Poetry Friday: Beannacht

This is a busy day, with a full day of teaching and planning, plus an Open House in the afternoon.  Still, I don't want to let this week pass by without posting for Poetry Friday, and I've chosen to share a poem I read on Monday, the day we dropped our daughter off at the airport for her flight - alone this time - to college for her sophomore year.  That day, at a most appropriate moment, this poem appeared.

Beannacht
by John O'Donohue

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

Here's the rest of it.

I hope this poem fills you with as much happiness as it gave me on a difficult day, and if not, you can maybe find something in the roundup that will.  I see Heidi has an Open House today, too! 

Poetry Friday: Color

I love the color poems in Hailstones and Halibut Bones: Adventures in Poetry and Color, because they talk about the smell of a color, the sound of it, the emotion of it.  I always share some of these with my seventh graders at the beginning of the year, as we talk about literal and figurative language. Here's one that I'll be sharing next week, since purple is one of our school colors.

What Is Purple?

Time is purple

Just before night

When most people

Turn on the light –

But if you don’t it’s

A beautiful sight.

Asters are purple,

There’s purple ink.

Purple’s more popular

Than you think….

It’s sort of a great

Grandmother to pink.

There are purple shadows

And purple veils,

Some ladies purple

Their fingernails.

There’s purple jam

And purple jell

And a purple bruise

Next day will tell

Where you landed

When you fell.

The purple feeling

Is rather put-out

The purple look is a

Definite pout.

But the purple sound

Is the loveliest thing

It’s a violet opening

In the spring.

Mary O’Neill

(from Hailstones and Halibut Bones)

Dori has the roundup today. 

Reading Update

I went back to work this week, and kids come back next week, so I expect my reading rate to slow down.  This has been the biggest reading year I have had in a while, and I've speculated before on this blog that that may have something to do with several events in my life that I've wanted to escape from.  I generally average about a book a week, and so far this year I have read 109.  Here's the latest nine books:

Book #101 of the year was What Comes Next and How to Like It: A Memoir, by Abigail Thomas.  The library didn't have the Kindle version, but only another funky format that I had to read on my laptop screen.  Even so, I liked it.  It's about a long friendship, a platonic male/female friendship that survives over thirty-five years in spite of all the things that life brings.

Book #102 was Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World, by Anthony Doerr.  This is Doerr's book about his time in Rome on a writing fellowship.  I recently read both of Doerr's novels, and I enjoyed this book, too.

Book #103 was The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are, by Brené Brown.  This is Brown's book on wholehearted living, and it covers a lot of the ground from her first Ted talk, though obviously in more detail.  Good stuff.

Source: leoniedawson.com

Book #104 was The Odyssey, which my daughter and I read aloud to each other in the Fagles translation.  We enjoyed it immensely.  I wrote some about it here.

Book #105 was Arcadia, by Lauren Groff.  It's about Bit, who grows up in a utopian commune in the 60s.  We get to follow the rest of his life, too, as a grownup.  I really loved this book; it was beautiful and I appreciated the portrayal of long-term relationships.  I didn't grow up in a commune, but I did grow up in a subculture that's different from the mainstream, and as such I could relate to some of the struggles the characters experienced.  (Thankfully, substance abuse isn't one of the struggles I can relate to.)

Book #106 was What She Knew, by Gilly Macmillan, a book about a woman whose eight year old son disappears.  This moves quickly and there's more going on than meets the eye.

Book #107 was No-Man's Lands: One Man's Odyssey Through The Odyssey, by Scott Huler.  I liked this very much, and wrote more about it here.

Book #108 was Eligible: A Modern Retelling of Pride and Prejudice, by Curtis Sittenfeld.  Lizzy and Jane behave in ways and use language that Jane Austen would not approve.  Reality TV is involved.  Why do I read so much Jane Austen fan fiction?  I have no idea, but I just can't resist it.  This was less disappointing than most, I have to say.

