"I paint my own reality." -Frida Kahlo

We went to the Frida Kahlo exhibit in the city today at MOMA. Other than being a little freaked at the commodification of such a fine, iconoclastic artist, I loved it. I shouldn't have been surprised that Frida mouse pads and Frida luggage tags were on sale since she's become such an icon--and capitalism loves an icon...it's just so insanely ironic since she was a raging socialist.

It was amazing to look closely at the paintings and see her brushstrokes. That's when I feel time isn't real--that in some ways she's still right here.

The painting above, of the Colonialized Frida holding hands with the Native Mexican Frida, was stunning in person. It's huge, too--something I hadn't expected after seeing it in books for years (and on pot holders and cigarette lighters, ha).

The way she portrays women's bodies, pain, and loss is so powerful.
In person, the hummingbird on her "necklace" looks more dead than in the books. And the cat more sinister. I like the way the colors of the animals reflect her unruly eyebrow(s).

She has a cigarette in her hand in many of the paintings. The birds are fantastic in this one.

Frida had many health problems including childhood polio, a horrific trolley accident in which she was impaled and her back broken, and a miscarriage. Needless to say, she was in pain a lot of her life. A few days before she died she wrote, "I hope the leaving is joyful; and I hope never to return."

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Afterward, we drove across the city, east to west, to take a walk through Golden Gate Park and to have the very best microbrewed IPA ever made: Presidio IPA. You can only buy it at the Beach Chalet, a very cool restaurant overlooking the vastness of Ocean Beach.

If you're ever in the city, you must go. The fish & chips are really good. The restaurant is upstairs in an old building that features walls filled with a huge depression-era WPA fresco depicting San Francisco. Here's a small slice of it:

Today is my second Father's Day

without him.

And it's my cousins' first without their father, my Uncle Bob, who died on Friday. He was my mother's last sibling in a family of four. Here's a picture of him with my mom on the left and his wife of 60 years, my Aunt Ruby, on the right.

In her mid-80's, Aunt Ruby is still an amazing piano player. We spent a lot of Thanksgivings and Christmasses when I was kid at their line-green house on a hill in San Francisco. Aunt Ruby would play raucous honky tonk while the adults all drank beer and we kids played bumper pool and compared our Christmas gifts.

Bob and Ruby bought the house in 1955. It still has a beautiful old stove my Aunt Ruby polishes to perfection and the original tiles in the kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen window overlooks the intricate garden my Uncle Bob tended to for years. You can also see the bay and the docks where he worked.

Three days before Uncle Bob died, we (Mom, my sister and I) sat before that remarkable view at the kitchen table with with him, my aunt and cousin. We talked, told stories and laughed for hours. He knew his cancer was terminal. He was thrilled with all the "free stuff" hospice was giving to him: a cane, a wheelchair, medicines, care. He said he'd had a really good life.

If you still have your dad, love him extra today.

Reading and reading

The ZYZZYVA reading tonight was very cool, in a small little room in the San Francisco public library, surrounded by books. As it should be.

71-year-old Ed Mycue read a few sweet poems and then from a "cultural/social history" piece that honors the lives of a number of now-gone San Franciscans.

Bucky Sinister's poetry is funny and edgy. It's very San Francisco and Beat-influenced, but he's certainly his own man.

ZYZZYVA's managing editor, Kristin Kearns, read part of a quirky story about a woman whose husband leaves her, only to move in next door with a neighbor woman.

I read my poem that appeared in ZYZZYVA along with a few from my book. I was a little thrown when reading "First" because I could feel images of all the loss we've suffered lately creeping into my mind and body, and I began to tear up. I had to will myself to finish.

During the reading, two guys who looked like they probably live in a shelter or on the streets came in and sat in the chairs in front of me. The older man removed his hat and smoothed his hair down with his hand. Not taking his eyes off the reader, he then pulled a little black comb out of the pocket of his leather jacket and combed his hair slowly until it was neatly helmeted on his head. It was poignant gesture to me, as though he felt poetry deserved his finest appearance.

Howard handed them both copies of the issue. A nice touch: giving people copies of the magazine we're celebrating.

I exchanged copies of my book with Ed and Bucky for copies of theirs. Highly recommended: It's a great way to read new-to-you work, to get signed copies of books, and to spread your own work around to people you know like to read poetry.

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I finished reading The Book of Salt recently--and wow. It's really good. It's told from the point of view of a Vietnamese cook who works for Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. The cook is the narrator, and we learn throughout the story his compelling, and devastating, family history and why he left Vietnam.

I was only a few pages into the book when I realized that I don't have the voice yet for my historical novel. Truong has captured a rich, unique voice in her book that is addictive and haunting. I only have ideas and notes, not that voice that will drive the story. And I know the only way to find it is to keep researching and writing.

Hot read in the city

Tomorrow I'm reading in the city in ZYZZYVA's spring reading, featuring writers appearing in Issue 82.

The reading takes place at 6:30 p.m. in Book Bay, at the San Francisco Main Library and features:

Kate Evans, poetry
Edward Mycue, memoir
Bucky Sinister, poetry

Admission is free.

If you'd like to read some of the pieces from the current issue, click here.

Howard Junker, the founding editor of ZYZZYVA, keeps a blog here, by the way. It's a quirky look into the California literary scene among other things, and he includes great photos of stuff happening on the streets.

Literary Errata

I'll be reading at a celebration of ZYZZYVA (which will publish my poem "I Have No" in its new issue):

Thursday April 17, 6:30 p.m., at the Book Bay Bookstore of the San Francisco Main Library (on Grove Street).

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QUEER WRITERS TAKE NOTE:

Seven Kitchens Press announces the 2008 Robin Becker Chapbook Prize for an original, unpublished manuscript in English by a Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual or Transgendered writer. For more information, click here.

Adventures

It's already August...and I finally have a couple of pictures of June's SF Dyke March to share.

The crowd was impressive:



And we didn't just watch the march, we participated. Here's a photo of me with my friends Brenda and Laurie:

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Guess what my mom, my sisters and I are doing starting on Sunday? Just the 4 of us--no spouses, no kids.

This.

7 days on Honolulu, Hilo, Maui, Kona & Kauai.

Hawaii has always meant a lot to my mom. She worked as a nurse there in the mid 1950's, before it was a state. As a girl, she'd dreampt about working on Molokai with the lepers, ala Father Damien. She never did that, but she did have a chance to visit there several times.

And now as I go through boxes of things from my parents' house, I'm finding a lot she wrote about Hawaii. Over the years, she and my father went there often. She especially loved Kona.

I'm hoping she'll be able to share memories with us on the trip. At the very least, she will be able to smell, feel and taste the places she's always loved.

I'm looking forward to this adventure, another in a lifetime of many.