3 hours ago
Thursday, August 20, 2020
Thursday, August 13, 2020
Poetry Friday: Patrice de La Tour du Pin
A few days after I got home from the hospital, I got a message from a friend who lives nearby. She asked if she could bring over a book for me. Of course the answer to that question is always yes. Here's the book she brought:
Here's a taste:
I've read through the English once, and now I want to go back and read it alongside the French, to compare what the translator has done with the original.
I'm thankful for friends with books to lend and words to share!
Today's roundup is here.
Monday, August 10, 2020
Reading Update
Book #45 of the year was Gold, by Chris Cleave. This is the story of three friends who meet through their training for Olympic cycling. Zoe and Kate compete with each other in their sport, and they also compete for Jack, their friend. The descriptions of cycling past endurance, to the point of nearly losing consciousness, were perhaps a little too appropriate, as I read this book while in the final stages of a sickness, right before getting diagnosed and hospitalized. So maybe that's why this book resonated with me so much.
Book #46 was Camino Winds, by John Grisham. It's been a long time since I've read anything by John Grisham, but at one time I did read many of his books. I found his legal thrillers really enjoyable, though not at all character driven, and often I couldn't remember the characters at all once I had closed the book. But this one was a big disappointment. It didn't have the fast-moving, rollicking plot I remember from past Grisham books; the plot was very confusing and nonsensical, a mixture of several stories that didn't stick together at all for me. But again, maybe it was because I wasn't feeling well.
Books #47, #48 and #49 were books I'm going to teach this year for the first time: The Watsons Go to Birmingham - 1963, by Christopher Paul Curtis, Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls, and Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen. I loved the first and third; the second was interesting and well-written, but I can hardly imagine my students being able to relate to it. I have had students in the past talk to me about how it was the first book that made them cry, so I know that some of them will love it, but the raccoons? The kid falling on the axe and...well, I won't give it away, but it's pretty gruesome? The endless scenes of hunting? I don't know.
Book #50 was a fantastic book; I read over half of it in the hospital, and could hardly put it down. It was The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration, by Isabel Wilkerson. In addition to telling the overall story of the Great Migration, when about six million African American people left the Jim Crow south and moved to other parts of the United States ("it was the first big step the nation's servant class ever took without asking."), she chooses three representative individuals and tells us their stories too. When I say "representative," don't read "generic," for each of these stories is wildly idiosyncratic and unique. The book reads like a novel, and a stunningly written, gripping novel at that. The author has a new book coming out this month, and I put it on hold at the library; unfortunately, I'm number 90 in line to read it! I can't wait.
I'm not quite finished yet with the other book I read in the hospital, so I'll have to save it for the next update.
Friday, August 07, 2020
Poetry Friday: Songs at the End of Summer
No matter what has happened in the past few months, the Academy of American Poets has been there. I was so impressed by their Shelter in Poems theme for National Poetry Month this year, whipped up at the last minute but full of comfort. And now they are gamely sending out their Back to School emails, just as though it were a regular year and not a morass of confusion.
In the Back to School email was this Jane Kenyon poem. I read and reflected on summers gone by, in Kenyon's life and my own. I need to write my own version for this year, but I don't have time right now because I'm busily learning all new software for this year, and reading all the new books I have to teach in this new curriculum that's going to make things easier (so they tell me) while our lives are upended by COVID and - oh yeah - all the other crises Haiti was already going through.
And by the way, I just got out of the hospital. It wasn't COVID but a vitamin B12 deficiency, and correcting it has made me feel a thousand percent better in every way. Everything's just as much of a mess as before, but I feel much more able to cope, both physically and emotionally. I'm not completely back to normal yet, but this new health and strength is a gift I receive with gratitude. And I need to write about that too (I did write this already), but not today. So here is Jane Kenyon's poem. I noticed at the top of the page that she didn't live as long as I already have. Every day is a gift, especially here at the end of summer, and the beginning of who knows what.
Three Songs at the End of Summer
by Jane Kenyon
A second crop of hay lies cut
and turned. Five gleaming crows
search and peck between the rows.
They make a low, companionable squawk,
and like midwives and undertakers
possess a weird authority.
Wednesday, August 05, 2020
Spiritual Journey Thursday - Spiritual Art
From The Book of Common Prayer
For a Sick Person
O Father of mercies and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need: We humbly beseech thee to behold, visit, and relieve thy sick servant N. for whom our prayers are desired. Look upon him with the eyes of thy mercy; comfort him with a sense of thy goodness; preserve him from the temptations of the enemy; and give him patience under his affliction. In thy good time, restore him to health, and enable him to lead the residue of his life in thy fear, and to thy glory; and grant that finally he may dwell with thee in life everlasting; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Thy Sick Servant Mom
Before I left for the hospital on Friday,
my son wanted to pray with me.
He found the prayer “For a Sick Person”
in the Book of Common Prayer
and read the words that so many have prayed.
“Thy sick servant N”
became “Thy sick servant Mom,”
and all those masculine pronouns
were changed for me
as my son brought me before the Lord,
asked God to behold, visit, relieve,
asked for mercy
and comfort
and goodness
and preservation
and patience.
He asked for the “residue of my life,”
a gift we are not at all guaranteed.
And in the hospital,
as I breathed when the needles went in,
and hugged the X-ray machine as instructed,
and lay back and received the blood given for me,
I prayed for myself, too:
“Have mercy on thy sick servant, me!
How did I end up here
in this room
on this island
in the middle of a pandemic
wrapped in so much love?
Even if the residue of my life is only this moment,
how blessed I am!”
And then I came home on Monday,
restored to health,
rejoicing,
the prayers all answered,
sick servant me
beheld, visited, relieved,
the mercy granted,
the comfort bestowed,
the goodness lavished,
my body preserved,
the residue of my life ahead,
my son wanted to pray with me.
He found the prayer “For a Sick Person”
in the Book of Common Prayer
and read the words that so many have prayed.
“Thy sick servant N”
became “Thy sick servant Mom,”
and all those masculine pronouns
were changed for me
as my son brought me before the Lord,
asked God to behold, visit, relieve,
asked for mercy
and comfort
and goodness
and preservation
and patience.
He asked for the “residue of my life,”
a gift we are not at all guaranteed.
And in the hospital,
as I breathed when the needles went in,
and hugged the X-ray machine as instructed,
and lay back and received the blood given for me,
I prayed for myself, too:
“Have mercy on thy sick servant, me!
How did I end up here
in this room
on this island
in the middle of a pandemic
wrapped in so much love?
Even if the residue of my life is only this moment,
how blessed I am!”
And then I came home on Monday,
restored to health,
rejoicing,
the prayers all answered,
sick servant me
beheld, visited, relieved,
the mercy granted,
the comfort bestowed,
the goodness lavished,
my body preserved,
the residue of my life ahead,
my son hugging me in the garden.
Amen!
Amen!
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Our topic for August is Spiritual Art. I wanted to write about my seventeen-year-old praying for me, while the beauty and holiness of those moments remained with me. I spent last weekend in the hospital and came home with many symptoms I have been living with for a long time just gone. I could not be more grateful to God for what He has done for me.
Friday, July 17, 2020
Poetry Friday: Summer Poetry Swap
Much thanks to Carol Varsalona, who sent me a lovely digital journal for the Summer Poetry Swap. Here are some screen grabs of it:
The thoughtfulness and creativity of these Poetry Swaps never cease to amaze me. They have really been bright spots this year.
Jone Rush MacCulloch is hosting the roundup today. Check out what everyone is posting!
Jone Rush MacCulloch is hosting the roundup today. Check out what everyone is posting!
Tuesday, July 14, 2020
Reading Update
In an effort to lower my snarkiness level, I am going to write a post about what I've been reading. It's a challenge to find the perfect book to read in these times, as I've remarked before. I had chosen A Man Called Ove, by Fredrik Bakman, to read aloud to my husband, and I abandoned it because it was the - whatever the opposite of a sweet spot is - combination of depressing and triggering and attempted but not succeeded endearing. I don't want fluff to read, but I can't handle majorly traumatic right now. Learning new things is good, up to a point. I feel as though I am not reading much, but then I see that I've finished eleven books since this time last month, so I guess that's not too much of a slump.
