Lately, i've been going through old poems and revising them. I've done this many times before: in high school, i revised poems from middle school; in college, i revised poems from high school; in grad school, i revised poems from college. Now that i'm more or less post-grad school, i'm revising everything.
Usually, this process is largely one of deletion. I'll pull out a line or phrase from a poem that i like and throw the rest away as irredeemable trash. I'll scratch out the main themes of a poem, rearrange the stanzas, and throw out half of it. I'll throw away whole notebooks full of boring and embarrassing scrawls. But as the years go by, i've gotten better. I've trimmed away a lot of the bad stuff and built on a lot of the good. These days, the folder on my flash drive is about 80% potential, with only 20% fluff.
This makes the revision that much harder. When you have a whole sonnet that is absolutely perfect except for one weak line, and you have to fix it without disturbing the meter, and you can't just delete it because then you'd be a line short, it can take weeks and months and even years of work before the poem is solid. Sometimes you put it away for six months or so, and then come back to it with fresh eyes. Sometimes you delete the bad line anyway and decide that the poem makes a stronger statement as a partial sonnet. Sometimes you start dreaming in iambic pentameter and wake up sobbing, declaring that you will only write in free verse from now on.
I'm at the point now where i actually have two poetry folders, one marked "in progress" and one marked "ready". When i want to send in some submissions, i pull from the "ready" folder. In between submission periods, i work on moving things from "in progress" to "ready". Sometimes i find things i'd forgotten about. Sometimes i go looking for something that i can't find, completely forgetting that i renamed it on the last round of revisions. And sometimes, even now, i delete and delete and delete.
It feels strange to be so business-like about editing my work. I mean, my primary goal is simply to make each poem as good as it possibly can be, but i am aware that the better my poetry is, the better chance it has of getting published. And getting published would be pretty sweet. Despite my strong identification with Emily Dickinson, it would be nice to have some recognition while i'm alive, however slight and passing.
It just somehow feels like it should be against the rules or something, you know? It's like i'm grading my own paper. I'm sorting through my poems and reading them and deciding which ones are good enough to edit and which are not, and then i'm editing them and deciding which ones are good enough to publish. I've never had anything published in my life! It's not okay for me to do this! This is supposed to be someone else's job!
I mean, technically, just because i think something is good to go doesn't mean anyone else will ever agree. I've sent things out before that i thought were pretty good, that other people thought were pretty good, that published, award-winning poets told me should be sent out, and had them firmly rejected. So i don't have the deciding vote or anything, but i feel a little bit like the Chief of Staff, deciding what goes on the President's desk and what gets handled by an underling. And i'm like, I just registered to vote yesterday and I can't remember the difference between Congress and the House of Representatives. I really feel like there should be another layer of authority between me and the President. But apparently i'm a grown-up now, and i have to decide these things for myself. So if you see anything published under my name, thank Obama, i guess.
I think i lost track of my metaphor a little bit at the end there.
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
lots of poetry and art.
1. "~The first question was, who told you you were wrong
for breathing? Who tried to erase you?"
GodDAMN. Also read part two.
2. I was one of the fortunate ones who was not directly touched by 9-11, but i was deeply affected at the time. And the war triggered by that event cost my brother his leg and his peace of mind and his energy and his health and a lot of his skin and bone and flesh and blood and many sleepless nights and, for a little while, his dignity. And i am still one of the fortunate ones, for so many others have lost so much more. It's odd, the things that strike us, the things that hold our memories.
Ask me if I remember any of their far-away names,
those swallowed by that black September day.
I will say no, but I do remember hers.
3. The Oatmeal: proving, once again, that comics are more than illustrated jokes to hang on your refrigerator or cubicle. Read this whole thing, all six pages, and know that this last page was written straight out of my brain.
"And the buzzing roar of the world is nothing compared to the noise inside my head. I'm an introspective person, and sometimes I think too much, about my job and about my life."
Also, we definitely have the same demons. The first two in particular. Which is terrifyingly comforting.
for breathing? Who tried to erase you?"
GodDAMN. Also read part two.
2. I was one of the fortunate ones who was not directly touched by 9-11, but i was deeply affected at the time. And the war triggered by that event cost my brother his leg and his peace of mind and his energy and his health and a lot of his skin and bone and flesh and blood and many sleepless nights and, for a little while, his dignity. And i am still one of the fortunate ones, for so many others have lost so much more. It's odd, the things that strike us, the things that hold our memories.
Ask me if I remember any of their far-away names,
those swallowed by that black September day.
I will say no, but I do remember hers.
3. The Oatmeal: proving, once again, that comics are more than illustrated jokes to hang on your refrigerator or cubicle. Read this whole thing, all six pages, and know that this last page was written straight out of my brain.
"And the buzzing roar of the world is nothing compared to the noise inside my head. I'm an introspective person, and sometimes I think too much, about my job and about my life."
Also, we definitely have the same demons. The first two in particular. Which is terrifyingly comforting.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Psalm 66-150, Proverbs 1-18
How long has it been between these posts? Two weeks? Whatever; i'm covered by the blood of the Lamb, right?
Moving on.
Psalm 139 is probably my favorite right now. Poetically, i hate it; or rather, i hate the author, because he beat me to this. I wanted to write this psalm, and i've tried to a couple of times, but he already stole all of the ideas. Other poets suck, and i love them for it.
Full disclosure: one time, i was really pissed at God, and i wrote a reverse-imitatio of this psalm. Basically, i just changed a few words here and there to talk about how i felt like God had abandoned me. It was a terrible poem, but i felt better afterwards.
vs. 9-10
If I take the wings of the morning,
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there Your hand shall lead me,
And Your right hand shall hold me.
vs. 14
I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.
Really, i could quote the whole thing here and never write anything again and be perfectly happy, but instead i'll make you read it on your own and i'll keep up with the second-rate blather.
Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
And lean not on your own understanding;
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He shall direct your paths.
I grew up in a denomination called Nazarene (similar to Baptist or Methodist). One of the things we do is a scouting program (like Boy Scouts, only even more religious) for kids from 1st through 6th grade. Kids do traditional scouting things (knot-tying, pinewood derby car racing, tent pitching, fishing, etc.), and also study the history and theology of the Nazarene church. It's pretty cool, actually, and helps cut down on kids who are like, "Well, I'm (fill in denomination here), which is, like, different from other ones? I guess? I think we baptize babies or something."
Anyway, Proverbs 3:5-6 is one of our big memory verses every year. And really, it's a good one. Trust God.
Proverbs 8:1
Does not wisdom cry out,
And understanding lift up her voice?
Shout out to all my teacher friends!
And, uh, me, i guess. I'll be teaching soon (Lord willin' and the crick don't rise), and then i'll be one of those lifting up my voice for wisdom and understanding. I've been doing it for many years now on a smaller scale, and i'm looking forward to a captive audience.
Because seriously, guys, wisdom cries out and understanding lifts up her voice. Just listen, okay? Geez.
Proverbs 16:3
Commit your works to the Lord,
And your thoughts will be established.
I think about sin a lot. (Hubba, hubba.) No, but for real: i spend a pretty good chunk of time pondering the nature of sin and badness and evil and how we can rise above it. So many things are habit, or we don't know that they're wrong, or the thoughts and words come so quickly and sometimes we can't pull them back in time. Sometimes it really does seem like we are rotten to the core and can't do anything about that, and like trying is pointless because how can you ever conquer all the sin in your heart, anyway? if you lived long enough to do that, you'd also live long enough to pick up all kinds of new sins. And either we're covered by grace or we're not, so just do your best and don't worry about it, right?
Well, yeah, but also no. Do your best, and don't worry about it, because doing your best means surrendering fully to God, who can conquer ALL of your sin. All of it? All of it. Even the ones you don't know about? Even the ones you don't know about. Even the ones that are long-held bad habits? Even those. Even the ones you're in denial about. Even all of them. Even everything. Commit your works to the Lord, and your thoughts will be established.
Moving on.
Psalm 139 is probably my favorite right now. Poetically, i hate it; or rather, i hate the author, because he beat me to this. I wanted to write this psalm, and i've tried to a couple of times, but he already stole all of the ideas. Other poets suck, and i love them for it.
Full disclosure: one time, i was really pissed at God, and i wrote a reverse-imitatio of this psalm. Basically, i just changed a few words here and there to talk about how i felt like God had abandoned me. It was a terrible poem, but i felt better afterwards.
vs. 9-10
If I take the wings of the morning,
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there Your hand shall lead me,
And Your right hand shall hold me.
vs. 14
I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.
Really, i could quote the whole thing here and never write anything again and be perfectly happy, but instead i'll make you read it on your own and i'll keep up with the second-rate blather.
Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
And lean not on your own understanding;
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He shall direct your paths.
I grew up in a denomination called Nazarene (similar to Baptist or Methodist). One of the things we do is a scouting program (like Boy Scouts, only even more religious) for kids from 1st through 6th grade. Kids do traditional scouting things (knot-tying, pinewood derby car racing, tent pitching, fishing, etc.), and also study the history and theology of the Nazarene church. It's pretty cool, actually, and helps cut down on kids who are like, "Well, I'm (fill in denomination here), which is, like, different from other ones? I guess? I think we baptize babies or something."
Anyway, Proverbs 3:5-6 is one of our big memory verses every year. And really, it's a good one. Trust God.
Proverbs 8:1
Does not wisdom cry out,
And understanding lift up her voice?
Shout out to all my teacher friends!
And, uh, me, i guess. I'll be teaching soon (Lord willin' and the crick don't rise), and then i'll be one of those lifting up my voice for wisdom and understanding. I've been doing it for many years now on a smaller scale, and i'm looking forward to a captive audience.
Because seriously, guys, wisdom cries out and understanding lifts up her voice. Just listen, okay? Geez.
Proverbs 16:3
Commit your works to the Lord,
And your thoughts will be established.
I think about sin a lot. (Hubba, hubba.) No, but for real: i spend a pretty good chunk of time pondering the nature of sin and badness and evil and how we can rise above it. So many things are habit, or we don't know that they're wrong, or the thoughts and words come so quickly and sometimes we can't pull them back in time. Sometimes it really does seem like we are rotten to the core and can't do anything about that, and like trying is pointless because how can you ever conquer all the sin in your heart, anyway? if you lived long enough to do that, you'd also live long enough to pick up all kinds of new sins. And either we're covered by grace or we're not, so just do your best and don't worry about it, right?
Well, yeah, but also no. Do your best, and don't worry about it, because doing your best means surrendering fully to God, who can conquer ALL of your sin. All of it? All of it. Even the ones you don't know about? Even the ones you don't know about. Even the ones that are long-held bad habits? Even those. Even the ones you're in denial about. Even all of them. Even everything. Commit your works to the Lord, and your thoughts will be established.
* * * * *
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Emily Angelou? Maya Dickinson? Emilya Dickelou? Mayily Angeson?
A few nights ago, my boyfriend and i were getting ready for bed, and he asked me to tell him a story. He does that from time to time, and it never goes well; i'm not good at spontaneous story-telling, and anyway i mostly write non-narrative poems, so it's completely out of my wheelhouse. So i always ask him what kind of story he wants, and he always says, "I don't know; you're the writer," and then i tell him that i don't do that kind of writing, and then he whines, and then i snuggle him to sleep.
But the most recent time, when i asked him what kind of story he wanted, he said, "One that would make a lot of money."
I laughed. "If i had a story that would make a lot of money, don't you think i would have sold it by now?"
"No, because you write poetry," he countered.
Ignoring the irony embodied in his own words, i had a flashback to senior year. In our senior seminar class, we had an assignment designed to make us seriously consider our career prospects as English majors. (Hint: they are not bright.) Those of us on the Creative Writing track had to research the market, look at publishing houses and magazines and journals and calls for submissions and find out what was profitable, what our demographic was, what our chances were for success. There were four graduating English seniors that year: two Literary Analysis, one Creative Writing (fiction), and one Creative Writing (poetry). The fiction writer was writing a Christian teen romance novel which will almost certainly sell. I thought it was okay: fluffy beach fiction with structurally sound but stylistically flat writing. But that hasn't gotten in anyone else's way, so she has a good shot. Anyway, when it was my turn to talk about success in the poetry field, the professor called in some other experts.
So we sat there, me and Beach Fiction and the two Literary Analysts, and Benji and McCann (published poets, both), and KP, and we talked about what it means to be a successful poet.
"Emily Dickinson never published anything in her life," McCann pointed out.
"And Maya Angelou made a million dollars last year because she sold out to work for Hallmark," Benji added.
Then there was a debate about Maya Angelou, and whether her more popular, money-making poetry was as good as her earlier work, and whether any of it was as good as Emily Dickinson's work, and whether either of them would be read in another fifty or a hundred years, and does success as a poet mean that you get published and are famous in your own time, or that you're still read after your death, or both? Or what if you never get the recognition you deserve, but you're still talented and you feel good about your body of work? What does it mean to be a successful poet?
I've been looking at submission calls again lately and getting depressed. It's hard and scary and heartbreaking and awkward and forward to just send people your poems and ask to get them published. And what's the upside? You get published and then you have to start sending things out again? You get a ten dollar check and a free magazine and you can't tell anyone about it because the poem they picked is the one where you yell at your mom or the one about the time you had to buy Plan B? You get published and then some other random publication actually asks you for work and then you have to find something that's polished and ready to go? And then you've published all of your stuff and then you have to write more? And what if you only had ten good poems in you and then you've sent them all out and then you're faced with the inevitable truth that you suck, that that part of your life is over, that you'll spend the rest of your life showing visitors the laminated magazine page with your poem on it and serving people coffee? You send out a submission packet and promptly die of embarrassment and anxiety?
Still, my workshop requires me to turn things in every week for review. And when i'm applying for English teacher jobs, it looks good if i have some publishing credits on my résumé. And knowing is better than not knowing. And even ten bucks is better than nothing. And who knows? Maybe i'll be some kind of Maya Angelou/Emily Dickinson crossover: an introverted white lady who doesn't title her poems and makes some money off of them while she's still alive. Okay, so i guess that's less of a Maya Angelou/Emily Dickinson crossover and more of a Profitable Emily Dickinson, but whatever.
But the most recent time, when i asked him what kind of story he wanted, he said, "One that would make a lot of money."
I laughed. "If i had a story that would make a lot of money, don't you think i would have sold it by now?"
"No, because you write poetry," he countered.
Ignoring the irony embodied in his own words, i had a flashback to senior year. In our senior seminar class, we had an assignment designed to make us seriously consider our career prospects as English majors. (Hint: they are not bright.) Those of us on the Creative Writing track had to research the market, look at publishing houses and magazines and journals and calls for submissions and find out what was profitable, what our demographic was, what our chances were for success. There were four graduating English seniors that year: two Literary Analysis, one Creative Writing (fiction), and one Creative Writing (poetry). The fiction writer was writing a Christian teen romance novel which will almost certainly sell. I thought it was okay: fluffy beach fiction with structurally sound but stylistically flat writing. But that hasn't gotten in anyone else's way, so she has a good shot. Anyway, when it was my turn to talk about success in the poetry field, the professor called in some other experts.
So we sat there, me and Beach Fiction and the two Literary Analysts, and Benji and McCann (published poets, both), and KP, and we talked about what it means to be a successful poet.
"Emily Dickinson never published anything in her life," McCann pointed out.
"And Maya Angelou made a million dollars last year because she sold out to work for Hallmark," Benji added.
Then there was a debate about Maya Angelou, and whether her more popular, money-making poetry was as good as her earlier work, and whether any of it was as good as Emily Dickinson's work, and whether either of them would be read in another fifty or a hundred years, and does success as a poet mean that you get published and are famous in your own time, or that you're still read after your death, or both? Or what if you never get the recognition you deserve, but you're still talented and you feel good about your body of work? What does it mean to be a successful poet?
I've been looking at submission calls again lately and getting depressed. It's hard and scary and heartbreaking and awkward and forward to just send people your poems and ask to get them published. And what's the upside? You get published and then you have to start sending things out again? You get a ten dollar check and a free magazine and you can't tell anyone about it because the poem they picked is the one where you yell at your mom or the one about the time you had to buy Plan B? You get published and then some other random publication actually asks you for work and then you have to find something that's polished and ready to go? And then you've published all of your stuff and then you have to write more? And what if you only had ten good poems in you and then you've sent them all out and then you're faced with the inevitable truth that you suck, that that part of your life is over, that you'll spend the rest of your life showing visitors the laminated magazine page with your poem on it and serving people coffee? You send out a submission packet and promptly die of embarrassment and anxiety?
Still, my workshop requires me to turn things in every week for review. And when i'm applying for English teacher jobs, it looks good if i have some publishing credits on my résumé. And knowing is better than not knowing. And even ten bucks is better than nothing. And who knows? Maybe i'll be some kind of Maya Angelou/Emily Dickinson crossover: an introverted white lady who doesn't title her poems and makes some money off of them while she's still alive. Okay, so i guess that's less of a Maya Angelou/Emily Dickinson crossover and more of a Profitable Emily Dickinson, but whatever.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
metaphor
In the morning, i drink coffee: hot, dark, and bold. Boiling water blasts through grounds, streaming dark and heavy into a glass pot, into a ceramic mug. Brown sugar in the bottom, cream swirling through, chaos moves to uniformity and order. Not for me the flavored non-dairy additions. Not for me the chemical sweeteners. Give me dark beans, slightly burnt, ground rough and percolated. This is how i start the day.