Book #109 was Present Over Perfect: Leaving Behind Frantic for a Simpler, More Soulful Way of Living, by Shauna Niequist.  I had pre-ordered this in February, it came out on Tuesday, and I already read it.  I can relate to a lot of this, and there are things in it that I need to think more about, so I'll probably read it again.

Poetry Friday: My Husband's Hands

My Husband's Hands

Do you remember the first time you kissed me?
First you held my hand
And showed me yours.
You explained the scar,
How it came to be there,
Told me about the car accident
And going over the bridge.
I felt dizzy from holding your hand.

How could I have known then
How I would come to love those hands?
Those hands that cook and compute and write
That play chess and ping pong and basketball
Those hands that pack the car when we go on a trip
And unpack it when we get home,
That load the car with groceries
And unload them into the kitchen,
That make me tea again and again and again.
Sometimes they try to text, with clumsy thumbs.

Those hands always bring me pleasure and never pain.
I can trust those hands.
Those hands hold me, and held our babies,
Gently cupping their heads
As you carried them around proudly.

Do you remember the first time you kissed me?
I thought the kiss was the wonder -
That was what sent me floating back to my dorm.
But what really mattered was those hands.
You were showing me your history, scars and all;
You were giving me your hand
And taking mine as we walked into the future,
Which on that long-ago afternoon we knew not at all.

Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com

Here's the roundup.

Poetry Friday: The Odyssey Again

I've been reading this book:

It's the perfect book for someone who recently read The Odyssey.  Scott Huler recreates the trip Odysseus took, and so this is part reading the Odyssey, part travel narrative, part life lessons - but humorous and not taking himself too seriously.

Huler referred to this poem, and though I had read it before, I'd forgotten about it.

Ithaka
C.P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Here's the rest.

And here's the roundup.

Poetry Friday: The Odyssey

My daughter and I have been reading the Odyssey together this summer,  and we finished it yesterday.  Just as the Iliad is mostly about all the different ways to get killed in battle, the Odyssey, we learned, is mostly about eating sides of meat.  Until the end, that is, when Odysseus kills the suitors and piles up all their corpses - then it becomes about all the different ways to get killed in battle, just like the Iliad.

Seriously, though, we really enjoyed reading this 24-book poem aloud to each other.  I picked a part to share with you, and I think it's appropriate because it's about stories.  Odysseus is constantly telling stories, most of them largely untrue, but here, he's in Alcinous' court, listening to the bard entertaining the dinner guests (as they eat sides of meat), and it turns out the story is about him, even though Alcinous and the other guests don't know who Odysseus is, just that he's a stranger they are taking in.

We read from the Fagles translation, and this is Book 8, lines 559-600.


Stirred now by the Muse, the bard launched out
in a fine blaze of song, starting at just the point
where the main Achaean force, setting their camps afire,
had boarded the oarswept ships and sailed for home
but famed Odysseus' men already crouched in hiding -
in the heart of Troy's assembly - dark in that horse
the Trojans dragged themselves to the city heights.
Now it stood there, looming...
and round its bulk the Trojans sat debating,
clashing, days on end.  Three plans split their ranks:
either to hack open the hollow vault with ruthless bronze
or let it stand - a glorious offering made to pacify the gods -
and that, that final plan, was bound to win the day.
For Troy was fated to perish once the city lodged
inside her walls the monstrous wooden horse
where the prime of Argive power lay in wait
with death and slaughter bearing down on Troy.
And he sang how troops of Achaeans broke from cover,
streaming out of the horse's hollow flanks to plunder Troy -
he sang how left and right they ravaged the steep city,
sang how Odysseus marched right up to Deiphobus' house
like the god of war on attack with diehard Menelaus.
There, he sang, Odysseus fought the grimmest fight
he had ever braved but he won through at last,
thanks to Athena's superhuman power.

