knowing love,
I will allow all things to come and go
to be as supple as the wind
for life is right in any case and
my heart is as open as the sky
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
In the Wake of the Virginia Tech Shootings
Does Blogging About This Really Help?
my response to my pal's (seriousprofessor's) recent myspace blog that just briefly mentioned the big news story lately (more on this later) :
nice to see a discussion of the shooting at Virginia Tech... sorta.. it's definitely important to deal with outside events in these writings... but can one, or more, decide to push such events intentionally out of our consciousness(es)? My psyche doesn't wanna know about such things... how can this news be helpful? ... such coverage only seems to inspire more awful bloodshed... maybe the news can be helpful to show us all how important it is to readily treat individuals that need real psychiatric help. But, unfortunately, it seems for the news, that's not what it's about. It's about the drama. Sigh. What a terrible shame. There's much good in this world if you can see it. Really.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Happy Rodent
It’s been gray and freezing now
for nearly two weeks.
& we’re well into spring
we should be sitting on the grass
smiling in the sunshine
instead we’re ducking inside
hats & hoods
“too cold,” everyone complains
and we try to muster through
prolonged winter
is anyone happy anywhere
in this state
of eternal cold?
until you see one
silly squirrel on campus
playing with the branch of
leave-less bush
rolling around in the cold wet
dirt
and he looks so happy
playing with nothing
but a brown stick
the sky gray
the wind blowing
sleeting battering all
our hunched backs
how could he be so
delighted?
and I notice him
and shake my head
and he continues
to roll around
in the damp brush
giggling to himself
j. lawless
4/13/07
copyright reserved
for nearly two weeks.
& we’re well into spring
we should be sitting on the grass
smiling in the sunshine
instead we’re ducking inside
hats & hoods
“too cold,” everyone complains
and we try to muster through
prolonged winter
is anyone happy anywhere
in this state
of eternal cold?
until you see one
silly squirrel on campus
playing with the branch of
leave-less bush
rolling around in the cold wet
dirt
and he looks so happy
playing with nothing
but a brown stick
the sky gray
the wind blowing
sleeting battering all
our hunched backs
how could he be so
delighted?
and I notice him
and shake my head
and he continues
to roll around
in the damp brush
giggling to himself
j. lawless
4/13/07
copyright reserved
Thursday, April 05, 2007
If you read my blog regularly you might notice two things:
1) I usually don't write about everyday happenings. I try to write more 'substantial' blogs. Why? Maybe I take blogging too seriously, and
2) A few months back I wrote a blog entitled "Winter Wonderland" in which I extolled the virtues of a cold, snowy day in terms of the "global warming" phenomenon that has been noted by Al Gore and other important thinkers in the past few years.
Well, anyone that has been alive in Michigan for some time has noticed that it often snows in April. It might seem odd, but it does. It is actually relatively normal. Today, at the Institutional Development Day at the Center campus of Macomb Community College, I was talking to an older librarian about the weather. She said that one winter, some years ago, it rarely snowed one winter and was unseasonably warm. The winter was then followed by a snow storm in May - a snow which lingered on the ground. Now that seems bizarre.
What I am basically trying to communicate is that I am again pleased (albeit freezing) that it is cold one last time before spring. Doesn't it seem even colder in close proximity to the sun-drenched days that we have been enjoying? I think so.
Maybe I like routine. Maybe I am a glutton for punishment. Maybe I don't like the idea of polar bears and penguins cast away alone, forlorn on floating sheets of antarctic ice. Maybe I like wearing my long black faux fur hooded winter coat one last time. Maybe I can't afford spring clothes yet. Maybe I use the word "maybe' too much.
Winter is a stubborn old man. And he won't go out without a struggle. Perhaps he likes to linger to see some of the early flowers, like daffodils and myrtle. Do you think he likes to harass us a little more before he leaves? Maybe.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Just Wednesday night an instructor friend and I attend a reading at Zeitgeist on Michigan Avenue in Detroit. Vievee Francis, Tommy Blount, and Matthew Olzmaan were featured. I might have spelled some of the poets’ names wrong. I can produce my poetic license to escape the punctuation police.
