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aaknopf · 2 years ago

Audio

In Nothing Stays Put: The Life and Poetry of Amy Clampitt, Willard Spiegelman explores the highly unconventional path and mindset of this Iowa-born, late-blooming talent, who lived for much of her adult life in a small studio apartment in the Village and, after years of failing as a novelist, published her first collection, The Kingfisher, when she was sixty-two years old. She became an instant star in the field of American poetry; she died only eleven years later, leaving us with five beautiful books. A poet of long sentences and ornate, flowing music, Clampitt did not confide her secrets directly in her verse; the biography provides a kind of subterranean poetic map of her life. Of this energetic presence, a woman who wore vintage hats and scarves with flair, Spiegelman observes, “Amy knew how to live ‘poor,’ but she also knew, perhaps as compensation, how to write ‘rich.’” In the passage below, the poet immerses herself in studying Greek.

. . .

As Clampitt was assembling what would become The Kingfisher, she did something she had long promised herself she would do. It was, in part, a much-delayed homage to her father, the Grinnell Classics major who had first taught her the Greek alphabet. Having studied Greek literature in translation, in school and college, and having finally visited Greece in 1965, she enrolled in Ancient Greek language classes. As early as 1954 she had written about wanting to read Sophocles in a bilingual edition, making use of a newly purchased secondhand Greek dictionary. A decade later, on board ship en route to Greece, she took daily half-hour classes to learn basic conversational phrases. Her intellectual curiosity was, as usual, excited by anything having to do with language, whether native or foreign, contemporary or dead. She got up the courage—as she had four years earlier when she enrolled in Daniel Gabriel’s workshop—to sign on for a weekly class in Attic Greek at The New School in the fall of 1981. She was sixty-one. She took her inspiration from the journalist I. F. Stone, who started his Greek studies at seventy-one in order to learn about Athenian democracy from Thucydides, in the original language. Her classmates ranged from curious young people to a retired physician who read with a magnifying glass. It was the kind of variegated community that had always appealed to Amy, this time in a classroom rather than in a bus or at a protest meeting. “Thrilling though formidably difficult,” the course was grist for an intellectual’s mental mill, with short selections from Pindar, Aeschylus, Simonides, and the Gospels circulating among the students every Saturday from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon, under the watchful eye of Sam Seigle, a moonlighting professor from Sarah Lawrence, whom Amy adored. He “has the learning and the imagination to bring the entire scene alive, and almost every minute he is striking flint with some new insight, historical or etymological.” The material was manna for the voracious student. Interviewed forty years later, Seigle remembered his student vividly. Coming from the avant-garde precincts of Sarah Lawrence, the professor taught without a syllabus, encouraging students in an elementary course to devise their own paths through new material in a strange tongue. They were forced to think for themselves, he said, especially about the nature of the words and phrases they were learning. “Always curious,” he said, Amy took to “the precision of syntax, and the exactitude of the language” with her typical intellectual alertness. She thrilled, her professor recalled, to the difference between an objective and a subjective genitive (e.g., the two meanings of “the love of God”), a concept she had previously not known. After the semester ended, Seigle never saw her again. Nor did he forget her. The following semester, Amy stayed uptown, at Hunter College, within walking distance of home on East 65th Street. Here she read Homer with Irving Kizner. She described this to Vendler as “one of the great experiences of my life.” And to Salter she recounted the mouthwatering thrill of those famous, ringing and untranslatable Homeric phrases like “polyphlosboio thalasses” (“the much-sounding sea”) whose sound is integral to the meaning, regardless how you translate it. She found “it impossible to convey the peculiar excitement that goes with all this: it’s like arriving in a place you’d dreamed of all your life.” When she was young, Amy had dreamed of Manhattan, of England, of Greece. She landed, successively, in all of them. She had dreamed, too, of the Greek language, and now was immersing herself in it. She landed in Greek as well as Greece. She traveled both in the flesh and in her mind. One lovely result was a Petrarchan sonnet—“Homer, A. D. 1982”—that appeared in What the Light Was Like. It begins with a nod to young John Keats’s first great poem, “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer,” which conveys the excitement available to both real-life travelers and stay-at-home explorers who experience an original only vicariously, like Keats reading Homer in translation: “Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, / And many goodly states and kingdoms seen.” Amy was a traveler of both sorts. Clampitt’s 1982 Manhattan is like, and unlike, Keats’s 1816 London. Here is the octave of her sonnet, dedicated to Kizner:

Much having traveled in the funkier realms of Ac- ademe, aboard a grungy elevator car, deus ex machina reversed, to this ninth floor classroom, its windows grimy, where the noise of traffic, πολυφλοίσβοιο-θαλάσσηζ-like, is chronic, we’ve seen since February the stupendous candor of the Iliad pour in, and for an hour and a quarter at the core the great pulse was dactylic.