Book #34 of this weird and increasingly horrifying year was I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou. I thought I knew quite a bit about this book, but it's way more interesting and quirky than I realized. A memorable moment is her high school graduation, when she describes singing "Lift Every Voice and Sing" after a humiliating and obnoxious speech by a white man, and for the first time in her life really hearing the words.
We've been singing this at our church for the last few years, and it is such a beautiful song and so packed with meaning. I am sorry it took me so long to find it.
Book #35 was The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, by Suzanne Collins, the prequel to the Hunger Games books. This is the story of future Panem president Corialanus Snow. I found it depressing but absorbing.
Book #36 was Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman. I had somehow formed the impression that this was a light, fun read. Not so much.
Book #37 was The Clergyman's Wife, by Molly Greeley. I'd like to discuss this Pride and Prejudice sequel with a group. The clergyman's wife of the title is Charlotte Lucas Collins. There were things I really liked about this and things I really hated. One thing I liked was that it maintained the mournful ambiguity of the original presentation of Charlotte's story. I was glad to see things through Charlotte's eyes, rather than Lizzy's, because let's face it, however delightful Lizzy is, it does get tiresome to see her laughing merrily at everyone. Jane Austen herself sees there's more to Charlotte, I think. I also really liked the way I started to see endearing qualities about Mr. Collins. Again, having Lizzy a long way away helped with that. Please read it and let's talk about it.
Book #38 was Beach Read, by Emily Henry. I didn't love this, but it did hold my interest. And I enjoyed the focus on January's past, her family and her friendships. I enjoyed the portrayal of novel-writing, too.
Book #39 was Nothing to See Here, by Kevin Wilson. Wow! I loved this book! It was so quirky and unpredictable and I realized how long it had been since I had read something that just completely surprised me. It's also heartbreaking and beautiful in a very ugly and painful way. And the characters, while wildly improbable things happen to them, are completely believable. A lot of people won't like the language.
Book #40 was a re-re-re-re-re-read, Life of the Beloved, by Henri Nouwen. I hope some day I won't have the need to reread this book constantly, but so far I still need it. It's such a great reminder of how much God loves us, and how that's what we need, not the love and approval of other people. At least, we don't need the love and approval of other people nearly as much as we think we do. See how I can type those words and even believe them? Some day I will live as though I believe them.
Book #41 was Olive, Again, by Elizabeth Strout. "There were so many things that could not be said, and this had occurred to Cindy with more frequency and it made her heart ache." This is a sequel to Olive Kitteredge, which I read and reviewed here in 2010. Like the original, this one is told in interconnected short stories, and like the original, it's about loneliness. The characters are so finely drawn and their experiences are so realistic that they made me squirm. Elizabeth Strout is an amazing writer.
Book #42 was Meg & Jo, by Virginia Kantra. This is a retelling of Little Women, but happening today. I liked many things about it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know that much about the sex lives of the March girls. But I saw there's going to be a sequel about the other two sisters, and I will totally read it.
Book #43 was Healing Maddie Brees, by Rebecca Brewster Stevenson. I had started this several months ago, but for some reason not finished it. It's beautifully written and a very realistic, serious look at a marriage. I recommend it.
Book #44 was The House Girl, by Tara Conklin. One of the goosebumps moments in this book - and there were quite a few - was when Lina, a lawyer working on a case that would demand reparations for slavery, is sitting in her room writing down what happened to a bunch of people in a historical document, from bad living conditions to abuse to rape to murder: "Lina wrote on her yellow legal pad: The harm is immeasurable." There's a lot going on in this story - motherhood, art, workplace politics, hideous racism, the Underground Railroad - yet somehow it never seemed too much. I thought Tara Conklin handled it beautifully and gave me a fresh look at a subject I've read about countless times before. It reminded me a little bit of Kindred, by Octavia Butler, which I read in 2016 and reviewed here, but without the time travel. Like that book, it makes absolutely zero effort to turn slavery into a pretty story. It's hard to read, but read it.
Book #34 of this weird and increasingly horrifying year was I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou. I thought I knew quite a bit about this book, but it's way more interesting and quirky than I realized. A memorable moment is her high school graduation, when she describes singing "Lift Every Voice and Sing" after a humiliating and obnoxious speech by a white man, and for the first time in her life really hearing the words.
Book #35 was The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, by Suzanne Collins, the prequel to the Hunger Games books. This is the story of future Panem president Corialanus Snow. I found it depressing but absorbing.
Book #36 was Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman. I had somehow formed the impression that this was a light, fun read. Not so much.
Here's a taste: "He'd elected to look after me himself. I'd been pondering this, and concluded that there must be some people for whom difficult behavior wasn't a reason to end their relationship with you. If they liked you - and, I remembered, Raymond and I had agreed that we were pals now - then, it seemed, they were prepared to maintain contact - even if you were sad, or upset, or behaving in very challenging ways. This was something of a revelation."
Book #37 was The Clergyman's Wife, by Molly Greeley. I'd like to discuss this Pride and Prejudice sequel with a group. The clergyman's wife of the title is Charlotte Lucas Collins. There were things I really liked about this and things I really hated. One thing I liked was that it maintained the mournful ambiguity of the original presentation of Charlotte's story. I was glad to see things through Charlotte's eyes, rather than Lizzy's, because let's face it, however delightful Lizzy is, it does get tiresome to see her laughing merrily at everyone. Jane Austen herself sees there's more to Charlotte, I think. I also really liked the way I started to see endearing qualities about Mr. Collins. Again, having Lizzy a long way away helped with that. Please read it and let's talk about it.
Book #38 was Beach Read, by Emily Henry. I didn't love this, but it did hold my interest. And I enjoyed the focus on January's past, her family and her friendships. I enjoyed the portrayal of novel-writing, too.
Book #39 was Nothing to See Here, by Kevin Wilson. Wow! I loved this book! It was so quirky and unpredictable and I realized how long it had been since I had read something that just completely surprised me. It's also heartbreaking and beautiful in a very ugly and painful way. And the characters, while wildly improbable things happen to them, are completely believable. A lot of people won't like the language.
Here's a taste: "This was how you did it, how you raised children. You built them a house that was impervious to danger and then you gave them every single thing that they could ever want, no matter how impossible. You read to them at night. Why couldn't people figure this out?"
Book #40 was a re-re-re-re-re-read, Life of the Beloved, by Henri Nouwen. I hope some day I won't have the need to reread this book constantly, but so far I still need it. It's such a great reminder of how much God loves us, and how that's what we need, not the love and approval of other people. At least, we don't need the love and approval of other people nearly as much as we think we do. See how I can type those words and even believe them? Some day I will live as though I believe them.
Book #41 was Olive, Again, by Elizabeth Strout. "There were so many things that could not be said, and this had occurred to Cindy with more frequency and it made her heart ache." This is a sequel to Olive Kitteredge, which I read and reviewed here in 2010. Like the original, this one is told in interconnected short stories, and like the original, it's about loneliness. The characters are so finely drawn and their experiences are so realistic that they made me squirm. Elizabeth Strout is an amazing writer.
Book #42 was Meg & Jo, by Virginia Kantra. This is a retelling of Little Women, but happening today. I liked many things about it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know that much about the sex lives of the March girls. But I saw there's going to be a sequel about the other two sisters, and I will totally read it.
Book #43 was Healing Maddie Brees, by Rebecca Brewster Stevenson. I had started this several months ago, but for some reason not finished it. It's beautifully written and a very realistic, serious look at a marriage. I recommend it.
Book #44 was The House Girl, by Tara Conklin. One of the goosebumps moments in this book - and there were quite a few - was when Lina, a lawyer working on a case that would demand reparations for slavery, is sitting in her room writing down what happened to a bunch of people in a historical document, from bad living conditions to abuse to rape to murder: "Lina wrote on her yellow legal pad: The harm is immeasurable." There's a lot going on in this story - motherhood, art, workplace politics, hideous racism, the Underground Railroad - yet somehow it never seemed too much. I thought Tara Conklin handled it beautifully and gave me a fresh look at a subject I've read about countless times before. It reminded me a little bit of Kindred, by Octavia Butler, which I read in 2016 and reviewed here, but without the time travel. Like that book, it makes absolutely zero effort to turn slavery into a pretty story. It's hard to read, but read it.