The reading blew me away. As usual, Vievee’s poetry was fantastic. The most memorable was her first piece centered around two people, one being Idi Amin, the brutal dictator of Uganda. I recall that there is a movie out right now, starring Forrest Whittaker, The Last King of Scotland, that tells more about the man. He was, as Vievee’s poetry imaged, known to be a cannibal, and known also, to many, as a madman.
The references she included in her first poem to these acts, and Greek Mythology are stunning. In the story of Tantalus, an ancestor of Agamemnon, served humans to the gods at a great banquet. He and his family were then, understandably, tainted and cursed with the sins of the father. Agamemnon was, after his arduous return home from the Trojan War, slaughtered by his wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover.
The sun imagery in her work was startling also. I had a “thing” for sun images for a long time, and would draw them everywhere – in journals, on register receipts, napkins, and flyers posted about town. I hope that she recalls this.
I suppose that I felt most moved by this piece, and her overall presence because she touched on so many layers between her and I, the literary community in the city, namely, Rayfield Waller, who has always reminded me of Forrest Whittaker, the actor that play Amin in the movie, and Amin’s portrayal, in her poetry, as a sun figure.
Both bright and blazing. Both life giving and all-consuming, and the influence the sun has on our psyche. The darker the skin the hotter it heats up.
And, too, Forrest Whittaker and Rayfield are both big men. Forrest Whittaker, a fine actor though, has always seemed to carry an intriguing sense of vulnerability and mild monsterness in his bulky frame. An intriguing casting choice for the film, then. Have you seen the Crying Game?
It was nice to meet Vie’s husband, Matthew Olzmaan, who is enrolling in the MFA program at Warren Wilson. He’s a talented poet, commands the stage, and projects his voice and word pictures strongly.
He’s Filipino-American, and wearing a tight soft gray MICHIGAN t-shirt, and sometimes collapsing his shoulder a bit in humility, he drew us in and sustained the audience at the makeshift art bar. What struck me most was his piece entitled something like 196 pictures of me looking at me.
It made it seem more essential than ever now, to continue writing, and performing, and to stay connected with the literary and greater arts community for healing and growth. To let my own sun shine, to follow my curiosities, and inspirations, and even identify my won cultural origins even more in relation to my authorship. It was meaningful to get into the city 2. Now I have to enter tax receipts for awhile.
The reading blew me away. As usual, Vievee’s poetry was fantastic. The most memorable was her first piece centered around two people, one being Idi Amin, the brutal dictator of Uganda. I recall that there is a movie out right now, starring Forrest Whittaker, The Last King of Scotland, that tells more about the man. He was, as Vievee’s poetry imaged, known to be a cannibal, and known also, to many, as a madman.
The references she included in her first poem to these acts, and Greek Mythology are stunning. In the story of Tantalus, an ancestor of Agamemnon, served humans to the gods at a great banquet. He and his family were then, understandably, tainted and cursed with the sins of the father. Agamemnon was, after his arduous return home from the Trojan War, slaughtered by his wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover.
The sun imagery in her work was startling also. I had a “thing” for sun images for a long time, and would draw them everywhere – in journals, on register receipts, napkins, and flyers posted about town. I hope that she recalls this.
I suppose that I felt most moved by this piece, and her overall presence because she touched on so many layers between her and I, the literary community in the city, namely, Rayfield Waller, who has always reminded me of Forrest Whittaker, the actor that play Amin in the movie, and Amin’s portrayal, in her poetry, as a sun figure.
Both bright and blazing. Both life giving and all-consuming, and the influence the sun has on our psyche. The darker the skin the hotter it heats up.
And, too, Forrest Whittaker and Rayfield are both big men. Forrest Whittaker, a fine actor though, has always seemed to carry an intriguing sense of vulnerability and mild monsterness in his bulky frame. An intriguing casting choice for the film, then. Have you seen the Crying Game?