That was the song the famous harper sang
but great Odysseus melted into tears,
running down from his eyes to wet his cheeks...
as a woman weeps, her arms flung round her darling husband,
a man who fell in battle, fighting for town and townsmen,
trying to beat the day of doom from home and children.
Seeing the man go down, dying, gasping for breath,
she clings for dear life, screams and shrills -
but the victors, just behind her,
digging spear-butts into her back and shoulders,
drag her off in bondage, yoked to hard labor, pain,
and the most heartbreaking torment wastes her cheeks.
So from Odysseus' eyes ran tears of heartbreak now,
But his weeping went unremarked by all the others;
only Alcinous, sitting close beside him,
noticed his guest's tears.


Incidentally, the bard in this scene is blind, and I wonder if Homer was writing about himself.  That would be kind of meta - Homer the bard writing about Odysseus listening to a bard singing about Odysseus.  Even though both the Iliad and the Odyssey are in many ways very macho, it's always interesting to me how in tune Homer is to the fate of women in war (and what theme could be more modern?).  Homer constantly reminds us that everyone has a story.

Here's today's roundup.

Books to Cheer You Up

Here are some books that cheer me up when I'm sad.  And here are some that Modern Mrs. Darcy recommends.

What do you read when you're feeling down?

Reading Update

Book #92 of this year was Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter, an entertaining novel about Hollywood and The Hotel Adequate View on a tiny Italian island.

Book #93 was Teach Us to Want: Longing, Ambition, and the Life of Faith, by Jen Pollock Michel.  "We want life to have meaning, we want fulfillment, healing and even ecstasy, but the human paradox is that we find these things by starting where we are, not where we wish we were."

Book #94 was Running from a Crazy Man (and Other Adventures Traveling with Jesus), by Lori Stanley Roeleveld.  Each of these essays ends with an invitation to "Ponder the Perplexities," with no attempt to wrap things up neatly.  "Eloquent prose can't cover a heart of stone.  As inconvenient as it is to have a heart of flesh that bleeds and breaks, the sound it makes reaches the throne of heaven.  That is prayer."

Book #95 was Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan, a steampunk retelling of World War One.  I can imagine the concept of this YA title appealing to my students, but the telling of it didn't always hold my interest.

Book #96 was Before the Fall, by Noah Hawley.  Warning: it's about a plane crash.  The crash happens a few pages in, and we spend the rest of the book learning about all the people involved and, ultimately, why it happened.

Book #97 was Cashelmara, by Susan Howatch, a retelling of the story of the Plantagenets, but set in nineteenth century Ireland.  I'm a big Howatch fan, but mostly of her Starbridge novels.  This book has many of the same elements: larger than life characters whom we grow to know deeply, multiple points of view, and endless drama.

Book #98 was another Susan Howatch title, The Rich are Different.

Book #99 was Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier.  I had read this before, but this time I read it aloud to my husband, and we both enjoyed it immensely.  Here's what I wrote about it last time I read it, in 2009: "The opposite of forgettable. Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier, is the story of Inman, a man coming home from the butchery of the Civil War to Ada, the woman he might love. Both have changed considerably during the years of the war. Inman has seen - and committed - terrible carnage, and Ada, an over-educated young woman, has had to become useful in ways she never anticipated, with the help of Ruby, who shows up to help, demanding that she never have to empty any night-soil jars but her own. To underscore the timeless theme of a man coming home from war, Ada and Ruby read the Odyssey together, but this isn't a book about archetypes but about particularity. Each character has stories to tell, stories of the past before the war, stories of what they have seen during the war, dreams for the future. But one of the most important characters is the landscape. These characters live fully in their surroundings and are aware of the plants and animals and mountains. Ruby is mostly uneducated but knows everything about farming and hunting and every type of tree and flower and herb. And the book is marvelously written - I kept wanting to reread passages or to read them aloud. There's enough action to satisfy the most bloodthirsty middle schooler but there's nothing cartoonish about any of it, and this book is definitely in the grown-up category. Cold Mountain is beautiful, uplifting, tragic, despairing, heartbreaking. Rick Bass is quoted on the back of the jacket as saying, 'It seems even possible to never want to read another book, so wonderful is this one.' I won't go that far, but I do highly recommend it."