An attentive reader can hear the poet mingling the dactylic rhythms (DUM-da-da) of Homer with the insistent iambs (da-DUM) of English, and alternating in her rhymes between the hard, consonantal endings in lines 1, 4, 5, and 8 and the more mellifluous, liquid sounds of lines 2, 3, 6, and 7. The “great pulse” is a throbbing, bilingual one, Homer’s and Clampitt’s together. This poem projects the energetic fun that a polyglot intellectual can have, and can share with her readers.

. .

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Nothing Stays Put by Willard Spiegelman.

Learn more about Amy Clampitt and browse other books by her.

Hear Willard Spiegelman read from Nothing Stays Put at Grinnell College in Iowa, on Friday, April 21 (no registration required) and hear his featured guest appearance on the Close Readings podcast with Kamran Javadizadeh.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#Spiegelmanaudio #poetry #knopfpoetry #knopf poetry #poem #amy clampitt #biography #willard spiegelman #national poetry month #excerpt

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ihni · 3 months ago

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Wet mess

For @harringrovesummerbingo, square A3, prompt: "Last name becomes first name"

(3K, General audiences, no warnings, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & Original Character.)

Summary: Billy's stuck at work with a co-worker on a Friday night, dealing with the mess after a pipe burst in the basement. (Which he isn't too happy about, because the plan had been to go to Steve's place for dinner.)

(On AO3 here)

Emphatic and colorful curses drifted out from the dark basement, as well as splashing sounds and the clang of metal against metal. Amy Willard, the head bartender of Spicy Limit Bar, came around the corner and peered down into the darkness.

“Billy? What are you doing down there? We need you at the bar.”

“No, you fucking need me down here,” was the snarling answer.

“What? Why?”

Billy Hargrove, sometimes-bartender and sometimes-utility man of the same venue, swore again. The flickering beam from a flashlight appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and a second later the man himself became visible. He was visibly angry and absolutely drenched from head to toe. That wasn’t what had Amy gasping though – no, it was the fact that Billy was standing up to his calves in water, which by the look of things must have covered the whole basement.

“What the fuck?!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Burst pipe,” Billy bit out, shaking a wet curl away from his scowling face. “I went down here to get another crate of that shitty Canadian beer, heard the water rushing and …” He motioned at the veritable lake around him. “Yeah. This.”

Amy let out her own string of curses. “Fuck! Do we need to call someone?”

“Yeah, but like, who’s gonna show up at seven o’clock on a Friday night?”

“Fuck.”

“You can say that again. I think I managed to stop the water but …” He motioned with his arms again, at the mess that was currently the basement. “Let’s just say I don’t think I’m getting off at eight, as planned.” As if to confirm this, a plastic glittery reindeer from their Christmas decoration stash floated into view in front of him. He closed his eyes and raised a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath in a clear attempt to calm himself.

“I’ll call Frankie,” Amy said and turned to leave. But she hesitated before leaving and looked back over her shoulder to give him a quick once-over. “Do you wanna change? I’m sure you can find something dry to wear in the lost and found.”

Letting out a mirthless laugh, Billy shook his head, spreading water droplets in all directions. “No, for what? I’ll just get wet again.” He kicked ineffectively at the water. “Fuck this shit. Hang on, I’ll come with you. I need to make a phone call too, anyway.”

It turned out that not only was it impossible to get a hold of a plumber at this time on a Friday night, their boss Frankie was out of town and wouldn’t be able to help them.

“I’ve called in Hank,” he said to Billy over the phone, sounding genuinely distressed. “He should be there in thirty and can help Tyler with the customers. I hate to ask, but do you think you could stay with the rest of them for a while? Save whatever you can from the basement, maybe?” Billy groaned where he was standing in the door to the office with the receiver pressed against his ear, dripping water onto the linoleum. “Please, I’ll pay you double for today.”

“Fine … but I want Christmas off, too.”

“You get Christmas Eve.”

“Deal.”

“Thanks, Billy. I owe you.”

“Yeah you do,” Billy murmured, but without heat. With a sigh, he said his goodbyes and went through the kitchen and stuck his head out through the door to the main area, where the bar was filling up with people and where Amy and Tyler were busy serving patrons. “Yo, Amy!”

“What?!”

“Hank’s gonna be here in half an hour, make sure to put him to work, okay? Do not let him down into the basement, he’ll just slow me down.”