It was nice to meet Vie’s husband, Matthew Olzmaan, who is enrolling in the MFA program at Warren Wilson. He’s a talented poet, commands the stage, and projects his voice and word pictures strongly.
He’s Filipino-American, and wearing a tight soft gray MICHIGAN t-shirt, and sometimes collapsing his shoulder a bit in humility, he drew us in and sustained the audience at the makeshift art bar. What struck me most was his piece entitled something like 196 pictures of me looking at me.
It made it seem more essential than ever now, to continue writing, and performing, and to stay connected with the literary and greater arts community for healing and growth. To let my own sun shine, to follow my curiosities, and inspirations, and even identify my won cultural origins even more in relation to my authorship. It was meaningful to get into the city 2. Now I have to enter tax receipts for awhile.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Blogging. The English instructor tendencies of my cranium have been pondering these questions lately. What does it mean to writing, in general? Do we now forego the more graceful forms of poetry, short story, play, and letter to tap out blog whenever some idea passes over our cerebellum? Is it the easy way out? Doesn't it seem much easier to take some intriguing (or mundane) notion and write it straight out instead of crafting it in to something more challenging (and artful) like these other forms of the writing craft?
I think it makes me think of writing differently. Instead of writing, like I said, that poem, or what-have-you, I think of just blurting the ol' blog. Amira Baraka once said something like this – " I don't sit down and decide, oh, I am going to write a poem or a play, the idea indicates its own form." Well, now that blogging is a prevalent fashion, I think it is, at least for now, replacing some of those more traditional arts. It has now entered the popular consciousness as the dominant form of writing self-expression. It is now the ready alternative. Is this a bad thing? I suppose that communicating, self-expression, and relatively ready feedback, the idea of an instant, altho' mostly unknown, audience can be appealing and positive. But, what does this mean for literature and writing? Will students, in ten years, have to trudge to the campus bookstore to buy The Norton Anthology of Contemporary Blogging?
When was the last time you read a novel or a play? When was the last time you read a blog? When was the last time you wrote a poem or a short story? When was the last time you wrote a blog? And, yes, here it is - bloggistyle.
I think it makes me think of writing differently. Instead of writing, like I said, that poem, or what-have-you, I think of just blurting the ol' blog. Amira Baraka once said something like this – " I don't sit down and decide, oh, I am going to write a poem or a play, the idea indicates its own form." Well, now that blogging is a prevalent fashion, I think it is, at least for now, replacing some of those more traditional arts. It has now entered the popular consciousness as the dominant form of writing self-expression. It is now the ready alternative. Is this a bad thing? I suppose that communicating, self-expression, and relatively ready feedback, the idea of an instant, altho' mostly unknown, audience can be appealing and positive. But, what does this mean for literature and writing? Will students, in ten years, have to trudge to the campus bookstore to buy The Norton Anthology of Contemporary Blogging?
When was the last time you read a novel or a play? When was the last time you read a blog? When was the last time you wrote a poem or a short story? When was the last time you wrote a blog? And, yes, here it is - bloggistyle.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Winter Wonderland
Yesterday it was cold! Really cold, Michigan cold. There was ice on my car windows that i had to use a ice scraper to remove (actually ice has been happening for about a week now), and my hands nearly froze while i was doing it. Remember ice scrapers? Remember way back when we used to wear gloves, those cloth things that cover your hands to help keep them from getting too cold? It was comforting.
I loved hearing that crack and scratch of ice breaking from the window again, and i loved looking around seeing at least some (altho there should be more) snow on the ground. I liked feeling really cold, such that everyone walks briskly and pulls themselves deeper inside their coats. It was great seeing plumes of peoples' breathe rising from their mouths and into the cold sky. It felt like winter again, and it felt right.
Some of the young kids in my class talk about global warming, and they seem so very aware of it. When I was that age, what did i know about such things? I took snow and all that for granted, and just enjoyed it. Some of these kids probably barely remember snow, and I think it's kinda sad. Looking back, it seems like such a fundamental part of my childhood, tobagonning, snowball fights, ice skating, building snowmen and forts, snow piled way high to great white mounds, and these kids are being robbed of all the joys of winter, ya know?