This time, this book struck me as being about healing, or at least moving on.  Here's Inman on loss: "You could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and for the damage done therein.  For the dead, and for your own lost self.  But what the wisdom of the ages says is that we do well not to grieve on and on.  And those old ones knew a thing or two and had some truth to tell, Inman said, for you can grieve your heart out and in the end you are still where you were.  All your grief hasn't changed a thing.  What you have lost will not be returned to you.  It will always be lost.  You're left with only your scars to mark the void.  All you can choose to do is go on or not.  But if you go on, it's knowing you carry your scars with you."  But it's also just a great, action-packed story, and it's hilarious in places.  Reading it again seven years after the first time, I still highly recommend it.

Last night I finished book #100.  It's been a long time since I read a hundred books in a year, and it's only July.  Books have helped me get through many difficult moments this year, whether by helping me think about my struggles more clearly, or, on many occasions, by simply helping me forget them for a while.  This book was a little bit in both categories. Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel, is a post-apocalyptic novel set in a world where a flu epidemic has killed 99% of the world's population.  "Twenty years after the end of air travel," we meet the Traveling Symphony, a company of actors and musicians who travel around the ruined United States in horse-drawn caravans performing Shakespeare and various types of music, because "survival is insufficient."  It's about connections, the power of the past, and healing.  "What was lost in the collapse: almost everything, almost everyone, but there is still such beauty."

I am very thankful for books, and for healing, and for beauty.

Poetry Friday: Blessing When the World is Ending

I love Jan Richardson's work, and she posted a beautiful poem this week.  It begins this way:

Blessing When the World is Ending
Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.

Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.

Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.

Here's the rest of the poem.

And here's today's roundup.

Poetry Friday: Friends

Friends are such a blessing, but missing them is sad. I guess that's all Emily Dickinson is saying in this poem. And I concur.  (Scroll down for the text if the photo is too small.)

Are Friends Delight or Pain?

Could Bounty but remain

Riches were good -

But if they only stay

Ampler to fly away

Riches are sad.

Emily Dickinson

Here's today's roundup.

Poetry Friday: Midwife

I spent the day yesterday volunteering at a maternity center here in Port-au-Prince, where I live.  I came home to news of violence and death in the United States, and there's been more overnight.  I'm convinced that if we all approached other people the way midwives do, it would be a better world.  Here's a poem I wrote yesterday about my midwife friend, Beth.


Midwife

Beth asks questions
And she listens.
She writes answers on the chart,
She calls the mother chérie
And frets about how little weight she’s gained.
She looks at her swollen ankles
And comments on her blood pressure
And tells her to drink more water.

She shows me how to measure the parabola of the pregnant belly
Start at the pubic bone and go up to the top of the uterus;
Not the top of the belly,
But here where the uterus ends
There’s a kind of shelf.
I tell her the measurement
And she listens and then writes it down.

Here’s the head; can you feel it? 
That means the back is here, do you see?
Try there with the Doppler, she suggests,
Pointing to the spot as she squirts jelly on the transducer,
And right away
I hear the galloping sound
Of the baby’s heartbeat.
She listens.
A real hippie midwife wouldn’t use this, she says.

And now I’m holding the fetoscope,
The tool of the real hippie midwife,
On the smooth curve of the belly.
I find the heartbeat
And I hand her the headphones,
But she takes the horn from my hand too.
You hear with your being and not just your ears, she says,
And then she places the horn herself

And listens
And listens
With her whole being.

Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com

Here's today's roundup.

Reading Update

Book #86 of 2016 (yes, I did skip #85, but you'll find it at the end of this post) was The Night Manager, by John le Carré.  I often find his books a little confusing, since there are usually a lot of spy-type characters who seem interchangeable to me.  This one was no exception.  Now I'm watching the TV series, but they changed it a lot, so it isn't much use for figuring out the characters.  Oh well.  Here's a le Carré book I liked better. 