Amy gave him a little salute which was only slightly sarcastic, and Billy trudged back to the basement, bucket in hand and with curses and water droplets following him down.

A little over an hour later found Billy carrying boxes and crates up the stairs, stacking them on top of each other along the wall of the corridor leading from the back door to the tiny break room. His shoes made squelching sounds as he walked, and he’d taken off his button-up and was working only in a damp tank top, leaving his arms bare.

“Put them guns away, Billy,” came Amy’s voice from the kitchen door, and when he looked up, she was smirking. “You goddamn show-off.”

Billy put down the box he was carrying and flipped her the bird before flexing, giving her a show. “You wish your man had muscles like these.”

She huffed. “I’ll have you know that my man is perfect just the way he is, thank you.”

“Sure,” Billy said, grinning. “Old and rich.”

“Hey!” she said, punching him in the arm. “He’s not that old!”

“Don’t smack me with those sticks you call arms, girl,” Billy said and laughed when she glared at him. “And he’s like, twice your age. Besides, you can’t deny that he’s not rich.”

“What, like your boy isn’t?”

“Steve’s not my boy. And he’s well-off. It’s not like he’s filthy rich or anything.”

Raising her eyebrows, Amy pursed her lips. “Oh so he’s Steve now? What happened to Harrington?” As Billy spluttered, it was Amy’s turn to laugh. “Also, he’s definitely your boy, you look at him like the sun shines out of his ass whenever he shows up here.”

“Shut up,” Billy grumbled.

“It is a nice ass, I’ll admit.”

“Don’t talk about his ass!”

“Then again, he looks at you the same way too, so …”

Billy’s face was reddening. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me? Aren’t we in, like, crisis mode? You guys need help up there, or what?”

“On the contrary, my very gay friend,” Amy said and jumped back as Billy aimed a half-hearted retaliation-punch in her general direction. “I’m here to help you. Tyler and Hank are handing the bar.”

“First of all, if anyone’s gay here, it’s Tyler,” Billy murmured. “Second of all, I highly doubt it. Hank’s slow as fuck.”

“Well, thankfully, so is everything else tonight. There’s mostly been beer so far, and even Hank can handle that. If anyone wants cocktails, Tyler can make them. The two of them can manage, so I decided to come and help you here, because I’m just that nice of a person.”

“You mean you want us to finish by the time we close?”

“Also that, yes. I don’t know about you, but I actually have someone I want to go home to after work.” She aimed a smirk his way and wagged her eyebrows. “And by your use of Steve just now, so do you.”

Billy’s blush was spreading to his ears. “Shut up and make yourself useful.” He glanced at her slight frame – the top of her head only reached to his chin – and added, “Not that I know how you’ll manage that with those noodle arms of yours.”

“Again with the noodle arms! I can do the work!”

“Sure you can,” Billy said and went to the closet next to the door where he brought out a roll of black plastic bags. “You can take out the trash while I carry the heavy stuff. Since I’m the one with all the muscles.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Amy said, not without a hint of fondness.

“You know it.”

The basement was in complete disarray. It was normally used as storage, both for everyday use and special events. And as their boss Frankie was very interested in decking the bar in decorations for just about any event – be it Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Pride or St. Patrick’s Day, just to name a few – but was less interested in putting it away neatly after use, the biggest part of their ‘storage’ had basically been cardboard box after cardboard box stacked on top of each other in uneven rows in the back of the room. And cardboard didn’t withstand water very well, which was why most of the basement was now covered in piles of various wet memorabilia and pieces of soaked cardboard.

The room was dark, but there was an electric storm lantern on the bottom of the stairs, and four flashlights discarded on various surfaces, shining their light on the destruction.

Amy stopped on the last step and made a face as she watched the mess.

“Why is it so dark? Doesn’t the lights work?”

“They might. I didn’t want to risk getting electrocuted though, so I turned it off before going down here.”

“Hm,” Amy said, but didn’t insist he try to turn them on. “At least the water’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Billy said and shouldered past her on his way to try to salvage another box which wasn’t too water-logged. “The floor drain was all clogged up, but I managed to clear it out.”

“Floor’s still wet, though.”

“Really?” Billy said with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrow and gestured to all of him, which was still damp. “I hadn’t noticed.”

With a roll of her eyes, Amy brushed past him and they got to work.

They worked alongside each other for a while, with Billy carrying the boxes and crates and heavier items and Amy working on throwing away the water-logged cardboard and destroyed items that had been at the bottom of the piles of stuff. They talked while they worked, occasionally holding up some gaudy item or other and laughing about it. But it was grueling work to sort through years’ worth of stuff, all wet, in a dark and damp basement, and they talked less and less as they continued their cleaning efforts.

