A friend from college sent me this announcement about the Washington State High School Principal of the Year and I was so happy to learn that Steve Clarke won.
Steve was already on my list of people I would include if I could make my own personalized fantasy faculty/staff for my ideal school to teach at. When I was a senior in college, I lived with the Clarke family--Steve, his wife Julie, and their three young sons who were ages 3-9 at the time. It was my final three months in Bellingham, and I was all done with my coursework and just waiting to student-teach in the upcoming fall/winter quarters. I needed a place to live while I stayed in Bellingham to continue volunteering as a middle school Young Life team leader. During this time, I became really good friends with Julie and Steve. I learned a lot from them, by observing and interacting with their family, and our long conversations together. They taught me about the real-life hard work, truth, and joy of working to create and sustain a real Christian marriage, home, and family--one that is positive, enriching, fruitful. They made such an impact on my life then, and still continue to bless me with their friendship. I haven't been able to visit them in Bellingham since the fall of 2002, but I keep in touch with Julie through email. Their oldest son is graduating from high school this spring and will be attending college in Spokane.
No matter how bad some administrators can be (and I've had a few that really made their staff question their competence, critical thinking skills, common sense, and overall people skills), I always think of Steve to remember there is more than a dark side.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
spring break
My Spring Break is almost over, and tomorrow is Good Friday. My confession: I have not written a new poem this week. In fact, I haven’t done any poetry/thesis work since Sunday. I had a good stack of poetry books I was hoping to get through by now, I wanted to write a new poem a day, I wanted to drink Arabian Mocha Java in the sunshine. But it snowed freakishly overnight on Tuesday and has been cold ever since and I’ve been working every day at my part-time job as a background investigator. Since most of my work is done on the computer, reviewing and revising investigation reports, it kind of burns me out.
I need to read poetry when I’m fresh, not after emerging from pages of employment verifications and derogatory information alerts.
Tomorrow is a day off work, and a day to work again as a writer the whole day, with a few errands and appointments mixed in. I will spend the morning with Elizabeth Bishop's The Complete Poems: 1927-1979.
I’ve also been reading and researching a lot about Alaska for honeymoon travel. I’ve only really explored the Ketchikan area, and my only trip to Anchorage was a day trip for the start of the 2000 Iditarod. (It was a special family thing, since my mom is a certain airline employee.) We’ve got our flight tickets to Anchorage and 7 days to get all the hiking, kayaking, fly fishing, and mt. biking we want to do. If anyone reading this has ever visited Alaska or lived there (or lives there now), please share your recommendations in the comments section. There’s no “Alaska Through the Back Door” book and I want to get a little off the beaten path. We have the Lonely Planet and Frommer’s guidebooks so far.
Even though moose also live in the forests and mountains around Spokane and northern Idaho, Bishop's poem “The Moose" makes me think of Alaska. Except for title, you don’t really get to the moose in the poem until the 23rd stanza…
A moose has come out of
the impenetrable wood
and stands there, looms, rather,
in the middle of the road.
It approaches; it sniffs at
the bus’s hot hood.
Towering, antlerless,
high as a church,
homely as a house
(or, safe as houses).
A man’s voice assures us
“Perfectly harmless . . . .”
Some of the passengers
exclaim in whispers,
childishly, softly,
“Sure are big creatures.”
“It’s awful plain.”
“Look! It’s a she!”
Taking her time,
she looks the bus over,
grand, otherworldly.
Why, why do we feel
(we all feel) this sweet
sensation of joy?
“Curious creatures,”
says our quiet driver,
rolling his r’s.
“Look at that, would you.”
Then he shifts gears.
For a moment longer,
by craning backward,
the moose can be seen
on the moonlit macadam;
then there’s a dim
smell of moose, an acrid
smell of gasoline.
I need to read poetry when I’m fresh, not after emerging from pages of employment verifications and derogatory information alerts.
Tomorrow is a day off work, and a day to work again as a writer the whole day, with a few errands and appointments mixed in. I will spend the morning with Elizabeth Bishop's The Complete Poems: 1927-1979.