It just felt so cold and nice yesterday, and it was great. It didn't, for the first time in a long time, feel like we are all victims of some kind of eerie millennial post-nuclear fall out, greenhouse gas syndrome that seems to have descended on us all so rapidly (although it clearly seems that there is much we should be doing to stem this). It just felt like beautiful winter in Michigan again
Yesterday it was cold! Really cold, Michigan cold. There was ice on my car windows that i had to use a ice scraper to remove (actually ice has been happening for about a week now), and my hands nearly froze while i was doing it. Remember ice scrapers? Remember way back when we used to wear gloves, those cloth things that cover your hands to help keep them from getting too cold? It was comforting.
I loved hearing that crack and scratch of ice breaking from the window again, and i loved looking around seeing at least some (altho there should be more) snow on the ground. I liked feeling really cold, such that everyone walks briskly and pulls themselves deeper inside their coats. It was great seeing plumes of peoples' breathe rising from their mouths and into the cold sky. It felt like winter again, and it felt right.
Some of the young kids in my class talk about global warming, and they seem so very aware of it. When I was that age, what did i know about such things? I took snow and all that for granted, and just enjoyed it. Some of these kids probably barely remember snow, and I think it's kinda sad. Looking back, it seems like such a fundamental part of my childhood, tobagonning, snowball fights, ice skating, building snowmen and forts, snow piled way high to great white mounds, and these kids are being robbed of all the joys of winter, ya know?
It just felt so cold and nice yesterday, and it was great. It didn't, for the first time in a long time, feel like we are all victims of some kind of eerie millennial post-nuclear fall out, greenhouse gas syndrome that seems to have descended on us all so rapidly (although it clearly seems that there is much we should be doing to stem this). It just felt like beautiful winter in Michigan again
Sunday, December 31, 2006
because it's December, the other day, on a walk through the neighborhood and to the bank, i wore a yellow wool knit cap i have had for about ten years. It's cute; it like it - it has a gray stripe around it, and I bought it at a resale store store in Seattle when I first moved there. While I was wearing it, I thought back to one of the first times that I wore it. I was new in Seattle, and I was still just exploring the city more, and had decided to take a ferry over to Bainbridge Island. While i was on the ride over, I was sitting next to this older fellow, while I gazed out the window at the wide gray-green Bay. It was a normal fall day in Seattle, cloudy, slightly rainy, and a little cold. While the ferry plowed over Elliot Bay, to the nearby island, I struck up a conversation with the man, who was probably about 45 or so, with slight graying hair. He mentioned that he lived on Bainbridge, and I told him that i was new to Seattle, and then asked him what Bainbridge was like. He replied, "it's cozy, cute, and little boring .... how's that?" And, I just kinda smiled and looked back out the long ferry windows. Then he added, " and I like your hat." At that moment too, he bent his head toward me, and gave me this slightly flirtatious, coy, and paternal smile all wrapped in one. Women know the smile, I think. And, as I wore the hat, nearly ten years later, I thought to myself... will i ever get that kind of a smile from a man again? i am older now, and i think that receiving that kinda smile and bit of attention from an older man, talking briefly to young woman, in a knit hat, jeans and a backpack, headed to a island near her new city alone for the day, are gone.
It was a sweet moment, and now it feels a bit bittersweet, because I am thinking that such moments are passing.
It was a sweet moment, and now it feels a bit bittersweet, because I am thinking that such moments are passing.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Last week, I attracted a comment to one of my blogs on myspace about Hello Kitty. I suppose this blog is a rant. I suppose I need a space to vent that won't cause so much controversy. But then, why not? I will likely copy this and paste it into my myspace blogs anyway. Why be afraid of creating an issue? Isn't that part of the purpose of blogs? And, the issue merits some discussion and thought, I think.