Around a quarter to ten, Billy straightened up from where he’d been kneeling in order to scoop out a wet mess that might have once been newspapers from under some shelves. He stretched until his back cracked, and let out a groan.

“Fucking hell, I could have been at Steve’s place now, in his ridiculously soft couch, with a belly full of pasta. Instead I’m here, doing this shit!” He threw a handful of wet mulch into the trash bag at his side with force, and took a deep calming breath.

Surprisingly, Amy didn’t tease him about his use of Steve’s first name this time. Instead she gave it a moment, and then simply asked, “You had plans?”

“Yeah,” Billy muttered, oddly dejected and without looking up. “I was gonna go over to his place. He said he’d make dinner. Pasta.” He smiled a little, barely visible in the low light. “He makes the best carbonara. He’s actually a great cook. His grandma’s Italian.”

“So it was a date,” Amy stated. Not asked. When Billy didn’t reply, she seemed to take that as an answer in itself. “Was it your … first date?”

That had Billy sigh deeply. “I don’t know,” he said, not even trying to deny it. “He never actually said it was a … a date. But …”

“But you wanted it to be one?”

“… yeah.”

Looking around the now almost cleared-out basement, Amy walked up to Billy and put her hand on his elbow. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” Belatedly, he patted her hand and offered a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“Does this mean I can tease you about your boyfriend now?” Amy said, and just like that, the moment was over.

“Still not my boyfriend,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. “We haven’t even gone on a date, remember?”

Amy opened her mouth to speak again, but at that exact moment there was a voice coming from the top of the stairs; “Billy?”

Billy and Amy looked at each other – Billy with big surprised eyes, and Amy with glee and mischief painted all over her face.

“Steve?” Billy said and hurried to the stairs. When he looked up, he blinked dumbly. “What are you doing here? I called you and left you a message, that I had to work late tonight. Didn’t you hear it?”

The young man who came down the stairs to meet Billy had long limbs and brown hair that fell over his eye in a stylish swoop. He was dressed in a polo and khakis, and scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly with one hand while holding a Tupperware container in the other.

“No, I heard it,” he said, “but I had already prepared dinner, and I figured that you’d be too tired to stop by on your way home from work, and … And this way, I mean. I figured, if I came to you, then at least I’d get to see you.” He got to the bottom of the stairs, and his face split in a grin when he got a good look at Billy. “You look like you’ve had a hell of a night.” Holding up the Tupperware, he grinned. “You need some pasta. And maybe a hug?”

Billy let out a laugh that was almost a giggle, and leaned in –

– and seemed to remember, in the last second, that they weren’t alone down there. He turned to Amy with wide eyes, which alerted Steve to the fact that there was someone else down there with them. Amy met their eyes with a grin and a little wave. “Hello.”

“Uh,” Steve said eloquently. “Hi.”

“I’m … Uh,” was what Billy managed, and even in the low light of the storm lantern it was clear that his blush was back.

Taking pity on them, Amy cleared her throat. “Right. Well, since you’re here, Steve,” she aimed a pointed look at Billy, “maybe you can give Billy a ride home. Because you took the bus today, didn’t you Billy?”

“I –“ Billy started, but snapped his mouth shut at the look she gave him. “Yes? Yes. But …”

“Oh, I can do that!” Steve said, looking all too eager.

“But what about all this?” Billy said and motioned to the room around them. “I’m not gonna leave you to do all this work by yourself.”

“What work?” Amy said and grabbed a flashlight, shining it around the room. What was left was basically a couple of now-empty shelves, both metal and wood, as well as a few half-full trash bags in the middle of the room. “We’re almost done. We’ve saved what we can. Frankie can deal with the plumbing and the electricity when he gets back. You’ve done more than enough for tonight. Go home.”

It was clear that Billy was tempted, but. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m the head bartender, so technically, I do outrank you.”

Billy snorted, but still seemed to hesitate. As if to help, Amy grabbed two of the trash bags next to her and held them up. “Okay, how about this; get rid of these on your way out, and then go home. I’ll go back to Tyler and Hank, and we’ll leave the rest for another day, okay?”

Finally, Billy cracked. “Okay, fine. Thanks, Amy.”

He walked up to her to grab the trash bags, and when he came close enough, she leaned in and said, under her breath. “That boy is absolutely besotted. It’s disgusting. You’re definitely boyfriends.”

Billy gave her a glare but didn’t comment, and he also looked like he had to fight to hold back a smile. Amy didn’t even try to hold back her own grin. Instead she leaned around Billy and caught Steve’s eye and said, oh-so-innocently, “Maybe you can get him out of those wet clothes, too?” She got the pleasure of seeing both men splutter and blush before she added, “And into something warm and dry, I mean. We wouldn’t want him to catch a cold.”

