Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens (October 2, 1879 – August 2, 1955) was an American Modernist poet.

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March 23, 2015

San Diego! That means tank top days. Shorts and jumps in the pool and the Wine Company. That means La Jolla and Del Mar, but it also means Mira Mesa and Convoy. It means choy lai fut, my kung fu brothers and sisters, and a bowl of pho afterwards. And Shanghai City for “dumplings with […]

August 28, 2013

Wallace Stevens’ 1919 poem: Anecdote of the Jar I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in […]

August 4, 2013

Portland The Grey. Portland The Green. The green dream of a cuckatoo says the Wallace Stevens in my head. Six foot seven and weighs a f__king ton. Also has no idea he has the words wrong, until now. Green freedom of a cockatoo. Heh. Walking along 26th Ave south of Hawthorne. Under the canopy. A […]

March 16, 2013

The task is simple enough: Take two numbers and sum’em. Three steps from Hello World. Only I am Devver Genius. Why stop at the solution? I’m adding value. A login. Three page reg. New features, translate the numbers into words in 78 languages. Satisfaction surveys. Blast emails. Integration into every CRM ever made. You’ll get […]

August 10, 2012

“If you don’t love life you can’t enjoy an oyster; there is a shock of freshness to it and intimations of the ages of man, some piercing intuition of the sea and all its weeds and breezes. [They] shiver you for a split second.” – Eleanor Clark 8AM. Whiskey Gulch Cafe. Port Orchard, WA. Right […]

September 5, 2011

The Idea of Double Decaf “Double-decaf macchiato, to go” was the one I couldn’t understand. He was one of our first customers, every day. And that was his order. Every single day. I didn’t get it because, first of all, why would you get up first thing in the o’dark morning to go to a […]

July 9, 2011

4th of July at ‘The Farm’. Kitsap Peninsula. Twenty miles as the bird flies from Seattle, a million miles away as bellyache wriggles. The bellyache being everything stressful and binding. Necessities of our chosen fields, sure. But even as a fella who’s enthusiastic as hell at 5 AM on Monday, there is nonetheless nothing like […]