Book #87 was Peacekeeping, by Mischa Berlinski.  Berlinski's first novel, Fieldwork, was one of the best books I read in 2009 (the link is to the Reading Update post that contains my review).  This new novel is about Haiti.  I often find it hard to read about Haiti while I am here; everything feels too close and real.  That happened with this book, although it was brilliant.  The author had invented much craziness associated with an election.  We've had an election going on here for well over a year, with cancellations and postponements and protests and recounts and a provisional government, and you can't really make up craziness that surpasses the actual craziness.  I do recommend this book, as he has really captured the feeling of Haiti, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if I didn't live here - if that makes any sense.

Book #88 was The Uncoupling, by Meg Wolitzer.  A high school drama teacher decides to put on a production of Lysistrata, the Greek play in which the women of Athens decide to abstain from sex until the men agree to stop the war that is dragging on and on.  As the students rehearse for the play, a strange spell comes over the women of the town, causing them to lose interest in men.  Wolitzer handles the touch of magical realism well, turning the slight story into a surprisingly thought-provoking study of relationships between men and women.

Book #89 was Eleanor and Park, by Rainbow Rowell.  A lot of my students read this book this past school year.  It's a pretty intense portrayal of teenage love.  Personally, I wouldn't recommend it to kids as young as my middle schoolers, but many of them loved it. 

Book #90 was The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion.  Surely someone will make this into a movie.  It's a cute, over-the-top story about a professor who is definitely "on the spectrum," as they say, and his search for a wife. 

Books #85 and #91 were both by Mary Renault: The King Must Die and The Bull from the Sea.  I read these aloud to my husband.  (I love reading aloud; it is one of my very favorite things to do.)  I had read these books before; my high school Latin teacher introduced me to Renault's novels.  These two are about Theseus, and we both enjoyed them immensely.

Three of the books in this post have earthquakes in them.  

Poetry Friday: Henri Christophe

Photo Source: http://american-biography.blogspot.com/2011/02/henri-christophe-of-haiti-king-of-first.html

Earlier this summer, we visited the north of Haiti and toured Henri Christophe's ruined palace, Sans-Souci, and his Citadelle.  I wrote this poem about Henri Christophe.

Sans-Souci, Milot, Haiti

Henri Christophe named his palace Sans-Souci, carefree,
but he was never carefree,
even for a moment,
as he scanned the horizon for the return of the French,
and gathered 365 cannons, just in case,
for his Citadelle higher up the mountain.

People compared his palace to Versailles,
but he was never satisfied;
he rushed around improving and building and defending.
Even when he sat under his favorite tree,
the giant caimit,
it wasn’t to rest and sample the luscious star apples,
but to judge his people,
figuring out their problems,
which I assume were as intractable then as people’s problems are now.

Now the tree is held up by scaffolding.
It’s more than three hundred years old,
which means it had already been there a while
when Henri Christophe was born a slave.
And of course it was there when, a few hundred yards away,
Henri Christophe,
King of Haiti,
shot himself with a silver bullet
so that he wouldn’t live longer than his glory.
When an earthquake knocked down the palace
twenty-two years later,
the tree stood firm.

Henri Christophe,
I wish you’d relaxed a bit,
Stopped worrying about the French
And your glory
And controlling the world,
which,
by the way,
(I guess you noticed)
you couldn’t do.

Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com

Tabatha has today's roundup.

Watching War and Peace

I recently read this article, which told me ten things I should know about War and Peace.  One of the ten things is that it isn't really that long.  Anybody could read the book in ten days, claims the author.  Ten days?  I guess if you did nothing else.  It took me two months to read it, but then I had a full-time job at the time.  (Here's what I wrote when I finished reading it, and here's a more realistic view of how long it takes to read it, written by a guy who watched the first episode on TV and then tried to finish the book in time for the second episode.)

I didn't read the book in ten days, but I watched the six-part miniseries with my daughter in less than ten days.

(I got that photo from this article, entitled "War and Peace: Director Tom Harper on being nervous he has ruined the story and *that* nudity scene".)

