On Szymborska

"In addition, this month I read Wislawa Szymborska’s “view with a grain of sand”. I did not plan it, but she paired very well with Kundera. Her poetry revolves around existential themes, and touches on both laughter and forgetfulness (though especially and more frequently forgetfulness). “Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light,” is one of Szymborska’s quotes that embodies the debate between heaviness and lightness that both writers participate in.

One of my favorite poems was “Notes from a Non-existent Himalayan Expedition”. I copied it onto my dry erase board, and now have it mostly memorized. I hope to have the rest memorized soon. I especially liked how she captured some of the simple things that make humanity what it is: Wednesday, bread, alphabets, two times two is four, roses are red…, Shakespeare, Solitaire, and violin. She nailed it, in my opinion: time, food/cooking, words/letters, math, poetry, drama, games, and music. Not to mention she also zeroes in on “crime is not all we’re up to down there”. And most importantly, “we’ve inherited hope- the gift of forgetting. You’ll see how we give birth among the ruins.”

My other favorite poem in this book is, “No Title Required”. I love how she takes a simple scene with nothing dramatic about it, and shows how fantastic it is by showing all the coincidences that it took for her to end up on that hill that day. She sums it up beautifully in her last line “when I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important than what’s not.”

Abandoned Air Series Reunited With Lover

So. A lot of the energy that would have gone into my blog this past year went into letters to my adviser instead. In fact, when I would post here I often quoted huge chunks of my posts in my letters. I just didn't have the energy or the patience to say many of the same things twice, and to different audiences. However, now I've been thinking that mayhap some of you may enjoy reading some excerpts from letters. And I think I would definitely benefit by revisiting them. This might take several posts. Read them at your own pace, of course, and you may want to skip them entirely. So here goes...

"Wow! I can’t believe it is May already. I am getting married on the 31st of the month, so of course I have been doing much planning very excitedly. I’ve been engaged for over a year, so I kind of settled down into that status. This is big. As Father Cathy told us, “forever is a long time”. Then she burst out laughing.

This month, as predicted, I read “The Book of Laughter and Forgetting”. In this book Kundera, yet again, touched on a Nietzchean theme that I am quite fascinated with. The idea of how human it is to forget, and how necessary. Nietzsche claims that this is what separates us from the animals, that they forget things instantly having no memory ability. He connects this with the fact that animals have no organized language. Kundera does not seem to imply that forgetfulness makes humans happier, but that it is a two edge sword that can either give us some relief or make us more miserable dependent on the circumstances. Kundera is, at least in these two books, extremely good at showing the sweet-bitterness of life. This is something I look for in art.

Another point that was well made was the utter ridiculousness of some of humanity’s highest held acts. Poetry and sex are such that we must approach them both with pride and treat them as sacred or they become laughable. This is mixed in with debates about whether or not wearing clothes makes us more natural, or takes away some of our uniqueness and sexiness.

I felt that Kundera did an adequate job of exposing all the different types of situations laughter might be had in, and how in some cases it might be absurd or even eerie though it is so much a part of our every day lives. In addition one of my favorite points that he made was the difference between “angelic laughter” and “demonic laughter”. “Angelic Laughter” as I understand it is laughter that is inspired by how complete and orderly everything is… how much it all makes sense. “Demonic Laughter” on the other hand is laughter inspired by something that doesn’t go as planned, or is inspired by chaos or misery. This way of looking at laughter was not only a new perspective for me, but it also made significant sense.

Once a fellow student in my “Critical Theory” course at Cornell College, did his lecture on laughter. One of the primary theories he focused on was the idea that laughter happens when the brain trips on a piece of information that it wasn’t expecting. That is the theory I have adopted ever since, and I think this new theory integrates with it perfectly."

Now Coming At You

With Pictures! Surprise!

Well, the old blog has been doing nothing but rusting here. Not that I mind rust. In fact I wish my blog would rust. But enough of that. Since I am alive, I have more things to say.

Oh what a summer! A graduation! A wedding! Better than I could have imagined and married life is so much more delightful than I would have guessed from all of the joke books I read before getting into it.

A trip to Vermont, and Maine, and Niagara Falls and other places along the way. To graduate! I gave a reading, and I like to think it was received well despite my sometimes low self-confidence. Not very many people showed up to my lecture, which I still keep meaning to post on here. First I have to find it at this point, with all this moving about and such.

Then I lived in Omaha, then I visited Kansas City, then I lived in Omaha, and now I am back in Kansas City.

Really my life is pretty good... as is usually the case when I don't update here for a while. But...

I will say one thing. All this up in the air business... not knowing when and where and if I will be able to live in a place of our own. Not so pleasant. I know I sound ungrateful because the world has been generous to me this summer and because I have free places to stay with charming people, but I really would rather really be floating about like a piece of fuzz or be down to earth again, rather than feeling rather like a balloon tied to a little kid's hand. Oh my metaphors, I really do have to work on those.

