really BIG news

(chăp'bʊk') 
n.
A small book or pamphlet containing poems, ballads, stories, or religious tracts.
[CHAP(MAN) + BOOK (so called because it was originally sold by chapmen).]

I must admit, a year ago, when my dear friend Elizabeth Wix suggested I publish a chapbook, I was such a novice, I actually had to Google the word.  The term chapbook was formalized by bibliophiles of the 19th century, as a variety of ephemera (disposable, cheaply printed material), popular or folk literature. It includes many kinds of printed material such as pamphlets, political and religious tracts, poetry, nursery rhymes, folk tales, children's literature and almanacs. The term is derived from "chapman", a variety of peddler, who circulated such literature as part of his stock.

The big, big news at the manor is I've been chosen as a semi-finalist in The Finishing Line Press 2010 Open Chapbook competition! (The first place winner will be announced later this spring.)  This means they have agreed to publish my 26 page chapbook, assign an ISBN (International Standard Book Number), and it will be available to purchase on Amazon. Heavens to murgatroyd!  This is my very first submission to a poetry competition, and since I had heard nothing since I sent in my manuscript back in June, I was convinced it was a total wash. I am stunned and elated, to say the least. Stay tuned for upcoming book info this spring.  In the meantime, please help yourself to a glass of cyber champagne. A huge thank you to all my faithful readers who have been such an enormous encouragement along the way. You are the best. I could not have done it without you, sweet people.

essential accessory

A gloved hand

is gentle, fickle,

like the soft wing

of an enigmatic bird.

One clandestine touch,

a tickle, the apocalypse

of taut leather and cashmere

ignites passion faster

than plywood of a naked

palm. Though embraced

a thousand times, still

it becomes the smooth

kidskin psalm, sung

by a beautiful stranger;

a splendid woolgathering,

that eats away the heart.

Tess Kincaid

December, 2010

Would you like me to read it to you?

i was not so naughty

As is turns out, Santa knew I was a good little girl this year, and surprised me with an extra generous visit. He has the most exquisite taste and always knows exactly what I love. I highly recommend his selections this year, and thought it might be nice to pass them along to you.

First of all, he gave me two powerful books of poetry by female writers.  I'll be snuggled up by the fire savoring delicious words.  The first is Here, 2010, 27 poems about life on earth, by Wislawa Szymborska, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1996.  The second is World Enough, 2010, poems about how we come to know ourselves, by Maureen N. McLane, who received the 2002 National Book Critics Circle Nona Balakian Citation for Excellence in Reviewing.


Santa Baby also knows I've started posting audio recordings along with my printed piece, so I was especially thrilled to get The BBC's three disc set, The Spoken Word, American Poets. It's an incredible 209 minutes of 30 prominent poets reading their own works. There's something very special about hearing the poets' interpretations in their own voices. The only poet noticeably missing was my dear friend, Ms. Edna St. Vincent Millay.  How could they possibly have forgotten her?

Last, but not least, Santa left the whopping 5.2 pound, 975 page I Know How to Cook, by Ginette Mathiot, which has sold over six million copies since it was first published in 1932. It's a beautiful, updated version with lots of charming illustrations and gorgeous photos. Stay tuned in 2011 for some luscious French cuisine. I'll be cooking up a whirlwind and passing the recipes on to you.  Yum. Oh. Yum. Batten down the hatches!

Thank you for all your warm and wonderful holiday wishes. I'm taking it easy this week, enjoying lots of family around the fireplace, eggnog and woolly socks, but will be slowly making it around to your spot in the bloggyhood soon. Hope you're enjoying your week, my friends.

Merry Christmas

Warm and woolly holiday wishes from Willow Manor!  I want to thank you, dear friends, for being the best readership in the whole blogosphere. Your delightful, insightful and most generous support is invaluable. Even though I may not always make it around to each of your blogs as much as I would like, please know that you hold a special place in my heart. You are the best.  All of you.  Merry Christmas and warm feathers for your nests in the upcoming year.   ~~Tess/Willow (xx)

chicken in every pot, literally

With all the crazy holiday prep, the last thing I feel like doing is making supper. So, this week, instead of picking up the phone to order pizza, I got a little creative with the bundt pan.  You all have one, and it's already handy, since you just dug it out from the back of the cabinet for its yearly one time use.

