Two follow-ups: Rilke and Needs.

A few posts ago, I concluded that I needed to re-read some Rilke. When I wrote it, I had wanted to post Phyllis Webb's poem about Rilke, but I wasn't at home and couldn't find it online. Here it is, although I admit I'm posting this without permission:

I reluctantly took this photo from a textbook, not one of my many Phyllis Webb books (see below). Unfortunately, the disorder of my life is clearly reflected in the disorder of my home, and I cannot access her books at the moment. "Rilke" by Phyllis Webb in 15 Canadian Poets x3, ed. Gary Geddes. Toronto: Oxford. 2001. 144.

Phyllis Webb remains one of my favorite poets. Recently, her poems were collected and compiled into Peacock Blue, which I bought as soon as it was released less than a year ago.

In university, where Doug Beardsley introduced me to Webb's work, I was immediately taken by her sensuous voice, played through a cassette tape player. It's been tough to track down more recordings of her voice; if I ever win the lottery, I will compile, master, and publish a selection of her recitations for people to download. Then others can enjoy the sultry huskiness of Webb's expressive voice.

Beardsley questioned whether Webb's poetry fits under the "modern" or "postmodern" banner/genre/category. I think her written voice is unique enough to defy most attempts at genre definition. She is a tone boss whose lexical strokes smack of self-actualization.

Peacock Blue really rounds out the Phyllis Webb collection. #canlit #poetry #bookstagram #PhyllisWebb #books

A photo posted by Jeffrey Nordstrom (@jeffnords) on Apr 28, 2015 at 6:22pm PDT

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My last entry, titled "Needs," highlighted my continuing efforts to identify my own needs after years of self-denial in the name of religion. I've been slowly working my way through this workshop about Marshall Rosenberg's NonViolent Communication method. This morning, when I started the video while doing the laundry, he talked a little about needs, and I listened.

Starting at 1:41:50:

The crazy thing is, however, that it still makes very little sense to me. I feel like I've been psychologically gypped (slurbedamned) out of an essential life skill. I am annoyed.