I’ve also been reading and researching a lot about Alaska for honeymoon travel. I’ve only really explored the Ketchikan area, and my only trip to Anchorage was a day trip for the start of the 2000 Iditarod. (It was a special family thing, since my mom is a certain airline employee.) We’ve got our flight tickets to Anchorage and 7 days to get all the hiking, kayaking, fly fishing, and mt. biking we want to do. If anyone reading this has ever visited Alaska or lived there (or lives there now), please share your recommendations in the comments section. There’s no “Alaska Through the Back Door” book and I want to get a little off the beaten path. We have the Lonely Planet and Frommer’s guidebooks so far.
Even though moose also live in the forests and mountains around Spokane and northern Idaho, Bishop's poem “The Moose" makes me think of Alaska. Except for title, you don’t really get to the moose in the poem until the 23rd stanza…
A moose has come out of
the impenetrable wood
and stands there, looms, rather,
in the middle of the road.
It approaches; it sniffs at
the bus’s hot hood.
Towering, antlerless,
high as a church,
homely as a house
(or, safe as houses).
A man’s voice assures us
“Perfectly harmless . . . .”
Some of the passengers
exclaim in whispers,
childishly, softly,
“Sure are big creatures.”
“It’s awful plain.”
“Look! It’s a she!”
Taking her time,
she looks the bus over,
grand, otherworldly.
Why, why do we feel
(we all feel) this sweet
sensation of joy?
“Curious creatures,”
says our quiet driver,
rolling his r’s.
“Look at that, would you.”
Then he shifts gears.
For a moment longer,
by craning backward,
the moose can be seen
on the moonlit macadam;
then there’s a dim
smell of moose, an acrid
smell of gasoline.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Muriel Rekeyser
This past week I've been reading Out of Silence, a book of selected poems by Muriel Rekeyser. Our final class session tonight for Modernism was centered on the discussion of our favorite poems.
Here is one:
Poem
I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
I would call my friends on other devices;
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons.
Slowly I would get to pen and paper,
Make my poems for others unseen and unborn.
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women
Brave, setting up signals across vast distances,
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values. [dropped line]
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other.
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.
I lived in the first century of these wars.
~ Muriel Rukeyser, from her 1968 book The Speed of Darkness
It's beautiful how we are the "others unseen and unborn" for which she wrote her poems, and we can find solace from her words today, while another war takes place in our world.
Here is one:
Poem
I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane,
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
I would call my friends on other devices;
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons.
Slowly I would get to pen and paper,
Make my poems for others unseen and unborn.
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women
Brave, setting up signals across vast distances,
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values. [dropped line]
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other.
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.
I lived in the first century of these wars.
~ Muriel Rukeyser, from her 1968 book The Speed of Darkness
It's beautiful how we are the "others unseen and unborn" for which she wrote her poems, and we can find solace from her words today, while another war takes place in our world.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
rain
It's raining tonight in Spokane. I have missed the sound of rain. After growing up in the Puget Sound area, I had become so accustomed to it as a daily bit of weather...rain showers, sprinkles, mist, chance of showers, partly rainy skies, etc...all the ways that Seattlites describe the various degrees of rain like Eskimos have different words for snow. A rainy day is an excuse to curl up inside and read all day. A rainy day is fun for going out for a run, most of the time.
But it rarely rains in Spokane. And it hardly snowed this winter. Everything is brown and dry, dusty, cracked dirt. So this rain is like a bath for everything--my car, the backyard, Emerson's kennel, the sidewalks.
I wish I had a line of poetry about rain memorized and ready on my tongue for times like this. I can think of which books to look in, and I'm sure I have a quote in my journal--but I don't want to have to look for it. So, one of my Spring Break goals will be to memorize my favorite lines of poetry. Naturally, I know some just because of repetitive reading and analysis. But I want to memorize some lines just because they are so damn beautiful. A line about rain just because it contains a perfect language to create an image.
I hope it rains tomorrow, too.
But it rarely rains in Spokane. And it hardly snowed this winter. Everything is brown and dry, dusty, cracked dirt. So this rain is like a bath for everything--my car, the backyard, Emerson's kennel, the sidewalks.
I wish I had a line of poetry about rain memorized and ready on my tongue for times like this. I can think of which books to look in, and I'm sure I have a quote in my journal--but I don't want to have to look for it. So, one of my Spring Break goals will be to memorize my favorite lines of poetry. Naturally, I know some just because of repetitive reading and analysis. But I want to memorize some lines just because they are so damn beautiful. A line about rain just because it contains a perfect language to create an image.