Thursday, July 09, 2020
Poetry Friday: Welcome to the Poetry Party
Welcome, fellow poetry lovers! I'm excited to welcome you to my blog to share your links. I have been participating in Poetry Friday for thirteen years, and yet this is the first time I have hosted. It's not that I didn't want to invite all of you over, it's just that I have always feared technical difficulties. My internet here in Haiti is slow and often unreliable, so I offer that in advance as an explanation if it takes a little bit before you see your link here. Please leave it in the comments. Moderation is enabled, so you won't see your comment right away, but I will get to it as fast as I can, and round up everybody's contributions the old-fashioned way in the body of this post. I guess this is the Poetry Friday version of giving you instructions about the dish you brought to share at a real-life party, with food and music and conversation - remember those? Put it over there on the table. Do you have something to serve it with? Looks delicious! Thanks so much for coming!
As I tried to decide what I myself would bring to the feast, I started looking for poems about parties, the analog kind. I found some fun ones, like Adrienne Su lamenting that her guests have thrown away her non-disposable chopsticks. (Please, don't do that at my house. Like Adrienne's, our chopsticks are reusable, and we do use them, several times a week. This year my daughter is living in a house where we've never been with people we've never met, and my husband and I contributed a couple of packages of reusable chopsticks to their kitchen because that's just civilized.)
After the Dinner Party
by Adrienne Su
Dropping napkins, corks, and non-compostables
into the trash, I see that friends have mistaken
my everyday chopsticks for disposables
helpfully discarding them alongside inedibles:
pork bones, shrimp shells, bitter melon.
Among napkins and corks, they do look compostable:
off-white, wooden, warped from continual
washing - no lacquer, no ornament. But anyone
who thinks these chopsticks are disposable
doesn't live with chopsticks in the comfortable
way of a favorite robe, oversized, a bit broken.
Here's the rest.
And here's one by Jason Shinder:
The Party
by Jason Shinder
And that's how it is; everyone standing up from the big silence
of the table with their glasses of certainty and plates of forgiveness
and walking into the purple kitchen; everyone leaning away from the gas stove
Marie blows on at the very edge of the breaking blue-orange-lunging-
forward flames to warm another pot of coffee...
Here's the rest.
I really miss hanging out with people. On Wednesday morning as my husband and I were perusing Facebook together before starting our day, I commented to him that a lot of our friends were saying (usually in anniversary paeans) that their spouse was the one person in all the world they would have chosen to be quarantined with. I assured him that I feel that way too, but that while he is great and all, and I'm so happy that I picked him and had kids with him and ultimately ended up with him in this Year of our Lord 2020 when we are all locked indoors for many a month, I am extremely ready for some hanging out time with others. So again I say, welcome, welcome! Stay a while and chat! Share your writing or that of others that you've been appreciating lately! Share lots of words; I am totally up for that. In fact, you may have trouble leaving, as I'm likely to step outside with you in the moonlight and detain you in the driveway for just a few more minutes of conversation.
I'm organizing your contributions on the buffet table according to when they show up, from Thursday afternoon when this post goes live (hi, friends from Australia, plus anyone else who just likes to get a head start) until Friday night.
APPETIZERS (Thursday)
Our first guest is all the way from Switzerland! Welcome, Bridget Magee! She has brought a whole platter of goodies, what she calls "Writer's Retreat Wee-Sources." No matter where you are, these are opportunities to write in community, and boy, do we need that right now!
April Halprin Wayland arrived next, and even though her link doesn't go live until tomorrow morning, I'm going to post it here on the appetizer table. I'll visit it in the morning and update you on it further - all I know now is that she's going to share a tip from anthologist and poet extraordinaire, Lee Bennett Hopkins. I'm sure it will be delicious! Here's the link, for tomorrow. (I was right - it's a good one! Check it out!)
Every Thursday I see Margaret Simon's "This Photo Wants to be a Poem" feature as kind of an introduction to Poetry Friday. Here's today's beautiful inspiration - a Bedouin bride!
Michelle Kogan stopped by with some James Baldwin to share. She's been reading his poem "Staggerlee Wonders," and then she wrote her response to it. This is challenging fare, but we need it. Here's Michelle's post.
Tabatha's sharing wonderful poetry swaps! Thanks, Tabatha! (She's also brought a pitcher of blueberry-chamomile lemonade after "accidentally" buying 17 lemons. Accidentally, Tabatha? You're not going to share the story after that intriguing hint?) Update: I begged Tabatha to explain further, and here's what she said in the comments: "Sorry, Ruth! I get a box of fruit and veg every week from a place that sells ugly produce, and when I opened the box yesterday, it had SO MANY LEMONS in it. They just kept coming. I thought I was ordering three lemons, but I actually ordered three sets of five. Ha ha?? (I also had two in my Whole Foods delivery order -- forgot that I had ordered some already -- and I already had one. So my total is 18.) Guess I'm starting a lemonade stand!"
What could be more delicious than a villanelle? That's what Janice Scully is sharing this week!
EARLY MORNING BREAKFAST DISHES (Friday morning)
I woke up to an inbox full of poems! That sure is better than the scrolling of the news that often starts my day. Welcome, friends!
Little Willow always brings intriguing dishes to the party, and this week is no exception, even though as always I have problems commenting on her blog. Here's her contribution!
Matt's generosity to the potluck leaves me reeling - he's brought wild berry shortcake with homemade biscuits, plus homemade mac and cheese, plus a mac and cheese poem! Enjoy the bounty!
Linda has a bunch of what she calls "clunker lines," but let me tell you, folks, there are some with great potential! Take one of hers and leave one of your own! She also has a lovely poetry swap. Take a taste!
Myra's brought a whole buffet of her own, with links to ten favorite PF posts from the time Gathering Books has been participating - since 2011!
I'm running into Carol Varsalona everywhere this week! She sent me a poetry swap (which I'm going to be sharing next week), we both contributed to This Photo Wants to be a Poem (see the link on the Appetizer table), and now she's brought a dish to pass at my party! Here it is!
Welcome to Kat, first to show up from the Australian contingent! She's sharing poetry swaps today, too!
Linda's in with a sad reflection on the gun violence that shattered the July 4th holiday weekend. We share your grief, Linda.
Laura's got more swaps - that seems to be a theme this week! She's receiving from Margaret Simon, and she's responding with a poem of her own.
Whew. I need to sit down for a moment after all those posts and all those exclamation marks in my roundup. Keep the links coming and I'll be back to add them!
Oops! Before I sit down, I just realized I almost overlooked Mary Lee's contribution to the buffet table. She wrote an In One Word poem with the word FALLIBILITY. It's perfect as the teachers among us (and there are many) look forward to the coming school year with a mixture of fear and hope.
BRUNCH (Friday mid-morning)
Margaret Simon tried out Irene Latham's nestling technique shown in Irene's new book "This Poem is a Nest." I can't wait to get my hands on that book, and I love Margaret's take on the idea, too! See what you think here!
Tim Gels wrote about a hike, and I have to say I am a bit jealous. It sounds so beautiful and restorative! Thanks, Tim!
Amy's sharing a beautiful moment that broke through sadness for her this week. I can't agree more with her assessment that "This is the power of paying attention...and too, the power of writing." You can enjoy Amy's moment here.
(By the way, Tabatha reappeared in the comments, explaining more about how she "accidentally" bought so many lemons, which she then turned into lemonade. Read all about it in the comments, or up on the appetizer table, where I cut and pasted it.)
MAIN DISHES (Friday afternoon)
Karen Edmisten shares a haiku about parties and laments that she and her family weren't able to celebrate her daughter's home-school graduation with proper fanfare. So sorry, Karen! I hope you're able to make up for it in the future!
Carol has two original poems today at her site The Apples in My Orchard. Maybe she'll bring some apples too? Cider? Apple butter?
