Poetry of Mayretta, Jawja. And Of Our Lives.

Forget juvenile blog rankings (I'm a C, but trust me, that's gonna change) and dipshit celebrity babble-crap. Tania Rochelle, terrific blogger mom and longtime dazzling poet from here in the metro Atlanta area, makes the United States' poet laureate's newspaper project this week.

Yes, Tania's that good. You go girl. You've earned it.

Around The Bend

ADD ON: Rusty and Amber, co-creators of the Georgia Podcast Network, just won a Creative Loafing "Best of Atlanta" award. A million congratulations to you guys!! Air kisses all around. And lots of bubbly too, when we can share. (Can you sneak me in to the "Best Of" party?) Just goes to show that innovation, creativity, hard-ass work, long hours and self-belief/preservation always win out.

This is the entry where I'd apologize for yesterday's outburst over Amanda Congdon's un-inspired sellout. But since I'm not the least bit sorry, I'll move on.

In a sec... it's just that I had such high hopes for Ms. Amanda. She had this Mary Tyler Moore, kinda zany, kinda wacky, kinda cute and sweet, and always very bright and smart quality. Still does. But even a pro like Jeff Jarvis couldn't help being taken aback when he saw that hybrid car she was "tripping" about in. The camera told all.

Meanwhile, back at Rancho ATL, the state fair's going on, so I gotta go just to get Sas one of these, with a unicorn of course. See below.

Lordy, I'd say I'm pre-menopausal as I've been emotionally so all over the place this morning. But since I've got the Hemi version of a reproductive system, that's not the case. Must be just pure, natural moodiness. I've gone from laughing my ass off at Tania's and Jen's multi-media antics to crying, again, over one of TR's poems. She's just that good. I'm such a girl. Thank God.

This entry put together by Lee Ann Womack's: There's More Where That Came From.
When You Get To Me

Timrod and Nimrod

Yowzer. I got a little panicky when I overheard something on Weekend Edition this morning about Bob Dylan "borrowing" from a Civil War-era poet on his latest album. (Doesn't Dylan "borrow" on every record he puts out? But that's neither here nor there.)

That kinda info, emanating vaguely in the background of the kitchen while whipping-up a Saturday morning omelet and pouring the coffee, was momentarily startling since my namesake is the Civil War-era poet, William John Grayson, an ancestor, lawyer, writer and Representative from South Carolina.

The poet of whom Dylan is rumored to reek is Grayson's contemporary and fellow South Carolinian, the tubercular nursery-room tutor, Henry Timrod, often cited as the "poet laureate of the Confederacy."

And that's a good thing as no one I'm aware of, including any of my immediate family, has ever been inspired by a single line of 'ole W. J.'s poetry. For good reasons, as Grayson's poems surely fall into the "had to have been there" category of Civil War poetry making. Rather, throughout the generations, we've about worn out the name.

An excerpt from Grayson's The Hireling and The Slave is here.