I hope it rains tomorrow, too.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
the Mountain
My favorite Seattle radio station, 103.7 The Mountain, is now broadcasting online! The weekday 5:00 Attitude Adjustment Hour was one of my favorite times to listen, especially the different 5:20 funny comedian pieces that DJ Marty Riemer played. My English teacher friend Tim (from a different district won tickets once for a Mountain Music Lounge lunch concert w/ Jon Hiatt. He invited me to come along, so we both took a "sick day" (on account of our mental health) and had one great day in Seattle.
Another great online option is 95.3 FM KYRS - Thin Air Community Radio in Spokane. Every Sunday evening at 8:00 their "Spokane Open Poetry" show features a local Spokane poet. MFA poet friends of mine have been featured and I'll be reading this week.
Another great online option is 95.3 FM KYRS - Thin Air Community Radio in Spokane. Every Sunday evening at 8:00 their "Spokane Open Poetry" show features a local Spokane poet. MFA poet friends of mine have been featured and I'll be reading this week.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
what i've been reading lately
- the newest issue of The Inlander
- a library book, The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2004
- my bag of Arabian Mocha Java while waiting for the French Press (this coffee is no longer being roasted and distributed by Starbucks, according to a postcard I picked up at a Seattle store last weekend)
- The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens
- submissions for Willow Springs
But it's another sunny, blue sky day in the Inland Empire...time for today's run with Emerson. We're going to the Centennial Trail today.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
writer's work
Not often do I get paid for my writing, but I have written a few articles for Northwest Runner magazine, based in Seattle. My first attempt at freelance writing for them was an essay about my experience running the Munich half-marathon in June 1999. But I waited too long to send it in to them--I didn't really know what I was doing. The editor gave me good feedback and liked my writing, so he encouraged me to send more.
My first piece was published in Oct. 2000, and by surprise actually--I happened to pick up the magazine issue at a running story and saw my article inside. I had emailed him a response to an article that talked about the caution required when running with a dog. Some of the ideas were a bit dramatic and inaccurate, I thought, and didn't really work to encourage dog-owners to run with their dogs, or runners to run with their dogs. My piece shared my history of running with my dog and his achievements, but pointing out that because Emerson is a husky he is naturally inclined to be a distance running partner. And since the UW Dawg Dash 5k was coming up, they even put some cute little husky clip art by my article title, along with another reader's response to dog-running.
Since then, I've had published a few first-person articles about my running experiences to highlight the Seattle half-marathon and other Seattle-area races, as well as feature stories--one about longtime HS coach Roger Erickson (the head coach I worked under), a profile about distance runner Carl Moe while he was still a HS senior, and another feature on my friend Tim (one of Carl's coaches) who ran the beautiful 2004 Napa Valley Marathon and qualified for Boston.
It sometimes takes more time than anticipated to write an article, and I only get paid after it's published. Sometimes my efforts don't bring any monetary reward. For example, in spring of 2002, I had written an article about running the LA Marathon (my 2nd marathon experience) but I hated the course and race weather so much that I didn't really much motivation or love for the assignment--but I got a brief, nice-as-I-could-be 500-word article written. But then the editor pushed back the article for a later issue and asked me to double its length. I just couldn't do it, I had nothing else to say about LA (and Tim hated it too). So, I asked my friend Megan (who also ran LA that year) to write about her story--it was her first marathon and she had genuine love for the entire experience.
I have also contributed editing work for my friend Keith's article about the African boys on the high school cross-country team where we both were assistant coaches--a group of blazing fast teenagers who had immigrated from Sudan and Somalia. That team took 3rd place in 2000 and 4th in 2001 at the Washington State XC meet.
A few of my running-related poems have also been published Northwest Runner, and last year I wrote a feature article about Bloomsday and quite a few of the digital pictures that Judd and I took were also included.
Anyway, my most recent "Spokane correspondent" assignment was to write 300-word profiles on two high school runners from Spokane. Today I spoke with both of the kids over the phone, and the articles--though longer than originally planned--are good to go (the editor gave me more page space for the profiles).
