My Vampiric Summer: Death by Humidity

Ah, Alabama’s hot and humid summer is here. It’s the kind of weather that makes me hiss, whilst ducking under a cloak, as I run to pull in the garbage can.

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O, I love vampires. I never really joined the whole zombie craze. Perhaps zombies hit a bit too close to home for me, what with everyone’s head in a phone these days. But I like vampires for their complexities and their troubles with immortality. (See further explanation in “Vampire Connoisseur.”)

I don’t have much to discuss this month nor can I offer cohesion. It’s hot outside, and I’ve been often in a dark room, my hands and feet corpse-cold from the air conditioner, reading and writing by myself like a weirdo recluse. So, here are some thoughts on vampires to cool you down this summer:

Most people think of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, as the forerunner of vampire narratives; however, there have been many vampire stories before Stoker’s. For whatever reason, his novel stuck and provided a blueprint for future vampire tales. Before Dracula, though, there was Lord Byron’s 1813 The Giaour; the short story, “The Vampyre,” by Lord Byron’s ex-friend, John Polidori (who based his main character, Lord Ruthven, on old LB himself); and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla in 1872, from which Stoker heavily “borrows” for his Dracula.

Here’s poor, delicate Lucy from the 1992 Bram Stoker’s Dracula movie. She is both a vampire victim as well as a fashion victim. I’ll tell you, I know she was about to eat a child, but that weird headdress alone would have spooked the hell out of me.

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I recently listened to Dracula on Audible and could not help but picture the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, “Buffy vs. Dracula.” Best line: “A guy like you should think about going electric.”

My VampireTurn Ons:

Horror

Humor

Camp

Seduction

Ironic lust for life

Black lace and bustles 

Black leather jackets

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Spike ❤

My Vampire Turn Offs:

Vampire narratives that ask the audience to believe that male vampires abusing women is sexy/true love/romantic/all you could ask for in life.

Women who buy the above stated narrative.

The patriarch that warped the above women into bogus, self-loathing thoughts in the first place.

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Ack.

Recently, a television series emerged from the mockumentary, What We Do In The Shadows, and it is hilarious. The vampires Nadja and Laszlo crack me up the most. They are married, which really means something if you never die, and Nadja’s eye rolls are priceless.

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Here are a few vampire movies that I’ve enjoyed in recent years:

Let the Right One In: A Swedish film about a child vampire, with a subtle but quite disturbing final scene.

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A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night: A female vampire targets misogynists in a small Iranian town. Favorite scene: The vampire skateboarding alone at night, chador floating behind her.

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Only Lovers Left Alive: A slow, moody, beautifully shot movie about the loneliness and the magic of immortality.  Best line: “It’s a full moon. Did you know that there’s a diamond up there the size of a planet? It’s a white dwarf; it’s the compressed heart of a star, and it’s not only a radiant diamond, but it also emits the music of a gigantic gong.” (Side note: I HEART Tilda Swinton! When I was writing my book, Sister Nun, I pictured her as the main character, and this was before she was cast as a bald, nun-type in Dr. Strange. I thought of her first, dang it!)

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I will leave you with the 1859 poem Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti, which is a tale of vampire-esque creatures who suck the life and youth out of easily-seduced Laura. Although there are several valid interpretations of the work, I can’t help but focus on the seduction and addiction motifs, which are common in vampire narratives. A recent example of vampire addiction struggles can be found in the character Angel (in the television shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel). Angel struggles to maintain his humanity by abstaining completely from human blood, to mixed results. The Angel universe does not provide the benefit of “True Blood,” the synthetic human blood drink offered in the TV show by the same name, and Angel lives off rats’ blood…when he’s good, that is.

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True Blood’s version of “hugs not drugs.”

Another vampire-y thing about Goblin Market is that it seems ripe (no pun intended) with the fluidity of the vampire’s life: slipping in and out of society, as well as sexual identities. 

