While packing this week, I started looking at things I hadn't looked at in a while, the way you do when you're shifting items from one place to another. Since my head is too full of moving details to leave much room for topical inspiration, I thought I'd share something I found in my Magnetic Poetry Kit Book of Poetry, discovered as I was clearing a shelf the other day. A magnetic poetry kit may seem like a kitschy item, but its use fits in with my approach to poetry. More about that later, but right now here is the poem I wrote with it, at the kitchen table in my last apartment, if I'm not mistaken--which makes the poem nearly 20 years old.
(Untitled)
the avenue to love
has summer in it
minute tendrils
grow from cracks
at evening
leaves blossom by morning
an immense and secret bouquet
a staggering work
of liquid song wind
wanting
and dirt
I don't think it's bad for a poem written, most likely, after dinner, one of the first I composed with the poetry kit. I'm not sure I could have written it if not for the kit, and I'll tell you why. It's my compression theory of poetry: the more constraints you put on writing, whether it's time, number of syllables, availability of words, or something else, the more an inner censor is silenced, letting you compose without restraint. I guess you could also call it the Poetry Paradox, and it applies to all writing, as far as I've been able to discover. You narrow your choices and make do with limitations, and the energy you don't spend ransacking the entire English language opens a third poetic eye. It's like all those frugal housewives making do with rations during World War II and somehow coming up with genius recipes. Some of the best dishes are composed of simple ingredients. It's the same with words.
I was writing about author's intent a few weeks ago, and although I can't remember exactly when I wrote this poem--I'm guessing sometime between Fall 1998 and Summer 1999--I seem to recall being in the grip of some passion, requited or unrequited, at the time. It's not a bitter poem, but rather a sort of celebratory one, and that's saying something considering how frustrated I remember feeling then. I liked it well enough that I left it on the magnetic poetry board, and when I opened it up, it was just as it was when I wrote it. It's been on my shelf ever since I moved in here. I remember that I was experimenting with growing kitchen herbs in windowsill containers around the time I wrote the poem, which may account for the botanical imagery.
It's a very summery poem and seems appropriate for ushering in the month of June. I like the idea of a secret garden taking hold imperceptibly and growing into something vast and wonderful, without permission and without fanfare. It's a little like Coleridge's secret ministry of frost, except that it celebrates a different season.
May all the avenues you travel this summer blossom with minute trendrils and fragrant bouquets in your wake and may they make a soft place for your footsteps to land. I'm hoping the same for myself.
Friday, May 26, 2017
Friday, May 19, 2017
Wordplay Gets a Move On
Is there anything more exciting than moving? I'm not being facetious, or at least, I'm only being partly facetious. Despite the amount of stress involved, it is exciting, if you lift up your eyes occasionally from all the details you have to attend to and take in the wider picture: where you've been, where you're going, and how it all fits into the larger pattern of your life. For most of my adulthood, I've lived in only two apartments, and my last move encompassed only about a mile as the crow flies from my previous place. It would be fair to say that I tend to stay put.
The last move seemed like a huge deal, even though I was only moving a short distance, simply because I'd been in the same place for so long. Once I got here, the adjustment didn't take as long as I'd thought it would. Although I had moved around a fair amount with my family and during my college years, in and out of dorms and the like, it just wasn't the same kind of undertaking as moving an entire apartment of my own belongings. Once you're an adult and responsible for doing everything yourself, a move takes on a whole new meaning.
This time, I'm finally carrying out an idea that's been in my mind for years, if not decades, which is to move to the West Coast. I've been on the verge of doing it a few times before and even had a couple of opportunities career-wise, but for one reason or another it never seemed right. What was once an entirely daunting prospect became less so over time, as I traveled to the area frequently and eventually attended graduate school in Southern California. I wanted to move five or six years ago, but I hesitated; it seemed a long way to go without a sure prospect of a job and definitely a much more expensive place to live. On the other hand, a nationwide job search didn't produce results, either. The interviews I did get tended to be in California.
