Fanciful thoughts about this thing called "poesy"

A poet from a workshop forum I frequent asked visitors at his blog to answer the question "what is poetry?" Wow, what a dangerous question to pose to poets! You just know they'll give you a cryptic, metaphorical, flowery answer. And why not? Here's mine:

There's a stage that children go through, when they're just on the brink of language. They wander around all day, pointing at things in the world, just for the sheer joy that comes with recognition and discovery. They wonder at the "suchness" of things. Sometimes, along with pointing at something, they'll plunge right in and name it. The name they give things is less about convention and reference than it is about finding their own voice. I admire toddlers in this; they’ll stand up for the names they’ve chosen – scream, fight, cry if they have to. In the end, if they want to name all four-legged animals “bow-wow,” they do.

That's poetry, to me. Paying attention to the suchness of things, and struggling (daring!) to name it.

Be a String, Water, to my Guitar*

I am a huge fan of classical, jazz and gypsy guitar - Segovia, Sergio and Odair Assad, Django Reinhardt. So I was thrilled to discover the music of Rodrigo y Gabriela. Their self-titled album came out in the U.S. last year. Originally from Mexico, they took their act to Dublin, settled there, and ended up at the top of the Irish charts. Their background is more heavy metal than classical, and some of the pieces on their album are fascinating arrangements of rock classics (e.g. Stairway to Heaven). The pair do such interesting percussive things with the body of the guitar; when I first heard the album, I couldn't believe that the sound was coming only from two guitars. I hope they come to Chicago! That's one act I'd like to see in Grant Park.

*Title of a poem by Mahmoud Darwish, translated by Clarissa Burt

Warning! Do not try this at home!

If a female friend ever asks you, "What's my best feature?" do not answer! Or rather, tread very, very carefully. Trust me; being female, and having been on both sides of this question before, I can say unequivocally that there is no winning here.

Let me give you a blow-by-blow of the only possible way this can play out:

Scenario 1:
L: Hey guys, I'm doing a style makeover, and I need to get your honest opinion: what's my best feature?
D: That's easy: your figure.
K: Your legs.
L: Hmm. So, what are you saying? I've got a funny face or something?

Tables are turned:
K: What's my best feature?
L: I'd have to say your eyes - your whole face, really.
K: So you're saying I'm fat.

I'm learning:
D: What's my best feature?
L: Hmm. So hard to choose...
D: I think it's my hair.
L: Your hair is fabulous. I was going to say face or legs, but I have to agree with you. Your very best feature is your hair.

We all panic when we're broken down into objectifiable parts like this. I repudiate any and all so-called makeovers that would ask such a question. Better to ask, "What do you like best about yourself?" That's what you should accentuate. That should be the center of any "style makeover." It doesn't even have to be a physical trait. I'd rather wear "wit" and "compassion" than a Max Azria wrap dress any day.

The Good Word

I love words. Sometimes when I'm reading a book, I jot down pleasing words in my journal. Not necessarily unfamiliar words, just words that strike a chord, like flagstones, chastened and tonsure. Hawthorne, Cooper and Melville texts are rich for word-mining. Lots of nautical terms, whaling lingo, the newly arcane. Many of the poems I write are inspired by a single word (e.g. portage; lightfast; fractality; caustic; rococo.

Word of the Week is:

Colomb: a heraldic representation of a dove.

Again with the heraldic. I can see that I'm going to have to do something with these words (colomb, crusily, fess dancetty).

Why Can't I Finish this Manuscript?

Got a voice mail from my sister H. last night. She has been pressuring me for the last six months to finish the manuscript for a middle-reader chapter book that needs a few finishing touches. The publisher wants me to simplify the language in places, draw out the action a little more in the climactic scene (by piling more misery on my characters), and remove some foreign words and change some names for reading ease. No big deal, right?

Apparently not. I just can't seem to do it. H. says it's critical that I finish this, that I need to be "in the habit of finishing things." Hey! I've finished plenty of things. I finished the PhD (very useful, that; I jest). Published an academic book with IUP. I finish most things, I'll have you know. Just not this one thing...