Layer a few potatoes, carrots and onions on the bottom of the pan. Then season the chicken and place in the pan with the open cavity over the center hole. (It's okay, the chicken doesn't feel a thing.) Roast as usual, with a cookie sheet underneath to collect any small dripping that may occur.  The chicken crisps all the way around, and the veggies cook in the juices.  Easy holiday peasy.

And just in case you missed my recent poem on the subject...


Chicken in Every Pot


I go the extra mile
to make chicken pie for supper.
While the incumbent hen stews,
steaming savory flesh and bones,
with enough thyme and peppercorns,
I ceremoniously sauté two primary
livers, consider simplicity,
how I like things explained
in words of one syllable,
then pour a fresh glass of Chianti,
dip each bite, wide, in a puddle
of democratic ketchup, raise
the wine high, toasting the fowl
and my economy.


Tess Kincaid, 2010


And, in keeping with the situation, here's my favorite eggnog recipe. Serve it with a dollop of whipped cream. Oh, man-oh-man, is it ever wonderful.

Willow's Eggnog


2 Eggbeaters
1 heavy cream
½  Drambuie or Southern Comfort
handful of ice cubes
sugar or Splenda to taste
vanilla extract
freshly grated nutmeg to taste

Blend the dickens out of it. Cheers!

my suggestions for long winter nights

Next to fall, winter is my favorite season. So, it goes without saying that I love dark, wintry, snow-laden movies. You know, the kind that make you deliciously shivery and burrow down into the sofa. Here's a list of my favorite frosty films for the season of nights that are extra long and dark.  Keep in mind, woolly socks and a warm woolly throw are necessary accoutrements.

Wild and woolly wintry epics:

Doctor Zhivago, 1965

David Lean's winter wonderland makes me run for my furry Zhivago hat, gives me a longing for a sleigh of my own and to dive into those great pools of Sharif's eyes.

Hamlet, 1996

Kenneth Branagh directs and stars in this gorgeous epic.  I love to lose myself in this wintry world of Shakespeare.

Reds, 1981

Warren Beatty's epic drama about American Communist John Reed and his relationships with both the Russian Revolution and a writer named Louise Bryant, portrayed by the wonderful Diane Keaton. There's nothing like Russia for winter.

Dark, snowy films, full of the white fluffy:

Smilla's Sense of Snow, 1997

Based on the bestseller by Peter Hoeg, this is a moody mystery that becomes a somewhat overblown, schlock thriller in the second half, but Julia Ormond plus snow is a winning combo in my book.

Onegin, 2000

Martha Fiennes masterful film version of Pushkin's poem Eugene Onegin, a melancholy tale of lost love, starring Ralph Fiennes and Liv Tyler. Gorgeous film. It's one I pop in on a regular basis.

Pelle the Conqueror, 1987

A poignant Academy Award winning film about a Swedish widower and his son who emigrate to Denmark in the late 1800s to find work and a better life. Max Von Sydow is brilliant, giving the performance of a lifetime. 

The Widow of St. Pierre, 2000

Set in 1849, on the Island of Saint Pierre off the coast of Canada, this French film is a human drama of love, sin and redemption. Wonderful performances by Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil. Directed by one of my favorites, Patrice Laconte.

Orlando, 1992

Tilda Swinton stars in this lush, sexy and wickedly funny film based on the gender-bending novel by Virginia Woolf. I asked Santa for this one.

Snow Falling on Cedars, 2000

Based on David Guterson's bestselling novel, set in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, it's the story of a young fisherman who was found dead in his own nets. A Japanese American war hero is accused of his murder. Director Scott Hicks paints the story like a gorgeous watercolor.

Birth, 2005

In this dark, suspenseful film, Nicole Kidman becomes convinced that a ten-year-old boy is the reincarnation of her dead husband. Delicious Hitchcockian overtones.

A few of my favorite Christmassy flicks:

The Thin Man, 1934

I adore the sparkling chemistry of William Powell and Myrna Loy in this three-martini mystery comedy, the first of a delightful series. This one's set during the holidays.

An Affair to Remember, 1957

Cary Grant, at his debonair sexiest, and Deborah Kerr meet on an ocean liner and fall in love. Though each is engaged to someone else, they agree to meet six months later at the Empire State Building, but a tragic twist of events prevents the meeting. Make sure you have a box of tissues handy.