I'm going now, not exactly kicking and screaming, but with some trepidation because all I have are a few leads; I still don't have any certain prospects. Six weeks ago, it seemed prudent to stay here because a number of jobs (mostly part-time) were opening up locally--though I had my doubts that any of them would pan out, based on my experience of the last few years. Still, I applied for a number of things, had one interview, and at the end of the month reassessed again. I reached the same conclusion as before: I wasn't getting anywhere by staying put. What had formerly seemed like a wild scheme--going to a larger city to seek out opportunity--now seemed like the only smart thing to do. I seem to have outgrown my current town, and it doesn't help to pretend otherwise.
It makes sense to go right now because, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, employment prospects have been improving in California over the last few months; I've also been encouraged by the quality of the positions I've seen advertised. I certainly don't go with the intention of becoming a drag on the system but rather with the intent of bringing something with me, a set of skills and knowledge that can't be filled by anyone else. No one in Kentucky seems to want a writer who's also a librarian and a myth studies expert with teaching experience and a background in psychology--but that probably won't be the case in a big city. They seem to find room for everyone.
So I'm both worried and excited. I have no idea how it will turn out and whether it will all go bust--but you know what? I'm tired of being told, not in so many words, but through basically being marginalized, that I have nothing to offer. Right there is the clue that lets me know, and really believe at last, that I'm in the wrong place. I had envisioned an entirely new career phase opening up once I got my PhD, not feeling that all that work had only saddled me with a liability. I had transferable skills before I got the PhD, and studying mythology not only gave me a new bank of knowledge and a language for talking about things, it gave me greater depth. I think a part of me that had remained stubbornly undeveloped grew up and blossomed out as a result of the entire experience and what happened later. I'm not like I was 10 years ago, and that's a good thing.
One of the worst things in life, I've found, is to feel unproductive. In some ways, I've worked the last few years to my advantage, pursuing some of my research interests and discovering my creative voice. Those were entirely good developments. Now it's time to seek out a place that will recognize what I have to offer and reward me for it. I have a little bit of the feeling of leaping off a cliff. However, knowing I've exhausted the possibilities here with nothing to show for it, I feel better about making the choice now than I would have before.
"Look before you leap" is generally considered good advice, and I have followed it conscientiously. But some people also say, "Leap, and the net will appear." I'm hoping that my instinct that before was too soon but now is the right time will be proven correct. For more details on how Wordplay survives the Big Move, stay tuned. Meanwhile, I'll miss the fireflies this summer, but I'm glad I was here for the dogwoods and azaleas. Spring in Kentucky is a lovely thing, but spectacular as it is, it leaves you a bit cold once you realize you've been traveling in circles year after year.
The last move seemed like a huge deal, even though I was only moving a short distance, simply because I'd been in the same place for so long. Once I got here, the adjustment didn't take as long as I'd thought it would. Although I had moved around a fair amount with my family and during my college years, in and out of dorms and the like, it just wasn't the same kind of undertaking as moving an entire apartment of my own belongings. Once you're an adult and responsible for doing everything yourself, a move takes on a whole new meaning.
This time, I'm finally carrying out an idea that's been in my mind for years, if not decades, which is to move to the West Coast. I've been on the verge of doing it a few times before and even had a couple of opportunities career-wise, but for one reason or another it never seemed right. What was once an entirely daunting prospect became less so over time, as I traveled to the area frequently and eventually attended graduate school in Southern California. I wanted to move five or six years ago, but I hesitated; it seemed a long way to go without a sure prospect of a job and definitely a much more expensive place to live. On the other hand, a nationwide job search didn't produce results, either. The interviews I did get tended to be in California.
