We talk a lot about heroes these days. Men and women who risk their lives every day by putting out fires, entering combat zones, and enforcing laws-- we look to them most often when we hold up examples of heroism.
There is great heroism to be seen in the daily chores of being a parent. Changing diapers and wiping up drool, getting the children off to school, going to work to pay the bills, keeping a cheerful outlook, finding laughter in the most meager of materials-- these offices seem prosaic but they are essential to the nurturing of children.
I started this blog during the summer of 2011 because I was inspired by reading the blog of Roger Paw, the photographer who follows the progress of the Washington Square red-tailed hawks Bobby and Violet and their chick Pip. Today Violet has died from complications after surgery on her damaged foot. Throughout the summer and fall, Violet fulfilled her duties as a mother through pain and disability, balancing on one leg. Her perseverance was truly heroic.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Swooning with Conrad
Today is Joseph Conrad's birthday. For three weeks, I have been teaching Heart of Darkness for the first time-- and possibly the last-- and thus I have renewed my acquaintance with one of my earliest book crushes. I adored Heart of Darkness. If you had asked me why 35 years ago when I was first smitten, I would probably have said something about the image patterns, the mystery, and Marlow's emotional outbursts. Now my respect for the novel has expanded to include the tribute to the sensibilities of sailors found in the frame narrative.
I'm not much of a sailor-- I like to have my feet on the ground, and I like the smell of turned earth the way sailors like the smell of the tide. I have been fortunate to know both accomplished farmers and skilled sailors. They understand the fundamentals of survival in their different realms. It would not be fair to say that a sailor is more at the mercy of the elements than a farmer. However, perhaps because we are not aquatic, although we may once have been, we are more likely to be in awe of the power of the sea than the power of the land. Sailors know a few tricks for controlling the flow of wind and water around their crafts.
So what has changed since my first infatuation with Heart of Darkness is a greater understanding of what a man must know and the choices he must make to be a successful captain and storyteller, as Marlow is.
I'm not much of a sailor-- I like to have my feet on the ground, and I like the smell of turned earth the way sailors like the smell of the tide. I have been fortunate to know both accomplished farmers and skilled sailors. They understand the fundamentals of survival in their different realms. It would not be fair to say that a sailor is more at the mercy of the elements than a farmer. However, perhaps because we are not aquatic, although we may once have been, we are more likely to be in awe of the power of the sea than the power of the land. Sailors know a few tricks for controlling the flow of wind and water around their crafts.
So what has changed since my first infatuation with Heart of Darkness is a greater understanding of what a man must know and the choices he must make to be a successful captain and storyteller, as Marlow is.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
"Time is an ocean..."
"Time is an ocean. 500 years ago is like 5 minutes ago. It's right there." This is loosely quoted from an interview with Laguna Pueblo writer Leslie Marmon Silko.
For several months now I have noticed that The New Yorker, which used to be published weekly, has been arriving every other day.
For several months now I have noticed that The New Yorker, which used to be published weekly, has been arriving every other day.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The racoon so far
The first night I planted the cabbage and kale, he pulled up one cabbage seedling and laid it neatly on its side next to the planting hole. That seems to have satisfied his curiosity. My theory is that his ancestral memory kicks in whenever something is planted. He remembers when the earliest farmers put a fish in each planting hole to provide nutrients for the seedling. Having found no fish in that one hole, he will not look for fish again until I begin to put out the organic fertilizer in a week or so.
On other nights since that first one, he has dipped a paw into the ground here and there, near the seedlings but not enough to disturb them. Since I supply him with fresh water at ground level throughout the year, perhaps the racoon and I will be able to work something out. I did have to put my foot down about the bird feeders in the spring, and things have calmed down considerably since then.
On other nights since that first one, he has dipped a paw into the ground here and there, near the seedlings but not enough to disturb them. Since I supply him with fresh water at ground level throughout the year, perhaps the racoon and I will be able to work something out. I did have to put my foot down about the bird feeders in the spring, and things have calmed down considerably since then.
