SHIP'S LOGBOOK and other great places
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Young of the year... I whisper the term our old folks use to name a prior spring's wild things—or the year itself
—for Cora Jane Lea
A small hare's stride displays itself in snowdust up on this knob
that we call The Lookout. Young of the year.
I whisper the term our old folks use to name
a prior spring's wild things—or the year itself, young year.
New grandfather now, have I a right to the phrase? I speak it no matter.
To me its assonance appeals;
its heft of optimism and forward-looking
correct a mood. It's a counter-cry to my vain appeals
to some power unseen that it remake me into a youthful man,
that it change this world. I scrutinize
a certain mountain's western flank, ravines
turned to fat white rivers in winter. I likewise scrutinize
myself in relation to mountain. I used to charge her up and down
in a slim few hours. Today I wonder
if I'll climb there again, my strength and stamina less
than once they were. What isn't? The mountain. The mountain's a wonder.
With inner eyes I see its trees, knee-high at 4000 feet.
I see myself step onto aprons of stone
at her summit. I'd never have dreamed how much I'd love it,
loving that child. In youth the thought would have turned me to stone.
On The Lookout's granite, a wisp—unidentifiable, blooded—of fur.
So many hundreds and thousands of victims
in a cruel season. Behind the mountain an airplane
aroar to put me in mind of bombers searching out victims.
In time it may even be that I'll prefer to see her from here,
not here from her. I mean the mountain.
Wonders never cease, it's rightly said.
Those inner eyes go back and forth from infant to mountain,
where even now in January the hardwoods' fraught tight buds
display their purple, enduring signal
of spring. Which will come. Which has never failed to come.
Already the girl and I have developed private signals:
I can waggle my tongue at her, or flutter my fingers, and make her smile.
I can lie back humming in uncanny peace,
child on my chest, and I can remember how
I held her father. But I think I hold her better. Peace:
perhaps it's for this one exchanges his further dreams. And perhaps I know
what's worth the knowing here on earth,
among its weather-decked hills, its beasts and birds
in their ceaseless cycles, migrations. Of course the glorious earth
will take me back, of course the young-year hare give profligate birth.
Young of the Year
Four Way Books
Charles Bukowski's 1971 letter outlines terms for poetry reading
"I am available for a poetry reading but don't know if you have the stakes. It would take round-trip air (which, I imagine would be a great deal from L.A. to Florida), plus $200."(Via This isn't Happiness)
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE
Anne Coray is an Alaskan, and in this beautiful meditation on the stillness of nature she shows us how closely she's studied something that others might simply step over.
The Art of Being
I randomly opened to the poem "Egrets." Like magic, I was pushing through catbrier to the edge of a pond
A Poem A Day: Portable, Peaceful And Perfect
Published: December 26, 2011
by Alan Heathcock
Alan Heathcock is the author of Volt.
I hadn't slept well, had to get my three kids to three different schools in three different cities, had deadlines piled on deadlines. I leaned my head against my bookcases and there, at eye-level, was a book of poetry by Mary Oliver.
I randomly opened to the poem "Egrets." Like magic, I was pushing through catbrier to the edge of a pond, where I watched "a spindle of bleached reeds" become egrets and "unruffled, sure, by the laws of their faith not logic, they opened their wings softly and stepped over every dark thing."
I closed the book, transformed, bolstered from the inside out.
From that day forward, each morning I read a poem. Even with a crazed daily docket, I can manage a minute or two for the words, reading while waiting for the bread to toast, sitting in a school parking lot. I've read poems at jury duty. At Jiffy Lube. Once, at a football tailgate, I read a poem in a Portajohn.
That's the practical greatness of a poem. They don't take much time, travel well, don't require any plug-ins or accessories. It's the ancient and perfect technology of words on a page that make you imagine beyond your means, make you feel the truths of lives that are not yours, and contemplate the life you have.
One morning James Dickey urged, "Lord, let me shake with purpose. Wild hope can always spring from tended strength." Another morning, Belarusian poet Valzhyna Mort told me her little grandmother knows no pain, and "...believes that hunger — is food, nakedness — is a wealth, thirst — is water."
