Jeri Ann profile picture

Jeri Ann

. . . because even here, yes, here, play still exists as a part of the dream.

About Me


"I'm going back to New York City. I do believe I've had enough."

I'm Sorry by The Lisps (starring Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama)

The Parade
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My Interests

The written word, music, musing, shutter-clicks, the change of seasons, the desert, contradiction, nostalgia, peaches on paper, ellipsis, lonesomeness, cat dreams, the success of The Lisps, the silliness of silly inquisitions, silliness itself . . .

I'd like to meet:

Hemingway before the Mayo Clinic, Sylvia Plath before the stove, Virginia Woolf before the Ouse, Dylan Thomas before the invention of the drink

Music:

Live, 1966: The Royal Albert Hall Concert, Desire, Blonde on Blonde, Blood on the Tracks, Graceland, Blue, Harvest, Sticky Fingers, The White Album, Dilate, Exile On Main Street, Kind of Blue, Rubber Soul, Pink Moon, The Bends, Ascenseur Pour L'échafaud, Beggar's Banquet, Astral Weeks, Blue Train, Nebraska, Heartbreaker, Tallahassee, Boxer, Country Doctor Museum

Movies:

"Everyone has the right to make an ass out of themselves."

Books:

The valentine of desire is pasted over my heart / and still we are not touching, like things / in a poorly done still life / where the knife appears to be floating over the plate / which is itself hovering above the table somehow, / the entire arrangement of apple, pear and wineglass / having forgotten the law of gravity, / refusing to be still, / as if the painter had caught them all / in a rare moment of slow flight / just before they drifted out of the room / through a window of perfectly realistic sunlight.

Heroes:

Whoever inspired my mother’s sole attempt at art

My Blog

Vera Mae Schwarzer . . .

Dialogues With VeraDying people speak in finales,a vernacular of Dickinsonian carriagesand the clamor of approaching wheels,so as she talks in her rural tongueof disk harrows and grain augers,I assure...
Posted by Jeri Ann on Tue, 23 Jan 2007 11:23:00 PST

A year ago I was . . .

Counting Down (Polyhymnia's Song)The last snow of the year is dropping like home-made confetti, irregular flakes manufactured by the unsteady fingers of a child wrestling with the awkward handle of th...
Posted by Jeri Ann on Sat, 06 Jan 2007 12:28:00 PST

Here goes . . . round one . . . (deep breath)

Your Poems(A Reckoning)Your poems are spread across my bed,the weight of my cat saddling nearly breaks the pages, as if the implicationsof your words were not burdened enough.I stumble into them like ...
Posted by Jeri Ann on Wed, 13 Dec 2006 11:47:00 PST