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2002-03-30 - 6:11 a.m.

I just finished a fabulous book. It's called The Necessary Hunger by Nina Revoya. It's about 2 high school basketball players in LA, one African-American and one Asian-American. They are also both lesbians. It deals with growing up, love, race, privelage, poverty, and, of course, basketball. I must say at the onset of this (OK, a little later than the onset), that I have never been a b-ball fan. Verona loves the Spurs, and I endure them. The only games I would go to willingly were the ones my students were in (aka middle school b-ball). However, recently a few events have rained down on me to make me reevaluate. I read this book, with its poetic and gripping descriptions of not just the playing of b-ball but the effort and desire it takes to play well, the Spurs announced that SA would (hopefully) get a WNBA team, and one of my students wrote a really evocative poem about playing basketball. So I am rethinking my opinion of the game, though I generally into more effete sports, and as a player, not a watcher.

Yesterday we had our first houseguests - Paulson and his sister. They even brought us presents! Today Paulson is supposed to come over to the house and help us wait for the furniture/appliances. They were supposed to deliver it yesterday (nice, sunny, cool weather), but Lacks screwed up the order and so they are delivering it today (thunderstorms, etc.). Sigh.

And now, for those literature lovers, here is a poem for you by Pablo Neruda.

Oh que todo el amor propague en mí su boca,
que no sufra un momento más sin primavera,
yo no vendí sino mis manos al dolor,
ahora, bienamada, déjame con tus besos.

Cubre la luz del mes abierto con tu aroma,
cierra las puertas con tu cabellera,
y en cuanto a mí no olvides que si despierto y lloro
es porque en sueños sólo soy un niño perdido

que busca entre las hojas de la noche tus manos,
el contacto del trigo que tú me comunicas,
un rapto centelleante de sombra y energía.

Oh, bienamada, y nada más que sombra
por donde me acompañes en tus sueños
y me digas la hora de la luz.

That's from a book I bought when I was courting Verona, Cien sonetos de amor.

Opal

 

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