I am getting really excited for Ad Lib's 2009 retreat at the Fransiscan Retreat Center in Colorado Springs this September! Someone from the RUMINATE crew has attended these retreats every year for the past 3 years, and we have loved this opportunity. I am planning on going this year and can't wait for a little time to write, perhaps walk the stations of the cross again, and enjoy the creative spark that almost always happens when I get to spend time with other writers and artists.
Check out the program for the retreat, which includes two guest artists: Tim Ternes, director of exhibition and programming for The Saint John's Bible and the Hill Museum & Manuscript Library, and Daniel Siedell, assistant professor of modern and contemporary art history, theory, and criticism at the University of Nebraska-Omaha, and author of God in the Gallery: A Christian Embrace of Modern Art.
Not sure yet if the baby will be coming with me, but either way, I am excited and would love to meet some of you there!
We all get stuck in ruts. From our social activities to our jobs to our reading habits. I recently felt such a rut coming on in the poetry bookclub that I lead. Let me first say that I LOVE the bookclub. It is so refreshing and enlightening to get together with a group of intelligent, insightful poetry readers and share our impressions, disagree completely, and always leave with a deeper appreciation for the book and/or poet. That said, we know what we like. We all tend toward fairly narrative, somewhat traditional, metaphor-driven, lyrical poetry. I sensed the rut when recently discussing U.S. Poet Laureate Kay Ryan's work, which was deemed "out there." Anyone who achieves the position of Poet Laureate is guaranteed to have a pretty widely accessible style, so I thought a sense of perspective might be gained from breaking free from our usual lineup and trying a so-called "experimental" poet.
We are very lucky to have a wide selection of poets living in the area, so when we chose to read Body Clock by Eleni Sikelianos, we thought it would be wonderful to invite her to join our discussion and help to ease us into this unfamiliar way of reading.
We got way more than we bargained for.
In our discussion before Eleni joined us, we were all able to find things we appreciated in the book--certain phrases, perhaps, or a general sense of letting go to try something new--but it was still unanimously agreed that we were totally lost. Our questions for her were very pointed and specific: "Who do you perceive as your audience?" "Where does your inspiration come from?" "What is your writing process?" But we did not receive the specific, easily-clarifying answers we anticipated.
Eleni's responses and discussion of her poetry were eloquent and showed her to be widely read. We found that her inspiration comes not so much from reading other poets as from reading scientists and treatises on time and the universe. She described her process as improvisational, more instinctual than deliberate. She called language "a wild proliferation." These were not the answers we expected nor the practices we were used to.
Still, when asked about how the concept of her audience influenced her writing, she said "I trust you guys [the audience]." She said she'll never reach as many people as who watch Lost, and wouldn't want to. Rather, poetry comes in a variety of different packages--some are already unwrapped for you, and some are much more difficult to get into. Some people will never access her poetry, and that's okay, too. There was then much discussion of meaning and from what it is derived. She said we need to let go of how we perceive meaning being made. Meaning can come from tone, rhythm, or color. It came be made syntactically rather than semantically. She also discussed trying to achieve a "simultaneity of language" through her use of the page. This is difficult since language is in essence sequential.
One of the many great metaphors that came from bookclub members was a comparison to dancing, where you learn all the technique first, then you have to learn to abandon it completely in order to improvise. This is exactly what our bookclub did. We were very familiar with the traditional styles, and Eleni's more "experimental" style was just what we needed to break free of our rut, and to improvise in the way we see, appreciate, and interpret poetry.
We all left vowing to re-read the book, and our perspectives on poetry and meaning were certainly expanded.
And so I urge all of you readers out there: try something new this summer! Pick up a book from different genre, an author you've been timid to try! It's never too late to redefine your bookshelf! :)
I just had a baby girl 8 weeks ago and also just sent the 13th issue to the printers. Whew! I am all
awash in motherhood and writing. And my daughter's birth has me contemplating something Debra
Rienstra says in her book Great with Child about how "rarely
birth stories have entered our cultural discourse." What with all the
fantastic suspense, drama, and beauty of birth, I find this somewhat
remarkable. (And yet, it does make sense that new mothers have rarely found the means or time to put their stories in writing.) Thus began my search for well-told birth stories, i.e., mothers writing. These are are few of my findings so far:
English professor, poet, mother, and theologian--Debra Rienstra
chronicles her pregnancy and the birth and infancy of her son in her
memoir Great with Child.