Jane is going funny and light-hearted today, with a poem that was a favorite of mine as a child, and she sort of sounds like she's apologizing for it at first. I've been there, Jane - but I agree with you that we need funny and light-hearted more now than ever! Thanks for the laugh!
Rose has an original poem today, based, like Margaret Simon's above, on Irene Latham's new book. So cool, and I can imagine doing this with students, too. Here it is.
DESSERTS (Friday evening)
I never ate green beans for dessert, but I may have to start, since the last post I got yesterday was this one from Susan Bruck praising green beans! Thanks, Susan!
And hey, I just visited Irene Latham's blog and saw that she posted yesterday too, and there are strawberries involved!
Thank you, everyone, for coming to the party! I hope you enjoy perusing all the poems and leave lots of encouraging comments wherever you go. Have a wonderful weekend!
As I tried to decide what I myself would bring to the feast, I started looking for poems about parties, the analog kind. I found some fun ones, like Adrienne Su lamenting that her guests have thrown away her non-disposable chopsticks. (Please, don't do that at my house. Like Adrienne's, our chopsticks are reusable, and we do use them, several times a week. This year my daughter is living in a house where we've never been with people we've never met, and my husband and I contributed a couple of packages of reusable chopsticks to their kitchen because that's just civilized.)
After the Dinner Party
by Adrienne Su
Dropping napkins, corks, and non-compostables
into the trash, I see that friends have mistaken
my everyday chopsticks for disposables
helpfully discarding them alongside inedibles:
pork bones, shrimp shells, bitter melon.
Among napkins and corks, they do look compostable:
off-white, wooden, warped from continual
washing - no lacquer, no ornament. But anyone
who thinks these chopsticks are disposable
doesn't live with chopsticks in the comfortable
way of a favorite robe, oversized, a bit broken.
Here's the rest.
And here's one by Jason Shinder:
The Party
by Jason Shinder
And that's how it is; everyone standing up from the big silence
of the table with their glasses of certainty and plates of forgiveness
and walking into the purple kitchen; everyone leaning away from the gas stove
Marie blows on at the very edge of the breaking blue-orange-lunging-
forward flames to warm another pot of coffee...
Here's the rest.
I really miss hanging out with people. On Wednesday morning as my husband and I were perusing Facebook together before starting our day, I commented to him that a lot of our friends were saying (usually in anniversary paeans) that their spouse was the one person in all the world they would have chosen to be quarantined with. I assured him that I feel that way too, but that while he is great and all, and I'm so happy that I picked him and had kids with him and ultimately ended up with him in this Year of our Lord 2020 when we are all locked indoors for many a month, I am extremely ready for some hanging out time with others. So again I say, welcome, welcome! Stay a while and chat! Share your writing or that of others that you've been appreciating lately! Share lots of words; I am totally up for that. In fact, you may have trouble leaving, as I'm likely to step outside with you in the moonlight and detain you in the driveway for just a few more minutes of conversation.
I'm organizing your contributions on the buffet table according to when they show up, from Thursday afternoon when this post goes live (hi, friends from Australia, plus anyone else who just likes to get a head start) until Friday night.
APPETIZERS (Thursday)
Our first guest is all the way from Switzerland! Welcome, Bridget Magee! She has brought a whole platter of goodies, what she calls "Writer's Retreat Wee-Sources." No matter where you are, these are opportunities to write in community, and boy, do we need that right now!
April Halprin Wayland arrived next, and even though her link doesn't go live until tomorrow morning, I'm going to post it here on the appetizer table. I'll visit it in the morning and update you on it further - all I know now is that she's going to share a tip from anthologist and poet extraordinaire, Lee Bennett Hopkins. I'm sure it will be delicious! Here's the link, for tomorrow. (I was right - it's a good one! Check it out!)
Every Thursday I see Margaret Simon's "This Photo Wants to be a Poem" feature as kind of an introduction to Poetry Friday. Here's today's beautiful inspiration - a Bedouin bride!
Michelle Kogan stopped by with some James Baldwin to share. She's been reading his poem "Staggerlee Wonders," and then she wrote her response to it. This is challenging fare, but we need it. Here's Michelle's post.
Tabatha's sharing wonderful poetry swaps! Thanks, Tabatha! (She's also brought a pitcher of blueberry-chamomile lemonade after "accidentally" buying 17 lemons. Accidentally, Tabatha? You're not going to share the story after that intriguing hint?) Update: I begged Tabatha to explain further, and here's what she said in the comments: "Sorry, Ruth! I get a box of fruit and veg every week from a place that sells ugly produce, and when I opened the box yesterday, it had SO MANY LEMONS in it. They just kept coming. I thought I was ordering three lemons, but I actually ordered three sets of five. Ha ha?? (I also had two in my Whole Foods delivery order -- forgot that I had ordered some already -- and I already had one. So my total is 18.) Guess I'm starting a lemonade stand!"
What could be more delicious than a villanelle? That's what Janice Scully is sharing this week!
EARLY MORNING BREAKFAST DISHES (Friday morning)
I woke up to an inbox full of poems! That sure is better than the scrolling of the news that often starts my day. Welcome, friends!
Little Willow always brings intriguing dishes to the party, and this week is no exception, even though as always I have problems commenting on her blog. Here's her contribution!
Matt's generosity to the potluck leaves me reeling - he's brought wild berry shortcake with homemade biscuits, plus homemade mac and cheese, plus a mac and cheese poem! Enjoy the bounty!
Linda has a bunch of what she calls "clunker lines," but let me tell you, folks, there are some with great potential! Take one of hers and leave one of your own! She also has a lovely poetry swap. Take a taste!
Myra's brought a whole buffet of her own, with links to ten favorite PF posts from the time Gathering Books has been participating - since 2011!
I'm running into Carol Varsalona everywhere this week! She sent me a poetry swap (which I'm going to be sharing next week), we both contributed to This Photo Wants to be a Poem (see the link on the Appetizer table), and now she's brought a dish to pass at my party! Here it is!
Welcome to Kat, first to show up from the Australian contingent! She's sharing poetry swaps today, too!
Linda's in with a sad reflection on the gun violence that shattered the July 4th holiday weekend. We share your grief, Linda.
Laura's got more swaps - that seems to be a theme this week! She's receiving from Margaret Simon, and she's responding with a poem of her own.
Whew. I need to sit down for a moment after all those posts and all those exclamation marks in my roundup. Keep the links coming and I'll be back to add them!
Oops! Before I sit down, I just realized I almost overlooked Mary Lee's contribution to the buffet table. She wrote an In One Word poem with the word FALLIBILITY. It's perfect as the teachers among us (and there are many) look forward to the coming school year with a mixture of fear and hope.
BRUNCH (Friday mid-morning)
Margaret Simon tried out Irene Latham's nestling technique shown in Irene's new book "This Poem is a Nest." I can't wait to get my hands on that book, and I love Margaret's take on the idea, too! See what you think here!
Tim Gels wrote about a hike, and I have to say I am a bit jealous. It sounds so beautiful and restorative! Thanks, Tim!
Amy's sharing a beautiful moment that broke through sadness for her this week. I can't agree more with her assessment that "This is the power of paying attention...and too, the power of writing." You can enjoy Amy's moment here.
(By the way, Tabatha reappeared in the comments, explaining more about how she "accidentally" bought so many lemons, which she then turned into lemonade. Read all about it in the comments, or up on the appetizer table, where I cut and pasted it.)
MAIN DISHES (Friday afternoon)
Karen Edmisten shares a haiku about parties and laments that she and her family weren't able to celebrate her daughter's home-school graduation with proper fanfare. So sorry, Karen! I hope you're able to make up for it in the future!
Carol has two original poems today at her site The Apples in My Orchard. Maybe she'll bring some apples too? Cider? Apple butter?
Jane is going funny and light-hearted today, with a poem that was a favorite of mine as a child, and she sort of sounds like she's apologizing for it at first. I've been there, Jane - but I agree with you that we need funny and light-hearted more now than ever! Thanks for the laugh!