In the afternoon, i drink tea: warm, light, and mild. Leaves sit in hot water, gently releasing floral notes and antioxidants. Golden honey melts into liquid, flavors blending like a three-part harmony: green tea, hibiscus flowers, raw honey. You have to give the tea time to steep. You have to give the honey time to melt. You have to sip gently, like wine, and savor the complex layers in the cup. Take a pause, take a breath, take a sip.
In the afternoon, i drink tea: warm, light, and mild. Leaves sit in hot water, gently releasing floral notes and antioxidants. Golden honey melts into liquid, flavors blending like a three-part harmony: green tea, hibiscus flowers, raw honey. You have to give the tea time to steep. You have to give the honey time to melt. You have to sip gently, like wine, and savor the complex layers in the cup. Take a pause, take a breath, take a sip.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Saturday, November 17, 2012
oh hey
So. Um.
Posting has been a little erratic lately. I do know that. Sorry.
All i can really say is that i've been so busy actually doing things that i have no time to write about them. I'll give you guys a quick synopsis of the past month and a half, and then we'll call it even, k?
So, in October, one of my best friends married her best friend, and i was a bridesmaid. So Boyfriend and i took a train, which arrived in Philly at 4:30 am, and then we waited for the rental car place to open. Then when it did, they apparently required a deposit (which they had not told us when we made the reservation and which he has never had to pay before when he has rented a car), and since he didn't have enough money in his account to cover the whole thing, his card was declined. So he made some angry phone calls, and i pulled out my iPad and transferred some money from my savings account and paid for the rental car. Then we went out to the parking lot, and our car was blocked in by three other cars. We called the office to ask them to move it, and then sat there for twenty minutes waiting. Finally, someone came out and walked around the three cars blocking us, looking confused, until Boyfriend got out and said, "Hey, can you move one of these cars so we can get out?" The guy looked more confused. Apparently, the office had told him to move a car, but not which car or why they needed it moved. Another ten minutes went by before we could leave. We slept at the hotel for a few hours, and then went to set up the church/rehearse/have the rehearsal dinner. Then the other bridesmaids and i stayed at the bride's parents' house. Then the wedding, and then the reception, and then Boyfriend and i went back to our hotel and passed out, exhausted. We checked out early the next morning, because our train left at 7:30. The rental car place wasn't open, and the gate to get into the rental lot wouldn't open, so we had to leave the car in the regular parking garage. A few hours later, when we were on the train, we got a rude phone call from the office, demanding to know where the car was. The story ends with Boyfriend writing an angry letter to the rental company.
The following weekend, we went to see Ingrid Michaelson on her acoustic tour with Katie Herzig. It was honestly one of the best shows i have ever seen. Both ladies were enormously talented, obviously, but they were also both very laid back and friendly and chatty. The whole thing felt like sitting in coffee shop, watching your friend perform. It was really lovely. Boyfriend and i had an amazing hotel room, and we spent some time cuddling, and antiquing, and exploring, and doing other things. On our way back home, we stopped at a state liquor store (we were in New Hampshire), and stocked up.
Then there was a hurricane. I was making myself dinner and drinking a rum and coke, when my roommates invited me to hang out. So i grabbed a bottle of wine and went downstairs, where we played Cards Against Humanity and i drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on my own. Then we took a break, and i went upstairs and got my special Black Velvet Toasted Caramel whiskey. We mixed it with apple cider and the rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I know i ate some pizza at one point. The next day, i took a sick day. Partly because i wanted to do laundry and never take any sick time and was out of vacation and personal time, and partly because i was too hung over to go into work.
Then i was proofreading and editing a paper for a guy in an MBA program. English was not his first language, and business is not my thing, so it was a lot of work. But it's the kind of work i love, so it was awesome.
Then Boyfriend and i had some serious discussions, and then i wrote him a whole bunch of love letters. Like, pen to paper, envelope, send through snail mail love letters that our grandchildren will read over one day. I know. How cute are we?
And then we organized our Thanksgiving trip down to Maryland to see my family and eat pie.
And finally, i and one of my downstairs neighbors have started an informal writing workshop group. So far, it's just the two of us, but we're hoping to expand soon. So i was revising old things, and realizing that everything i write should just be a sonnet and i should stop pretending that it isn't, and that i've missed this, and then i sent him two poems and he sent me a one-act play and we will meet this weekend to workshop them.
Oh! And i've also started going to the gym 3ish times a week. I do mountain climbing on the treadmill to a 90's pop music playlist, except for when i forget my iPod, in which case i watch Frasier instead. And then i drink a lot of water and eat some almonds or cashews and then go home and order a calzone or some Chinese food and eat it all in one sitting while watching The Office. It feels so great to be healthy.
Posting has been a little erratic lately. I do know that. Sorry.
All i can really say is that i've been so busy actually doing things that i have no time to write about them. I'll give you guys a quick synopsis of the past month and a half, and then we'll call it even, k?
So, in October, one of my best friends married her best friend, and i was a bridesmaid. So Boyfriend and i took a train, which arrived in Philly at 4:30 am, and then we waited for the rental car place to open. Then when it did, they apparently required a deposit (which they had not told us when we made the reservation and which he has never had to pay before when he has rented a car), and since he didn't have enough money in his account to cover the whole thing, his card was declined. So he made some angry phone calls, and i pulled out my iPad and transferred some money from my savings account and paid for the rental car. Then we went out to the parking lot, and our car was blocked in by three other cars. We called the office to ask them to move it, and then sat there for twenty minutes waiting. Finally, someone came out and walked around the three cars blocking us, looking confused, until Boyfriend got out and said, "Hey, can you move one of these cars so we can get out?" The guy looked more confused. Apparently, the office had told him to move a car, but not which car or why they needed it moved. Another ten minutes went by before we could leave. We slept at the hotel for a few hours, and then went to set up the church/rehearse/have the rehearsal dinner. Then the other bridesmaids and i stayed at the bride's parents' house. Then the wedding, and then the reception, and then Boyfriend and i went back to our hotel and passed out, exhausted. We checked out early the next morning, because our train left at 7:30. The rental car place wasn't open, and the gate to get into the rental lot wouldn't open, so we had to leave the car in the regular parking garage. A few hours later, when we were on the train, we got a rude phone call from the office, demanding to know where the car was. The story ends with Boyfriend writing an angry letter to the rental company.
The following weekend, we went to see Ingrid Michaelson on her acoustic tour with Katie Herzig. It was honestly one of the best shows i have ever seen. Both ladies were enormously talented, obviously, but they were also both very laid back and friendly and chatty. The whole thing felt like sitting in coffee shop, watching your friend perform. It was really lovely. Boyfriend and i had an amazing hotel room, and we spent some time cuddling, and antiquing, and exploring, and doing other things. On our way back home, we stopped at a state liquor store (we were in New Hampshire), and stocked up.
Then there was a hurricane. I was making myself dinner and drinking a rum and coke, when my roommates invited me to hang out. So i grabbed a bottle of wine and went downstairs, where we played Cards Against Humanity and i drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on my own. Then we took a break, and i went upstairs and got my special Black Velvet Toasted Caramel whiskey. We mixed it with apple cider and the rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I know i ate some pizza at one point. The next day, i took a sick day. Partly because i wanted to do laundry and never take any sick time and was out of vacation and personal time, and partly because i was too hung over to go into work.
Then i was proofreading and editing a paper for a guy in an MBA program. English was not his first language, and business is not my thing, so it was a lot of work. But it's the kind of work i love, so it was awesome.
Then Boyfriend and i had some serious discussions, and then i wrote him a whole bunch of love letters. Like, pen to paper, envelope, send through snail mail love letters that our grandchildren will read over one day. I know. How cute are we?
And then we organized our Thanksgiving trip down to Maryland to see my family and eat pie.
And finally, i and one of my downstairs neighbors have started an informal writing workshop group. So far, it's just the two of us, but we're hoping to expand soon. So i was revising old things, and realizing that everything i write should just be a sonnet and i should stop pretending that it isn't, and that i've missed this, and then i sent him two poems and he sent me a one-act play and we will meet this weekend to workshop them.