I'm going now, not exactly kicking and screaming, but with some trepidation because all I have are a few leads; I still don't have any certain prospects. Six weeks ago, it seemed prudent to stay here because a number of jobs (mostly part-time) were opening up locally--though I had my doubts that any of them would pan out, based on my experience of the last few years. Still, I applied for a number of things, had one interview, and at the end of the month reassessed again. I reached the same conclusion as before: I wasn't getting anywhere by staying put. What had formerly seemed like a wild scheme--going to a larger city to seek out opportunity--now seemed like the only smart thing to do. I seem to have outgrown my current town, and it doesn't help to pretend otherwise.
It makes sense to go right now because, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, employment prospects have been improving in California over the last few months; I've also been encouraged by the quality of the positions I've seen advertised. I certainly don't go with the intention of becoming a drag on the system but rather with the intent of bringing something with me, a set of skills and knowledge that can't be filled by anyone else. No one in Kentucky seems to want a writer who's also a librarian and a myth studies expert with teaching experience and a background in psychology--but that probably won't be the case in a big city. They seem to find room for everyone.
So I'm both worried and excited. I have no idea how it will turn out and whether it will all go bust--but you know what? I'm tired of being told, not in so many words, but through basically being marginalized, that I have nothing to offer. Right there is the clue that lets me know, and really believe at last, that I'm in the wrong place. I had envisioned an entirely new career phase opening up once I got my PhD, not feeling that all that work had only saddled me with a liability. I had transferable skills before I got the PhD, and studying mythology not only gave me a new bank of knowledge and a language for talking about things, it gave me greater depth. I think a part of me that had remained stubbornly undeveloped grew up and blossomed out as a result of the entire experience and what happened later. I'm not like I was 10 years ago, and that's a good thing.
One of the worst things in life, I've found, is to feel unproductive. In some ways, I've worked the last few years to my advantage, pursuing some of my research interests and discovering my creative voice. Those were entirely good developments. Now it's time to seek out a place that will recognize what I have to offer and reward me for it. I have a little bit of the feeling of leaping off a cliff. However, knowing I've exhausted the possibilities here with nothing to show for it, I feel better about making the choice now than I would have before.
"Look before you leap" is generally considered good advice, and I have followed it conscientiously. But some people also say, "Leap, and the net will appear." I'm hoping that my instinct that before was too soon but now is the right time will be proven correct. For more details on how Wordplay survives the Big Move, stay tuned. Meanwhile, I'll miss the fireflies this summer, but I'm glad I was here for the dogwoods and azaleas. Spring in Kentucky is a lovely thing, but spectacular as it is, it leaves you a bit cold once you realize you've been traveling in circles year after year.
Friday, May 12, 2017
Rainy and Gritty
As much as we like to be timely at Wordplay, we have to admit to not having a clue as to the meaning of any of this week's political events. In fact, the longer I look at the political news, the more cross-eyed I get, and as to "seeing through" the week's events in a mythic sense, I'm leaving it alone. It's enough that I got caught in the thunderstorm of the year this afternoon while running errands and showed up in a government office downtown looking like a drowned llama.
The only thing I will say is that when President Obama was in his first term, I thought it ridiculous that people blamed him for not having the economy back in shape six months into his presidency. In fairness to President Trump, I'm extending the same benefit of the doubt, despite all the upheaval we're currently seeing and the fact that I disagree with many of his policies. It was such a tumultuous election that some of the dust hasn't cleared yet. I still think the archetype of a titanic struggle is the best description of the current political climate, but the faces of the giants are lost in the clouds.
And as to the thunderstorm: boy, what a doozy. I was driving east in heavy traffic when what had been a pouring rain turned into a full-on spring storm complete with dazzling lightning strikes to the southeast. I enjoyed the show, even though I was still sopping myself. I don't know why, but I seemed to see individual buildings along my route with exceptional clarity: they appeared to their best advantage in the rain, which softened everything just a little.