Meet John Doe, 1941

A Frank Capra masterpiece about a journalistic publicity stunt that turns into a national movement. Barbara Stanwyck is incredible, as well as a stellar cast, including Gary Cooper and Walter Brennan.

A Christmas Carol, 1951

Alistair Sim is my all-time favorite Scrooge. Hands down. Everyone needs a generous dose of Dickens this time of year. God bless us, every one.

The Bishop's Wife, 1948

Cary Grant is the dreamiest angel ever sent down by the prayers of a new bishop David Niven, but it's Monty Woolley, in the role of the professor, who I fall in love with every year.

homecoming

After the rodeo

of flour and gift wrap
settles to a powder
of glitter-dust,

there is a lull, a lust,
before young broncos
gallop the horizon, home
for a brief chuck-wagon

of mad, rawhide roping
and doting. I ponder the past,
the litter, the barren task
of a cyclone’s patina,

the bucking, testing
and crossing of lines,
an empty pen, and the thrill
to ride again, for just a day.

Tess Kincaid

December, 2010




Would you like me to read it to you?

Xmas

She dares me
not to play follow-the-leader.

Why eat a cold buffet

with proper credentials,

but no champagne? I scrape

the plate; abandon the leavings.

Wear a Napoleon hat.

Beat to quarters. Jump.
Hold my nose, let go.

Free fall into generosity.

Resign to be overcharged,

risk jeopardizing my credit rating.

I prefer a bid in writing, sign
a treaty with the indomitable Lady. 

Hers is not a day, but a state of mind.

Tess Kincaid

December, 2010

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It's seven degrees here in Central Ohio as we speak.  The manor's old heat pipes are knocking and the radiators hot.  Jack Frost was here.  I remember being fascinated with frost on the kitchen windows of my grandparents' house in rural Indiana, and my grandmother telling me the lovely artwork was evidence that Jack had visited in the night.



In English folklore, Jack Frost appears as an elfish creature who personifies crisp, cold, winter weather, a variant of Father Winter, also known as "Old Man Winter". Some believe this representation originated in Germanic folklore specifically in the Anglo-Saxon and Norse winter customs. Tradition holds Jack Frost responsible for leaving frosty crystal patterns on windows on cold mornings, also known as window frost or fern frost.

Apparently Jack was trying to tell me something with his big letter 'e'.  He also left a beautiful image of a Christmas tree, as well has some of the most elegant fern frost. I love this little poem by Janet Frame, from her collection of poems The Pocket Mirror, 1967. I wish I had written it.


Cold Snap


It was the timed wave the toffee-wave
breaking where the cold-water cup
was a cliff of clean tooth
tasting the syrup of decay.

It is the secret frost feeding the night
the ripe as winter sweet set
like ice (when cold cut in squares)
of havoc for the summer's tooth.


Janet Frame

No hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious style
To charm our safety for a while,
Where close to earth like mice we go
Under the horizontal snow.


Edna St. Vincent Millay

photos:  Willow Manor, December 12, 2010

seems we have met before

Most evenings, I have the TV set to Turner Classic Movies.  Last night Babes in Arms, 1939, was playing. I wasn't especially interested, but I left it on in the background, while I was puttering at other things, until the song "Where or When" jumped out and grabbed me. Of course, I've heard the song, but never paid much attention. I had to Google the lyrics. It's a gorgeous song, the words by Lorenz Hart and music by Richard Rodgers. I woke up this morning with the melody playing in my head, in stereophonic glory.

Their musical, Babes in Arms,1937, opened on Broadway at the Shubert Theatre on April 14, 1937. The film version, released in 1939, starred Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney. It was directed by Busby Berkeley, and is about a teen-age boy who puts on a show with his friends to avoid being sent to a work farm.

VERSE

Sometimes you think you've lived before
All that you live today
Things you do come back to you
As though they knew the way
Oh, the tricks your mind can play.

REFRAIN

It seems we stood and talked like this before
we looked at each other in the same way then,
But I can't remember where or when.
The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore.
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then,
But I can't remember where or when.

Some things that happend for the first time,
Seem to be happening again.
And so it seems that we have met before
and laughed before
and loved before,
But who knows where or when.


I couldn't find a video clip of Judy Garland singing the entire song from the movie, but being the old fashioned girl, I happen to adore Mario Lanza's version from December, 1951. It makes me weak in the knees.