Oh! And i've also started going to the gym 3ish times a week. I do mountain climbing on the treadmill to a 90's pop music playlist, except for when i forget my iPod, in which case i watch Frasier instead. And then i drink a lot of water and eat some almonds or cashews and then go home and order a calzone or some Chinese food and eat it all in one sitting while watching The Office. It feels so great to be healthy.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
poemings
I wrote this draft as part of a multi-genre research project for one of my classes.
#istillneedaworkshop
these birds
are not angry
they’re all
twitterpated
tweeting
madly for followers
John Cleese calls them “twats”
Hannah Hart calls them “tweeps”
i call them “fans”
to inflate my own ego
tweet,
retweet, favorite
create a
hashtag punch line
hope that
the Bloggess will see it
shouting into chaos
140 characters at a time
how does one bird
stand out from the rest?
at least the
mafia requests have died down
should i add
events before 2007?
i just
edited my subscription to you
are you only friends with me to
be polite?
what is your subscription to me?
why did you like this picture
and not that one?
Mark
Zuckerberg keeps tinkering
so hard to
control privacy
it’s not
just my words, it’s my whole life
how do i separate the ‘book’
from the ‘face’?
how do i invite discussion
without asking for a fight?
is it better to be stalked or
ignored?
can’t i just sing my song?
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
the essential perhaps
In my junior year of college, i participated in the annual Magnetic Poetry Contest during Arts Week. And i won second place. I got a basketball t-shirt from the clearance rack of the school store. This remains my proudest poetry accomplishment to date.
Two of my professors asked me to read the poem in class the next day. It was a weird time for everyone involved.
The original version was a pretty random mish-mash of words and phrases; in other words, it was exactly what you'd expect from a magnetic poetry contest. But the one line that the contest judge kept repeating, the one line that i think won me my prize, was a line that stuck with me.
I won't share the original version here, because i do have some pride. But now, two years after my glorious victory, i have edited it almost beyond recognition. Only one line remains. There is still a lot of work to be done, but at least it's something now, instead of word salad.
Two of my professors asked me to read the poem in class the next day. It was a weird time for everyone involved.
The original version was a pretty random mish-mash of words and phrases; in other words, it was exactly what you'd expect from a magnetic poetry contest. But the one line that the contest judge kept repeating, the one line that i think won me my prize, was a line that stuck with me.
I won't share the original version here, because i do have some pride. But now, two years after my glorious victory, i have edited it almost beyond recognition. Only one line remains. There is still a lot of work to be done, but at least it's something now, instead of word salad.
there is a throbbing in my bones:
i am in reckless pursuit
of the essential perhaps
nothing is as seductive
as possibility
it is the only certain alchemy
turning disappointment to hope
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Writing Retreat, Day 4
These are two poems that i've been working on for a while. I spent some time on the retreat editing and polishing them.
deployment
this is the shape of things:
the trees are naked but for their coats
of ice, bordering the highway
like hand-carved crystal.
this is the shape of things:
hard and clear, the trees
tell me that maybe
i've already said goodbye.
this is the shape of things:
you are leaving,
i have already gone.
no atheists in foxholes
her brother, the agnostic, prays
over his food, asks for a blessing.
he sends out his requests
without naming names.
no longer certain that anyone hears, he nevertheless prays
over his food.
protestant to the backbone, she
lights candles anyway.
she thinks it can't hurt,
and it might help to see
hope
keep burning. she waits and prays
far from his hospital bed.
sometimes the lines blur,
and what matters is faith.
deployment
this is the shape of things:
the trees are naked but for their coats
of ice, bordering the highway
like hand-carved crystal.
this is the shape of things:
hard and clear, the trees
tell me that maybe
i've already said goodbye.
this is the shape of things:
you are leaving,
i have already gone.
no atheists in foxholes
her brother, the agnostic, prays
over his food, asks for a blessing.
he sends out his requests
without naming names.
no longer certain that anyone hears, he nevertheless prays
over his food.
protestant to the backbone, she
lights candles anyway.
she thinks it can't hurt,
and it might help to see
hope
keep burning. she waits and prays
far from his hospital bed.
sometimes the lines blur,
and what matters is faith.
Friday, September 9, 2011
but not like the snow
oh, kiss me like the rain, love
like a drizzly spring morning
gradual and tender
envelop me
oh, kiss me like the rain, love
like a summer thunderstorm
sure and unyielding
capture, overwhelm me
oh, kiss me like the rain, love
like a september shower
a soft touch on warm skin
take me by surprise
like a drizzly spring morning
gradual and tender
envelop me
oh, kiss me like the rain, love
like a summer thunderstorm
sure and unyielding
capture, overwhelm me
oh, kiss me like the rain, love
like a september shower
a soft touch on warm skin
take me by surprise
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
falling
he tells her that she's beautiful
and she ducks her head and smiles
she knows that he means it
but she can't quite believe it
she doesn't see it for herself
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his skin on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
the moon mimics her tonight
it smiles gently down
as it hides coyly behind
a cloud gliding by
and he gazes at the glow
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his soul on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
he hears music when he's around her
her smile is a melody
as days melt into weeks
all she can see is him
and all the things they've left unsaid can wait
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his heart on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
there's not a real word for it
but it's real enough to her
she is falling
oh, she is falling
falling for him
and she ducks her head and smiles
she knows that he means it
but she can't quite believe it
she doesn't see it for herself
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his skin on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
the moon mimics her tonight
it smiles gently down
as it hides coyly behind
a cloud gliding by
and he gazes at the glow
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his soul on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
he hears music when he's around her
her smile is a melody
as days melt into weeks
all she can see is him
and all the things they've left unsaid can wait
some people have a way with words
she has a way of being
there's a light that shines within her
and it sets his heart on fire
some people have a way with words
but she doesn't have the words to say
that she's feeling something between like and love
there's not a real word for it
but it's real enough to her
she is falling
oh, she is falling
falling for him
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Because I Said So
As stated in an earlier post, i have issues with the position (held by some Christians, but not all) of absolute biblical inerrancy. I won't restate my earlier disclaimers in their entirety, but i will sum them up in case you are too lazy/stupid/both to go back and read them:
Disclaimer 1: I like the Bible and find it to be greatly important in my life. I am not trying to be disrespectful of the Bible, Christians, or faith.
Disclaimer 2: I am not a Bible scholar, i have no degrees in theology/religion/philosophy/scripture/etc. I've just been studying the Bible as an amateur for 21 years, and have spent at least four hours a week nearly every week of my life in church.
I'll start by reiterating my earlier complaint: we ("we" shall hereinafter refer to "Christians") believe that the Bible is inerrant because the Bible says that it is inerrant.
Setting aside the fact that this is a pointless circular argument, let's actually examine the Biblical claims of inerrancy.
They don't exist.
Sure, there are passages that point to the reliability of Scripture, but they are both few and misleading. For example, this passage in Psalms:
The words of the LORD are pure words,
Like silver tried in a furnace of the earth,
Purified seven times.
Psalm 12:6
This passage comes from the Psalms, which are a bunch of poems in the Bible. For those of you who have never heard of poetic license, click on the link and then go yell at a teacher. For those of you who know what i'm talking about, let's all remember that "pure" and "inerrant" are not necessarily the same thing, that the Psalms are full of soaring hyperbole, and that there is some debate about which parts of the Bible can be considered the Word of God and which parts are (important, valid, but not quite divinely spoken) commentaries.
Next, we'll look at 2 Timothy 3:16-17:
"All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work."
2 Timothy is part of the New Testament. At the time when Paul wrote this letter to Timothy, the "Scripture" consisted of the Old Testament (and possibly the Apocrypha, the legitimacy of which has been widely debated in the Christian Church). So did Paul mean that only the Old Testament was "given by inspiration of God", or did he also mean to include the letter that he was writing to his friend? Much of the New Testament, in fact, is made up of letters. Imagine if, two thousand years after you died, people were debating over which of your emails they should use to guide their lives. Sure, Paul was divinely inspired in many ways, and he had a lot of good stuff to say, but he's also the guy who said that women should not be allowed to speak in public and that they should keep their heads covered at all times. I'm not saying that we should throw out everything he ever wrote just because he made a few bad calls. I am saying that we can't take everything he said at face value, because he was only a man and all people make mistakes from time to time. That's where discernment and the Holy Spirit come in.
So let's spend some time talking about what the Bible looks like, as a document. Parts of it claim to be (again, the Bible itself is making the claim) more or less direct transcriptions of what God actually said we should do and believe. Assuming that the transcriptionist got every word perfectly, that was still many thousands of years ago. Parts of the Bible have been lost. It only exists now because for many, many, many centuries it was copied out by hand over and over. It has been translated again and again and again. Not all of the versions
that we have now are actually translated from the original texts. And it was written in a very different cultural context from ours. Even if we could all agree on the correct translation of a particular word, the connotations of that word may well be wildly different here and now than they were there and then.