Friday, November 4, 2011
change of season, change of guard
It's time to plant cabbage and kale. The seedlings are in hand and so is the Black Cow. Tomorrow is a good day for planting, and into the ground they will go, in the spot where just three weeks ago swallowtail caterpillars were chewing the bark off the fennel and pursuing the parsley down to the ground. Six blue knight kale, six savoy cabbage, six charmant cabbage. If I'm lucky, the possum and the raccoon will be on a field trip and my seedlings may remain in the ground until they are big enough to hold on for themselves.
Since my colleague Judy challenged me several years ago to come up with a new metaphor for school, I have thought of my classroom as a garden. For several years my classroom garden and my vegetable garden have been getting all the attention, while the rest of the yard is on survival maintenance.
Here at the end of the season, the orange hibiscus I planted have had an unexpected revival--thriving on neglect--and are sending up blooms that catch the warm end of the spectrum from the late afternoon light.
In my classroom, the juniors are embracing Hamlet as warmly as if he were their best friend hitting a rough patch. Think elegantly, act clumsily. If only we all handled a tight spot that well. The seniors are entering the Congo River with trepidation. Next week, after planting the balanced contrast and metonymy, I will be watering and monitoring for insight. And so it grows.
Since my colleague Judy challenged me several years ago to come up with a new metaphor for school, I have thought of my classroom as a garden. For several years my classroom garden and my vegetable garden have been getting all the attention, while the rest of the yard is on survival maintenance.
Here at the end of the season, the orange hibiscus I planted have had an unexpected revival--thriving on neglect--and are sending up blooms that catch the warm end of the spectrum from the late afternoon light.
In my classroom, the juniors are embracing Hamlet as warmly as if he were their best friend hitting a rough patch. Think elegantly, act clumsily. If only we all handled a tight spot that well. The seniors are entering the Congo River with trepidation. Next week, after planting the balanced contrast and metonymy, I will be watering and monitoring for insight. And so it grows.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
senior moments
It's the time of the year when high school teachers write letters of recommendations for seniors. As my sister-in-law, a high school guidance counselor, says, some letters just write themselves, because she knows the student that well. Lately all the letters for which I have been responsible have been writing themselves. That is to say, I sit at the keyboard for several hours composing, revising, and editing, but I have plenty to say, lots of good material from several years of knowing the student and working in several capacities--English teacher, club sponsor, mentor, editor, encourager--and nothing remotely form letterish comes into play. Some letters I view as an opportunity to express my appreciation for the contribution the student has made to my classroom. I put myself in the role of the one who has benefited, collaborated with, seen the results of... all the hard work students put into their assignments and attitude. The students who accept their role of participant, collaborator, catalyst... make it fun to come to work every day. And the other students, who don't see the importance of their role yet... I keep encouraging.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
playing possum
The seasons are trading off the four corners of the US. San Diego is having Death Valley temps, Boston is pushing Florida temps, Florida is unseasonably cool, and San Francisco is unpredictable as always.
Here is Eavan Boland's "Atlantis-- a Lost Sonnet"
Here is Eavan Boland's "Atlantis-- a Lost Sonnet"
How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades, not to mention vehicles and animals—had all one fine day gone under? I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then. Surely a great city must have been missed? I miss our old city — white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe what really happened is this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word to convey that what is gone is gone forever and never found it. And so, in the best traditions of where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it.
How indeed? Must have been global warming.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Nature's first green is gold, Frost says. Martha's second birthday is next Wednesday, and her days are golden. Fall is the season for traveling to New England. I will see family I know but little, and family I know well, and old friends I have known too little since too long ago. The weekend will be full of biblical women--Martha, Sarah, Judith.
Fall has brought a surprise hatching of swallowtail butterflies eating the nubbins off the fennel and parsley. October first, last Saturday, featured a turn of the calendar page and a jump shift to temperatures twenty degrees lower. So, thinking of Invisible Man's lower frequencies, I move into the change of season.
Fall has brought a surprise hatching of swallowtail butterflies eating the nubbins off the fennel and parsley. October first, last Saturday, featured a turn of the calendar page and a jump shift to temperatures twenty degrees lower. So, thinking of Invisible Man's lower frequencies, I move into the change of season.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
30 days hath September
We had a premonition of the change of seasons two weeks ago, but since then it has felt like unending summer. Not even a nip in the morning air. Regardless of temperature, the plants and animals judge for themselves. I have had a sasanqua camellia blooming for a week now. They bloom earlier and earlier, but never before the end of October. The summer season was all off for butterflies and caterpillars. I wonder what the fall will bring to the garden.