But, just in case Lanza isn't exactly your cup of musical tea, I'm also including a great current rendition by Diana Krull. The song is brilliantly timeless.

i'm at the banjo's place today

Just a little note to let you know I have the great honor of being spotlighted by John Hayes on his excellent blog Robert Frost's Banjo today, as part of his weekly series, "Writers Talk". He has also been generous enough to post three of my poems on his new blog Writers Talk.

John is an accomplished musician and a very talented writer  His latest book of poetry, The Spring Ghazals  is now available for purchase on Lulu or Amazon.  I was lucky enough to spend an afternoon with John, or Jack, as he's sometimes called, and uses as his pen name, when he stopped by the manor earlier this year, on his trip to the east coast.  I'm sure he will never forget the most vile cup of coffee I served him, since the manor coffee maker was on the blink that day. I would venture to say, if it didn't add hair to his chest, it certainly kept him awake until he made it all the way back to Idaho. I hope he has forgiven me. Pop over and visit his very professional and informative blog.  I guarantee you'll want to add it to your regular list of bloggy reads.

rosebud

Do not ask what more I know.

Gazing in the crystal, the dark parts
grow hazy, small and indistinguishable.
Am I accustomed to midnight,
or are the memories swallowed up in white?
Dreams are shadows of reality, trompe l’oiel,
3-D. Mine were lost, back when cars had wings
and angels had halos. I am a citizen
of the human race. It sounds hollow,
but I will sleep when I am dead. Black snow
continues to fall, so hitch a sled, let's ride
tonight, since the best of times is now.

Tess Kincaid
December 2010



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my latest holiday crush

Shortbread has always been a holiday tradition here at the manor. Maybe it's because both WT and I descend from the Scottish Lowlands, that we like it so much. Despite the fact that shortbread was prepared during much of the 12th century, the refinement of shortbread was actually accredited to Mary, Queen of Scots, in the 16th century. The name of one of the most famous and most traditional forms of shortbread, petticoat tails, were named by Queen Mary.

My traditional homemade shortbread is baked in a round pan and cut into wedges. This year, I tried a delicious new shortbread recipe posted by the charming Kary, over at My Farmhouse Kitchen, which is formed into logs and sliced. It was a huge hit at Thanksgiving, and I'm making a triple batch for Christmas, as well.  The cranberries and walnuts add the perfect blend of textures and flavors, and it's super easy to make.

I store them in my latest Goodwill find, a vintage etched glass lidded dish I found for $4.99.  A steal!

Cranberry Walnut Shortbread Cookies

1 cup unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cup confectioner's sugar

1 teaspoon pure vanilla

2 cups all purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup chopped dried cranberries

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

1. Beat butter, confectioner's sugar and vanilla until smooth. Add flour and salt, stir till just combined. Stir in dried cranberries and walnuts. Divide dough into half.

2. On parchment or waxed paper, shape each portion into a log and wrap. Chill 1 hour or up to 1 day.

3. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. With a sharp knife slice dough into 1/4 inch slices.

4. Place on a parchment lined cookie sheet and bake about 16 minutes. Let cookies cool on sheets and transfer to wire racks. Store in an airtight cookie tin. Makes about 3 dozen.

sexy

As my regular readers already know, I have a particular fondness for stones and bones, which I attribute to the DNA inherited from my great-great grandfather, Palestine Hanna (1856-1938). Hoosier farm folk would bring him bones, and various Native American relics from miles around the tiny village of Burlington, Indiana, for his extensive collection, which he kept in a large handmade walnut cabinet.


It's our tradition to spend the Saturday after Thanksgiving at the opening of the Scott Antique Market at the Franklin County Fair grounds. This year, I was thrilled to find two racks of unmounted buck antlers, Ohio deer tags still intact. The seller was in a dickering mood, which adds to the thrill of the hunt.  I adore their incredibly sensual natural beauty.

poetic justice

It started like a guilty thing.

I won’t pretend it was accidental.

He turned and I was lost.

Frost knit his eyebrows,

my lashes. We spit in the gorge

for luck; it landed broadside

on stones and ice. His people

are big spitters; they spit for fate,

mine spit for hate. This was no

dicey romance; what happened

to me, happened to him.

Angels have a way of knowing

things; they spit an avalanche

the day he kissed me in the snow.

Tess Kincaid

December 2010

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