“No, no,” Steve said, nodding like a bobble-head while Billy glared silent daggers her way. “I can do that. Yeah. I mean –”

“Okay, let’s go,” Billy said and grabbed him by the arm with the hand not holding the trash bags, turning him around and marching him up the stairs as quickly as possible. “Bye Amy!”

“Bye Amy,” Steve echoed, polite as ever.

“Bye boys!” Amy called after them. “Have a nice date!”

Billy’s face was red as they reached the now crammed corridor at the top of the stairs, and he didn’t look at Steve as he ordered him to wait there while he took out the trash. The night air did little to help his blush, but a couple of deep breaths at least made it so he could look in Steve’s face when he got back inside. Where he found that Steve was looking a bit blushy, too.

“So. Um.” He nodded to the Tupperware that Steve was still holding. “Pasta, huh?”

“Yup,” Steve said and shook the container a little awkwardly. “I figured you’d … want some. But I just realized that I don’t know if you guys even have a microwave here, so. Maybe it was dumb –“

“No!” Billy hurried to say. “Not dumb. It was … nice. Of you. To come all this way. With the …” He looked in Steve’s eyes and faltered. “Um. With the … pasta.”

“I mean,” Steve said, taking a step forward. “If you want, and if it’s not too late, we could … we could go back to my place. Heat it up? The plates are still on the table.”

Billy’s tongue darted out across his bottom lip, and he swallowed. “If you don’t mind?”

“No! No it’s … that would be nice.”

“I’d like that.”

They smiled at each other, standing very close, and only when they heard footsteps approaching did they step away from each other and seem to shake themselves out of the moment. And just in time, too. A middle-aged man appeared next to a tower of boxes, holding a plastic bag that by the logo, contained some kind of fast food.

“Oh, hello,” he said, and when he spotted Billy, his eyes lit up in recognition. “Billy, hi.”

“Hi, Tim,” Billy said. “Looking for Amy?”

“Yes, that grumpy man at the bar said she would be back here somewhere?”

Billy snorted. “Congratulations, you’ve met Hank. Yeah, well, she’s in the basement, but we’re done for the night.” He pointed to the door to the basement. “That way, down the stairs.”

“Thank you kindly. Have a lovely evening.”

“Same to you,” Billy said, and as the man passed, Billy grabbed a hold of Steve’s arm again and steered him towards the exit.

Steve was frowning. “Was that …?”

“Amy’s boyfriend,” Billy added, a little smugly. “Yup.”

Steve looked over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the man, but he had already disappeared through the doorway. “Huh.”

Billy laughed. “Watch it, pretty boy. If you keep looking after other men like that, I might become jealous.”

Steve’s head snapped back, and he opened his mouth to – no doubt – assure Billy that that wasn’t the case, but one look at Billy’s face was all that he needed to relax.

“Ha ha,” he said. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” Billy said and took the Tupperware out of Steve’s hand. “Now, take me home. I’m starving.”

(For @mikajupiterjonesingtimcurryfeet)

#Harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove summer bingo #HSB2024 #ihni writes

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todaysdocument · 1 year ago

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Telegram to President Woodrow Wilson from Jane Addams and Other Women Regarding the Deportation of Emmeline Pankhurst

Record Group 85: Records of the Immigration and Naturalization Service Series: Subject and Policy Files File Unit: Appeal of Mrs. Emmeline Pankhurst for admittance for visit, English Suffragette

This telegram petitioned the Department of Labor and their decision to deport Emmeline Pankhurst, a British suffragette. The authors wanted the board to reconsider and maintain "America's devotion to liberty."

Telegram The White House, Washington 6 PO.FD. 283 139 extra 10:25 p.m. Sa, Chicago, Ill., October 18, 1913. The President. Whereas, the Associated Press reports to the American public that Mrs. Pankhurst's deportation has been ordered by the board of inquiry at Ellis Island and, Whereas, such action is in direct violation of the traditions and customs of the United States which has always been hospitable to the political offenders and revolutionists of all nations, and, Whereas, our sister republic, France, is at the present moment sheltering Christabel Pankhurst, Now, therefore, be it resolved: That we, the undersigned women of Chicago, protest against this flagrant violation of our long established public policy, and, Be it further resolved: That we respectively petition the Department of Labor in reviewing the case of this distinguished English woman to reconsider the decision of the Board of Inquiry and to admit Mrs. Pankhurst; thus maintaining the high traditions of America's devotion to liberty and right of free speech. (Signed) Jane Addams, Louise DeKoven Bowen, Mary Rozette Smith, Mary McDowell, Margaret Dreier Robins, Harriet Taylor Treadwell, President Chicago Political Equality League; Margaret A. Haley, Business Representative Chicago Teachers' Federation; Ida L. M. Furstman, President Chicago Teachers' Federation; Mrs. Harriet S. Thompson, Director Chicago Political Equality League; Edith A. Phelps, Anna Nichols, Laura Dainty Pelham,