Again, i am not saying that we should throw out the whole Bible just because some words might not mean what we think they mean. I'm saying that we should spend less time and energy obsessing over exact words. If exact words were that important, don't you think that God would have designed language in such a way as to reduce all this confusion and controversy? If exact words were that important, don't you think that God would give everyone a decoder ring as soon as they became a Christian? If exact words were that important, don't you think we could simply read the Bible and understand it and have no need to attend church services, read commentaries or apologetics, form Bible studies or discipleship groups with one another, or even pray?
The Bible is great, but it can't replace fellowship, discussion, debate, or prayer. We need one another, and we need the Holy Spirit. The Bible simply gives us a starting point for the conversation.
There are also parts of the Bible that are written by people, and do not in any way claim to be transcripts of anything that God has said. The authors were men of God (i'm not being sexist by saying "men" instead of people, because as far as i am aware there are no books of the Bible written by women), who walked closely with Him. Many of them had actually known Jesus personally and wrote stories of his life and teachings. Of course, these stories were written a few years after his death and resurrection and came entirely from their memories, without even the benefit of a backlog of Facebook photo albums and status updates to help them sort out the details. Still, there's a lot of legitimacy to saying, "Jesus said this," if you were actually in the room when the conversation happened. Even if you can't quite repeat it verbatim, we can pretty much trust you to get the gist of it. And as long as we can all agree that exact words aren't that important, the gist is all we really need.
But as i mentioned above, a lot of the New Testament is letters. While the authors of these letters (mostly Paul) were holy and righteous men of God, as well as being intelligent, wise, and well-educated, they were human, and they were writing what they thought. Some thoughts don't wear well with time, don't travel well to other cultures, and don't translate easily. Furthermore, Paul was writing to churches that he knew. He was not posting a Facebook note or blog update to all Christians everywhere. He was saying, "Hey guys, I'm the one who started your church, I've hung out with you a lot, I know the area where you live, I know the leaders in your church, I know the demographics of your congregation, and you just wrote me a letter to ask for my opinion on some specific issues. So here it is." He was not writing for all Christians everywhere, but to specific Christians whose situations he understood intimately.
Let's say you have two friends, Julie and Cindy. They are both in long-distance relationships. Julie and her boyfriend, Tim, have been dating for three years. They have talked about getting married, but now Tim has a new job that will keep him far away indefinitely. It has been hard for them to keep their relationship strong over long distance, but they have made it work. They love each other and are committed to the relationship, but Julie is nervous about moving away from everything she knows in order to marry the love of her life. She'll do it, and she knows that she'll be happy in that choice, but she's still nervous and a little sad about it. Cindy, on the other hand, met her boyfriend Mike online. They have been "dating" for three months, despite the fact that they have never met in person. Now Mike is saying that he doesn't want to move away from his home, and that Cindy should move to where he is if they want to stay together. Would you give the same advice to these two women? (If so, remind me not to become friends with you.)
Some of the things that you say to Cindy will apply to Julie, and vice versa. Some relationship advice is general enough and good enough that it applies to every situation. And some of the things you say to them will apply to friends who are in similar, though not identical, situations. But you can't just put together one manual of relationship advice and expect it to answer every situation every time (though many have tried). And if that won't work for human relationships, why would we expect it to work for divine ones?
Above all else, we must remember that God is not an architect trying to design a building (although there are a lot of great spiritual metaphors involving that idea. But every metaphor breaks down at some point). He did not intend the Bible to be a blueprint, or an instructional manual for building IKEA furniture or using a kitchen appliance. God wants to have a relationship with each and every one of us. We are all different, which means that each of us will have a different relationship with Him. It also means that we will all have to do different things to make that relationship work. There is some relationship advice that is good enough and general enough to work for everyone, and there are some similar relationships that will benefit from similar advice. But at the end of the day, there is no perfect formula for everyone to follow.
The Bible says a lot of things about itself. I have no problem trusting those things, even though i don't like circular arguments. But the Bible doesn't say that it is inerrant. It doesn't say that it is the one and only tool for living a holy and perfect life. In fact, Jesus gave lots of instructions for things like being a good example, loving people, prayer (Jesus Himself, who actually was God, spent a lot of time in prayer. Talk about being a good example), searching for truth and understanding (and blessings), and a host of other tools for living a holy and perfect life. Go ahead and check out the Gospels. Jesus was not short of concrete information. He also said that he had come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it, and told us to heed and remember His words, and to share them with others. I'm pretty comfortable interpreting that as an instruction to read the Bible and pay attention to what it says.
In closing, i'll quote Paul, who in spite of a few weak places here and there in his writings, i still respect and admire and am glad to learn from: Test all things; hold fast (to) what is good.
Disclaimer 1: I like the Bible and find it to be greatly important in my life. I am not trying to be disrespectful of the Bible, Christians, or faith.
Disclaimer 2: I am not a Bible scholar, i have no degrees in theology/religion/philosophy/scripture/etc. I've just been studying the Bible as an amateur for 21 years, and have spent at least four hours a week nearly every week of my life in church.
I'll start by reiterating my earlier complaint: we ("we" shall hereinafter refer to "Christians") believe that the Bible is inerrant because the Bible says that it is inerrant.
Setting aside the fact that this is a pointless circular argument, let's actually examine the Biblical claims of inerrancy.
They don't exist.
Sure, there are passages that point to the reliability of Scripture, but they are both few and misleading. For example, this passage in Psalms:
The words of the LORD are pure words,
Like silver tried in a furnace of the earth,
Purified seven times.
Psalm 12:6
This passage comes from the Psalms, which are a bunch of poems in the Bible. For those of you who have never heard of poetic license, click on the link and then go yell at a teacher. For those of you who know what i'm talking about, let's all remember that "pure" and "inerrant" are not necessarily the same thing, that the Psalms are full of soaring hyperbole, and that there is some debate about which parts of the Bible can be considered the Word of God and which parts are (important, valid, but not quite divinely spoken) commentaries.
Next, we'll look at 2 Timothy 3:16-17:
"All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work."
2 Timothy is part of the New Testament. At the time when Paul wrote this letter to Timothy, the "Scripture" consisted of the Old Testament (and possibly the Apocrypha, the legitimacy of which has been widely debated in the Christian Church). So did Paul mean that only the Old Testament was "given by inspiration of God", or did he also mean to include the letter that he was writing to his friend? Much of the New Testament, in fact, is made up of letters. Imagine if, two thousand years after you died, people were debating over which of your emails they should use to guide their lives. Sure, Paul was divinely inspired in many ways, and he had a lot of good stuff to say, but he's also the guy who said that women should not be allowed to speak in public and that they should keep their heads covered at all times. I'm not saying that we should throw out everything he ever wrote just because he made a few bad calls. I am saying that we can't take everything he said at face value, because he was only a man and all people make mistakes from time to time. That's where discernment and the Holy Spirit come in.
So let's spend some time talking about what the Bible looks like, as a document. Parts of it claim to be (again, the Bible itself is making the claim) more or less direct transcriptions of what God actually said we should do and believe. Assuming that the transcriptionist got every word perfectly, that was still many thousands of years ago. Parts of the Bible have been lost. It only exists now because for many, many, many centuries it was copied out by hand over and over. It has been translated again and again and again. Not all of the versions
that we have now are actually translated from the original texts. And it was written in a very different cultural context from ours. Even if we could all agree on the correct translation of a particular word, the connotations of that word may well be wildly different here and now than they were there and then.Again, i am not saying that we should throw out the whole Bible just because some words might not mean what we think they mean. I'm saying that we should spend less time and energy obsessing over exact words. If exact words were that important, don't you think that God would have designed language in such a way as to reduce all this confusion and controversy? If exact words were that important, don't you think that God would give everyone a decoder ring as soon as they became a Christian? If exact words were that important, don't you think we could simply read the Bible and understand it and have no need to attend church services, read commentaries or apologetics, form Bible studies or discipleship groups with one another, or even pray?
The Bible is great, but it can't replace fellowship, discussion, debate, or prayer. We need one another, and we need the Holy Spirit. The Bible simply gives us a starting point for the conversation.