I realized there's something I like about the Winchester Road/New Circle Road area, even with its commercial and industrial flavor. I think it's because of the retro quality to the grittiness: the Parkette Drive-In is there, and the space-age winged roof of the Paul Miller Ford building, still extant amidst warehouses, storage companies, industrial concerns, small businesses, an Asian market, and a place advertising fresh ceviche. There's a handsome flatiron building that's been well restored on Winchester Road, a brick bakery famous for its doughnuts, and a few places that have seen better days mixed in with thriving businesses. As I passed the lighting store, I tried to remember if it was the location of the skating rink I remembered from my youth. I couldn't recall--it hadn't occurred to me to wonder in quite a while.
Maybe a sunny day shows up too much fading paint and too many harsh lines, whereas a rainy spring day gentles everything a little. There have been many changes to Lexington over the years I've been here, though some of the heavily groomed suburban areas reveal less of a timeline than Winchester Road does, with its wildly diverse mix of businesses, longer span of development, and lack of pretension.
I am not often out that way, but I used to travel it regularly, and probably it was bits of my own past I was seeing as I looked through my rain-flecked windshield and thought about the smell of peanut butter from the Jif factory, the way the campus office tower dominates the view as you approach town on U.S. 60, the futon place that is no longer around, the taste of a yeasty doughnut on a cold Saturday morning. Far from being a mere errand, it was a drive that celebrated memory.
The only thing I will say is that when President Obama was in his first term, I thought it ridiculous that people blamed him for not having the economy back in shape six months into his presidency. In fairness to President Trump, I'm extending the same benefit of the doubt, despite all the upheaval we're currently seeing and the fact that I disagree with many of his policies. It was such a tumultuous election that some of the dust hasn't cleared yet. I still think the archetype of a titanic struggle is the best description of the current political climate, but the faces of the giants are lost in the clouds.
And as to the thunderstorm: boy, what a doozy. I was driving east in heavy traffic when what had been a pouring rain turned into a full-on spring storm complete with dazzling lightning strikes to the southeast. I enjoyed the show, even though I was still sopping myself. I don't know why, but I seemed to see individual buildings along my route with exceptional clarity: they appeared to their best advantage in the rain, which softened everything just a little.
I realized there's something I like about the Winchester Road/New Circle Road area, even with its commercial and industrial flavor. I think it's because of the retro quality to the grittiness: the Parkette Drive-In is there, and the space-age winged roof of the Paul Miller Ford building, still extant amidst warehouses, storage companies, industrial concerns, small businesses, an Asian market, and a place advertising fresh ceviche. There's a handsome flatiron building that's been well restored on Winchester Road, a brick bakery famous for its doughnuts, and a few places that have seen better days mixed in with thriving businesses. As I passed the lighting store, I tried to remember if it was the location of the skating rink I remembered from my youth. I couldn't recall--it hadn't occurred to me to wonder in quite a while.
Maybe a sunny day shows up too much fading paint and too many harsh lines, whereas a rainy spring day gentles everything a little. There have been many changes to Lexington over the years I've been here, though some of the heavily groomed suburban areas reveal less of a timeline than Winchester Road does, with its wildly diverse mix of businesses, longer span of development, and lack of pretension.
I am not often out that way, but I used to travel it regularly, and probably it was bits of my own past I was seeing as I looked through my rain-flecked windshield and thought about the smell of peanut butter from the Jif factory, the way the campus office tower dominates the view as you approach town on U.S. 60, the futon place that is no longer around, the taste of a yeasty doughnut on a cold Saturday morning. Far from being a mere errand, it was a drive that celebrated memory.
Friday, May 5, 2017
Feet of Clay on the Stage of History
A couple of years ago, I started hearing about the controversy over the Jefferson-Jackson political dinners and the fact that many people wanted them renamed because the less honorable aspects of these presidents' careers were too troubling. Likewise, the debate over whose images should appear on American currency was sparked by discussions of diversity, exclusion, and the relative merits and demerits of various figures from America's past. I want to say first that I think these kinds of debates are healthy and in some cases overdue. I have to admit, though, that my first reaction on hearing about the Jefferson-Jackson controversy was: "Why try so hard to wipe the slate clean?"