Telegram The White House, Washington 6 PO. Sheet 2- Chicago, Ill., Octo. 18, 1913. to the President. Stella Miles Franklin, Kathleen Hamill, Mary Foulke Morrisson, Anna Monroe, Edith Wyatt, Caroline Packard, Leonora Pease, Secretary Socialist Women's League; Mrs. L. Brackett Bishop, Marion M. Griffin, Margaret B. Dobyne, Mary E. Galvin, Judith W. Loewenthal, Agnes Nestor, E. Beatrix Dauchy, Belle Squire, Anna Willard Timneus, Emma Steghagen, Grace Wilbur Trout, Florence Holbrook, Catharine Goggin, Mary Anderson, Sophonisba Breckinridge, Edith Abbott, Esther Dresden, President Young Women's Suffrage Association; Amy Walker, Francis Harden, Anna Harden, Catharine Goggin, Mary V. Donoghue, Wilma Rhinesmith, Julia Donoghue, Serina Hayes, May E. Brown.

#archivesgov #1910s #women's suffrage #suffragette #emmeline pankhurst #jane adams #October 18 #1913

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movies-to-add-to-your-tbw · 7 months ago

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Title: Chicken Little

Rating: G

Director: Mark Dindal

Cast: Zach Braff, Garry Marshall, Don Knotts, Amy Sedaris, Steve Zahn, Joan Cusack, Patrick Stewart, Fred Willard, Catherine O'Hara, Wallace Shawn, Harry Shearer, Mark Walton, Sean Elmore, Matthew Josten, Evan Dunn, Mark Dindal, Dan Molina, Patrick Warburton

Release year: 2005

Genres: comedy, adventure

Blurb: When the sky really is falling and sanity has flown the coop, who will rise to save the day? Together with his hysterical band of misfit friends, Chicken Little must hatch a plan to save the planet from alien invasion and prove that the world's biggest hero is a little chicken.

#chicken little #g #mark dindal #zach braff #garry marshall #don knotts #amy sedaris #steve zahn #2005 #comedy #adventure

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sa7abnews · 2 months ago

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How Women Can Use Their Financial Power to Create Change

New Post has been published on Sa7ab News

How Women Can Use Their Financial Power to Create Change

It’s time to start counting the Female Domestic Product as a real way to close the gender wealth gap, writes Amy-Willard Cross.

... read more !

#News & Politics

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douxlen · 2 months ago

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How Women Can Use Their Financial Power to Create Change

New Post has been published on Douxle News

How Women Can Use Their Financial Power to Create Change

It’s time to start counting the Female Domestic Product as a real way to close the gender wealth gap, writes Amy-Willard Cross.

... read more !

#News & Politics

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current-words-publishing · 6 months ago

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JUST A HOUSECLEANER OUT NOW!

ON AUDIBLE IN PAPERBACK MIDWEST REVIEW OF BOOKS SAYS: Cozy mystery fans that choose JUST A HOUSECLEANER [will follow] Patsy Taylor’s dual foray into grief and detective work. Romance, grief, and mystery coalesce in a satisfying manner as Patsy pulls on threads of truth that lead to better understanding her own heart.

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#awillwriting #CozyMystery #StanCharnofsky #Amy Willard #colorado #current words publishing #detective #dollycas #hawkshawpress #indie #William F Crandell #writersofinstagram

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ulkaralakbarova · 4 months ago