My first piece was published in Oct. 2000, and by surprise actually--I happened to pick up the magazine issue at a running story and saw my article inside. I had emailed him a response to an article that talked about the caution required when running with a dog. Some of the ideas were a bit dramatic and inaccurate, I thought, and didn't really work to encourage dog-owners to run with their dogs, or runners to run with their dogs. My piece shared my history of running with my dog and his achievements, but pointing out that because Emerson is a husky he is naturally inclined to be a distance running partner. And since the UW Dawg Dash 5k was coming up, they even put some cute little husky clip art by my article title, along with another reader's response to dog-running.
Since then, I've had published a few first-person articles about my running experiences to highlight the Seattle half-marathon and other Seattle-area races, as well as feature stories--one about longtime HS coach Roger Erickson (the head coach I worked under), a profile about distance runner Carl Moe while he was still a HS senior, and another feature on my friend Tim (one of Carl's coaches) who ran the beautiful 2004 Napa Valley Marathon and qualified for Boston.
It sometimes takes more time than anticipated to write an article, and I only get paid after it's published. Sometimes my efforts don't bring any monetary reward. For example, in spring of 2002, I had written an article about running the LA Marathon (my 2nd marathon experience) but I hated the course and race weather so much that I didn't really much motivation or love for the assignment--but I got a brief, nice-as-I-could-be 500-word article written. But then the editor pushed back the article for a later issue and asked me to double its length. I just couldn't do it, I had nothing else to say about LA (and Tim hated it too). So, I asked my friend Megan (who also ran LA that year) to write about her story--it was her first marathon and she had genuine love for the entire experience.
I have also contributed editing work for my friend Keith's article about the African boys on the high school cross-country team where we both were assistant coaches--a group of blazing fast teenagers who had immigrated from Sudan and Somalia. That team took 3rd place in 2000 and 4th in 2001 at the Washington State XC meet.
A few of my running-related poems have also been published Northwest Runner, and last year I wrote a feature article about Bloomsday and quite a few of the digital pictures that Judd and I took were also included.
Anyway, my most recent "Spokane correspondent" assignment was to write 300-word profiles on two high school runners from Spokane. Today I spoke with both of the kids over the phone, and the articles--though longer than originally planned--are good to go (the editor gave me more page space for the profiles).
- Laef Barnes, from Mead High School, one of the fastest high school milers in the nation and the fastest HS indoor mile runner (according to DyeStat). Man, this kid is nice...articulate, humble, totally fits the cool kid mold which most high school XC boys are. Laef has a fascinating story to tell, so his profile article is over 600 words. He came back from a stress fracture injury last April, no training for 3-1/2 months, to take 4th in last fall's state xc meet and be this national-caliber miler today.
- and Becca Noble from Rogers HS, who excels at distance in xc and on middle distance on the track (400 State champ two years in a row)...she's a really confident, no-nonsense girl, with a full-ride running scholarship to University of Oregon.
So, their profile stories are written in time to go into next month's issue. My day at the "office" is done.
All this is to say that writing for Northwest Runner isn't the most glamorous gig, but it is writing work that gets published. It's a stepping stone to future prospects. So, if anyone reading this has always wanted to get some writing published--start with some local publications. I pursued the magazine because I was a loyal reader of it myself, knew the publication, and was encouraged to start building a portfolio of work by a local newspaper reporter who used to contact me when she needed a "teacher quote" for different stories she was writing about issues occurring in my district (low teacher pay and a 1-day teacher walkout).
I'm heading out to do some editing work for Willow Springs now. And Mindy Aloff is our visiting non-fiction writer tonight.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Spirituality & Wallace Stevens
The topic of my Modernism Form & Theory final paper will be the theme of Spirituality in the poems of Wallace Stevens. In addition, I want to compare and contrast how the spiritual imagery and tones are used by other Modern poets in their meditative or narrative lyrics. I'll articulate a more definitive thesis in the next few days.