Most days it is hard to even think. My thoughts feel rather scattered.

But. When I know what is happening, you will know what is happening.

I like it here

I think that not seeing the copious amounts of diverse beauty the Midwest has to offer is the symptom of a species that spends too much time in nest and in front of artificial worlds.

Saying that the Midwest is boring, and that the terrain is all the same. Cows and corn mostly. Is one of those false statements that large portions of people will take as a truth without even thinking. Sometimes I feel that nothing makes educated people happier than being able to conform without admitting it.

The farms, forests, rivers, valleys, barns, crops, open sky of the Midwest are grossly underestimated. People drive on a cement interstate and look out their window, and think somehow they know what this state has to offer. They are wrong.

The people I know who complain the most about this place, are the people who spend the most time in their little rooms, or who spend time in front of a man made forest or pond, when a real river and forest are a five minute drive away. 20 minute walk. There are so many different trees, birds, flowers, plants, rocks, within twenty minutes of you here that it is ridiculous. I love mountains, but I also love being able to see the huge beautiful sky at every side of me and wide above me. I love the way the grass blows and the wind works here.

Now I'm not saying I spend large amounts of time outdoors. I am as addicted to my comfy little corner, and interesting little internet as the next soul. But I love where I am.

That being said, I want to see the world. I really do. After living here all my life, and seeing much of what the Midwest has to offer, I am ready to see what other parts of the country and other countries have to offer. But, it sickens me how under-appreciated this part of the country is. Literally. It makes me want to vomit. And then scream. And then kidnap people and bring them birdwatching with me to all the little coves I've found around here. And then just cry.

There is something to be said for a land that is so new, unexplored, a relatively blank slate for identity and community. There is something to be said for a land that isn't. I for one am a pioneer in spirit.

The narrow minded missing of the beauty is what drives me nuts. There is beauty absolutely everywhere. I don't see how people don't get that they are cheating only self by not having a sense of exploration right in their own little patch of the world, but rather reserving it for the rest of the world. Quit complaining and open your eyes.

Maybe Iowa is boring to most people. But the joke is on them. Happiness can come in big flashy cities. But peace, unity with nature, is what this land has to offer. I love it here. I am overwhelmed by its beauty. I am happy. And I know that wherever I go next I will be able to see the beauty there, too. This place is in my blood. This is where my family is from. If you insult it in front of me again... just know that it really does hurt me.

This post is awkward and is so far from really expressing what I mean that it hurts. Some things, a very very few-few things, are so sacred to me that I hate putting them into words.

Headcheese and Other Misadventures

I tried headcheese. Actually I am fond of the flavor but the texture leaves something to be desired. It doesn't look or feel like it should be food to me.

In more serious news... I am quite frustrated with my current adviser/schoolwork. Also, the wedding planning is finally getting to me. I think partially I have been conditioned to think by Cornell that anything can be done in one month, which is to some extent true. Weddings are planned in a day all the time. Lectures can certainly be written in a month, manuscripts can be put together in a week, I know this from Cornell. And as for poetry... comments like "maybe you should just keep this one to yourself" or "nice language but beyond that?" or "why should the reader be interested?" serve to piss me off and even when I come back around and try to tackle them calm and rationally do little in the way of helping me improve my poetry. How arrogant am I, these days?

My arrogance is not to be underestimated. I feel like I should have her job. A large part of me knows I am being unfair. I have so much to learn, and perhaps I am just too scared to learn it. If I don't know how one learns to write poetry from someone else, then how can I claim to be able to teach poetry to someone else? I don't. But I would never tell anybody to keep their favorite poem, a poem another adviser had said was in its finishing stages, to their self.

I feel that is already the problem with most beginning poets. We keep too much of our poetry to our selves. The manuscript that I am pushing for this poem to be included in will only be seen by perhaps if I am lucky a dozen people ever. Even if the poem were utter crap... I feel all right letting twelve people see the piece of crap in with all the other mediocre to aspiring poetry. That piece of crap, is my piece of crap, and I care about it deeply.

Now the wedding, I am being unreasonable. I am glad we have put so much planning into it. I just get frustrated because people are so far apart and it is so hard to keep everybody on the same page, so I keep answering the same questions. I never feel like I get one step ahead.

So this is a short school month. Two weeks to get together my next packet, which is to include my finished lecture and a fairly chiseled out manuscript. In that time, I also have my birthday, and a pre-marriage counseling session with the Reverend.

I have been calm amid the storm this past month, but I think it is finally getting to me. But I can't let it. Not now. Too much to get done...