It is a beautiful meditation on spirituality, the body, and motherhood.
(Also, it was recently republished by one of my favorite small presses,
WordFarm.)
I discovered this little zine MotherVerse
when the editor was printing it on her home printer and stapling the
pages together herself. It has since grown into a full-blown "literary
journal" and provides a much-needed publication venue for stories,
poetry and essays of birth and motherhood.
Stacy Barton has been published in RUMINATE a few times and she is a brilliant writer who often speaks about motherhood with humor and authenticity. Her blog, the art of story, is a great inspiration for writers in general as well as writers who may also be parents.
The search continues. And stay tuned for the editor's note in Issue 13, where you will find my own tales of birth, writing, and art. And please post a comment below with any of your own findings on this subject--I would love to hear them!
Peace,
Brianna
P.S. I was recently given the chance to write a blog post for Utne Magazine Online--they asked me to share five of my favorite links on the web. You can check it out here.
Funny stories absolutely slay me (This is to be said dramatically, with an emphasis on every single syllable.) For years now I have loved reading just about anything comically entertaining. In high school, my family discovered the Junie B. Jones children's books. These books WILL make your face red, your abs hurt and, in my opinion, they are most beneficial for adults who need to understand children again. In college, I fell for David Sedaris whose writing is offensive, politically incorrect, and full of social blunders. His hilarious stories have made me laugh loudly in unbefitting places, and I have even insisted upon having my poor family sit around during holidays to read his stories aloud. For times when I need someone to nudge truth in my general direction, I love Anne Lamott. Her exaggerated life stories about her faith undo me sometimes and I must mention that her writing style is one of my favorites. Any woman who fondly nicknames her cellulite covered legs, "my aunties," has my invitation to come to dinner at my house. I have also greatly enjoyed finding the humor in the writings of some more surprising people—Flannery O'Connor, Herman Melville, and even Edgar Allen Poe.
In the last few weeks, I have been painfully reminded of my oldest-child, approval-seeking, and guilt-driven psyche. It embarrasses me. I told my husband this evening that I don't make time for Jesus because I am working diligently to check a few things off of my list in order to get ready for Him. We both laughed. Jesus, of course, is supposed to be what I invite in to clean me up; that's the point. I am grateful for a God who reminds me who I am in so many different ways—painfully, delicately, with a two-by-four, naturally, and even comically. I really love to read others' hilarious stories because it makes me feel better about myself. There really are other morons out there who have to make fun of themselves for the dumb things they do or say or believe too. Thank God! Humor is often used to lighten the often painful task of learning a lesson, and I like that. I need that. Because I have had a lot of painful lessons to learn, and I know that I have many to come.
In the words of Mark Twain, "Humor is the great thing. The saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritation and resentments slip away, and a sunny spirit takes their place."
Cheers to laughter!
Whitney Hale
*Editor's Note: Consider submitting to Issue 14 on the theme of "Jest," i.e. the funny stories that slay you.
I have wanted to share this little book with friends for a
long time, and now, with Tony Woodlief’s story in our upcoming Issue 12, I have
a good excuse. My husband and I read Tony’s book, or pamphlet, Raising Wild Boys into Men: A Modern Dad’s
Survival Guide, driving from Colorado to Tennessee with our
five-year-old boy and three-year-old little girl. We laughed so hard our
bellies hurt, and we both cried several times throughout the book. Our two
kiddos sat clueless in their car seats devising ways to make guns out of
Wendy’s straws and ammunition out of the plethora of leftover fast food found
throughout the car.