"Summer's first green is gold. Her hardest hue to hold," wrote Frost. Now all the seasons slide into each other in Florida. Every year is different.
"Summer's first green is gold. Her hardest hue to hold," wrote Frost. Now all the seasons slide into each other in Florida. Every year is different.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Steinbeck was right
Steinbeck was right about the banks. Created by man, they become a monster, and no man is in control.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The SAT and the Bible
E. D. Hirsch Jr. has an editorial in the New York Times yesterday, Monday, September 19, 2011, entitled "How to stop the drop in verbal scores." He quotes from the Bible to explain the Matthew Effect, which he holds accountable for declining SAT scores.
Hirsch quotes: "For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath." Hirsch goes on to say that "those who are language-poor in early childhood get relatively poorer, and fall further behind, while the verbally rich get richer."
No context is given. What was Matthew talking about before and after this? Vocabulary acquisition? Background knowledge? Income tax? Hedge funds? Fashion week?
And which translation is he using? It sounds like King James, which means it was a translation into English from the Greek, only once removed from the original texts.
Here is yet another example of sacred texts called upon to perform miracles. Fortunately, they are up to the task.
Hirsch has a point that deserves to be acknowledged. The SAT is 90% vocabulary. It is an American standardized test. If you have most of the SAT words in your reading vocabulary, you have a better chance of constructing meaning from the relationships between words in the texts.
Behind Hirsch's argument is his famous work, published in the 80's, expounding cultural literacy. Teach these well-known allusions to your students, and they will have a context for understanding texts from the western canon.
What is missing from Hirsch's argument is the miracle that happens every time a reader encounters a text, whether they know all the words or not. No test can measure that relationship.
Hirsch quotes: "For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath." Hirsch goes on to say that "those who are language-poor in early childhood get relatively poorer, and fall further behind, while the verbally rich get richer."
No context is given. What was Matthew talking about before and after this? Vocabulary acquisition? Background knowledge? Income tax? Hedge funds? Fashion week?
And which translation is he using? It sounds like King James, which means it was a translation into English from the Greek, only once removed from the original texts.
Here is yet another example of sacred texts called upon to perform miracles. Fortunately, they are up to the task.
Hirsch has a point that deserves to be acknowledged. The SAT is 90% vocabulary. It is an American standardized test. If you have most of the SAT words in your reading vocabulary, you have a better chance of constructing meaning from the relationships between words in the texts.
Behind Hirsch's argument is his famous work, published in the 80's, expounding cultural literacy. Teach these well-known allusions to your students, and they will have a context for understanding texts from the western canon.
What is missing from Hirsch's argument is the miracle that happens every time a reader encounters a text, whether they know all the words or not. No test can measure that relationship.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Two ways of looking at two rivers
In "Two ways of looking at a river," Mark Twain laments that when he became a licensed river boat captain, his youthful romance with the beauty of the river was changed forever. Every detail that had previously brought him delight was now a signal of the changing conditions and dangers of the river. He makes his point so clearly that it seems beside the point to notice the rhetorical devices, the shift in diction and tone, and the imagery and sound effects that accomplish that shift.
I sympathize with the student who came to me privately, during my first year of teaching ninth graders preparing for the IB program, and said, "It is wrong to analyze literature." She spoke with respect and a sincere desire to communicate to me her strong feeling. Ahead of her lay the unimagined wonders of 11th and 12th grade IB literature study. I don't remember the words I said to her, but the meaning of my reply was, "Well, this is what we do, and there is something to be gained from it: an understanding of what is true about life and human nature."
There are some poems that I never want to mark and scan, some novels that I have no desire to study. They are still magical to me, like Twain's first view of the river at sunset. I see their craft, but I see it out of the corner of my eye. When I read them, I do not need to say anything. They say it all for me.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
William Stafford
I sympathize with the student who came to me privately, during my first year of teaching ninth graders preparing for the IB program, and said, "It is wrong to analyze literature." She spoke with respect and a sincere desire to communicate to me her strong feeling. Ahead of her lay the unimagined wonders of 11th and 12th grade IB literature study. I don't remember the words I said to her, but the meaning of my reply was, "Well, this is what we do, and there is something to be gained from it: an understanding of what is true about life and human nature."
