dance by the light of the new moon
chant songs to shallow water
watch the eyes of horses, wolf frightened
obsidian, wide, eternal

dance by the light of the new moon
chant songs to shallow water
watch the eyes of horses, wolf frightened
obsidian, wide, eternal

For those who want to explore movies, musicians, and writers many of you may never have heard of, here is a lengthy list with photos.
It’s 1pm and I’m planning my trip to Abeokuta – I leave on Wednesday. Yessss, the 2016 edition of Ake Arts and Book Festival is loading…. I’m so excited, I have butterflies, the pit of my stomach is always warm because
That is me up there, scheduled to host a book chat with NoViolet Bulawayo and Jennifer Makumbi! Ms. Makumbi is the author of Kintu, which qualifies as the most recent addition to my all time list of favorite African fiction ever. I’m so stoked.😆😆😆.
I will also moderate this:
Laila Lalami, fellow book lovers!
Finally, I’m also on this:
#AkeFest16 comprises 12 panel discussions, including:
(I get to meet Sarah Ladipo Manyika (InDependence) finally…
9 Book chats such as:
Also on the schedule are film screenings, a play and a concert:
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o will headline. In boxing parlance, he is the…
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An inspiration to write a poem every day for seven days, release negativity, be yourself no matter what others say or do.
owl hoots, perches atop a dead juniper
fire and cerise sunsets
autumn chill floats through the air


The bone is big, more than eighteen inches long. Isabella–
wolf, German shepherd, blue heeler, 80 pounds, lies in cool,
emerald, native grass, gnawing. What kind is it? From where?
Half hour hiking cross canyon, through junipers, tall grass, searching.
Nothing.
One week later, while driving through the gate, I see the neighbor’s
black lab gnawing on identical bone. Surprised, puzzled, I wonder
if it’s the same bone. After running the eighth mile back to my house,
I find the old bone, three pieces scattered in the grass. Not the same.
Neighbor tells me he hiked, searched.
Nothing.
no dead animal smell
meat scraps stuck to bone
we will never know
Gaden’s quiet. Normally he is shouting, asking questions to which he knows the answers.
I’m thinking, “He must be sick.”
Today he is sitting quietly, feet splayed out, short ginger hair sticking out exactly like Alfalfa’s, chin balanced on his left hand, staring at the silver Apple laptop open on his desk.
We’re reading modern stories in English, stories by Kelly Link, Kevin Barry, Adam Marek, Sarah Hall, Jon McGregor, Jennifer Egan.
Ghosts, robot boyfriends, fake lovers, bull semen distributors.
Astonished reactions, “We get to read adult stories with cuss words!”
They’re seniors in high school, 17, 18, 19.
Two are pregnant; one’s a dad.
For years I had read and heard about this place, even attended a lecture by a descendent of one of her frequent guests who actually knew her when he was a child. This past weekend good friends from Rociada took me there with my best friends from college years, friends from long ago, visiting from California.
I already knew something about Mabel and her friends, famous people who frequented her salon, created the artistic mystique that still hangs over Taos. When I returned home, I wanted to know more. Born into Buffalo, NY, high society, she had been married and widowed by the age of 23. As a young woman she was openly bisexual; her memoir, “Intimate Memories”, provides a frank discussion of this part of her life. Several years after her first husband’s death, she married the architect Edwin Dodge. They lived near Florence, Italy, for seven years where she entertained such notables as Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, and Andre Gide. After affairs and two suicide attempts, she separated from her husband and moved to Greenich Village. Eventually, she married her third husband, the painter Maurice Sterne and became a patron of the arts.
In 1917, she and her husband moved to New Mexico. This changed her life; she lived there until she died 45 years later. She preferred Taos to Santa Fe, finding the latter “too civilized”. She found New Mexico “alive” and fell in love with Pueblo culture eventually even cutting her hair to mimic Pueblo style. Sterne did not find New Mexico to his liking and left. After their divorce she married her long standing love, Antonio Luhan, a Taos Pueblo man. They remained married 40 years.
Mabel entertained a nearly endless array of famous artists, writers, and intellectuals: D.H. Lawrence, Georgia O’Keefe, Willa Cather, Ansel Adams, Carl Jung, Emma Goldberg, Margaret Sanger, the founders of the Taos Society of Artists. She introduced New York and the east coast to New Mexico through her columns in “The New York Journal”. Mabel died in 1962.

A view of the main entrance and the largest portion of the house and grounds.

A small portion of the kitchen. Cookies, coffee, fruit infused water, and tea were available in the dining room for hotel guests. Books with historical photos lay out for visitors to read in an adjoining room.
Dennis Hopper bought the house in 1970 and recreated her “salon” hippie style. In 1977, he sold it to George Otero. Because of years of neglect, it required extensive restoration. The Oteros turned it into a non-profit where they held workshops. The Attiyeh Foundation, its current owners, purchased it in 1996 and run it as a hotel and conference/retreat center. It costs nothing to visit and wander around.

This photo was taken from the same spot as the first one, looking to the right instead of toward the entrance.

While standing there, I looked up into that incredible New Mexico sky.

A close up view of the entrance.

Look at all the bird houses.

Beside the kitchen, out a side door–patio and horno (traditional clay oven) shaded from the afternoon sun.


Friends chit chatting while I wander around taking photos.
For more details, go to: http://www.mabeldodgeluhan.com. This includes history, accommodations, workshops, etc. The accommodations portion even tells the site visitor who slept in each room when visiting Mabel.
Read two pages,
“Ghana Must Go”.
The wife’s Nigerian,
Yoruba, Igbo.
She sells flowers,
not in Nigeria.
The author’s name
Ethiopian?
Sip zinfandel
flowered glass.
Take a bite
chocolate filled
peppermint,
lick peppermint
fingers.
Read two pages:
“Africans…the indifference of the abundantly blessed…
who can’t accept, even with evidence, that anything native,
occurring in abundance, is exceptional without effort,
has value.”
Does anyone?

Inspired by a friend’s poem, I decided to take a look at some of my book stacks and write a poem from their titles–in honor of National Poetry Month.

Now Is the Time to Open Your Hearts
the tongue’s blood does not run dry
The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love
A Simple Havana Melody
Alejandro Blue
The Spirit of Indian Women
Still Life With Bread Crumbs
Ring of Fire
Gardens in the Dunes
Daughters of Fortune
The Way to Paradise
The Bingo Palace
Uppity Women
How We Became Human
Close Range
Native Guard
Things Fall Apart
Gone Home
Travel the World 4 Less
A Glimpse into My Life & Passions
Ceto-Magoism, the Whale-guided Way of WE in S/HE
Exploring the F-word in religion at the intersection of scholarship, activism, and community.
ANCESTRAL FOOD. HERBAL WISDOM. MAGICAL COOKERY. SEASONAL CELEBRATION.
inesemjphotography
politics, engineering, parenting, relevant things over coffee.
Food is the best expression of every emotion. Explore through my reviews, recipes, events and more.
Smile! A Site for Friends Wherever You Are!
inspiring personal growth through poetry and writing
Combining atheism with whimsy. This is a Fair and Balanced blog based on opinion unencumbered by fact.
Odds and ends ~ My Life
Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.
bripike@gmail.com
A wildlife filmmaker in Africa
A Geeky Feminist's Musings On Pop Culture
"5 minute walks"