All right, I blogged. I’ve linked a performance of Goblin Market below. Now, back to my summer antics…

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School’s Out for Summer—or—I’ve Caught My Students’ Senioritis, So This Post’s Gonna Be Short and Sweet

Well, I’m itching to start my summer writing, reading, and porch-sitting. In the next few months, I will be working on my Star Trek: The Next Generation poetry book, as well as my novel; sitting on my red swing, under my backyard’s rose canopy;  swimming with my sweetheart, at the Y; and playing with our dogs and cat. I have much to do! So this month, I’ll just leave you with Gwendolyn Brooks’ “We Real Cool,” along with her discussion of the poem’s inspiration and the potential aphrodisiac,  jazz. Saucy! 

Conjuring Autumn

This summer, my wife and I took our belated honeymoon to Iceland. (In the above photo, a group of us left our kayaks to climb a glacier.) The weather was in blissful contrast to late July in Alabama. We giggled as we packed our thermals, which neither of us had ever owned. (She is from Mobile, AL, and I am from Southern California. Even when I lived in Flagstaff, AZ, the snow storms, which are actually significant, usually melted within a few days. Despite the cold weather, the Arizona sun kept the place from looking like the midwest and me, from Seasonal Affective Disorder.) 

Visiting Iceland felt like going to a different planet, in the best way possible. During the first week, after we returned to the south, I dreamed every night of volcanic rock and steam, glaciers, black sand, and the Blue Lagoon. By and by, the south’s version of hell (also known as August) crept in, and I began to feel dull and antsy. I recall when I first moved to Mississippi, and my fellow grad student and I were walking across campus in late August. My skin felt like it was on fire but somehow, also wet. “What’s wrong?” asked my southern friend. “I feel like I’m in a little, jar of mayonnaise,” said I. 

Needless to say, I am looking forward to autumn, and I believe that if you really want to banish something, like August in Alabama, you should praise it first. Here is a poem from a wonderful anthology, that I bought in Iceland, called Icelandic Poetry, translated by Bernard Scudder.

I have taken a picture of the poet’s name so that I won’t mess it up! I was unable to find much information, so if anyone knows more about this poet, please tell me.

In the Love of the Sun

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You
with the fingerprints of the wind
on your skin
and the love of the sun
on your forehead

upon her touch
the roses burst into bloom
like red kisses
in the garden

you bring me one
I feel it touch my soul
eyes and hands

hot 
so hot 
like your presence

The next poem is my favorite by James Wright, “Beginning.” For a long time, I had thought of this poem as taking place in autumn, which shows you how much I know about farming. The darkness and peace always made me think of the weather getting cooler. However, I now know that wheat is harvested in August, at the latest. I do not relate as much to this poem as I used to, for I would never voluntarily leave the air-conditioning in August. Regardless, I’ll never get over the line “The moon drops one or two feathers into the field,” nor will I ever recover from the last two lines, which knock me over every time I read it.

Beginning

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon’s young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.

—James Wright

And now, let us invite autumn to arrive as soon as possible! Below are the poems “Autumn” by Rainer Maria Rilke and “Eating Alone,” one of my favorite Li-Young Lee poems, which isn’t specifically about autumn but satisfies in its cozy, lonely tone.

Autumn 

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning “no.”
And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.
We’re all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It’s in them all.
And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

—Rainer Maria Rilke

Eating Alone

I’ve pulled the last of the year’s young onions. 
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold, 
brown and old. What is left of the day flames 
in the maples at the corner of my 
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes. 
By the cellar door, I wash the onions, 
then drink from the icy metal spigot. 

Once, years back, I walked beside my father 
among the windfall pears. I can’t recall 
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But 
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced 
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my 
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet 
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice. 

It was my father I saw this morning 
waving to me from the trees. I almost 
called to him, until I came close enough 
to see the shovel, leaning where I had 
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade. 

White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas 
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame 
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness. 
What more could I, a young man, want.

—Li-Young Lee

Well, that’s all I’ve got for this month, folks! If you are a lover of hot weather, don’t worry, the fire shall return! I’m indifferent regarding the whole pumpkin spice phenomenon, but for pumpkin spice-lovers—cheers! And a happy upcoming Mabon to all!

P.S. If you are interested in more Iceland photos, my wife has included many of them, including some delightful short videos, on her blog, Notoriously Episcopalian.