There are some poems that I never want to mark and scan, some novels that I have no desire to study. They are still magical to me, like Twain's first view of the river at sunset. I see their craft, but I see it out of the corner of my eye. When I read them, I do not need to say anything. They say it all for me.
Ask Me
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
William Stafford
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Butterfly day
I share this birthday with D. H. Lawrence.Like his poem, "Butterfly," I am full of questions about what understanding I could be receiving from this moment, and what course I should be steering into the future. From noticing something as small as a butterfly moving through the garden to remembering something as big as the fall of the twin towers ten years ago, I wonder what patterns are forming as each second ticks by, and what strong winds are shaping the course.
Butterfly by D. H. Lawrence
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!Sunday, September 4, 2011
Labor Day
Tomorrow is Labor Day, 2011. One day of the year is dedicated to honoring working people. The other 364 days are devoted to throwing up roadblocks in their paths. This laying of blame is not a phase that will pass. It is just the latest verse in a long song.
To honor working people on Labor Day weekend, I will: 1. work unpaid hours reading papers, 2. complete chores around the house and in the garden, 3. work unpaid hours preparing lessons, and 4. sew on a project. We won't be sailing because a tropical storm is moving through the Gulf. Some rain would be most welcome.
I can add that the pleasure of the paid hours, in other words, time spent with students, offsets the unpaid hours reading papers. And it's nice when the papers are thoughtfully prepared, but it's also rewarding to see the improvement that comes from practice with guidance.
To honor working people on Labor Day weekend, I will: 1. work unpaid hours reading papers, 2. complete chores around the house and in the garden, 3. work unpaid hours preparing lessons, and 4. sew on a project. We won't be sailing because a tropical storm is moving through the Gulf. Some rain would be most welcome.
I can add that the pleasure of the paid hours, in other words, time spent with students, offsets the unpaid hours reading papers. And it's nice when the papers are thoughtfully prepared, but it's also rewarding to see the improvement that comes from practice with guidance.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
here we are again
Here we are again. Students will return to school tomorrow. How will we all spend our last day of summer? I'm going dancing.
This morning I got up when I woke up, which will not happen for another nine months. The alarm clock will be returned to duty tonight. I checked the birdbaths and refilled all the birdfeeders with sunflower seed, suet, and nectar. I watered the fennel and the parsley, which are currently being reduced to sticks by swallowtail caterpillars. I repaired my motorcycle rain cover, which sprang a rip Friday. Yesterday I did a few indoor chores and some reading, and today will pass much the same way except for a couple of hours of Playford dancing early this afternoon.
One important thing I did this summer was to reconnect with the person who started it all. She is still as strong a force as ever, and seeing her inspired me with renewed energy. When I moved to Nashville in the mid 1970's, my boyfriend's aunt befriended me and took me under her wing. It was she who saw me in the library at Peabody college, registering for my first semester of freshman classes; she collared me and introduced me to the head of the music department, who was forming an early music dance group. "You need to do this," she said, and so I did. I have been dancing ever since-- Renaissance, Playford, contradance, international dance, and ballroom. Through Renaissance and Playford, I met my husband of 25 years, at a Playford dance weekend in Versailles, Kentucky.
Playford dance is the most relaxing by far of all the kinds of dancing I have done. The steps are easy, the exertion light, but the dances are anything but simple. The geometric patterns and flow from one sequence of steps to the next are continually stimulating. Some dances have an almost hypnotic or meditative effect on me. As with any meditation practice, engaging in mindfulness and movement are enormously important to shedding the effects of stress. Plus, dancing is just fun.
This morning I got up when I woke up, which will not happen for another nine months. The alarm clock will be returned to duty tonight. I checked the birdbaths and refilled all the birdfeeders with sunflower seed, suet, and nectar. I watered the fennel and the parsley, which are currently being reduced to sticks by swallowtail caterpillars. I repaired my motorcycle rain cover, which sprang a rip Friday. Yesterday I did a few indoor chores and some reading, and today will pass much the same way except for a couple of hours of Playford dancing early this afternoon.