Rose has an original poem today, based, like Margaret Simon's above, on Irene Latham's new book. So cool, and I can imagine doing this with students, too. Here it is.
DESSERTS (Friday evening)
I never ate green beans for dessert, but I may have to start, since the last post I got yesterday was this one from Susan Bruck praising green beans! Thanks, Susan!
And hey, I just visited Irene Latham's blog and saw that she posted yesterday too, and there are strawberries involved!
Thank you, everyone, for coming to the party! I hope you enjoy perusing all the poems and leave lots of encouraging comments wherever you go. Have a wonderful weekend!
Friday, July 03, 2020
Poetry Friday: When People Say...
John Green referenced this poem on his podcast The Anthropocene Reviewed, which I frequently listen to with my son. In June's episode, he reviewed seventeen suggestions from listeners. One was the pandemic. While he acknowledged that people like to find silver linings and say that everything is really good even though it looks bad, he gave the pandemic one star, his lowest rating.
When people say "we have made it through worse before"
by Clint Smith
all I hear is the wind slapping against the gravestones
of those who did not make it, those who did not
survive to see the confetti fall from the sky, those who
did not live to watch the parade roll down the street.
Here's the rest.
Tune in next week when I will be hosting Poetry Friday here on my blog for the first time. Today's roundup is hosted by Linda Mitchell here.
When people say "we have made it through worse before"
by Clint Smith
all I hear is the wind slapping against the gravestones
of those who did not make it, those who did not
survive to see the confetti fall from the sky, those who
did not live to watch the parade roll down the street.
Here's the rest.
Tune in next week when I will be hosting Poetry Friday here on my blog for the first time. Today's roundup is hosted by Linda Mitchell here.
Friday, June 26, 2020
Poetry Friday: Deserts
My daughter has lived in the desert this year. It's the first time she's lived somewhere I haven't been, and I squint at the rare photo she sends in an effort to understand what she experiences, what she sees. I don't know her friends, I don't know her life.
Each day I look at the temperature where she is and groan at how hot it is. (Yesterday it was 109 degrees.) "It's a dry heat," yes, but it's still unbelievable. She says you can't comfortably go outside during the day. I read an article about how homeless people die every year of heat in her city; air conditioning is nearly a necessity.
This past week I have thought a lot about deserts. We had several days of a dust cloud from the Sahara hanging over our normally idyllic blue skies. Here's an article about it. Experts named the cloud "Godzilla." It's a regular phenomenon to have desert dust in the atmosphere, but this was the thickest in fifty years, and this was the first year I was aware that they actually gave it a name. I read that we could expect extra beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but that turned out to be false; we couldn't see anything in the sky except grey, or feel anything but oppressive, heavy, heat. The Ministry of Health took a moment from their Coronavirus updates to tell us to be careful of this dust; don't exercise, stay indoors, wear your mask (at least you have a mask - see, it's multipurpose!). Now Godzilla has moved on, but reportedly we will get some more effects from it tomorrow.
I've also been reading poems about deserts, in a book called A Nostalgist's Map of America, by Agha Shahid Ali, a poet from Kashmir who wrote in English and became a U.S. citizen. He merges all the deserts of his life in his poems. Although I've been trying to learn more about him and read more of his work, I find my favorite poem so far is still the first one of his I read, "Snow on the Desert."
I had hoped to travel this year to visit my daughter and to see her home, but like so many things we'd planned, it didn't happen. I have to imagine what it's like, using my various source materials, and unfortunately those materials include articles about how COVID-19 is spreading there and how there, as everywhere in the US now, people are marching against their local examples of violence.
I bought a used copy of Agha Shahid Ali's book, and it's clearly been a textbook, judging by the marginal notes, some of which seem a bit confused. Here's my favorite example:
I imagine the professor explaining in passing, "Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus..." and then assuming comprehension from the students, but this student has scribbled, "and Orficace (he?)" and then after the first line of the poem, "I am a woman," added, apparently a little bewildered, "author a guy."
This summer I'm locked down, but it also feels a bit like wandering in a desert, a desert where I don't see a clear path and I don't get all the references in the poetry (Orficace?) and it's hot and hard to breathe.
Here's today's roundup. And over at Kat's blog, she's sharing some Summer Poem Swaps, including some I sent her. You can read them here.
Each day I look at the temperature where she is and groan at how hot it is. (Yesterday it was 109 degrees.) "It's a dry heat," yes, but it's still unbelievable. She says you can't comfortably go outside during the day. I read an article about how homeless people die every year of heat in her city; air conditioning is nearly a necessity.
This past week I have thought a lot about deserts. We had several days of a dust cloud from the Sahara hanging over our normally idyllic blue skies. Here's an article about it. Experts named the cloud "Godzilla." It's a regular phenomenon to have desert dust in the atmosphere, but this was the thickest in fifty years, and this was the first year I was aware that they actually gave it a name. I read that we could expect extra beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but that turned out to be false; we couldn't see anything in the sky except grey, or feel anything but oppressive, heavy, heat. The Ministry of Health took a moment from their Coronavirus updates to tell us to be careful of this dust; don't exercise, stay indoors, wear your mask (at least you have a mask - see, it's multipurpose!). Now Godzilla has moved on, but reportedly we will get some more effects from it tomorrow.
I've also been reading poems about deserts, in a book called A Nostalgist's Map of America, by Agha Shahid Ali, a poet from Kashmir who wrote in English and became a U.S. citizen. He merges all the deserts of his life in his poems. Although I've been trying to learn more about him and read more of his work, I find my favorite poem so far is still the first one of his I read, "Snow on the Desert."
I had hoped to travel this year to visit my daughter and to see her home, but like so many things we'd planned, it didn't happen. I have to imagine what it's like, using my various source materials, and unfortunately those materials include articles about how COVID-19 is spreading there and how there, as everywhere in the US now, people are marching against their local examples of violence.
This summer I'm locked down, but it also feels a bit like wandering in a desert, a desert where I don't see a clear path and I don't get all the references in the poetry (Orficace?) and it's hot and hard to breathe.
Here's today's roundup. And over at Kat's blog, she's sharing some Summer Poem Swaps, including some I sent her. You can read them here.
Friday, June 19, 2020
Poetry Friday: A Poetry Swap, and Pushing Statues into the Water
I recently received several beautiful poems from Kat Apel as part of the Summer Poetry Swap (organized by Tabatha Yeatts - thanks, Tabatha!). Here they are:
This is a golden shovel poem, and I bolded the last word of each line so you can see the quote Kat used; it's Emily Dickinson's line: "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul." Perfect!
Thank you, Kat, for all three of these wonderful poems!
This week I read a poem written by the City Poet of Bristol, England, Vanessa Kisuule, on the occasion of the statue of slave trader Edward Colston getting pushed into the harbor in Bristol by Black Lives Matter protestors. It begins:
You came down easy in the end
The righteous wrench of two ropes in a grand plié.
Read the rest, right up until the devastating last line, here. Better yet, listen to her read it herself - wow, it packs a punch! (Edited in 2021 to add this link, where you can still find the poem.)
Here are videos of the statue going into the water and then being retrieved - I read that it's going to end up in a museum. (Look at how easily it is handled - especially notable after reading/listening to the poem! It is not heavy at all.)
In the city where I live, a statue was pushed into the ocean in 1986. That was before I moved to Haiti, so I looked up a newspaper article about it (unfortunately, that was pre-YouTube) here. The Chicago Tribune found the choice of Columbus' statue as a target of protestors' ire to be "whimsical." I don't know if some of the places they destroyed were chosen whimsically, but I'm pretty sure Columbus wasn't, because even back then, he was definitely associated with bad things in people's minds here. For the first couple of years we lived in Haiti, we still had a holiday for Discovery Day, December 5th, when Columbus got to Hispaniola (he's the one that named the island that, Little Spain). Then one year (I can't remember exactly when), we had school that day. My husband asked a Haitian friend why the change, and his dry response was, "Can you say genocide?" I found this photo of the statue in situ (notice the title the website has given it), and this one of where it lives now (bonus at that link: a Twitter thread suggesting what is to be done with these statues that are being taken down all over the place). I read a provocative essay on Facebook by author Philippa Gregory last week with her own suggestion: statue gardens where these disgraced statues lie flat on their backs.