There are also parts of the Bible that are written by people, and do not in any way claim to be transcripts of anything that God has said. The authors were men of God (i'm not being sexist by saying "men" instead of people, because as far as i am aware there are no books of the Bible written by women), who walked closely with Him. Many of them had actually known Jesus personally and wrote stories of his life and teachings. Of course, these stories were written a few years after his death and resurrection and came entirely from their memories, without even the benefit of a backlog of Facebook photo albums and status updates to help them sort out the details. Still, there's a lot of legitimacy to saying, "Jesus said this," if you were actually in the room when the conversation happened. Even if you can't quite repeat it verbatim, we can pretty much trust you to get the gist of it. And as long as we can all agree that exact words aren't that important, the gist is all we really need.
But as i mentioned above, a lot of the New Testament is letters. While the authors of these letters (mostly Paul) were holy and righteous men of God, as well as being intelligent, wise, and well-educated, they were human, and they were writing what they thought. Some thoughts don't wear well with time, don't travel well to other cultures, and don't translate easily. Furthermore, Paul was writing to churches that he knew. He was not posting a Facebook note or blog update to all Christians everywhere. He was saying, "Hey guys, I'm the one who started your church, I've hung out with you a lot, I know the area where you live, I know the leaders in your church, I know the demographics of your congregation, and you just wrote me a letter to ask for my opinion on some specific issues. So here it is." He was not writing for all Christians everywhere, but to specific Christians whose situations he understood intimately.
Let's say you have two friends, Julie and Cindy. They are both in long-distance relationships. Julie and her boyfriend, Tim, have been dating for three years. They have talked about getting married, but now Tim has a new job that will keep him far away indefinitely. It has been hard for them to keep their relationship strong over long distance, but they have made it work. They love each other and are committed to the relationship, but Julie is nervous about moving away from everything she knows in order to marry the love of her life. She'll do it, and she knows that she'll be happy in that choice, but she's still nervous and a little sad about it. Cindy, on the other hand, met her boyfriend Mike online. They have been "dating" for three months, despite the fact that they have never met in person. Now Mike is saying that he doesn't want to move away from his home, and that Cindy should move to where he is if they want to stay together. Would you give the same advice to these two women? (If so, remind me not to become friends with you.)
Some of the things that you say to Cindy will apply to Julie, and vice versa. Some relationship advice is general enough and good enough that it applies to every situation. And some of the things you say to them will apply to friends who are in similar, though not identical, situations. But you can't just put together one manual of relationship advice and expect it to answer every situation every time (though many have tried). And if that won't work for human relationships, why would we expect it to work for divine ones?
Above all else, we must remember that God is not an architect trying to design a building (although there are a lot of great spiritual metaphors involving that idea. But every metaphor breaks down at some point). He did not intend the Bible to be a blueprint, or an instructional manual for building IKEA furniture or using a kitchen appliance. God wants to have a relationship with each and every one of us. We are all different, which means that each of us will have a different relationship with Him. It also means that we will all have to do different things to make that relationship work. There is some relationship advice that is good enough and general enough to work for everyone, and there are some similar relationships that will benefit from similar advice. But at the end of the day, there is no perfect formula for everyone to follow.
The Bible says a lot of things about itself. I have no problem trusting those things, even though i don't like circular arguments. But the Bible doesn't say that it is inerrant. It doesn't say that it is the one and only tool for living a holy and perfect life. In fact, Jesus gave lots of instructions for things like being a good example, loving people, prayer (Jesus Himself, who actually was God, spent a lot of time in prayer. Talk about being a good example), searching for truth and understanding (and blessings), and a host of other tools for living a holy and perfect life. Go ahead and check out the Gospels. Jesus was not short of concrete information. He also said that he had come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it, and told us to heed and remember His words, and to share them with others. I'm pretty comfortable interpreting that as an instruction to read the Bible and pay attention to what it says.
In closing, i'll quote Paul, who in spite of a few weak places here and there in his writings, i still respect and admire and am glad to learn from: Test all things; hold fast (to) what is good.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Veritas? Quid est veritas?
"Truth? What is truth?"
However crazy Mel Gibson may turn out to be (he just keeps raising the bar for himself, doesn't he?), you can't deny that he got it right at least once. For those of who who have not seen The Passion of the Christ, the quote that titles this post may be confusing. It is spoken by Pilate to his wife as tries to decide whether or not he should have Christ executed. (Side note: if you haven't seen it, you should. It's really a great movie.) Truth is a tricky concept. Some say that there is no such thing. Some say that truth exists, but that it is different for every person, or that it changes across cultures and times. Some think that it exists, but that we will never be able to pin down a satisfactory definition of it while in this imperfect world.
It's an important question. We need to know what truth is, so that we can decide what to teach our children in schools, so that we can decide which leaders to elect, so that those leaders can make executive decisions about laws and wars and social justice. We need to understand truth so that we can relate to one another in constructive and harmonious ways.
Christians need to understand truth because we need to know how to read the Bible. There are some passages of the Bible that are clearly meant to be taken metaphorically (such as in Job 38, where God talks about the ends of the earth, or the storehouses of snow and hail, or the gates that hold back the seas). In fact, there are so many passages that are either full of poetic hyperbole or are limited by the cultural and historic understandings of the authors (ancient Jews), that it can be hard to pinpoint which, if any, are meant to be taken literally.
The big question on the lunatic fringe of both Christianity and secularism is the question of creation. When the Bible says that God created the world with nothing but the power of His words in six days, does that mean that in six 24-hour periods, life as we now know it sprang forth from the void, or does that mean that life has passed through several stages, all of which were planned, executed, guided, and intended by God?
There are plenty of writings to address that particular question, but the real problem is this: the question is not "How was the world created?" but rather, "How can we believe that the Bible is true and accurate if we can't take everything it says literally?" I have my own opinions on that topic (addressed more fully elsewhere), but my real frustration here is a question of vocabulary.
Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried has a passage about the difference between story-truth and happening-truth. It's a wonderful and somewhat tricky concept, and i recommend the book (because it's awesome, and also does a good job explaining this concept), but for now i will do my best to sum it up briefly.
Story truth (hereinafter referred to as "truth") is something that speaks to a real experience, even though it didn't necessarily happen. For example, in this post
i tell a story about sitting on my grandmother's porch swing during a thunderstorm. Everything that i say in that post is real. I have a grandmother. She used to have a porch swing. There is a window behind the swing that once broke when someone swung back too far. We used to count the seconds between lightning and thunder in order to calculate the distance of the storm.
But that post is not based on one particular moment. It is a collection of moments, an impression of many memories. My grandmother moved out of that house when i was nine, so many of my memories of that house have run together into one big story. And i was certainly not reflecting on the fleeting nature of joy, or on the differences between joy in childhood and adulthood, or anything of the kind. I was counting the miles.
That post is true. It is full of "truth". But it is not a factual event. It is not a newspaper article of one particular storm. It is not an historical account.
On the other hand, let me tell you a story that displays "happening truth" (hereinafter referred to as "fact"). When 2000 came, my siblings and i were spending the night at my grandmother's house. I was a little disappointed that all electronics did not instantly explode (or whatever the new millenium threatened. People got a little hysterical in 1999). But i remember thinking, "At least we can still watch cartoons in the morning." And i remember trying to sleep while the German exchange student played computer games.
That story is pure fact. Those things really happened. Those are true, concrete memories, not a pretty quilt patched together from fragments of memory and nostalgia.
The whole Bible is true. But not all of it is factual. Some parts of it, while they tell great stories to illustrate points, are not based on anything that ever actually happened. Some parts of it use metaphor to make a point. Some parts give us guidance for our behavior by embroidering what happened.
So how do we know which parts to take literally and which parts to take metaphorically? To tell you the truth, i don't think it's all that important to make a distinction between fact and truth in the Bible. I think that all of the Bible is true, and that it is therefore all useful for instruction and guidance in the Christian life. But as long as God is speaking to you through Scripture, does it really matter whether He is using history or poetry to do so?
However crazy Mel Gibson may turn out to be (he just keeps raising the bar for himself, doesn't he?), you can't deny that he got it right at least once. For those of who who have not seen The Passion of the Christ, the quote that titles this post may be confusing. It is spoken by Pilate to his wife as tries to decide whether or not he should have Christ executed. (Side note: if you haven't seen it, you should. It's really a great movie.) Truth is a tricky concept. Some say that there is no such thing. Some say that truth exists, but that it is different for every person, or that it changes across cultures and times. Some think that it exists, but that we will never be able to pin down a satisfactory definition of it while in this imperfect world.
It's an important question. We need to know what truth is, so that we can decide what to teach our children in schools, so that we can decide which leaders to elect, so that those leaders can make executive decisions about laws and wars and social justice. We need to understand truth so that we can relate to one another in constructive and harmonious ways.