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Powerful businessman Russ Duritz is self-absorbed and immersed in his work. But by the magic of the moon, he meets Rusty, a chubby, charming 8-year-old version of himself who can’t believe he could turn out so badly – with no life and no dog. With Rusty’s help, Russ is able to reconcile the person he used to dream of being with the man he’s actually become. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Russ Duritz: Bruce Willis Rusty Duritz: Spencer Breslin Amy: Emily Mortimer Janet: Lily Tomlin Deirdre Lefever: Jean Smart Kenny: Chi McBride Sam Duritz: Daniel von Bargen Dr. Alexander: Dana Ivey Bob Riley: Stanley Anderson Kenny’s Grandmother: Juanita Moore Giselle: Susan Dalian Clarissa: Esther Scott Governor: Deborah May Newsstand Cashier: Vernee Watson-Johnson Newsstand Tourist: Jan Hoag Sky King Waitress: Melissa McCarthy Gloria Duritz: Elizabeth Arlen Flight Attendant: Alexandra Barreto Hot Dog Vendor: John Apicella Vince: Brian McGregor Mark: Reiley McClendon Herbert: Brian Tibbetts George: Brian McLaughlin Lawyer Bruce: Steve Tom Lawyer Jim: Marc Copage Lawyer Seamus: Rod McLachlan Wedding Guest: Scott Mosenson Governor’s Aide: Brian Fenwick Governor’s Other Aide: Duke Faeger Sushi Chef: Toshiya Agata Josh: Joshua Finkel General Manager: Lou Beatty Jr. Principal: E.J. Callahan Janet’s Husband: Daryl Anderson Best Man: Darrell Foster Security Guard: Michael Wajacs Chef Mike: John Travis Larry King: Larry King Larry King’s Guest: Jeri Ryan Larry King’s Guest: Nick Chinlund Ritch Eisen: Stuart Scott Stuart Scott: Rich Eisen Wedding Singer: Kevon Edmonds Backup Singer: Julia Waters Backup Singer: Maxine Waters Willard Backup Singer: Stephanie Spruill Bridesmaid (uncredited): Tanisha Grant (uncredited): Glüme Harlow Car Driver (uncredited): Paul Moncrief Mr. Vivian (uncredited): Matthew Perry Tim (uncredited): Luigi Francis Shorty Rossi Russ’ Son (uncredited): Gary Weeks Harold Greene: Harold Greene Film Crew: Producer: Hunt Lowry Executive Producer: Arnold Rifkin Producer: Christina Steinberg Director of Photography: Peter Menzies Jr. Producer: Jon Turteltaub Executive Producer: David Willis Assistant Editor: Michael Trent Writer: Audrey Wells Co-Producer: William M. Elvin Stunts: Terry Jackson Utility Stunts: Pat Romano Grip: R. Dana Harlow Orchestrator: Pete Anthony Orchestrator: Jon Kull Stand In: Duke Faeger Stand In: Luigi Francis Shorty Rossi Original Music Composer: Jason White Art Department Coordinator: Al Lewis Digital Compositor: Michael Miller Transportation Captain: Douglas Miller Production Design: Garreth Stover Makeup Artist: Mike Smithson Co-Producer: Bill Johnson Utility Stunts: Eddy Donno Utility Stunts: Manny Perry Stunts: Deep Roy Production Coordinator: Daren Hicks Script Supervisor: Thomas Johnston Supervising Sound Editor: Mark A. Mangini Editor: Peter Honess Editor: David Rennie Art Direction: David Lazan Set Decoration: Larry Dias Costume Design: Gloria Gresham Sound Effects Editor: Richard L. Anderson Supervising Sound Editor: Kelly Cabral Sound Effects Editor: James Christopher Sound Effects Editor: Donald Flick Visual Effects Supervisor: James E. Price Associate Producer: Stephen J. Eads Original Music Composer: Marc Shaiman Second Unit Director: David R. Ellis Utility Stunts: Annie Ellis Stunt Coordinator: Jack Gill Utility Stunts: Matt McColm Utility Stunts: Janet Brady Utility Stunts: Kenny Endoso Utility Stunts: Tommy J. Huff Movie Reviews: r96sk: What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to enjoy ‘The Kid’ as much as I did. Bruce Willis and Spencer Breslin team up to solid effect, in a film that produces amusement and wholesomeness. I find the premise very interesting, it’s a cool concept. While they might not executed to 100% perfection, what’s given is entertaining to see unfold. There are some very sweet scenes, also. Willis is, as you’d expect, the best part of this, but I think Breslin does a grand job too. The latter tended to do these sorta roles a lot, but there’s a reason for that as he played them convincingly. Emily Mortimer (Amy) is als...

#age difference #changing the past or future #midlife crisis #suppressed past #Top Rated Movies

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diannepearcefuckingwrites · 1 year ago

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PRIDE SHIRT

My friend AMY is selling great PRIDE gear ! You can support an indie author and show your pride at the same time! 🙂 I got this one:

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#Amy willard #awillwriting #Dianne #dpearcewrites #indie #just a housecleaner #Pearce #Publishing #writer #Writing

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fredborges98 · 6 months ago

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Furious ‘Queen of the Night’ aria – soprano Rachel Duckett at Classic FM...

youtube

Competência e habilidade comprovada na prática gerando resultados e incompetência e inabilidade na prática gerando resultados, porém negativos, um desperdício a humanidade.