It all went so wrong,
Christophe Colombe!
Your boat sank here, off the shore of Haiti,
and then almost 500 years later, you did, too.
Now you live in the Bureau of Ethnology
Where you have taken a knee.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
P.S. Happy Juneteenth!
Tricia, at The Miss Rumphius Effect, is hosting today's roundup.
The Lord himself goes before you and with you;
He will never leave you nor forsake you.
Do not be afraid;
do not be discouraged.
He will never leave you nor forsake you;
He numbers the hairs on your head
and preserves your every tear.
Do not be afraid,
for the Lord your God will be with you;
Sleep in sweet peace.
Do not be discouraged,
but let God's unfailing love
comfort you.
That poem is a trimeric, which I confess I had to look up. Here's a nice clear definition of how it works. Its words couldn't be more appropriate for this time of my life. Thanks so much, Kat!
I love that Kat knows I am a bird-lover. The two other poems she sent are both bird-related.
 | ||||||
Carolling Australian Magpies
Cracticus tibicen / Family Artamidae
Dawn-breakers
worm-takers
tune-makers
morn-wakers.
Striking
black and white
minstrels;
warbling magpies
sip,
tip,
drip;
gargle sweet notes
into a new
dawn chorus.
Abound in hope,
believing there is
life brighter than the
noonday. Wait with patience for the thing
you cannot see. Face suffering with
rejoicing - shelter under the feathers
of His wings. Like the mustard seed that
matures for birds to find perches
in its branches, grow in
faith as you put your hope in the
Lord. Seek him with all your heart and soul.
This is a golden shovel poem, and I bolded the last word of each line so you can see the quote Kat used; it's Emily Dickinson's line: "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul." Perfect!
Thank you, Kat, for all three of these wonderful poems!
This week I read a poem written by the City Poet of Bristol, England, Vanessa Kisuule, on the occasion of the statue of slave trader Edward Colston getting pushed into the harbor in Bristol by Black Lives Matter protestors. It begins:
You came down easy in the end
The righteous wrench of two ropes in a grand plié.
Read the rest, right up until the devastating last line, here. Better yet, listen to her read it herself - wow, it packs a punch! (Edited in 2021 to add this link, where you can still find the poem.)
Here are videos of the statue going into the water and then being retrieved - I read that it's going to end up in a museum. (Look at how easily it is handled - especially notable after reading/listening to the poem! It is not heavy at all.)
In the city where I live, a statue was pushed into the ocean in 1986. That was before I moved to Haiti, so I looked up a newspaper article about it (unfortunately, that was pre-YouTube) here. The Chicago Tribune found the choice of Columbus' statue as a target of protestors' ire to be "whimsical." I don't know if some of the places they destroyed were chosen whimsically, but I'm pretty sure Columbus wasn't, because even back then, he was definitely associated with bad things in people's minds here. For the first couple of years we lived in Haiti, we still had a holiday for Discovery Day, December 5th, when Columbus got to Hispaniola (he's the one that named the island that, Little Spain). Then one year (I can't remember exactly when), we had school that day. My husband asked a Haitian friend why the change, and his dry response was, "Can you say genocide?" I found this photo of the statue in situ (notice the title the website has given it), and this one of where it lives now (bonus at that link: a Twitter thread suggesting what is to be done with these statues that are being taken down all over the place). I read a provocative essay on Facebook by author Philippa Gregory last week with her own suggestion: statue gardens where these disgraced statues lie flat on their backs.
It all went so wrong,
Christophe Colombe!
Your boat sank here, off the shore of Haiti,
and then almost 500 years later, you did, too.
Now you live in the Bureau of Ethnology
Where you have taken a knee.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
P.S. Happy Juneteenth!
Tricia, at The Miss Rumphius Effect, is hosting today's roundup.
Thursday, June 18, 2020
Fragments of Light
This absorbing novel, Fragments of Light, by Michèle Phoenix, is about several types of survivors, and it explores the fact that surviving isn't as simple as just making it through. Often the trauma you've survived leaves scars on you and those around you. In Ceelie's case, the trauma was cancer, and she's just starting to come to terms with all the scars her illness left on her body, her mind, and her marriage. Right there for her is her friend Darlene, and it's through this friend that she learns about another survivor, this time a veteran of World War II. Coming back alive was just the beginning for him, too.
Whether she's writing about the French résistance in 1944, a hospital room in Illinois, a trip to Normandy, or the emotional minefields of a long marriage or a new friendship, Michèle Phoenix sensitively navigates what it means to survive. What comes after you ring the bell saying you've "Completed Treatment" or after you've left behind battles fought and won?
Get to know Ceelie, Nate, Darlene, Cal, Sabine, Lise, and others with struggles to go through in this beautiful book. The journey of a survivor is rarely neat and tidy, and can take you to some unexpected places. Find out why one of these characters concludes: "Survivors deserve crosses too."
Watch this video of the author meeting a veteran called Albert in Normandy. He was one of the inspirations for this novel, so much so that she even named a character after him.
Saturday, June 13, 2020
Reading Update
Book #27 of 2020 was The Glass Hotel, by Emily St. John Mandel. I loved Station Eleven, which I read back in 2016. This one didn't resonate quite as much with me because of the subject matter, a financial scandal, but it is beautifully and brilliantly written. I will definitely read more by this author.
Book #28 was a pandemic-related re-read, Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis. I first read it back in 2014, and current events brought it back to my mind, so I started looking through it, and got pulled in. Trigger warnings galore with this one. The setting is a future Oxford University (2054) where time travel has been figured out and is a regular part of life for historians. Even though the Middle Ages has been given a blanket rating of ten (too dangerous to visit) for time travel, Kivrin wants to go there. There's a virus outbreak in 2054, university politics, and then the country of the past: all of them make this fascinating reading. What was it like fighting a contagious illness at a time when so little was known about how it all works? I feel as though I could answer that question by just describing what's happening around me. As I type this, I can hear a large, raucous church gathering singing joyously in my neighborhood. I'm happy they're joyous, but I wonder about the germs they are sharing, as the number of cases of Coronavirus jumps here in Haiti each day.
Book #29 was Fragments of Light, by Michèle Phoenix. I loved this novel, and felt privileged to read an ARC of it. You can find a full review of it here.
Book #30 was The Gospel of Trees: A Memoir, by Apricot Irving. Apricot's parents were missionaries in the northern part of Haiti, and as an adult, Apricot takes an unflinching look at what happened to the family, to their aspirations and missionary goals. She writes beautifully, and she has a lot of courage.
Book #31 was The Firebird, by Susanna Kearsley. I'm a sucker for books where people can read each others' minds. Communication - real communication - is so challenging in real life, and I guess that's why it's so appealing to me to imagine being able to just step into other realities through thoughts. The Firebird of the title is a piece of art, and Nicola, the main character, who works for an art gallery, is trying to find out more about it - actual proof, as opposed to the knowledge she has about its history just from touching it. In the process we learn about the history of the Scottish in Russia. Did you know there even was such a history? I sure didn't! I liked this and will look for more by this author.
Book #32 is another pandemic-related choice, Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, by John Donne. You're probably already familiar with the best passage from this book, Donne's most famous piece of writing, beginning, "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main," and ending "never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." But the whole book is like that, with those endless, lyrical sentences. Donne wrote these meditations while he was seriously ill, and it kind of reminded me of fever dreams I've had before, when everything seemed to fit together and make sense. In his case he can also write incredible sentences with truly enormous amounts of scripture in them, but I also found his points were often hard to remember when I was done, just like insights when your fever breaks. By reading this I learned the word "pestiducts," which is another way of saying, "disease vectors," but a much better way, I think you'll agree. (Usage: Since we are all potential pestiducts, we wear masks when we go out in public.)