You can see from the photo that the costumes are spectacular.  So much so that the men look a bit ridiculous to modern eyes, bedizened as they are with braid and sparkle.  But in addition to the clothes, the look of this series is just amazing.  The cinematography is gorgeous from beginning to end.  The casting is also great.  Best of all, this version leaves out Tolstoy's opinions on many, many things: Russia, Napoleon, bees, Russian peasants, History, etc.  When you take out all those hundreds of pages, you are left with the memorable characters and the wonderful story.  I'm glad I read the book, but I also really enjoyed the miniseries, and I recommend it.

Poetry Friday: Summer Mowing

I've been reading summer poems at Poetry Foundation, and finding many lovely ones.  I love this one for the intimate picture of a father and son spending time together.  That's what my summer is about this year: focusing on moments with my family.  If I were looking at the world around me, I'd choose "things fall apart; the center cannot hold." Instead I'm deciding to enjoy this day and mow the part of the world where I can have an influence.  My mower may be a "makeshift contraption," but it's going to be a beautiful day anyway.

Summer Mowing

Jennifer Gray

 

He has transformed

his Tonka dump truck

into a push mower, using

 

lumber scraps and duct tape

to construct a handle

on the front end of the dump box.

 

One brave screw

holds the makeshift

contraption together.

 

All summer they outline

the edges of these acres,

first Daddy, and then,

 

behind him

this small echo, each

dodging the same stumps,

 

pausing to slap a mosquito,

or rest in the shade,

before once again pacing

 

out into the light,

where first one,

and then the other,

 

leans forward to guide the mowers

along the bright edges

of this familiar world.


Here's today's roundup. 

Reading Update

One of my favorite parts about summer vacation is the time to read.  Since my last update, I have been reading constantly, and here's what I've finished.

Book #76 of the year was Rules of Civility, by Amor Towles.  Set in New York City in 1938, this wasn't as wonderful as I'd been led to believe, but it was a fun read.

Book #77 was The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller.  In this retelling of the Iliad, Achilles and Patroclus are not just friends, Thetis hates Patroclus, and Achilles has no interest in Briseis, but keeps her around to please Patroclus.  Everything turns out the same as the original.  If you're a lover of the Iliad, like I am, you'll enjoy seeing how Miller handles the story. 

Book #78 was Home Life: A Journey Through Rooms and Recollections, by Suzanne Fox.  I'm not entirely sure of all the reasons I love this book so much.  The last time I read it was 2014, but for a while in my thirties I read it every year.  The book is a series of essays about rooms, in long-lost houses, the author's current apartment, and even in a museum.  Fox explores the meaning of home, growing up, being alone, decorating, and many other topics.  Every time I read it, I find new things.  I thought about it again recently when one of my childhood homes, in a country I haven't visited in thirty years, burned down, and I saw a YouTube video of the fire.  Why do houses stick in our minds so much?  I lived there when I was four years old.  Chances are, I would never have gone there again.  But it was my home, and I grieved its loss.  This book has helped me think about home at many points in my life, and I'm sure I'll read it again.

A friend from graduate school has started writing romance novels, and book #79 was her second, Chasing the Heiress, by Rachael Miles.  Check out her blog, where she gives interesting insights into her research, including how she finds out what vocabulary she can use to keep the authenticity of the Regency period she's writing about.  I liked Jilting the Duke, the first one in the series, and this one was also good, and very eventful!  I'm looking forward to the third one in the series, coming out in October.

Book #80 was About Grace, by Anthony Doerr.  Everyone is reading and talking about Doerr's more recent book, All the Light We Cannot See.  I loved that one, but honestly I think this one is even better.  The gorgeous writing, the long trajectory of the story, and the entirely convincing character and relationship development: all were completely satisfying.

Book #81 was The Arrival, by Shaun Tan.  This is a wordless graphic novel.  I don't really know how to read a book like this, since it's all pictures.  The pictures are amazing, but I wished for words.  My daughter says I just have to read more graphic novels.

Book #82 was When You Were Here, by Daisy Whitney.  In this YA title, Danny has lost his mother, and he's trying to figure out how to continue his life.  I liked the Japanese setting of a large part of the book, and I also liked the different kinds of relationships Danny had in his life.

