Balanced On the Edge

Life on the Edge

I used a hacksaw with my right hand to cut off a piece of plastic from my car. This feat was all the more risky because I am left handed. Halfway through the procedure I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses!

Said plastic seems to have served no crucial purpose. It had been dragging underneath the car, and so I had duct taped it to the bumper, but duct tape needs to be applied copiously in order to withstand wind, rain, and gravity, so the plastic once again had begun to scrape the road.

I’ve driven to the city without the part and all is well. I even managed to arrive on time for a presentation by Andrea Lunsford. She spoke about rhetoric and new media literacy.

The sign above is from November 5–the mayor of Atlanta had already shut down the Occupy camp when this sign was put up. I found it on the inside of a bathroom stall at the university where I’m a TA. There was a whole debate going on in scribbled writing about the American Dream and how it’s dead.

Two weeks have passed since streams of police cars, helicopters, and ground troops shut down Occupy ATL.

Since then, protests at Berkley and Davis have produced vile reactions from authorities. Even though the Davis chancellor has so far declined to resign, and though she has apologized, she needs to take stronger responsibility for how the police pepper sprayed the students.
UC Davis Chancellor Apologizes

November 22, 2011

Berkley, Davis, morning commute, Occupy ATL
Performance Poetry

Poet Stevie Smith (1902-1971) is known and loved for her ballad-like poems and the ironic yet confessional lyrics she often paired with expressive drawings. But she was also one of the first performance poets–she created a performing persona for her poetry festival readings during the 1960s. At the age of sixty she wore lace stockings and pinafores to her readings, and she even sang the poems during her performances.

Many others have set Stevie’s poems to music. Here’s a jazz version of her poem “Mother Among the Dust Bins.”

Vic Chesnutt recorded “Not Waving But Drowning.”

In an essay I’m writing about Smith, I argue that listening to Stevie’s recordings provides another layer of meaning to the experience of her work. During my research, I’ve rekindled an interest in Spoken Word poets in general, and I’m thinking about how my own writing will change as a result of what I’m discovering.

More Performers:

Here is a quote from an interview on Stephen Mill’s Joe’s Jacket with poet Megan Volpert, who has performed her poetry and competed in Slam competitions. Megan has transitioned from her performance work (although she still gives entertaining, creative, and interactive readings) to writing poetry collections, but she has this to say about what she has learned from her both stage and writing experiences:

This is one thing I am pretty sure about though: a poem built for only the page or only the stage is most likely a failure. All poets ought to make the most of both.

Megan’s next project, Sonics in Warholia, will be released in December, 2011 by Sibling Rivalry Press.

Another inspirational performance poet is Sarah Kay. Listen to her tell her story on TED–you won’t even notice the time as she skips from one story to the next.

Statue in Honor of Francis Scott Key, “amateur poet” who wrote the lyrics to the “Star Spangled Banner.”

November 3, 2011
Art Is

Freeboarder has been at art school for a month, and already he’s questioning the need for an academy to teach him how to make something.

I’m proud of him for asking the questions. The same debate occurs in the world of poetry, with many wondering if there is a need for the now ubiquitous M.F.A. in creative writing.

One talented student told Freeboarder that “art is dead.” My answer to that statement is that art simply is. The student was probably trying to sound provocative and oracular. Maybe he wanted to psyche out his competition.

Going to art school allows the artist a chance to live within a community of skilled, committed people. Of course, we can create those communities ourselves, outside the Academy.

Atlanta has a thriving arts community that originates with the people. We have wall art, street sculptures, and spoken word events, all outside the ivory tower.

Freeboarder got a little shaken from the statement that art is dead. I told him that if art is dead, human culture is dead, because the act of making is an inborn, human right.

September 24, 2011

art, being, doubts along the path, life, making
Third Floor of the Library

Seen while looking for a book of criticism about Stevie Smith, Ann Sexton, and other women poets. The book wasn’t on the shelf.

These photos are a cross section of about five shelves of books on the same subject.

August 25, 2011

books, common maladies, disorders, nerves, stress
Napkin Art

My new nickname for Philosopher is Sadhu, Sanskrit for “spiritual seeker.” I think the word might be similar to the Buddhist “bodhisattva.”

My younger son Freeboarder is leaving for art school in a few days. His nickname remains the same. As I write this post he’s somewhere in the city doing ollies with his new board.

Sadhu came over to stain the deck for us, and he left some napkin art in his wake.

Do you notice the resemblance between his doodle and the 18th century headstone I saw recently in the Berkshires? When he was a very young child, we went to this cemetery while we were walking up Cone Hill.

August 20, 2011

Doodles, family, Napkins, summer
Poetry Across the Border

Just across the state line from Berkshire County is Austerlitz, NY, the home of Edna St. Vincent Millay, who preferred the name Vincent.

She named her farm house “Steepletop” after the wild flower that grows in the area. The flower resembles the shape of a church steeple.

The Millay family burial grounds are at the end of a path that’s marked with excerpts of Vincent’s poems. It’s a shady trail lined with birch trees and padded with moss.

August 13, 2011

Edna St. Vincent Millay, poetry
Sitting at a Cafe

We’re at an outdoor cafe connected to an artist’s studio and gallery. The Berkshires Mountain area has a long history of attracting writers, musicians, and artists.

August 11, 2011

art, mountains
Outdoor Life

Today was sunny, in the mid seventies, perfect weather for a walk on Cone Hill and a long swim in the Stockbridge Bowl.

We’re grilling locally grown zucchini, patty pan squash, yellow squash, eggplant, and corn.

August 10, 2011

fresh vegetables, swimming, Walking
Great Barrington

We had dinner in Great Barrington to celebrate our anniversary.

I had tagliatelle pasta with oyster mushrooms and egg and a nice red wine.

The photo here is of the street outside.

In the afternoon, the cows were dining in the pasture. They each looked up in turn as I passed by. Very observant of them.

August 10, 2011

anniversary, cows, Northern Italian Cuisine
Breathing Fresh Air All Day

I paid a visit to the Cone Hill Cemetery on my way up Cone Hill Road–I used to be able to run up this hill, but today just walking had my heart rate going.

Some of the headstones in the cemetery were from 1799. The oldest one I found was from 1734!

We swam in Lake Mahkeenac, otherwise known as the Stockbridge Bowl. The wind was blowing and the water was choppy, but I swam breast stroke for a good half hour.

August 8, 2011

Lakes, mountains