One important thing I did this summer was to reconnect with the person who started it all. She is still as strong a force as ever, and seeing her inspired me with renewed energy. When I moved to Nashville in the mid 1970's, my boyfriend's aunt befriended me and took me under her wing. It was she who saw me in the library at Peabody college, registering for my first semester of freshman classes; she collared me and introduced me to the head of the music department, who was forming an early music dance group. "You need to do this," she said, and so I did. I have been dancing ever since-- Renaissance, Playford, contradance, international dance, and ballroom. Through Renaissance and Playford, I met my husband of 25 years, at a Playford dance weekend in Versailles, Kentucky.
Playford dance is the most relaxing by far of all the kinds of dancing I have done. The steps are easy, the exertion light, but the dances are anything but simple. The geometric patterns and flow from one sequence of steps to the next are continually stimulating. Some dances have an almost hypnotic or meditative effect on me. As with any meditation practice, engaging in mindfulness and movement are enormously important to shedding the effects of stress. Plus, dancing is just fun.
Monday, August 8, 2011
plans for a garden
Ever since I went back to school for a degree in education, I have heard about teachers who spend time during the summer planning the entire year. They think about activities, they make the tests, and they know exactly what they will be doing each week. More power to them, I thought; I could never do that. It's just not my style and I can't see that far ahead. The most I could manage was reading and reflecting about the summer reading books.
Well, I have just typed out a weekly plan for my entire year for the first time. I thought about what and how, anticipated scheduling problems, and mapped out the units week by week. If I had not taught the course before, I don't think I could have done it. I have not made up any tests, but I have thought about the format I want to use.
I also see that some old ways of doing things will have to adapt to make room for new ways of doing other things. This mega-plan has been a useful exercise in space utilization, a sort of floor plan for furniture that has to fit into a house. Hmm, now that it occurs to me, I think of my garden as having rooms (thanks to Joe Eck's book on garden design), and I think of my classroom as a garden, so I like this idea that my course has rooms that need to be furnished.
The stakes were never this high before for making everything fit. I have to implement a new curriculum, top down, and I have to make it work. Now that I see it coming together I feel pretty good about the whole process, and, hey, it only took 24 years of practice.
Well, I have just typed out a weekly plan for my entire year for the first time. I thought about what and how, anticipated scheduling problems, and mapped out the units week by week. If I had not taught the course before, I don't think I could have done it. I have not made up any tests, but I have thought about the format I want to use.
I also see that some old ways of doing things will have to adapt to make room for new ways of doing other things. This mega-plan has been a useful exercise in space utilization, a sort of floor plan for furniture that has to fit into a house. Hmm, now that it occurs to me, I think of my garden as having rooms (thanks to Joe Eck's book on garden design), and I think of my classroom as a garden, so I like this idea that my course has rooms that need to be furnished.
The stakes were never this high before for making everything fit. I have to implement a new curriculum, top down, and I have to make it work. Now that I see it coming together I feel pretty good about the whole process, and, hey, it only took 24 years of practice.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
cooking
Much of my reading lately has been a cookbook called Dropping Acid. It's designed to reduce the amount of acid in our diets. The recipes have a wonderful balance of seasonings. We are indebted to Chef Marc for bringing food with flavor back into our lives.
So far I have made five of the dishes. Three I can reuse without alteration, but two I had to throw out because one ingredient was an "idiosyncratic" food which, although not particularly acidic, caused a really bad reaction for Bob, the member of our family with acid reflux. I will use those two recipes again but without the rogue ingredient.
Now that I have a better grasp of these major dietary changes, I can get down to the business of the last two weeks of summer-- friends and solitude, projects and relaxation, reading and thinking, and hanging with the kitties.
So far I have made five of the dishes. Three I can reuse without alteration, but two I had to throw out because one ingredient was an "idiosyncratic" food which, although not particularly acidic, caused a really bad reaction for Bob, the member of our family with acid reflux. I will use those two recipes again but without the rogue ingredient.