Book #83 was Kindred, by Octavia Butler.  Dana, an African American woman in the seventies, is ripped back to the time of slavery, again and again.  She can't control when it's going to happen, and the fact that she sees slavery through the sensibility of a modern woman intensifies the reader's experience of the horror of life for Dana and the other slaves.

Book #84 was lighter fare, but still quite thought-provoking in its own way: What Alice Forgot, by Liane Moriarty.  Alice has an accident at the gym and hits her head; when she wakes up, she's forgotten the last ten years of her life.  The last thing she remembers is being in a happy marriage, contentedly waiting for the birth of her first child.  Now she and her husband are getting a divorce, and she has no idea why.

This post is linked to the June 25th edition of the Saturday Review of Books.

Poetry Friday: love is more thicker than forget

[love is more thicker than forget]

e.e. cummings

 

love is more thicker than forget

more thinner than recall

more seldom than a wave is wet

more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly

and less it shall unbe

than all the sea which only

is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win

less never than alive

less bigger than the least begin

less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly

and more it cannot die

than all the sky which only

is higher than the sky


What can I add to this?  "Love is as strong as death," as King Solomon wrote thousands of years ago. It is more thicker than forget.  It cannot die.
  
Here's today's roundup.

Poetry Friday: Ozymandias

As we toured Sans-Souci Palace, the home of Henri Christophe, King of Haiti, my daughter quoted Shelley's poem, "Ozymandias."  The picture above was taken in Henri Christophe's throne room; as you can see, it is roofless.  It has been ever since the palace was destroyed in an earthquake in 1842, but Christophe's own life ended twenty-two years earlier when he shot himself in this room, saying that a great man should not survive longer than his glory.

Sans-Souci was compared in its day with Versailles, and it is still impressive to see.

Shelley's poem was inspired by a statue from the thirteenth century BC, acquired by the British Museum and on display in London.  The statue depicted Ramasses II of Egypt, known also by his Greek name of Ozymandias.

All human power is temporary, the "traveller from an antique land" tells us.  When we look around us today, this is a good thing to remember.



Ozymandias
Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

Here's today's roundup.

Reading Update

Halfway through 2016, I've read as many books as I read all last year.  I've had plenty I wanted to escape from, and I ended my last Reading Update post with my plans to reread Pride and Prejudice, that ultimate escapist novel, both for its predictability and for the reassuring way it all works out in the end.  I did read it, but first I made a rather more counterintuitive choice. 

Book #56 of the year was The Passage, by Justin Cronin.  Yep, it's post-apocalyptic.  Yep, there are vampires (the condition is caused by a virus).  Yep, I found it oddly mesmerizing.

Book #57 was Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.  See above.  All I hoped for, and more.

Book #58 was The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, by Elisabeth Tova Bailey.  This book is just plain wonderful.  Bailey develops a mysterious and debilitating illness, and a friend gives her a plant, in which there's a snail.  In the newly small world of her sickroom, Bailey focuses her attention on the snail, observing it closely and finding it a miracle.

Book #59 was Survival Lessons, by Alice Hoffman.  This is what Hoffman learned from crises she faced in her life, particularly her breast cancer.  It's inspiring, and full of ways you can choose to deal with what happens to you, rather than just folding under it.

Book #60 was Every Bitter Thing is Sweet: Tasting the Goodness of God in All Things, by Sara Hagerty.  This is Hagerty's memoir of marriage, infertility, adoption, and other bitter things that turn sweet when she allows them to bring her closer to God.

Book #61 was Donald Miller's Searching for God Knows What.  Miller's territory is a lot of what we've been talking about at my church - that God deals with us through our stories, not through bullet points of systematic theology.  Miller really is a good writer, even though sometimes he gets on my nerves.

Book #62 was The Blue, by Lucy Clarke.  I really enjoyed this book about sailing and murder.

Book #63 was a gift from my daughter, who knew I'd enjoyed all the other Lauren Winner books I'd read.  This one was Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis, Winner's memoir about the time after her divorce when God felt very far away.  My daughter says this is Winner's best book so far.  I prefer Wearing God, but I liked this one, too.