Book #33 was The Street of a Thousand Blossoms, by Gail Tsukiyama. I read this one aloud to my husband, which took a while because it is 422 pages long. Set in Tokyo, it spans the time between 1939 and 1966, and follows the careers of two brothers, one a sumo wrestler and the other a maskmaker for traditional Japanese Noh theater. This is a beautiful book. I could have done with less of the sumo description, but that was my husband's favorite part. My favorite part was watching the people of Tokyo go through the trauma of the war but then recover from it. Tsukiyama does a masterful job of showing the way past experiences live on in our minds, but how we can sometimes transcend them.
Book #28 was a pandemic-related re-read, Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis. I first read it back in 2014, and current events brought it back to my mind, so I started looking through it, and got pulled in. Trigger warnings galore with this one. The setting is a future Oxford University (2054) where time travel has been figured out and is a regular part of life for historians. Even though the Middle Ages has been given a blanket rating of ten (too dangerous to visit) for time travel, Kivrin wants to go there. There's a virus outbreak in 2054, university politics, and then the country of the past: all of them make this fascinating reading. What was it like fighting a contagious illness at a time when so little was known about how it all works? I feel as though I could answer that question by just describing what's happening around me. As I type this, I can hear a large, raucous church gathering singing joyously in my neighborhood. I'm happy they're joyous, but I wonder about the germs they are sharing, as the number of cases of Coronavirus jumps here in Haiti each day.
Book #29 was Fragments of Light, by Michèle Phoenix. I loved this novel, and felt privileged to read an ARC of it. You can find a full review of it here.
Book #30 was The Gospel of Trees: A Memoir, by Apricot Irving. Apricot's parents were missionaries in the northern part of Haiti, and as an adult, Apricot takes an unflinching look at what happened to the family, to their aspirations and missionary goals. She writes beautifully, and she has a lot of courage.
Here's a sample: "The evacuation had torn a hole in the narrative. The missionary confidence that we were hope-bearers, shining with Christ's love had been replaced with a fundamental uncertainty: Were we even wanted? There was a palpable sense of failure in the room."A bonus for me in reading this book was meeting the character Suzette Goss-Geffrard, a person I have met in real life. At a time when everyone is reflecting on social media about their experiences with racism, I think about working with Suzette as a colleague at the school where I teach here in Haiti. At that point in my life I had lived only a few years in the United States, and I understood very little about the history of racial issues and what it was like to live there as a person with dark skin. I also thought I understood it all, having grown up in Kenya. Suzette very patiently and kindly undertook my education, and explained many things to me which I very much needed to hear. In this book she comes across as a fantastic teacher, the first one to tell the author that she would be a writer. For me she was a fantastic teacher too, and though I very rarely see her these days, I am grateful to her.
Book #31 was The Firebird, by Susanna Kearsley. I'm a sucker for books where people can read each others' minds. Communication - real communication - is so challenging in real life, and I guess that's why it's so appealing to me to imagine being able to just step into other realities through thoughts. The Firebird of the title is a piece of art, and Nicola, the main character, who works for an art gallery, is trying to find out more about it - actual proof, as opposed to the knowledge she has about its history just from touching it. In the process we learn about the history of the Scottish in Russia. Did you know there even was such a history? I sure didn't! I liked this and will look for more by this author.
Book #32 is another pandemic-related choice, Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, by John Donne. You're probably already familiar with the best passage from this book, Donne's most famous piece of writing, beginning, "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main," and ending "never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." But the whole book is like that, with those endless, lyrical sentences. Donne wrote these meditations while he was seriously ill, and it kind of reminded me of fever dreams I've had before, when everything seemed to fit together and make sense. In his case he can also write incredible sentences with truly enormous amounts of scripture in them, but I also found his points were often hard to remember when I was done, just like insights when your fever breaks. By reading this I learned the word "pestiducts," which is another way of saying, "disease vectors," but a much better way, I think you'll agree. (Usage: Since we are all potential pestiducts, we wear masks when we go out in public.)
Here's a sample from this book: "We say that the world is made of sea and land, as though they were equal; but we know that there is more sea in the Western than in the Eastern hemisphere. We say that the firmament is full of stars, as though it were equally full; but we know that there are more stars under the Northern than under the Southern pole. We say the elements of man are misery and happiness, as though he had an equal proportion of both, and the days of man vicissitudinary, as though he had as many good days as ill, and that he lived under a perpetual equinoctial, night and day equal, good and ill fortune in the same measure. But it is far from that; he drinks misery, and he tastes happiness; he mows misery, and he gleans happiness; he journeys in misery, he does but walk in happiness; and, which is worst, his misery is positive and dogmatical, his happiness is but disputable and problematical: all men call misery misery, but happiness changes the name by the taste of man."Vicissitudinary. I mean, you have to love that, right?
Book #33 was The Street of a Thousand Blossoms, by Gail Tsukiyama. I read this one aloud to my husband, which took a while because it is 422 pages long. Set in Tokyo, it spans the time between 1939 and 1966, and follows the careers of two brothers, one a sumo wrestler and the other a maskmaker for traditional Japanese Noh theater. This is a beautiful book. I could have done with less of the sumo description, but that was my husband's favorite part. My favorite part was watching the people of Tokyo go through the trauma of the war but then recover from it. Tsukiyama does a masterful job of showing the way past experiences live on in our minds, but how we can sometimes transcend them.
Friday, June 12, 2020
Poetry Friday: Nikki Grimes and a Poetry Swap
Today's roundup host, the inimitable Irene, has requested that we honor Nikki Grimes today. What a wonderful idea! Irene points out that Nikki has won many awards lately for her writing, and because of the pandemic, the in-person celebrations have been much diminished. I hope Poetry Friday will help make that feel just a little bit better.
I have shared Nikki Grimes' work with my students. Her poem "Hanging in the Park" came up on my computer when I searched her name; it describes kids watching the guys playing basketball and wishing that one of them would go be a star, shine for the neighborhood, represent them.
Here are some clips of her reading her poems.
And here she is talking about her childhood and her writing:
Congratulations to Nikki Grimes and thank you for the way your work is a mirror and a window for our students and for us teachers, too!
Another poetic event this week was receiving my first Poetry Swap of the summer. Thanks so much to Tabatha Yeatts for creating these opportunities to brighten up the summer. I heard from Tricia, of the Miss Rumphius Effect, who sent me a found poem from Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible. I thought of Kingsolver's book again after seeing that protestors in Belgium are removing statues of King Leopold II. (See here, for example.) The novel, and history, and Tricia's poem, all remind us that actions have consequences, sometimes extremely far-reaching ones.
In the Shadow of Violence and Oppression
Lines excerpted and adapted from The Poisonwood Bible, copyright 1998 by Barbara Kingsolver, p. 8-10
The whole world turns on an axis
as it barrels through space
While on a more earthly plane
I have seen things
you'll never know about
Memories rise out of me
days darkly colored
weigh on me
I am one more soul walking free
in a white skin
I'll confess the truth - I was there
a party to failed relations
and monstrous things thundering down
I want you to find me innocent
but I am not
I looked past it
did not speak of it
never managed the full truth
How can I live with it?
How will you?
found by Tricia Stohr-Hunt
Be sure to check out Irene's roundup here to see what others have shared today!
I have shared Nikki Grimes' work with my students. Her poem "Hanging in the Park" came up on my computer when I searched her name; it describes kids watching the guys playing basketball and wishing that one of them would go be a star, shine for the neighborhood, represent them.
Here are some clips of her reading her poems.
And here she is talking about her childhood and her writing:
Congratulations to Nikki Grimes and thank you for the way your work is a mirror and a window for our students and for us teachers, too!
Another poetic event this week was receiving my first Poetry Swap of the summer. Thanks so much to Tabatha Yeatts for creating these opportunities to brighten up the summer. I heard from Tricia, of the Miss Rumphius Effect, who sent me a found poem from Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible. I thought of Kingsolver's book again after seeing that protestors in Belgium are removing statues of King Leopold II. (See here, for example.) The novel, and history, and Tricia's poem, all remind us that actions have consequences, sometimes extremely far-reaching ones.