Now that I have a better grasp of these major dietary changes, I can get down to the business of the last two weeks of summer-- friends and solitude, projects and relaxation, reading and thinking, and hanging with the kitties.
the stories
Finished Ficciones. By the end I was laughing out loud and reading passages to Bob. I ran the gauntlet from science fiction, espionage, history, mystery, and western. Western? That one suprised me until I remembered Argentina has a rich tradition of horse and cattle ranching. It turned out to be one of my favorite stories.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Out of this world
Once I adjusted to Borges' sense of humor in Ficciones, several of the stories reminded me of Lovecraft, but without the nameless dread.
Several other stories made me feel as if I were reading Chandler again-- characters show up, are named, act decisively, and clearly have a long history with the detective although they have not been mentioned to the reader previously in the story.
This technique of Chandler's puts the reader in the same position as the detective in a sense. We are in the dark, looking through small windows, then trying to arrange what we see as if those glimpses were cels or snapshots, in order to create a complete story line.
I often feel like an ineffective detective at the start of a case, the first time I read something.
Several other stories made me feel as if I were reading Chandler again-- characters show up, are named, act decisively, and clearly have a long history with the detective although they have not been mentioned to the reader previously in the story.
This technique of Chandler's puts the reader in the same position as the detective in a sense. We are in the dark, looking through small windows, then trying to arrange what we see as if those glimpses were cels or snapshots, in order to create a complete story line.
I often feel like an ineffective detective at the start of a case, the first time I read something.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Hand made and mind made
Since I read for a living, it is often the case that I seek other activities for relaxation. I feel some regret about this, because there are so many good books that I want to read for pleasure. I get to a few every year, but slowly.
I also get a great deal of pleasure from working with my hands--gardening, picture framing, cooking. That prevents me from holding a book. The only way to read and do manual work is to listen to audio books. I don't listen to audio books often, but last summer I discovered a treasure-- the audio book of Ellison's Invisible Man, read by actor Joe Morton. 18 hours. I listened to the first half driving from Gainesville FL to Nashville, a 9 hour trip, and I listened to the second half driving back south.
Not long into the trip, I felt like Joe Morton's Invisible Man was my best friend. Morton reads the novel as if it were a stage play, with a different voice for each character Invisible Man meets in his journey, and a wide variety of moods for Invisible Man himself. Since I know that Ellison recorded himself reading his manuscript and then played back the tapes as he revised, I believe he was as interested in the sound of the narrative as the way it reads on the page. The narrative includes song lyrics, preaching, and oral storytelling, more evidence that it has a life out loud.
How many novelists, I wonder, write with the idea that their work will be read out loud?
I also get a great deal of pleasure from working with my hands--gardening, picture framing, cooking. That prevents me from holding a book. The only way to read and do manual work is to listen to audio books. I don't listen to audio books often, but last summer I discovered a treasure-- the audio book of Ellison's Invisible Man, read by actor Joe Morton. 18 hours. I listened to the first half driving from Gainesville FL to Nashville, a 9 hour trip, and I listened to the second half driving back south.
Not long into the trip, I felt like Joe Morton's Invisible Man was my best friend. Morton reads the novel as if it were a stage play, with a different voice for each character Invisible Man meets in his journey, and a wide variety of moods for Invisible Man himself. Since I know that Ellison recorded himself reading his manuscript and then played back the tapes as he revised, I believe he was as interested in the sound of the narrative as the way it reads on the page. The narrative includes song lyrics, preaching, and oral storytelling, more evidence that it has a life out loud.
How many novelists, I wonder, write with the idea that their work will be read out loud?
Friday, July 8, 2011
he who gives quickly gives twice
He who gives quickly gives twice, Marianne Moore wrote, in nothing so much as in a letter. Brevity is all.
With that advice in mind, I'll pass along the best belly laugh I've had lately. Carol Anne Duffy's poem "Mrs. Sisyphus" begins with these lines:
That's him pushing the stone up the hill, the jerk.
I call it a stone-- it's nearer the size of a kirk.
and ends with this line:
He is giving one hundred per cent and more to his work.
The entire poem is playful and dismissive of epic endeavors. She and Mrs. Noah have little patience for great works. The whimsical elements (rhyme, profanity, cliche) of the poem undermine the seriousness of the husband.