So what's the hold-up? Am I so attached to the current version that I can't bear to mess with it? No, I don't think so, although I've been there before. Revising can be like cutting off digits. Ouch. I think it's more that I've moved on; I'm ready for the next challenge; I'm focused on other things now. Why would I want to go backwards? It's like the orchid thief from Adaptation: "Done with fish."

H. says that's not good enough. Secretly (not so secretly), I know she's right. What's it going to take for me to spend half-a-measly-day on this and be done with it?

Ixnay on the at-screen-tv-flay

S. wants a flat-screen T.V. I, naturally, am resisting. We have such limited time for TV and film viewing, what do we need with a top-of-the-line set?

S. says that if it were up to me, we'd still be using our old J.C. Penny TV, with built-in VCR. Admittedly, that was a monstrosity; but it worked! At least, the TV part did. I think S. is still bitter about a little incident that happened way back in the days before DVDs and Netflix. We had rented a movie from Hollywood Video, and darn if the cassette didn't get stuck in the VCR. S. called the people at Hollywood, and they said, "No problem. Just bring in your VCR and our tech people will take care of it." So there's S., carrying a gigantic J.C. Penny TV with built-in VCR down 53rd Street in Hyde Park. I'm surprised no one called the cops. Of course, the clerks at Hollywood looked at him like he was a madman. I'm pretty sure we bought a new TV that very afternoon.

The J.C. Penny TV was one of those "church sale" acquisitions you make when you're a starving graduate student. What stuns me, though, is that someone, somewhere, years ago, was in the market for a new television, and they said, "Sony? Zenith? Panasonic? Naah, let's buy a brand-new J.C. PENNY T.V.!" It boggles the mind.

My shoe is off...

my foot is cold.
I have a bird
I like to hold.

I am feeling Seussical today. My sister J. sent me a big box of socks from Cabot Hosiery Mills. It was a fox in socks moment: big socks, little socks, thick socks, thin socks; socks to wear with a sweater and jeans; socks to wear with my new capri's. Some for fun, some for sport; some are very, very short. What fun!

Yet again the Belated Word of the Week is

Crusily: covered with crosslets, or strewn with crosses. Apparently a medieval heraldic term, used to describe such-and-such lord's coat of arms. So "gules crusily" would mean a red shield covered with crosses. A "gules crusily and fess dancetty" would mean a red shield with crosses and a gold zigzag stripe. How cool is that?

The Gladdest Thing

S. says my poetry is dark. That may be true; well, at least some of it could be called dark. Perhaps most. Why is that? Some of the poetry I read is dark, but plenty isn't. And the poems that flit through my mind at random points throughout the day tend not to be dark at all - like Millay's Afternoon on a Hill: "I will be the gladdest thing/Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers/And not pick one." Also Plath's Poppies in October: "A gift, a love gift/Utterly unasked for/By a sky."

I think it's hard to write about happiness, about happy moments and good things, and to successfully capture their richness and nuance without resorting to tired phrases and expected formulations. It's as if writers share Tolstoy's notion that "Every happy family is the same, but unhappy families are all different." Same with Hardy's notions of war and peace: "war makes rattling good history," but peace is "poor reading."

It is amazing how we simplify goodness and happiness. Evil always has an author, a cause and effect. We analyze it for tortured childhoods, chemical imbalances, cruel vicissitudes of fate. Good deeds, heroes, they seem to emerge pristine, like Athena from Zeus's head. Do we think "good" is just about strength of character? Do we think it's the default setting, something that requires no explanation, no deep thought?

Evolutionary biologists think about it. They shake their heads over things like altruism and self-sacrifice. Social scientists largely ignore it. Novelists seem to be wary of it. Readers and viewers are bored by it. Ours is a truly disenchanted world. Not the best of all possible worlds.

Belated Word of the Week is:

Scarf cloud, or pileus: an accessory cloud, often cirrus (i.e. made of ice particles) that forms above or is attached to a cumulus or cumulonimbus cloud. As you would expect, it is generally shaped like a cap, hood, or scarf.