In the Shadow of Violence and Oppression
Lines excerpted and adapted from The Poisonwood Bible, copyright 1998 by Barbara Kingsolver, p. 8-10
The whole world turns on an axis
as it barrels through space
While on a more earthly plane
I have seen things
you'll never know about
Memories rise out of me
days darkly colored
weigh on me
I am one more soul walking free
in a white skin
I'll confess the truth - I was there
a party to failed relations
and monstrous things thundering down
I want you to find me innocent
but I am not
I looked past it
did not speak of it
never managed the full truth
How can I live with it?
How will you?
found by Tricia Stohr-Hunt
Be sure to check out Irene's roundup here to see what others have shared today!
Friday, June 05, 2020
Poetry Friday: And Now for Something Completely Different
What an awful week it's been. What an awful year it's been. I have been posting a lot, here and on social media, about the generalized badness. And today for Poetry Friday, I just have to do something different. Go read my other posts if you want to know that I do, I really do, take everything that's going on seriously. So seriously that I can hardly bear it.
A friend evacuated to the US and left me some stuff, and included in that stuff was a magnetic poetry set. My son and I have been enjoying it very much. Again, we know about real haiku. And we take it seriously. Don't get mad at us for writing nonsense.
And at the end, I'll post a love poem for my husband, which will be marginally more serious.
You might try guessing which ones are mine and which ones are by my 17-year-old? And I'm betting you'll be wrong a lot of the time.
Here's my love poem for my husband. Or his for me? Can't tell sometimes.
Dream
My husband tells me that he had a dream about me.
We were sitting on opposite sides of the living room
and he was writing a poem.
But when he started to share it with me,
It was gone.
He woke up.
“It was kind of a nightmare,” he says.
The poem was about how wonderful I am;
that, he remembers.
A few hours later he says,
“It had that day in it,
the day we were watching ‘Daisy Miller’
and I noticed your hip
and I thought I wanted to marry you.”
No matter how much he tries to regain it,
that poem is gone,
just like that afternoon in 1987.
But the hip,
that’s still there.
At least for now.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Margaret has today's roundup.
A friend evacuated to the US and left me some stuff, and included in that stuff was a magnetic poetry set. My son and I have been enjoying it very much. Again, we know about real haiku. And we take it seriously. Don't get mad at us for writing nonsense.
And at the end, I'll post a love poem for my husband, which will be marginally more serious.
You might try guessing which ones are mine and which ones are by my 17-year-old? And I'm betting you'll be wrong a lot of the time.
Here's my love poem for my husband. Or his for me? Can't tell sometimes.
Dream
My husband tells me that he had a dream about me.
We were sitting on opposite sides of the living room
and he was writing a poem.
But when he started to share it with me,
It was gone.
He woke up.
“It was kind of a nightmare,” he says.
The poem was about how wonderful I am;
that, he remembers.
A few hours later he says,
“It had that day in it,
the day we were watching ‘Daisy Miller’
and I noticed your hip
and I thought I wanted to marry you.”
No matter how much he tries to regain it,
that poem is gone,
just like that afternoon in 1987.
But the hip,
that’s still there.
At least for now.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Margaret has today's roundup.
Wednesday, June 03, 2020
Spiritual Journey Thursday: Hope
I'm hosting our gathering this month, and our theme is Hope. (Welcome, SJT buddies! Leave your link in the comments and I will gradually round up, old-school, as the day goes on. Your comments won't appear immediately because I've enabled moderation, but I will get to them as time and Haiti internet permit.)
I signed up for this, and selected the theme, at the end of last year. Hope was the word I'd chosen to focus on as I headed into 2020. Here's the post I wrote about my word choice back in January. I didn't pick it because I was feeling hopeful; in fact, sort of the reverse. Our 2019 had been quite hopeless here in Haiti, where I live, and there wasn't much of a reason to think that things would be getting better, because none of the underlying issues had been resolved in any way. I picked Hope because I wanted some, and wanted to commit to looking for it.
So, I've been looking. Trying to infuse hopefulness into my days. Not easy, as the news has been bad, here and in my passport country, the United States. Our political situation has indeed not been fixed. Our economy is in a shambles. Our COVID-19 numbers go up each day. (I'm talking about Haiti, but draw your own comparisons with the US.) The enthusiasm and optimism my students always help me find have been more difficult given our distance learning situation. My friends, who often encourage me, have left the country or retreated to their homes. And we're watching the traumatic events in the United States in the wake of the murder of George Floyd.
I've been trying to live the Henri Nouwen quote from my January post linked above.
"I have found it very important in my own life," Nouwen writes, "to try to let go of my wishes and instead to live in hope. I am finding that when I choose to let go of my sometimes petty and superficial wishes and trust that my life is precious and meaningful in the eyes of God something really new, something beyond my own expectations begins to happen for me. To wait with openness and trust is an enormously radical attitude toward life. It is choosing to hope that something is happening for us that is far beyond our own imaginings. It is giving up control over our future and letting God define our life. It is living with the conviction that God molds us in love, holds us in tenderness, and moves us away from the sources of our fear."
Giving up control over our lives isn't really that hard to do when you demonstrably don't have any control. I'm at home. The borders of this country are closed. The airport is closed. As we finished up school this past week, we headed into a summer that will be pretty similar to the last two and a half months, and before that, our whole second quarter of school. We're locked down, folks.
I've been quoting Walter Brueggemann a lot lately in my SJT posts, and it seems a good habit to continue, because he always infuses me with courage and hope.
Here he quotes Psalm 69: "'Save me, O God...I have come into deep waters. In...your steadfast love,...rescue me...from the deep waters.' Under threat, ... this psalm refuses to host the idea that chaos is limitless. The very act of the prayer is an affirmation that watery chaos has limits, boundaries, and edges, because the waters butt up against the power of God. ... We are not watching simply the unbounded power of chaos savage the earth. We are rather watching chaos push to its extreme limit, doing its worst, most destructive work, and spending itself without finally prevailing. The psalm invites us to honesty about the threat. More than that, however, the psalm is buoyant in its conviction that all around the chaos, guarding its rise, monitoring its threat, is the counterpower of life, only haunting and shadowing, not too soon evident, but abidingly there. This voice of faith acknowledges the chaos, but then submits it to the larger power of God. So Jesus in that supreme moment of threat, does not yield, but announces in evangelical triumph, 'It is finished.' It is decided! It is accomplished! It is completed in triumph!"Brueggemann is talking about Good Friday here, and in that story the worst happens. Jesus really does die. But it turns out that Good Friday doesn't have the last word.
"But what to do midst the threat?" he goes on. "Do what believing and trusting Jews and Christians have always done. Refuse the silence, reject despair, resist the devastating, debilitating assault of chaos, and speak a counterspeech. This psalm is not simply a passive, pious act of trust in God. It is rather a bold, abrasive speech that addresses God in the imperative, and in the utterance of the imperative, puts chaos on notice that we will not yield, will not succumb, will not permit the surging of chaos to define the situation. ... God comes into the deep waters at the behest of the faithful who watch in the night and who know that chaos is not normal, and must not be docilely accepted."I could go on quoting, but I highly recommend you find Brueggemann's Collected Sermons and read them all. (And by the way, when I was looking for that link to his sermons, I found out he's published a book about the virus already - it came out at the end of April. I don't know anything about the book but I'm betting it's good. Here it is.)
I'm looking forward to reading what other SJT folks have to say about hope. And if you're not a regular SJT poster but you have something to say, leave it in the comments, either what you have to say, or a link to what you have to say. We're eager to read it!
Here's the roundup:
Do you know what a tetractys is? As Carol Varsalona points out in her post, it sounds like a dinosaur, but it's actually a kind of poem, and she has written one to remind us of reasons to hope during this season. You can read this and the rest of her post here.
Linda Mitchell took the Henri Nouwen quote from my post, listed the verbs, and then wrote a hopeful poem with them. Here it is.
Karen Eastlund is sad about the loss of communal singing and the hope it brings. You can read what she wrote here. It is hard to imagine not singing!
Margaret Simon wrote about where hope comes from and what we should do with it, here.
Fran Haley's post is about racism, and how it causes hopelessness. She asks how we can change the way children see society. You can read her answers here.
Ramona found a poem in the Bible about hope; she used words from Colossians and Hebrews to inspire herself, and us. Here's that post.
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