There were sweet and playful mornings, like when Matthew Dickman proposed, "I loved you the way my mouth loves teeth," and all day I smiled, imagining my lips and teeth embracing. There were reflective mornings, like when Reginald Dwayne Betts confessed, "I was never enough saint to leave sin with the devil, leave my lies unsaid."
The older I get, the more life passes in a harried traffic of cars and people and events. This world of shallow speed often sends me to sleep feeling I've been to battle. Battle at dance practice and the soccer game and the drive-thru window, battle to pick up the dry cleaning and get the kids new shoes before I have to attend parent-teachers conferences. Battles at work, battles in my relationships, battles with myself. If you're like me, you long for a bit of quiet, a morning in the chapel, a walk in the woods. If only I had the time to still my mind, take an accounting of myself, find my balance once again.
I'm not a poet. Not much of scholar. Just a guy looking for a little peace in the mad scramble that is life. For me, this peace is a poem. A poem each morning, to sustain me through my days with the faith of an egret stepping over every dark thing. [Copyright 2011 National Public Radio]
Compute Divisors for Positive Integers
Use the form below to get the divisors of and additional information about any positive integer up to 1 million. (decimal places are rounded)
Or just append the integer you want information about to the end of this site's URL. e.g., www.positiveintegers.org/5
The Integers 1 to 10000
- Range is a range of numbers, in groups of 100. Click on the range for more information about that range.
- Count(Primes) is the count of Prime Numbers in that range.
- Count(Fibonacci) is the count of Fibonacci Numbers in that range.
- Max(Count(d(N))) is the highest number of divisors that any single number within that range possesses.
- Most Composite N is the list of the numbers in the range that have the most divisors.
- Count(Deficient), Count(Abundant), and Count(Perfect) are the counts ofDeficient, Abundant, and Perfect numbers in that range.
The integers consist of the positive natural numbers (1, 2, 3, …) thenegative natural numbers (-1, -2, -3, ...) and the number zero. The set of all integers is usually denoted in mathematics by in blackboard bold, which stands for Zahlen (German for "numbers").
Positive Integers refers to all whole number greater than zero. Zero is not a positive integer. For each positive integer there is a negative integer. Integers greater than zero are said to have a positive "sign".
The Positive Integers are a subset of the Natural Numbers (), depending on whether or not 0 is considered a Natural Number. The term Positive Integers is preferred over Natural Numbers and Counting Numbers because it is more clearly defined; there is inconsistency over whether zero is a member of those sets. Zero is not an element of the Positive Integers.
The Positive Integers are symbolized by .
Prime numbers are a subset of the positive integers and are of special interest in Number Theory. Note that the number 1 is not a prime number; i.e., for the set of prime numbers , all > 1. A prime number is a positive integer that has no positive integer divisors except for 1 and itself. Positive Integers that are not Prime Numbers or 1 are Composite Numbers. The number 1 is neither a Prime Number nor a Composite Number.
Algebraic properties of Integers
Like the natural numbers, is closed under the operations of addition andmultiplication; that is, the sum and product of any two integers is an integer. However, with the inclusion of the negative natural numbers and zero, (unlike the natural numbers) is also closed under subtraction. is not closed under the operation of division, since the quotient of two integers ( e.g. , 1 divided by 2), need not be an integer.
The following table lists some of the basic properties of addition and multiplication for any integers a , b and c .
is a totally ordered set without an upper or lower bound. The ordering of is given by... < -2 < -1 < 0 < 1 < 2 < ...
An integer is positive if it is greater than zero and negative if it is less than zero. Zero is defined as neither negative nor positive.
The ordering of integers is compatible with the algebraic operations in the following way:
- if a < b and c < d , then a + c < b + d
- if a < b and 0 < c , then ac < bc
A divisor of an integer n, also called a factor of n, is an integer which evenly divides n without leaving a remainder. If x is a divisor of n, it can be written that x|n. This is read as x divides n. It is also said that n is divisible by x, and that n is a multiple of x.
1 and -1 are divisors of every integer, and every integer is a divisor of 0. Numbers divisible by 2 are called even and those that are not are called odd.
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