Now let me get this straight; a scarf cloud is a small ice cloud riding on a great big fluffy cumulus - like a sleek accessory. So it's a special occasion cloud. I like that.

St. John and Simic

I am not good at picking favorite poems, and yet I feel compelled to try. Currently (because I am fickle in these matters), my favorite David St. John poem is "Hush," from his collection Study for the World's Body. However, I also love "Iris," "Wedding Preparations in the Country," and "Shadow."

While we're at it, I may as well list my favorite Charles Simic poems (yes, plural; I told you, I'm hopeless):

1. Medieval Miniature
2. The Once-Over
3. Midnight Freight
4. Ambiguity's Wedding
5. Obscurely Occupied
6. House of Horrors
7. To the One Upstairs

And those are just the ones from Jackstraws! Ah, how I find ways to amuse myself.

Ayre

Last night, a friend and I went to see Golijov's Ayre, performed by Soprano Dawn Upshaw and a brilliant group of CSO musicians. We were completely blown away. Dawn Upshaw is extraordinary in anything she does, but this was so different, such a stretch, combining classical operatic technique with wild, folk-inspired rhythms and tonalities. Golijov himself introduced the song-cycle, and his speech--along with the program notes--framed it as a rumination on the interweaving of Christian, Arab, and Jewish folk traditions, in Medieval Spain/the Middle East/North Africa, and the Jerusalem of today. An excerpt:

"I lived in Jerusalem for three years and was in contact with three cultures and their musics--Christian, Jewish, and Arab....In this song [Wa Habibi--My love], the melody is sung twice, but with Dawn uttering it in different ways. You go from a very Christian feeling to a completely Arabic feeling. I wanted to explore how little you have to change in order to cross the border from one culture to another." (Golijov)

After the performance, we had an opportunity to meet Golijov and the performers over beer and pizza. I have to say, the MusicNow series at CSO is absolutely the best thing going.
Salud!

Word of the Week is:

Antiphon: A short liturgical text chanted or sung responsively preceding or following a psalm, psalm verse, or canticle. It can also mean, more generally, a response or a reply.

The Golden Compass

So the Philip Pullman trilogy His Dark Materials is heading to the big screen. You can find your Daemon on their website.

Mine is Eamon, a male tiger (softly spoken, competitive, solitary, a leader, and humble). My two sons did this too, and the older one got a raccoon, the younger a rabbit. Fits pretty much perfectly their crafty opportunist/wide-eyed prey personalities! (I say in jest, but there is a smidgen of truth there...)

Waiting by Ha Jin

I just finished reading Waiting by Ha Jin, and I can concur with the many glowing reviews I've read; it's wonderful. That said, I have an unshakable bias against certain characters one comes across--in literature and in life. I'm talking about the Newland Archers of the world, the Stevens's, the Lin Kong's. Those who give in to their "fate," choosing the conventional or expected road rather than risking everything for the thing they think they really want. It's not their "choice" (or "compliance") that disturbs me; it's their inability to bootstrap themselves and say, "Oh, well, this is the hand I've been dealt. I've made my choice. I'm going to find a way, despite it all, to be happy." Is this a peculiarly American attitude? Pollyanna-ish? I don't know. I think I just hate all the whining.

Script Frenzy Begins!

Today is the first official day of Script Frenzy, and I have written 992 words. Yay! Unfortunately, I'm already sensing a potential plot hole the size of Kentucky. Hmmm... That's okay. My strategy has always been to write first, worry later. Toying with titles: Confessions of a Former Orphan; Tales of a Part-Time Orphan; Teenage Gothic.

Happily, I have resolved one thorny problem: how to get my characters from present-day to flashback without insane and impractical set changes. David, the memoir-writer, will direct the other orphans as they act out scenes from "home." That way, the entire play can take place in the orphanage, with a split-stage design to signify boys'/girls' dormitory, dining hall, attic, etc. That could work.