A little Poetry

I've been thinking, in my attempts to make myself blog more, of instituting a weekly poetry update. Ideally, this would include something that I will have written. If you can't thrust your poetry on your friends, then what good are friends? I thought of posting a rather racy poem from Donald Hall from The New Yorker (modern pastoral sex poetry) but I decided to give you the link instead. So, I was perusing the Academy of American Poets website and found a lovely, uplifting gem from Lucille Clifton. It's hard to write an inspirational poem without sounding really sappy and Hallmarky (my friend, Michelle, claims that when I try to make a toast, for instance, I sound like a beer commercial) but this one manages to do it, I think. I hope it makes your day feel a little brighter:

blessing the boats

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back    may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

Stupid, stupid rat creatures

Well, to quote Jeff Smith's Bone. I survived my trip to Milwaukee this weekend despite the fact of the snowstorm here and the one there. It's gotten so bad that they haven't been able to clear the sidewalks, and stupidly I walked to lunch on Sunday in non-snow boots. This meant I was wet and in constant danger of falling on my keister. Despite previous posts that have lauded slapstick as some antidote to daily boredom, I didn't want to eat icy sidewalk.

My talk went well, if not exactly well-attended. Still, showing up is half the job, right? But stupidly, again, (hence my thematic title), I left my laptop cord there. They are sending it to me, however, I'm not sure when it will show up. Therefore, I have two hours of computer time that I need to use sparingly. (I write this post from an undisclosed location at the moment -- hey what is Cheney doing here?).

I would have posted earlier to report on the trip, but on Monday, I felt like I had been run over by a truck. I was so achy from carrying stuff and from avoiding all the "sneeze-sneeze" and "cough-cough" on the plane. Obsessive handwashing didn't seem to do the trick. Then Monday and Tuesday evenings, I was at school. As I always tell my students and colleagues, "gosh, this would be so much easier if I didn't care." On the bright side, the students held a poetry slam which was a lot of fun. Students nominated others for "best poem" and "best performance" from each class. I take full credit that both of my nominated "best poem" kids placed. I have warned them that with the bookstore gift certificate as a prize, I will be spending it for them in the form of a reading list.

But now the midterm grades are in. I can finally take a breath and rest. I need to become more acquainted with my bed. I'm so exhausted and sick that I have lost my facility for spelling. All words seem completely foreign to me at this moment. More, later.

All Week I've Been Writing this Blog

At least I've been writing it in my head. Been meaning to post something, especially now that I have the subscription button to the right. Have to give the people something of value for their time. (however, I am amused by the "subscribe to the Idea of Order" -- I subscribe to lots of ideas; not all of them are real).

So, I had planned a big bit about politics, but I'm not in the mood right now. Then I thought about talking about movies (what a surprise). I was also going to add to my many reasons "why I'm glad I'm not in the military" because I had to be a character witness Wednesday night for an Honor Board. But, that too, shall wait.

However, I will exclaim my reunion with Miss Moira who has popped up from Ohio to say hello. I knew this blog was good for something. I was very happy to hear from her and we have exchanged some e-mails.

What I will talk about (instead of talking about talking) was that I had a great day of teaching. Both classes were lively. My class blogs are hopping. One of their tasks was to come up with a name for their group. One decided on "dirty paper" because it came from a Carl Sandburg quote something to the effect of "I don't write poetry. I dirty paper."

I also taught them the word "scatological." I expect this to circulate in their vocabulary very soon now. It's so pleasing to have a captive audience. Teachers are, indeed, stifled comedians after all.

In one class we talked about "what is art" and then "what is good art?" and "what is great art?"
This reminded me of a statement I heard from poet and writer, James Dickey, many years ago (he gave a commencement speech at my college -- his sister-in-law worked in one of the offices). The difference between a good poet and a great poet is this:

A good poet will put something down and your reaction will be "now, I have often thought this same thing many times, but this person has a particularly nice way of saying it."

On the other hand, the reaction to a great poet is "never, in a million years, would I have ever thought about that."

I think that's a pretty insightful distinction.