I've started scheduling a day to write each week. It's been ages since I've written anything of substance.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
“N’awlins, mom. It’s pronounced with a drawl,” I explained. Touristy knick knacks in hand and munching on a pecan praline, I maneuvered my way through the crowds on Canal Street, back toward the Marriott and my final night in New Orleans. A first year sponsor and third year conference attendee pro, I traveled to the 2012 Sigma Tau Delta Convention excited to fulfill my new role. As a volunteer moderator on a regional poetry panel that included our Chapter president, I mentally prepared myself to ask dazzling and insightful questions that encouraged audience members to remain engaged and invested in modern prose, while not sounding like a complete nerd. “Mom, I met some amazing people at the Sponsor Luncheon and now I have the poetry panel and then tonight we’re going to the Mahalia Jackson Theatre to see Salomé. It’s only in town this one weekend,” I added, eager to brag about the travel itinerary I’d put together for the trip. With pre-purchased tickets to see the New Orleans Opera production of Oscar Wilde’s Salomé, maps of the French Quarter and local cemeteries, travel guides checked out from the University library and four copies of a three-day itinerary, our group set out to conquer the Crescent City. We ate Café Du Monde beignets every morning, easing ourselves into the crowded restaurant while other tourists stood confused by the crowd and clamor of the packed courtyard. We chatted with friendly bartenders at hole-in-the-wall joints who gave us tips on nightlife and snapped our fingers along with local jazz musicians. We braved the St. Charles Streetcar up to the Garden District and got lost searching for New Orleans’ best po’boy at Parasol’s. Still, the magic of an academic conference in New Orleans was not lost on us. Through a literary lens, we gazed onto the streets of Storyville, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bellocq’s Ophelia or Anne Rice’s Lestat. At the conference, we shared stories of home, stories of death and stories of love, opening up to our peers and learning from each other’s experiences. We made plans for local outings with regional chapters, exchanging email addresses and hugs as we promised to send out a revised version of the piece we read. “I’ve got to go, mom. I’m getting on the lift and it’s a really confusing, supposedly “smart” elevator, so I have to concentrate,” I said and hung up the phone as I squeezed in between a group of fellow lit nerds, red Steven Barclay badges hanging loosely around their necks. I smiled at the woman nearest me. She had white powdered sugar crusted lightly on her collar and a Sigma Tau Delta canvas book bag slung over her shoulder. Definitely the kind of girl to pronounce N’awlins with a drawl.
© 2012 Rebecca Renee Hess
Sunday, April 15, 2012
I'm totally obsessed with the hunger games right now. I also love Ryan Gosling and all the "Hey Girl" memes. This is my new favorite.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
The best novel turned tv show returns this weekend to HBO. I am so excited to see Game of Thrones, even though me and my tv watching crew will be a week behind HBO due to cable television deterrents and busy ass weeks. Still, April 8 we will begin watching Season 2 and I wanted to share this fun little GoT tidbit. Go Team Stark!!
Monday, March 19, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Overhead, the gray of a Louisiana sky
makes me longingly dream of fresh pecan pie
and the warmest beignets of the fried variety--
after a night without the slightest sobriety.
Daquiri bars look like ice cream shops
and colorful beads fall from the tree tops.
French Quarter blues blare in my head--
tomorrow morning I’m gonna wish I was dead.
The old Mississip’ seems so far away--
let’s just go get another beignet.
The bookshops of Storyville, quiet and quaint
tell of Bellocq’s Ophelia, who was never a saint.
When the skies open here, God’s wrath falls fast--
one looks to cities of sin in the past.
Sodom and Gomorrah-- of course, Babylon--
they all fell into infamous oblivion,
but here in N’awlins, in the land of the free,
we’ve the right to live and die on Bourbon Street--
to wander on street cars down Canal or Saint Charles,
to get lost strolling Constance in search of Parasol’s.
Take me down South! To New Orleans.
I don’t have no money and I don’t have no means--
but within my soul a sweet music burns
and inside my heart a deep longing yearns
for days and nights in the Crescent City,
to fall asleep late and wake up feeling shitty.
I’ll work in a bar or Cafe Du Monde
where waiters and waitresses do what they want.
I will smoke all day and drink all night--
I will cuss and spit and fuck and fight!
I promise to always say “yes sir” and “ma’am”.
that Southern charm will have ‘em eating out of my hand.
Just let me stay here, in dear N’awlins town,
I won’t make a peep and I won’t make a sound--
The locals will think I was born and bred.
Do not doubt when you’ve heard it said,
“She will do well down in old N’awlins town.
She knows how to wobble and break it down,
she sings on the corner her sweet N’awlins song--
when we tried to leave, she refused to come along.”
© 2012 Rebecca Renee Hess