It started the morning when Clay Aiken made the insensitive mistake of putting his cupped hand over Kelly Ripa's mouth during the taping of her show. A rude gesture, for sure. The incident caused much attention, and, sadly, was probably capitalized as publicity for her show, and perhaps, even for a little needed attention for Clay Aiken. Anyway, women on another TV show, "The View" were discussing it, and one of the women made the point, and rightly so, about how men will say and do things to women that they would not do to other men. Very true. Would Clay Aiken have put his hand over the mouth of Jay Leno, David Letterman, or other? I truly doubt it. It's a power thing, and he felt like he was being funny and cute by cupping his hand over the blond's mouth. Insensitive and thoughtless, really.
Okay, back to Hello Kitty. About a week ago, I posted a blog about Hello Kitty's lack of a mouth, and how a female photographer pointed out that Hello Kitty can be seen as representative of the role of Japanese women - cute, curious, but silenced. I was struck by the metaphor, and in many respects, I think the photographer had an interesting point.
One of the people on my friend's list commented that the feminist photographer was wrong, and that although Japanese women act subservient in public, at home they, "rule the roost." Therefore, Japanese women aren't really silenced and inferior. He abruptly said, "The feminist is wrong." It really bothered me.
Why is it that some men, even men we don't know very well, think that they can, and actually do, talk to women this way - even when feminism is discussed. The irony of it all is incredible. Many men honestly think that they have the final word, and that women, poor creatures that we are need to be corrected and admonished. They are the authority. So many, and I know that I am generalizing, think that they are the final word on so many things.
Most of the comments that I have posted in response to others' blogs have been either:
1) supportive and complimentary, or
2) humorous
I think that I rarely give dogmatic statements or make proclamations to anyone, especially men. I recall reading Deborah Tannen, a linguist who writes about the communication differences between men and women, and how women will usually ask men questions, or make statements that ultimately become questions. How easily we fall into gender roles, and how easily men think that women need these sorts of inflexible, uninvited statements in order to be clarified or gain "the final word."
Hello Kitty needs a mouth now - with teeth.
It started the morning when Clay Aiken made the insensitive mistake of putting his cupped hand over Kelly Ripa's mouth during the taping of her show. A rude gesture, for sure. The incident caused much attention, and, sadly, was probably capitalized as publicity for her show, and perhaps, even for a little needed attention for Clay Aiken. Anyway, women on another TV show, "The View" were discussing it, and one of the women made the point, and rightly so, about how men will say and do things to women that they would not do to other men. Very true. Would Clay Aiken have put his hand over the mouth of Jay Leno, David Letterman, or other? I truly doubt it. It's a power thing, and he felt like he was being funny and cute by cupping his hand over the blond's mouth. Insensitive and thoughtless, really.
Okay, back to Hello Kitty. About a week ago, I posted a blog about Hello Kitty's lack of a mouth, and how a female photographer pointed out that Hello Kitty can be seen as representative of the role of Japanese women - cute, curious, but silenced. I was struck by the metaphor, and in many respects, I think the photographer had an interesting point.
One of the people on my friend's list commented that the feminist photographer was wrong, and that although Japanese women act subservient in public, at home they, "rule the roost." Therefore, Japanese women aren't really silenced and inferior. He abruptly said, "The feminist is wrong." It really bothered me.
Why is it that some men, even men we don't know very well, think that they can, and actually do, talk to women this way - even when feminism is discussed. The irony of it all is incredible. Many men honestly think that they have the final word, and that women, poor creatures that we are need to be corrected and admonished. They are the authority. So many, and I know that I am generalizing, think that they are the final word on so many things.
Most of the comments that I have posted in response to others' blogs have been either:
1) supportive and complimentary, or
2) humorous
I think that I rarely give dogmatic statements or make proclamations to anyone, especially men. I recall reading Deborah Tannen, a linguist who writes about the communication differences between men and women, and how women will usually ask men questions, or make statements that ultimately become questions. How easily we fall into gender roles, and how easily men think that women need these sorts of inflexible, uninvited statements in order to be clarified or gain "the final word."
Hello Kitty needs a mouth now - with teeth.
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