One aspect of Wallace Stevens that I find extremely fascinating is his writing process. He walked everyday to his job with Hartford Insurance, stopping sometimes along the way to write down notes and ideas on the blank envelopes in his jacket pocket, or he'd wait until he arrived at work and then write down the poem which he had composed in his head. Then he'd give his notes to his secretary to type up. Reportedly, she said once when giving the typed document to Wallace, "I don't know what this means, but here you go." The methodical way he scheduled his life, the daily morning walks, the solitude in his bedroom after dinner (him and his wife kept separate quarters in their house), the precision of a M-F job, his long walks on weekends...all of this helped him to cultivate a meditative lifestyle. To tap into that quiet space inside himself where he could hear his "voice"...his soul even.
Despite his established notoriety today, Wallace Stevens worked on his poetry and publishing career in almost total secrecy from his community. He kept his poems private from his co-workers and was not involved socially in the literary culture and society of his day.
I still have more research to do on Stevens' biography, but from what I've read so far he was not committed to religion, church attendance, and the like. Still, I think Stevens expresses his spirituality through his poems, even a Christ-centered spirituality maybe, without being attached to a specific church or theology.
And here is an interesting article that explores this issue:
Spirituality for All the Wrong Reasons
Eugene Peterson talks about lies and illusions that destroy the church.
One aspect of Wallace Stevens that I find extremely fascinating is his writing process. He walked everyday to his job with Hartford Insurance, stopping sometimes along the way to write down notes and ideas on the blank envelopes in his jacket pocket, or he'd wait until he arrived at work and then write down the poem which he had composed in his head. Then he'd give his notes to his secretary to type up. Reportedly, she said once when giving the typed document to Wallace, "I don't know what this means, but here you go." The methodical way he scheduled his life, the daily morning walks, the solitude in his bedroom after dinner (him and his wife kept separate quarters in their house), the precision of a M-F job, his long walks on weekends...all of this helped him to cultivate a meditative lifestyle. To tap into that quiet space inside himself where he could hear his "voice"...his soul even.
Despite his established notoriety today, Wallace Stevens worked on his poetry and publishing career in almost total secrecy from his community. He kept his poems private from his co-workers and was not involved socially in the literary culture and society of his day.
I still have more research to do on Stevens' biography, but from what I've read so far he was not committed to religion, church attendance, and the like. Still, I think Stevens expresses his spirituality through his poems, even a Christ-centered spirituality maybe, without being attached to a specific church or theology.
And here is an interesting article that explores this issue:
Spirituality for All the Wrong Reasons
Eugene Peterson talks about lies and illusions that destroy the church.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Sweeeeeet!
You are Pedro; you make my wildest dreams come true. You are, in essence, my idea of the perfect day.
JunkmailforIdolatry
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You are Deb and you could drink whole milk if you wanted.
Which Napoleon Dynamite character are you?
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Monday, March 07, 2005
long weekend, busy Monday
The Christopher Williams concert in Seattle was amazing. His newest CD has the most beautiful lyrics yet, I think. It's full of meditative songs (somewhat like lyric poems), blended with slight narrative (storytelling), along with vivid details and images that capture the emotion of the moment. His songs are lyrically beautiful, rich with language and the use of rhyme (not always so obvious) to create cohesion. His live acoustic guitar playing and improvisation, djembe drum skills, and harmonica playing (some serious multi-tasking while playing guitar) make for a memorable concert. He plays and sings with great intensity and passion, visible in his face when experienced live. He's funny, entertaining, amicable, and friendly--a genuine good man. If you live near one of his upcoming concert cities, you should make an effort to see him. (A quick summary from a more objective source.)
Friday, March 04, 2005
to be a wife
Lately, I've been reading As For Me And My House: Crafting A Marriage To Last by Walter Wangerin, Jr. It's opened my eyes to the enormous responsibility that marriage really is. I always knew it required a lot of selfless work, sacrifice, forgiveness, etc...but this book puts it in a more realistic framework and really gets at the heart of what it takes to create a Christ-centered marriage that seeks the greater good in your spouse. (Another link about Walter and an interesting booklist.)
But it's also a little scary. Marriage is a wonderful covenant, a blessing, and I'm looking forward to the challenge and joy of being a wife. Although it's a tremendous honor, the great responsibility and expectations are also a bit scary because there will be failure on both our parts. I realize my weaknesses and limitations, I only wish I could be mistake-proof.
I really want to be a good wife. In fact, my internal image and definition of "wife" is, I'm sure, above the national standard. To be a wife, in my book, is not taken lightly. There is no 60% pass rate. It's a big role to fill.