With that extreme acknowledged, I'll mention the flip side. Many of us have loved ones who toil away at seemingly impossible tasks anonymously and to good effect. If one life in crisis is redirected, what a good thing for us all.
With that advice in mind, I'll pass along the best belly laugh I've had lately. Carol Anne Duffy's poem "Mrs. Sisyphus" begins with these lines:
That's him pushing the stone up the hill, the jerk.
I call it a stone-- it's nearer the size of a kirk.
and ends with this line:
He is giving one hundred per cent and more to his work.
The entire poem is playful and dismissive of epic endeavors. She and Mrs. Noah have little patience for great works. The whimsical elements (rhyme, profanity, cliche) of the poem undermine the seriousness of the husband.
With that extreme acknowledged, I'll mention the flip side. Many of us have loved ones who toil away at seemingly impossible tasks anonymously and to good effect. If one life in crisis is redirected, what a good thing for us all.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
topics which will remain uncovered in this blog
As a newbie to the blog world, I have been reflecting that there are several topics which I will not address in this public forum.
I will not reveal extremely intimate information about myself, past or present.
I will not opine about recently concluded criminal trials in Florida which are attracting national attention.
I will not ride my hobbyhorse over Republican governors, or legislation overseeing student assessment and teacher performance and collective bargaining.
What is left to say? Plenty.
First, there are a lot of good people who get up every day, go to work, work hard, and complain very little. They have opinions and are concerned, but they choose to express their concern by doing a good job in their corner of the world. They get discouraged, or they get encouraged, but they still get up and go to work every day.
Second, there is a lot of good composing going on that gets to the heart of what is important to remember from day to day. So for today, here is the first line of Steinbeck's Cannery Row. Any place we go back to day after day is full of promises and disappointments. This first line has a variation on the telescoping effect of the first chapters of The Grapes of Wrath, as well as the germ of a sense of place, all in one sentence.
Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.
I will not reveal extremely intimate information about myself, past or present.
I will not opine about recently concluded criminal trials in Florida which are attracting national attention.
I will not ride my hobbyhorse over Republican governors, or legislation overseeing student assessment and teacher performance and collective bargaining.
What is left to say? Plenty.
First, there are a lot of good people who get up every day, go to work, work hard, and complain very little. They have opinions and are concerned, but they choose to express their concern by doing a good job in their corner of the world. They get discouraged, or they get encouraged, but they still get up and go to work every day.
Second, there is a lot of good composing going on that gets to the heart of what is important to remember from day to day. So for today, here is the first line of Steinbeck's Cannery Row. Any place we go back to day after day is full of promises and disappointments. This first line has a variation on the telescoping effect of the first chapters of The Grapes of Wrath, as well as the germ of a sense of place, all in one sentence.
Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
first entry
Hello Blogosphere,
Am I coming in on the tail end of the active life of blogs? I hope not. Many years after WEBLOGS began, I am starting my first blog.
My inspiration is Roger_Paw, who has been photographing and videoing Pip the redtailed hawk chick at Washington Square Park.
What do I have to add to the mix? Not much yet. I'm a high school English teacher in north central Florida with a husband and 4 cats. I've been teaching since 1988 in this orange university town. I grew up all over until Nashville became my home.
I am a teacher on summer leave, I have just a month ago created my first teaching website, and now I have a blog. We'll see where this will lead. For now I'll say that this is a working summer, but I'm as good a procrastinator as the next girl.
Cheers,
Rey.
Am I coming in on the tail end of the active life of blogs? I hope not. Many years after WEBLOGS began, I am starting my first blog.
My inspiration is Roger_Paw, who has been photographing and videoing Pip the redtailed hawk chick at Washington Square Park.
What do I have to add to the mix? Not much yet. I'm a high school English teacher in north central Florida with a husband and 4 cats. I've been teaching since 1988 in this orange university town. I grew up all over until Nashville became my home.
I am a teacher on summer leave, I have just a month ago created my first teaching website, and now I have a blog. We'll see where this will lead. For now I'll say that this is a working summer, but I'm as good a procrastinator as the next girl.
Cheers,
Rey.
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