Christians need to understand truth because we need to know how to read the Bible. There are some passages of the Bible that are clearly meant to be taken metaphorically (such as in Job 38, where God talks about the ends of the earth, or the storehouses of snow and hail, or the gates that hold back the seas). In fact, there are so many passages that are either full of poetic hyperbole or are limited by the cultural and historic understandings of the authors (ancient Jews), that it can be hard to pinpoint which, if any, are meant to be taken literally.
The big question on the lunatic fringe of both Christianity and secularism is the question of creation. When the Bible says that God created the world with nothing but the power of His words in six days, does that mean that in six 24-hour periods, life as we now know it sprang forth from the void, or does that mean that life has passed through several stages, all of which were planned, executed, guided, and intended by God?
There are plenty of writings to address that particular question, but the real problem is this: the question is not "How was the world created?" but rather, "How can we believe that the Bible is true and accurate if we can't take everything it says literally?" I have my own opinions on that topic (addressed more fully elsewhere), but my real frustration here is a question of vocabulary.
Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried has a passage about the difference between story-truth and happening-truth. It's a wonderful and somewhat tricky concept, and i recommend the book (because it's awesome, and also does a good job explaining this concept), but for now i will do my best to sum it up briefly.
Story truth (hereinafter referred to as "truth") is something that speaks to a real experience, even though it didn't necessarily happen. For example, in this post
i tell a story about sitting on my grandmother's porch swing during a thunderstorm. Everything that i say in that post is real. I have a grandmother. She used to have a porch swing. There is a window behind the swing that once broke when someone swung back too far. We used to count the seconds between lightning and thunder in order to calculate the distance of the storm.But that post is not based on one particular moment. It is a collection of moments, an impression of many memories. My grandmother moved out of that house when i was nine, so many of my memories of that house have run together into one big story. And i was certainly not reflecting on the fleeting nature of joy, or on the differences between joy in childhood and adulthood, or anything of the kind. I was counting the miles.
That post is true. It is full of "truth". But it is not a factual event. It is not a newspaper article of one particular storm. It is not an historical account.
On the other hand, let me tell you a story that displays "happening truth" (hereinafter referred to as "fact"). When 2000 came, my siblings and i were spending the night at my grandmother's house. I was a little disappointed that all electronics did not instantly explode (or whatever the new millenium threatened. People got a little hysterical in 1999). But i remember thinking, "At least we can still watch cartoons in the morning." And i remember trying to sleep while the German exchange student played computer games.
That story is pure fact. Those things really happened. Those are true, concrete memories, not a pretty quilt patched together from fragments of memory and nostalgia.
The whole Bible is true. But not all of it is factual. Some parts of it, while they tell great stories to illustrate points, are not based on anything that ever actually happened. Some parts of it use metaphor to make a point. Some parts give us guidance for our behavior by embroidering what happened.
So how do we know which parts to take literally and which parts to take metaphorically? To tell you the truth, i don't think it's all that important to make a distinction between fact and truth in the Bible. I think that all of the Bible is true, and that it is therefore all useful for instruction and guidance in the Christian life. But as long as God is speaking to you through Scripture, does it really matter whether He is using history or poetry to do so?
Monday, June 20, 2011
How to Tell I Need a Life #6
I got off work at 2:00. Instead of going to the beach, doing some shopping, or even taking a nap, i hung out with a professor, washed some dishes, cleaned my room, and organized my poetry folder.
Friday, June 3, 2011
graduated?
It's been almost a month since i "walked the plank" (to borrow my grandmother's phrase), and it still hasn't quite hit me that i'm a college graduate.
Occasionally, i'll be struck with a small wave of realization, like when i realize that i will never again have the opportunity to study poetry with Kathleen McCann, or pretend to pay attention in class while really editing a poem and texting Emily, who is sitting next to me, also pretending to pay attention while texting me and reading Failbook. (By the way, for all those out there who are bothered by the use of cell phones in class, you should know that Emily passed her English senior comps with distinction and graduated cum laude, and that i passed my psych comps with distinction, my English comps with a high pass, and graduated magna cum laude.)
But mostly, it feels like nothing has changed. This is due in large part to the fact that very little has actually, concretely changed. For the last two summers in a row, i have worked at my school's admissions office. I am still working there now. The only difference is that now, i commute from my apartment instead of living on campus. Plus i have a slightly flashier title. In the fall, i will be taking classes at the same school where i got my undergraduate degrees. Granted, they will be graduate classes and will meet in the evenings, but i will be in the same buildings where i have always had classes, with some of the same professors and probably some of the same students. And there is an excellent chance that i will still be working in the admissions office.
The thing is, i really don't mind being stuck in the college mindset. Everyone is right when they tell you that your college years will be the best of your life. There is something about taking four years to do nothing but learn that is a totally unique and incredible experience.
After college, you're supposed to be pretty much done (barring any post-graduate degrees). College is a time of experimentation, but once you've switched that tassel, experimentation is over. You know who you are and what you want. You've got you all figured out.
During college, you are encouraged to make mistakes. That's how you learn. If you don't know how to do something, you can try anyway, and learn from trial and error. If you don't know the answer, you can find it. It's okay to ask; you're there to learn. You can randomly switch directions without anyone making any judgements. You can change your major, change your haircut, change your sexual orientation, go vegan, start a new sport, join a club, run for student council, break up with someone, whatever. How are you going to find out what you like unless you try everything?
After college, you are encouraged to use the lessons you have learned to do things right. You've already learned. If you don't know how to do something, why not? Did you skip class that day? Don't even try. You're just going to mess it up. Let someone who is qualified handle it. You're not here to learn, you're here to do, so stop asking questions. Why are you trying to change your life? Are you going through a midlife crisis? Don't you already know who you are and what you like? Come on, you've had over two decades to figure that stuff out. What did you do with all that time?
I wish i could be a permanent college student. I love learning. I'm a huge geek. I had two majors in college (i just used the past tense and it's freaking me out all over again), and would gladly have packed on two or three more plus a handful of minors if i'd had the money. If i could do anything with my life, i'd spend the next twenty years or so collecting multiple degrees from multiple colleges. Think about it: in twenty years, i could attend five four-year colleges. I've already got my psych and English degrees, so i could do journalism and history next. Then maybe religion, with a philosophy minor. Then secondary education (which is what my master's will be in), with maybe a minor in business administration. (Side note: by and large, i think that business degrees are bullshit. But a minor in business administration would allow me to have some legitimacy when i try to take over the administrations of various school systems). I'd want a music degree at some point. And i could finish up with environmental science and government.
But more than my thirst for knowledge and my hunger to distinguish myself (can you tell it's almost lunchtime?), i want to stay within the safe space of college. I like being allowed to experiment. I like being allowed to not know things. I like being allowed to change my mind, to take on a new challenge, to make mistakes. And i really like ramen noodles.
Occasionally, i'll be struck with a small wave of realization, like when i realize that i will never again have the opportunity to study poetry with Kathleen McCann, or pretend to pay attention in class while really editing a poem and texting Emily, who is sitting next to me, also pretending to pay attention while texting me and reading Failbook. (By the way, for all those out there who are bothered by the use of cell phones in class, you should know that Emily passed her English senior comps with distinction and graduated cum laude, and that i passed my psych comps with distinction, my English comps with a high pass, and graduated magna cum laude.)
But mostly, it feels like nothing has changed. This is due in large part to the fact that very little has actually, concretely changed. For the last two summers in a row, i have worked at my school's admissions office. I am still working there now. The only difference is that now, i commute from my apartment instead of living on campus. Plus i have a slightly flashier title. In the fall, i will be taking classes at the same school where i got my undergraduate degrees. Granted, they will be graduate classes and will meet in the evenings, but i will be in the same buildings where i have always had classes, with some of the same professors and probably some of the same students. And there is an excellent chance that i will still be working in the admissions office.
The thing is, i really don't mind being stuck in the college mindset. Everyone is right when they tell you that your college years will be the best of your life. There is something about taking four years to do nothing but learn that is a totally unique and incredible experience.
After college, you're supposed to be pretty much done (barring any post-graduate degrees). College is a time of experimentation, but once you've switched that tassel, experimentation is over. You know who you are and what you want. You've got you all figured out.
During college, you are encouraged to make mistakes. That's how you learn. If you don't know how to do something, you can try anyway, and learn from trial and error. If you don't know the answer, you can find it. It's okay to ask; you're there to learn. You can randomly switch directions without anyone making any judgements. You can change your major, change your haircut, change your sexual orientation, go vegan, start a new sport, join a club, run for student council, break up with someone, whatever. How are you going to find out what you like unless you try everything?