I considered myself a pretty good girlfriend. I'm not high-maintenance, I'm not afraid to get dirty and go backpacking in the woods...in fact, outdoor recreation adventures are my favorite type of dates. I create handmade cards, write sweet notes, cheesy poems for my love, make him dinner, and do all those sentimental things that express my love. I give him his space, try not to nag or whine or be moody...though he understands our gender differences and my emotional sensitivities and needs.
But I also get to still have my own space--my own down comforter, my fruity smelling lotions and candles (even those that resemble mango or canteloupe), my stacks of books everywhere, poem rough drafts on the floor, art projects half put away. But this loss of space, or rather "change" is not really a big deal. After thirty years, I'm looking forward to a permanent roommate!
Being a fiancee is that in-between stage, where we can really start talking about our future dreams instead of hypotheticals. But wedding planning, thesis writing, and the daily toil of living on opposite sides of the city take a bit of the cloud-nine glamour out of being engaged.
Lately, I've been realizing at a deeper level what kind of power both of us have to create our marriage into what it will be, along with God's grace and guidance. My mood, my actions, my words can work to create a loving home and marriage...or one that can be broken by sparks and criticism, disappointment and insecurities.
I found this article (written by a woman) very refreshing. Here's an excerpt:
Young people, many bearing the scars of growing up in broken homes, long for one partner who will be a “soulmate.” So they wait for That One Perfect Person to stride into Starbucks. And they wait … and wait …
I applaud their desire for a strong and lasting marriage. But I’m not sure about this soulmate business. I fear their bright illusions will dissolve into dust the first time they have an argument about money or when she loses her job or he gets sick or either of them decides he or she wants to go to a different church. Even we spouses who are united in Christ have evenings when we just don’t have much to say to each other, those times when we think, Why does he have to be like this? Soulmates always instinctively understand each other. Real marriage partners don’t.
But real marriage partners try. And this is where we expect too little of marriage. Because a marriage wholly yielded to Christ can astonish us. Or, more precisely, God’s work in that marriage can astonish.
I used to believe in that soulmate fantasy. Maybe I still do. What I do know is that Judd is perfect for me. He's patient when I'm anxious, is goofy when I'm being too serious and need to lighten up, is an example of kindness when I want to tell someone what I really think, pays more attention to the little details while I view the big picture, lets me plan a date while he makes sure we get there on time. I knew I would someday fall in love with a man who cares how the toothpaste container gets squeezed. We bring such different, but fun and loving perspectives and ideas into each other's lives.
Unfortunately, I know we won't be perfect as husband and wife. I will be disappointed in myself, and him, each time we fail--or rather, fail to live up to our expectations. We both realize that marriage requires very hard work . . . a conscientious, diligent, focused effort to stay faithful in all things (according to Wangerin's book). We feel prepared for the challenge. Our dating relationship has not been without its challenges--the balance of time spent together vs. time apart; coordinating the demands of school, work and love; dealing with external events (car getting stolen! new job, new place to live, health issues, husky escaping from the yard at night!). We look forward to all the future obstacles and challenges...our own lifelong Amazing Race together, where we learn to navigate the journey together, try not to lose our cool, and always remember to have fun, laugh, smile, and keep love as number one.
So, what does this have to do with writing? Well, being a writer permeates my entire being and as such, my poetry reflects (if not directly, at least indirectly) my beliefs about the world, the people I love, the places I've been, and my overall thoughts, ideas, and values.
At the same time, I also use characters (personas) to reflect other ideas about the world and how I see it. And by no means is my poetry confessional. I'm long past those days of high school poetry which were one step away from Anne Sexton's heart-wrenching open sores.
But love...the idea of it, the actualy being in love, the whole thing...it's a great spark for the muse.
Raymond Carver knew this . . .
Cherish
From the window I see her bend to the roses
holding close to the bloom so as not to
prick her fingers. With the other hand she clips, pauses and
clips, more alone in the world
than I had known. She won't
look up, not now. She's alone
with roses and with something else I can only think, not
say. I know the names of those bushes
given for our late wedding: Love, Honor, Cherish--
this last the rose she holds out to me suddenly, having
entered the house between glances. I press
my nose to it, draw the sweetness in, let it cling--scent
of promise, of treasure. My hand on her wrist to bring her close,
her eyes green as river-moss. Saying it then, against
what comes: wife, while I can, while my breath, each hurried petal
can still find her.
