rock at the collaborative poeming thang.)