After college, you are encouraged to use the lessons you have learned to do things right. You've already learned. If you don't know how to do something, why not? Did you skip class that day? Don't even try. You're just going to mess it up. Let someone who is qualified handle it. You're not here to learn, you're here to do, so stop asking questions. Why are you trying to change your life? Are you going through a midlife crisis? Don't you already know who you are and what you like? Come on, you've had over two decades to figure that stuff out. What did you do with all that time?
I wish i could be a permanent college student. I love learning. I'm a huge geek. I had two majors in college (i just used the past tense and it's freaking me out all over again), and would gladly have packed on two or three more plus a handful of minors if i'd had the money. If i could do anything with my life, i'd spend the next twenty years or so collecting multiple degrees from multiple colleges. Think about it: in twenty years, i could attend five four-year colleges. I've already got my psych and English degrees, so i could do journalism and history next. Then maybe religion, with a philosophy minor. Then secondary education (which is what my master's will be in), with maybe a minor in business administration. (Side note: by and large, i think that business degrees are bullshit. But a minor in business administration would allow me to have some legitimacy when i try to take over the administrations of various school systems). I'd want a music degree at some point. And i could finish up with environmental science and government.
But more than my thirst for knowledge and my hunger to distinguish myself (can you tell it's almost lunchtime?), i want to stay within the safe space of college. I like being allowed to experiment. I like being allowed to not know things. I like being allowed to change my mind, to take on a new challenge, to make mistakes. And i really like ramen noodles.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Where the Heart Is
Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue, a wonderful living side by side can grow, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the sky.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke
The air wraps around my skin in a heavy, smothering embrace. I feel myself dissolving into the atmosphere – the sluggish humidity absorbing my flesh effortlessly. I float free and slow through the streets of this little town, invisible.
All that tethers me to reality is you.
Even from a distance, you have a hold on me. A tiny beep from my phone, and all of my disparate parts are re-collected in you. Everything that i am is held within everything that you are – from your virtual words on my screen to the realness of you, many miles away.
If not for you, i would become lost in the world, swirling into an oblivion of color and sound, melting into nature. But you are my rock. However far my imagination may take me, you always call me home again.
They say that home is where the heart is. I find my home within every word you speak, every glance that comes my way, every touch. I am at home in the curve of your arm, in the curve of your mouth, in your curving laughter. I am at home in your thoughts, in your quirks, in the miles between us. I am at home in your heart.
You say that your heart is mine. This, then, is love: i have learned to be at home in you, and in so doing, i have found myself at home in me.
less is more
You hear a lot these days about the decline of civilization and literacy as exemplified by the rise of texting as a primary form of communication. People are afraid that this instant, long-distance communication makes it uneccesary for people to talk face to face. And the use of texting abbreviations and acronyms surely prevents children from learning how to read and write properly. Additionally, the quick, short messages (140 characters or so) must be a factor in the ADD epidemic, making it impossible for children to focus on any real literature.
This is all bullshit.
Yes, seeing things like "l8r" and "I dnt wnt 2 do ne hmwrk" makes my teeth itch, especially when this dialect is exported from texting to other forms of communication. But what upsets me more than how people are communicating is what is being communicated. People just say dumb things, and sometimes they also say them in dumb ways.
However, that is a topic for another day. When it comes to the issue of text length and what it does to literature, i think that what we need to do is embrace this new form of communication. Great ideas can be contained in small packages. We just need to learn to harness the power of saying things simply.
Consider the six-word memoir. According to the apocryphal story, the first six-word memoir was by Hemingway. Someone challenged him to write a complete story (full narrative arc, beginning middle and end, etc) in six words or less. Hemingway came back with, "For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn." Boom. There you have years of yearning and disappointment, or perhaps the deepest anguish and loss, or maybe even a simple housecleaning. There is narrative, there is backstory, there is room for interpretation, and something has certainly happened. All in six words.
Another example of this "numbered fiction" (i might have coined that term. I no longer remember.) is the fifty-five word story. It's a similar concept, but with more words.
Both examples require an extremely high level of skill and talent. Every word must do the work of dozens, or even of hundreds. Every word, every comma, must be carefully considered. A six-word memoir is like a sonnet on crack.
I wrote a prose poem once about a long distance relationship that was only maintained through text messages. When that's all you have, you learn to make it work. If you have only 160 characters, only a Facebook status update, only six words, you have to learn to make each one count. Why is this not being embraced as a valid literary concept, as a powerful writing choice? Why aren't we teaching students to write this way?
Let's face it: no one is writing epic poems anymore. They're just not. And if they are, no one is reading them. It's time to embrace the culture. I am NOT talking about lowering standards or expecting less of ourselves. I'm talking about doing more with less.
This is all bullshit.
Yes, seeing things like "l8r" and "I dnt wnt 2 do ne hmwrk" makes my teeth itch, especially when this dialect is exported from texting to other forms of communication. But what upsets me more than how people are communicating is what is being communicated. People just say dumb things, and sometimes they also say them in dumb ways.
However, that is a topic for another day. When it comes to the issue of text length and what it does to literature, i think that what we need to do is embrace this new form of communication. Great ideas can be contained in small packages. We just need to learn to harness the power of saying things simply.
Consider the six-word memoir. According to the apocryphal story, the first six-word memoir was by Hemingway. Someone challenged him to write a complete story (full narrative arc, beginning middle and end, etc) in six words or less. Hemingway came back with, "For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn." Boom. There you have years of yearning and disappointment, or perhaps the deepest anguish and loss, or maybe even a simple housecleaning. There is narrative, there is backstory, there is room for interpretation, and something has certainly happened. All in six words.
Another example of this "numbered fiction" (i might have coined that term. I no longer remember.) is the fifty-five word story. It's a similar concept, but with more words.
Both examples require an extremely high level of skill and talent. Every word must do the work of dozens, or even of hundreds. Every word, every comma, must be carefully considered. A six-word memoir is like a sonnet on crack.
I wrote a prose poem once about a long distance relationship that was only maintained through text messages. When that's all you have, you learn to make it work. If you have only 160 characters, only a Facebook status update, only six words, you have to learn to make each one count. Why is this not being embraced as a valid literary concept, as a powerful writing choice? Why aren't we teaching students to write this way?
Let's face it: no one is writing epic poems anymore. They're just not. And if they are, no one is reading them. It's time to embrace the culture. I am NOT talking about lowering standards or expecting less of ourselves. I'm talking about doing more with less.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Ding Letter
Actually, it wasn't a letter. Just a creamy, almost-yellow card, slightly smaller than your average post card. I got my first ever rejection through email, but i was expecting that one. This was the first rejection that i could hold in my hand, and i had had high hopes for this particular opportunity.
I'm trying to convince myself that all it means is that my poems were not their cup of tea, but it's hard not to read this as "Seriously? You should have saved your postage and our time. What a waste."Last semester, i wrote this poem:
Publishing
I fold up my heart and my soul
and all my hopes and dreams
(including a cover letter and SASE)
and send them off
to find out how much they are worth.
And sometimes
(all too often, in fact),
the answer comes back:
“Nothing.”
Putting aside the fact that the poem sucks, i am trying my damndest to remember that the question should not be, "How much is this worth?" but rather, "How much is this worth to you?"
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
I Write Because
I can't help it
my head swirls with relentless images
there are too many colors to see all at once
because afternoons are warm and hazy
because midnight is soft and clear
because rain is sharp and unapologetic.
My heart is too full of hopes and fears
yet i don't speak as often as i should, and
because i can't try to have this conversation with my mother
because Emily asked to have it in black and white
because i haven't met you yet, and so cannot tell you to your face how i feel
yet i know you are there.
The sounds of words keep me awake at night
because the rhythms get stuck in my head
because my fingers twitch with tense, restless energy.
No one else has said it yet, or else
they've all said it, but i want to say it again
because some things bear repeating
because otherwise, i would forget
because how else can i unravel the many layers of meaning in
a season, or in a moment?
I write because i can't help it.
my head swirls with relentless images
there are too many colors to see all at once
because afternoons are warm and hazy
because midnight is soft and clear
because rain is sharp and unapologetic.
My heart is too full of hopes and fears
yet i don't speak as often as i should, and
because i can't try to have this conversation with my mother
because Emily asked to have it in black and white
because i haven't met you yet, and so cannot tell you to your face how i feel
yet i know you are there.
The sounds of words keep me awake at night
because the rhythms get stuck in my head
because my fingers twitch with tense, restless energy.
No one else has said it yet, or else
they've all said it, but i want to say it again
because some things bear repeating
because otherwise, i would forget
because how else can i unravel the many layers of meaning in
a season, or in a moment?
I write because i can't help it.
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