My future husband won't be writing anything like this, but he does write the occasionally brief, romantic, image-driven note or a whimsical, funny poem, full of rhyming couplets. These make me laugh and stir me to say "yes" again.
But it's also a little scary. Marriage is a wonderful covenant, a blessing, and I'm looking forward to the challenge and joy of being a wife. Although it's a tremendous honor, the great responsibility and expectations are also a bit scary because there will be failure on both our parts. I realize my weaknesses and limitations, I only wish I could be mistake-proof.
I really want to be a good wife. In fact, my internal image and definition of "wife" is, I'm sure, above the national standard. To be a wife, in my book, is not taken lightly. There is no 60% pass rate. It's a big role to fill.
I considered myself a pretty good girlfriend. I'm not high-maintenance, I'm not afraid to get dirty and go backpacking in the woods...in fact, outdoor recreation adventures are my favorite type of dates. I create handmade cards, write sweet notes, cheesy poems for my love, make him dinner, and do all those sentimental things that express my love. I give him his space, try not to nag or whine or be moody...though he understands our gender differences and my emotional sensitivities and needs.
But I also get to still have my own space--my own down comforter, my fruity smelling lotions and candles (even those that resemble mango or canteloupe), my stacks of books everywhere, poem rough drafts on the floor, art projects half put away. But this loss of space, or rather "change" is not really a big deal. After thirty years, I'm looking forward to a permanent roommate!
Being a fiancee is that in-between stage, where we can really start talking about our future dreams instead of hypotheticals. But wedding planning, thesis writing, and the daily toil of living on opposite sides of the city take a bit of the cloud-nine glamour out of being engaged.
Lately, I've been realizing at a deeper level what kind of power both of us have to create our marriage into what it will be, along with God's grace and guidance. My mood, my actions, my words can work to create a loving home and marriage...or one that can be broken by sparks and criticism, disappointment and insecurities.
I found this article (written by a woman) very refreshing. Here's an excerpt:
Young people, many bearing the scars of growing up in broken homes, long for one partner who will be a “soulmate.” So they wait for That One Perfect Person to stride into Starbucks. And they wait … and wait …
I applaud their desire for a strong and lasting marriage. But I’m not sure about this soulmate business. I fear their bright illusions will dissolve into dust the first time they have an argument about money or when she loses her job or he gets sick or either of them decides he or she wants to go to a different church. Even we spouses who are united in Christ have evenings when we just don’t have much to say to each other, those times when we think, Why does he have to be like this? Soulmates always instinctively understand each other. Real marriage partners don’t.
But real marriage partners try. And this is where we expect too little of marriage. Because a marriage wholly yielded to Christ can astonish us. Or, more precisely, God’s work in that marriage can astonish.
I used to believe in that soulmate fantasy. Maybe I still do. What I do know is that Judd is perfect for me. He's patient when I'm anxious, is goofy when I'm being too serious and need to lighten up, is an example of kindness when I want to tell someone what I really think, pays more attention to the little details while I view the big picture, lets me plan a date while he makes sure we get there on time. I knew I would someday fall in love with a man who cares how the toothpaste container gets squeezed. We bring such different, but fun and loving perspectives and ideas into each other's lives.
Unfortunately, I know we won't be perfect as husband and wife. I will be disappointed in myself, and him, each time we fail--or rather, fail to live up to our expectations. We both realize that marriage requires very hard work . . . a conscientious, diligent, focused effort to stay faithful in all things (according to Wangerin's book). We feel prepared for the challenge. Our dating relationship has not been without its challenges--the balance of time spent together vs. time apart; coordinating the demands of school, work and love; dealing with external events (car getting stolen! new job, new place to live, health issues, husky escaping from the yard at night!). We look forward to all the future obstacles and challenges...our own lifelong Amazing Race together, where we learn to navigate the journey together, try not to lose our cool, and always remember to have fun, laugh, smile, and keep love as number one.
So, what does this have to do with writing? Well, being a writer permeates my entire being and as such, my poetry reflects (if not directly, at least indirectly) my beliefs about the world, the people I love, the places I've been, and my overall thoughts, ideas, and values.