Sword of Damocles

Obsession of the day, having to do with Air...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Damocles

I plan to write a poem about this. My own personal sword of Damocles is debt. Debt comes originally from the Latin debitam, meaning thing owed, but originally meaning "keep something away from someone." I think of it kind of like the game "Keep Away". The sword of Damocles, hanging over me and ruining the many good things in my life, is the threat of debt. Not just the monetary debt in my college loans, but also my debt to friends and my debt to society since I have received so much good from others. I constantly feel like this debt is hanging over me, by a single thread, and may fall down on me at any moment. A few years ago I still was hopeful that I was going to grab the sword and save the day. As time goes on in this giant keep away game, I feel more and more frustrated that I can't quite reach it or overcome it. Some days I don't even want to try. Other days I am more desperate than ever and lash out, exhausting myself, and losing valuable ground. My hope is that if I slow down a bit, have a little bit of faith, and stick to it I'll grab that sword some day. Many people don't ever though. Even good hard-working people. The tough thing is that sometimes the worst things happen to people who did everything right, and sometimes the best things happen to the people who did everything wrong.

"I begin to sing of ivy-crowned Dionysus"

So. Methinks that February is a strange month for me. Also, looking back over past feb-posts, I seem more fond of using metaphors than during any other month. When I think of it, there are several reasons February very well ought to be an odd month for me.

Firstably, I quite often get sick for a week or so in February. So far I have avoided that this year, but we'll see. Getting sick in February is a tradition going way back to at least third grade. I don't know if this physical sickness has anything relationship to the mental state I seem to be in come February, but it might.

That feeling right after you are sick, right after spending so much time away from the world, right after worrying about nothing but getting through or stopping the pain... It's a moment of reinvention of world and self. It's an exciting feeling, of being new and fresh and yet weak and tired. Also very vulnerable.

Now pile onto that the significance February holds for me. Despite the promise of almost inevitable sickness I always look forward to February. I love February. I couldn't tell you exactly why. I think it's for reasons most people might associate with January, the feeling of a new year, but I usually feel I hate Januarys for being too cold and too busy so February becomes my January. Also, as many of you may know, I love Valentine's Day.

I loved it when I was kid, the solid promise of chocolate and puppy love and presents from my parents. (On the year I was actually sick on Valentine's Day I was devastated, but my Dad got me a Magic 8 Ball and that was awesome.) My first few years of high school I was desperate for a boyfriend, but it never occurred to me to think less of Valentine's Day or be emo or anything but utterly happy on that day. Sure, I wished I could get chocolate and roses and kisses and stuff, but I also had a feeling of content that such traditions existed and a hope that some day I too would have my Valentine's Day in the romantic sun. I am a big fan of Love, though I've had my problems with it.

Then Valentine's Day became linked with Shannon, and ever since it has been special for that reason.

In fact I have found through the years that I actually dislike Valentine's Days that become too linked with romantic love. I feel that they should be about every type of Love, everything from familial, to friendshiply, to crushy, to unrequited, to lost. Just the existence of it.

I also see February in general, and Valentine's Day especially, as a Dionysian month. A month to celebrate the passion and chaos within.

So all in all it's a busy month for me. I like to observe this month and this holiday by remembering who is important to me, and reevaluating my relationship to them. If there is room for change this is the time to begin with it. I need to renew in my heart the sense that Love is important, that people are important to me, and re-decide how best to positively effect the world and others. I impose my own sort of holiday season that lasts all long. Needless to say this is a very emotional and serious month to me.

And, in the end, since February is a month of memory, a month of asking the big questions "Where was I last year? Who was I? Who am I now? What needs to change?" it also becomes a sweet-bitter month. A feeling of homesickness at home, as it were. A time of remembering both the good and the bad of what Love has brought to my life and celebrating both.

I above all do not see Valentine's Day as a trivial holiday to be spent looking through rose-coloured glasses and eating bon-bons. Nor will I ever allow it to be ruined by the commercial mess Americans of course try to make of it. I think that commercialism comes in and tries to profit off of everything that is truly good. Also Christianity does, but that is a more touchy subject. However, I think that just because America has turned October, December, February, and Hippies into commercial shells of what they once were does not mean that those of us blessed with Critical Minds should step aside and confuse what those have become without putting a good fight in for what they originally stood for and what they really mean. America sales Che t-shirts for Jove's sake. They successfully make once great people, once great traditions, once great ideas, and eventually once great holidays into shoddy baubles. They successfully charm the masses with these baubles and cheapen these great things beyond recognition for those who think critically. In the end we let them kill the idea, some of us by accepting deformed rubbish and some of us by mistaking the deformed rubbish as all that is left of those once great things. I say this every year.

I am a complex person. I am not persuaded that Love is only a good thing or that it should be. I think the world is made up of both/ands instead of either/ors. And I am going to use this time to celebrate that. To celebrate the danger/chaos of love as well as the joy/blessings. That is what I feel Dionysus was about and that is what I feel February is about for me.

Thank you for your time.

Alms for the Poor?

This is my 140th post apparently.

On a slightly more emo note... I fear that this blog has outlived its usefulness.