O conflito do presidente : Ser aplaudido ou ovacionado por quem ele emprega e paga com o erário público ou ser vaiado ou ignorado por quem o elegeu ou paga os impostos.

Rachel Duckett & Florence Foster Jenkins, o melhor e o pior da aventura humana em ser egocêntricamente e egoisticamente feliz e amado pelo público!

Por: Fred Borges

Quando a mediocridade e a miséria se torna uma referência da epopéia humana, não há mais adjetivos que possam fazer uma apologia ao saber, ao conhecimento, a ciência, será a própria desgraça daqueles que ovacionam ladrões, corruptos, elegendo um nordestino por piedade, pela desventura geopolítica eleitoreira, nunca pelo mérito, inteligência e competência.

Piedade!? Somente com os justos!

Uma homenagem a:

Aluísio de Azevedo.

Ariano Suassuna.

Augusto dos Anjos.

Castro Alves.

Ferreira Gullar.

Graciliano Ramos.

João Cabral de Melo Neto.

João Ubaldo Ribeiro.

Jorge Amado.

José Lins do Rego.

Manuel Bandeira.

Xico Sá.

Florence Foster Jenkins (Wilkes-Barre, 19 de julho de 1868 — Nova Iorque, 26 de novembro de 1944), nascida Narcissa Florence Foster, foi uma socialite e soprano amadora estadunidense, conhecida e ridicularizada por sua habilidade de cantar mal e pelas roupas bizarras de suas performances.

Nessa apresentação do vídeo em referência ela pagou para se apresentar e franqueou a entrada para obter um único dia de reconhecimento de sua pretensa competência em cantar ou ser uma cantora lírica profissional.

Mais fácil seria ingressar num episódio da Ilha da Fantasias e realizar o sonho ou sua utopia, abraçando sua ilusão em aparentar ser, mais importante para os que abraçam com unhas e dentes o poder.

Rachel Duckett é uma soprano londrina multipremiada, elogiada como uma “estrela em ascensão” (Ally Dunavant, Classic FM) com uma “voz cristalina” (José Nogueira, Pro Opera) e uma “técnica impressionante” (Andrew Clements, The Guardian).

Em 2022, ela obteve reconhecimento ganhando vários prêmios, incluindo: o “Troféu Sir Willard White Grand Prize” (A Voz da Ópera Negra), o “Grande Prêmio” e o “Prêmio do Público” do Grand Prix de la Voix du Centre d'Art Lyrique de la Méditerranée, o prémio “Christiane Eda-Pierre, Amis des Voix des Outre-Mer” (Voix des Outre-mers) e vários prémios do Concurso Internacional de Canção de Gordes.

Antes do reconhecimento vem o conhecimento de si próprio, sua própria validação, é um caminho solitário, mas necessário, ás vezes morremos e não obtemos o reconhecimento e isso pode ser aplicado a todos os tipos de profissionais, é preciso paciência, tranquilidade, e um profundo estado de paz interior, ciente que se é feliz por simplesmente fazer-se luz, respirar, amar,etc.

Muitos passarão, poucos permanecerão na memória coletiva, na história, só ficam àqueles que justificam sua causa, sua missão, sua visão e transforma com esses elementos a sociedade, a realidade de uma comunidade, sociedade,ou civilização.

O conto: A nova roupa do rei, de Hans Christian Andersen, mostra-nos que a necessidade de aprovação/aceitação pode nos colocar numa situação absurda, como, por exemplo, aparecer nu em público.

Na fábula, o rei, temendo ser considerado ignorante e desconhecedor de belos tecidos, vestiu-se, para alimentar a sua vaidade, com uma roupa feita de um tecido inexistente.

Mesmo após descobrir ter sido enganado – e que, portanto, estava nu – o rei, evitando deixar transparecer a sua ingenuidade diante dos enganadores, não cedeu e continuou o seu desfile, trajando de forma soberba, a sua roupa invisível.

Em Ulisses de James Joyce esse amargou a incompreensão de seu tempo, seus livros foram queimados, esse é o preço que se paga por estar à frente do seu tempo, de inovar, de questionar, de ser ousado.

Mas uma coisa é ser ousado, inovador a outra é ser mais do mesmo, da mesma merda que fede e se espalha no país.

O atual presidente é um tributo à mediocridade.

Que não nos acostumamos ao espetáculo ridículo da política e dos políticos no Brasil e retomemos a consciência coletiva das nossas origens, do nosso passado, daqueles que morreram por uma missão, um sonho de um país melhor!

Que o mérito, justiça e democracia se restabeleçam por uma nação ou uma visão!

#Youtube

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