Book #64 was The Space Between Us, by Thrity Umrigar.  This is a novel about a maid and her employer, both struggling with Dickensian life challenges in modern Bombay.

Book #65 was also about dreadful struggle, responded to poetically and bravely: in When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi, a doctor describes his own battle with, and death from, cancer.

Book #66 was Happier at Home: Kiss More, Jump More, Abandon Self-Control, and My Other Experiments in Everyday Life, by Gretchen Rubin.  In this sequel to The Happiness Project, Rubin tries more ideas to boost happiness.

Book #67 was The Twelve, by Justin Cronin, the sequel to book #56.  The third one is coming out any day.  I'm not sure why I'm enjoying this series quite as much as I am.

Book #68 was The Last Boy and Girl in the World, by Siobhan Vivian, a YA title about friendship, loss, and a town being gradually destroyed by flooding.

Book #69 was Still Life: A Chief Inspector Gamache Mystery Book, by Louise Penny.  This is the first Inspector Gamache book, and it looks as though I've found a new murder mystery series to add to the ones I already enjoy by P.D. James and Elizabeth George.

Book #70 was Before I Fall, by Lauren Oliver, another YA title.  We know from the first line of the book that Samantha dies, but she is given the opportunity to see the effects her choices have on others as she relives her last day again and again.  Will she eventually get it right?

Book #71 was Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster, by Jon Krakauer.  I read a novel with my seventh graders this year about climbing Everest, and supplemented it with this real-life story.  Warning: this is so vivid that you won't be able to breathe while reading it.

Book #72 was Thirteen Moons, by Charles Frazier.  This is a historical novel about the removal of Native Americans to reservations in the west in the time immediately before and after the Civil War.  It's about identity and loss.  Lately everything I read seems to be about loss, one way or another.  This is a brilliant book, just as good as his first book, Cold Mountain, which I read back in 2009 and reviewed in this post.  The protagonist, Will Cooper, is a true American original, abandoned by his blood family and finding family wherever he can.  He is self-taught, captivated by a woman who keeps disappearing, and larger than life.  His story is unforgettable.

Book #73 was Tropical Fish: Tales from Entebbe, by Doreen Baingana.  I thought until almost the end that I hadn't finished this book before, but I read it back in 2011.

Book #74 was The Passion of Artemisia, by Susan Vreeland, a historical novel about Artemisia Gentileschi, a Renaissance painter trying to survive as a woman in a world dominated by men.  I loved reading about her friendship with Galileo.

Book #75 was another Gretchen Rubin book, her study of habits, Better than Before.  I enjoy Rubin's voice (I also listen to her podcast, and she writes just the way she talks), and I found this book useful and interesting, just like her others.

I just started my summer vacation, and I have some epic reading plans for the season, so stay tuned!

This post is linked to the June 4th Saturday Review of Books at Semicolon.

Poetry Friday: Back from Vacation

I haven't posted on this blog in a while, but now that summer is here, I hope to change that.  I finished school, graded feverishly and wrote comments and spoke at eighth grade graduation and then we left for five days of vacation in northern Haiti.  Since we got back yesterday, John Updike's poem seems appropriate for today.



Back from Vacation
John Updike

 

"Back from vacation", the barber announces,
or the postman, or the girl at the drugstore, now tan.
They are amazed to find the workaday world
still in place, their absence having slipped no cogs,
their customers having hardly missed them, and
there being so sparse an audience to tell of the wonders,
the pyramids they have seen, the silken warm seas,
the nighttimes of marimbas, the purchases achieved
in foreign languages, the beggars, the flies,
the hotel luxury, the grandeur of marble cities.
But at Customs the humdrum pressed its claims.
Gray days clicked shut around them; the yoke still fit,
warm as if never shucked. The world is still so small,
the evidence says, though their hearts cry, "Not so!"


My vacation brought me back with loads of photos and memories, and here's hoping I'll write some poems soon.  It's been too long.   No more gray days clicking shut around me.  I don't care how sparse the audience is - time to tell of wonders.

Here's today's roundup.