At the same time, I also use characters (personas) to reflect other ideas about the world and how I see it. And by no means is my poetry confessional. I'm long past those days of high school poetry which were one step away from Anne Sexton's heart-wrenching open sores.
But love...the idea of it, the actualy being in love, the whole thing...it's a great spark for the muse.
Raymond Carver knew this . . .
Cherish
From the window I see her bend to the roses
holding close to the bloom so as not to
prick her fingers. With the other hand she clips, pauses and
clips, more alone in the world
than I had known. She won't
look up, not now. She's alone
with roses and with something else I can only think, not
say. I know the names of those bushes
given for our late wedding: Love, Honor, Cherish--
this last the rose she holds out to me suddenly, having
entered the house between glances. I press
my nose to it, draw the sweetness in, let it cling--scent
of promise, of treasure. My hand on her wrist to bring her close,
her eyes green as river-moss. Saying it then, against
what comes: wife, while I can, while my breath, each hurried petal
can still find her.
My future husband won't be writing anything like this, but he does write the occasionally brief, romantic, image-driven note or a whimsical, funny poem, full of rhyming couplets. These make me laugh and stir me to say "yes" again.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
what William Carlos Williams had to say...
"The thing has been with me to work the language in order to find what new may be done with it."
"Poetry should be brought into the world where we live and not be so recondite, so removed from people."
he wanted his poetry to "refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live."
he considered art to be a form or action...the "artist must possess his world, live in it, take responsibility for it, and use it for his imaginative pleasure"...art should be an "addition to nature"
I'm still researching what Williams said and felt as a poet...meanwhile, here are some of my favorite lines and images from his poetry.
"Your thighs are appletrees / whose blossoms touch the sky." - from "Portrait of a Lady"
"It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack / of what is found there." - from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"
"Now the grass, tomorrow / the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf" - from "Spring and All"
And one of my favorite Williams poems, it makes me smile everytime (in addition to his poem, "This Is Just To Say").
Danse Russe
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely,
I was born to be so lonely.
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--
who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
"Poetry should be brought into the world where we live and not be so recondite, so removed from people."
he wanted his poetry to "refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live."
he considered art to be a form or action...the "artist must possess his world, live in it, take responsibility for it, and use it for his imaginative pleasure"...art should be an "addition to nature"
I'm still researching what Williams said and felt as a poet...meanwhile, here are some of my favorite lines and images from his poetry.
"Your thighs are appletrees / whose blossoms touch the sky." - from "Portrait of a Lady"
"It is difficult / to get the news from poems / yet men die miserably every day / for lack / of what is found there." - from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"
"Now the grass, tomorrow / the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf" - from "Spring and All"
And one of my favorite Williams poems, it makes me smile everytime (in addition to his poem, "This Is Just To Say").
Danse Russe
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely,
I was born to be so lonely.
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--
who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
what Wallace Stevens said...
"Poetry is a passion, not a habit."
"If each of us is a biological mechanism, each poet is a poetic mechanism."
"The poet, in moments of exceptional concentration, sometimes experiences an automatism in which the poem writes itself."
"Ideas of real force don't occur to one every day. Besides, I want my poetry to grow out of something more than my inkwell."
"Every poem is a poem within a poem: the poem of the idea within the poem of the words."
"Words are thoughts and not only our own thoughts but the thoughts of men and women ignorant of what it is that they are thinking."
"Poetry is the subject of the poem."
"When we find in poetry that which gives us a momentary existence on an exquisite plane, is it necessary to ask the meaning of the poem?"
"If each of us is a biological mechanism, each poet is a poetic mechanism."
"The poet, in moments of exceptional concentration, sometimes experiences an automatism in which the poem writes itself."
"Ideas of real force don't occur to one every day. Besides, I want my poetry to grow out of something more than my inkwell."
"Every poem is a poem within a poem: the poem of the idea within the poem of the words."
"Words are thoughts and not only our own thoughts but the thoughts of men and women ignorant of what it is that they are thinking."
"Poetry is the subject of the poem."
"When we find in poetry that which gives us a momentary existence on an exquisite plane, is it necessary to ask the meaning of the poem?"
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