I was almost sorry for both Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson. Can it now be that even people with genuine accomplishments are completely beyond the pale because they were people of their time, not ours? It's painful to consider that slavery and the ill treatment of Native Americans were supported by people who contributed in important ways to the building of American society. Painful, but true--and we can't change it. Can we admit to the complexity of a troubled but occasionally glorious past without trying to shove people off the historical stage?
We are still plagued by some of the injustices whose roots were established earlier in our history--racism and poverty, among them--and we've been frustrated in our attempts to solve these problems. I think many people are genuinely concerned about the message it sends to honor people who were slave-owners and killers of Native Americans. I'm wondering if it might not be better to focus our efforts on dealing with injustice in our own time. Demoting people on whose shoulders we stand (in some important ways) doesn't seem to do much toward helping the present situation.
I started thinking about all this when I read an Andrew Jackson quote someone posted to Facebook the other day. He said: "It is to be regretted that the rich and powerful too often bend the acts of government to their selfish purposes" (Veto Message of the Bill on the Bank of the United States, July 10, 1832). This is a very American sentiment and a reminder of what's best about the American spirit and the democratic society we are still aspiring to build. If it seems ironic that a slaveholder would utter such a sentiment, how much more ironic is it that Jefferson-Jackson dinners may be banned but institutional racism, inner-city blight, unemployment, and poverty rage on unabated?
Some people honestly feel that the demerits of some of our nation's historical figures outweigh their contributions, and this is an area reasonable people will disagree on. In some cases, I might agree with them: some people have been given too much of a pass. But instead of removing the portraits of those with blemishes on their character from the gallery of history (which I fear will result in some rather gaping holes), I'd rather see the debate roar on front and center while the portraits remain in place. Considering everything, I think it's a miracle that so wonderful a thing as democracy ever managed to take hold in the first place. If the people who gave us a push in that direction failed to uphold their principles fully, maybe it's time for us to see what we can do about putting things to rights in the present.
I was almost sorry for both Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson. Can it now be that even people with genuine accomplishments are completely beyond the pale because they were people of their time, not ours? It's painful to consider that slavery and the ill treatment of Native Americans were supported by people who contributed in important ways to the building of American society. Painful, but true--and we can't change it. Can we admit to the complexity of a troubled but occasionally glorious past without trying to shove people off the historical stage?
We are still plagued by some of the injustices whose roots were established earlier in our history--racism and poverty, among them--and we've been frustrated in our attempts to solve these problems. I think many people are genuinely concerned about the message it sends to honor people who were slave-owners and killers of Native Americans. I'm wondering if it might not be better to focus our efforts on dealing with injustice in our own time. Demoting people on whose shoulders we stand (in some important ways) doesn't seem to do much toward helping the present situation.
I started thinking about all this when I read an Andrew Jackson quote someone posted to Facebook the other day. He said: "It is to be regretted that the rich and powerful too often bend the acts of government to their selfish purposes" (Veto Message of the Bill on the Bank of the United States, July 10, 1832). This is a very American sentiment and a reminder of what's best about the American spirit and the democratic society we are still aspiring to build. If it seems ironic that a slaveholder would utter such a sentiment, how much more ironic is it that Jefferson-Jackson dinners may be banned but institutional racism, inner-city blight, unemployment, and poverty rage on unabated?
Some people honestly feel that the demerits of some of our nation's historical figures outweigh their contributions, and this is an area reasonable people will disagree on. In some cases, I might agree with them: some people have been given too much of a pass. But instead of removing the portraits of those with blemishes on their character from the gallery of history (which I fear will result in some rather gaping holes), I'd rather see the debate roar on front and center while the portraits remain in place. Considering everything, I think it's a miracle that so wonderful a thing as democracy ever managed to take hold in the first place. If the people who gave us a push in that direction failed to uphold their principles fully, maybe it's time for us to see what we can do about putting things to rights in the present.
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