The book begins with Tony’s confession: “By the conventional
measure of a real man, I am sorely lacking.” He goes on to explain that he
doesn’t enjoy those things that are usually associated with manliness, camping,
building log cabins, and prefers warm beds and BBC movies. And much to his
surprise, he and his wife were blessed with three very boyish boys. Now, for
those of you who don’t fit into the “Dad” category, like myself, or have
girls rather than boys, keep reading. In fact, many of the parenting challenges
and mishaps explained, especially if you know my daughter, are very much
applicable to girls.
I think our first belly roll occurred a few pages in, still
in Kansas,
with Tony’s introduction of his mother: “Before we came along, my mother could
finish complete sentences. She read things. She danced ballet. She rarely
raised her voice…I remember her cackling (this is how crazy people laugh, you
know), and predicting that I would have three boys of my own.” I think it goes
without saying that we moms can relate. I never thought I would be a yeller—before children, I condemned moms in the grocery store for raising their voices,
and even now have people tell me that I must be so patient with my children. So,
I hate to break it to the world…but my kids drive me so crazy sometimes that I
often resort to “extreme verbal persuasion.”
Tony goes on to describe his father, mostly absent, and a
stepfather, a hardened Vietnam vet, who had little time for raising children
except for the fear he instilled to be sure they didn’t interfere with his
fishing and car racing. His few examples of manhood were skewed and
dysfunctional at best. He then explains that he finds conflicting advice from society
on the subject of raising boys as well. On a plane, while consoling and
entertaining his one and three-year-old, he overhears two women’s studies
professors discussing “the social construction of gender.” Exiting the plane,
one of the professors leans over to him and says, “You should have had a girl.
They’re less trouble.”
The tears began for Scott and I in the second section with
Tony’s discourse on what a “real man” might actually be. He says, “Something in
my bones tells me, however, that if we insist on molding wild-hearted boys into
compliant creatures, then we destroy the essence of what was meant to emerge as
courage and strength.” What an extremely hard thing for me, a person who mostly
just wants to keep my composure, maintain some semblance of peace, and avoid
any situations that may cause me embarrassment. This is not a recipe for
teaching “courage and strength.”
Still in Kansas
…reading between bathroom breaks, reflection, and a few passenger naps, my
husband and I realized that most of our parenting is motivated by one single
thing (my husband’s a pastor, by the way)—don’t embarrass the pastor. Ewwww…ugly,
I know, but very true. We really do want our children to be brave, to stand for
what is right, alone, if that need be, but often what we teach them is to be
people-pleasers, crowd-followers, “yes-men”, essentially.
It was in the section “Chasing Ice Cream Trucks,” and maybe,
just maybe, crossing the border into Oklahoma,
that we began to see our short-comings, and truly, become convicted, of our
fear-motivated parenting. The next few paragraphs of his pamphlet are thick,
moving, and I’ll try not to over-explain. But, I’ll quote one section and let
you read the rest for yourself:
We are quick to teach our children
what they can’t do, or fill them with platitudesabout being able to do anything,
yet never joining them on an adventure so they can discover that the lie is
actually closer to the truth. We teach them to be just like us—fearful,
painfully aware of our limitations, realists, instead of adventurers. We kill
their spirits before the world ever gets a chance.
Scott and I were moved, to say the least, by this little
pamphlet, these little stories about raising courageous children. And I think
you might be encouraged as well. You can find Raising Wild Boys into Men at www.pamphletguys.com.
And more from Tony Woodlief on his blog Sand
in the Gears at www.tonywoodlief.com,
in RUMINATE’s upcoming Issue 12, and really just about everywhere else these
days—The Wallstreet Journal, the London Times, and WORLD Magazine, to name a few.
My favorite books are those that have a bit of magic or the supernatural in them, from childhood favorites like "The Secret Garden," Susan Cooper's "The Dark is Rising" series, and Cecily Mary Barker's "Flower Fairies" to adult versions like Salman Rushdie's "Midnight Children" and even the pop-culture "Twilight." What I love most are those books that intertwine the real and the supernatural in a natural, almost subtle way. When I was growing up, I often wished for supernatural powers - ESP or the ability to move things with my mind - and played games that involved magic with my best friend in her hilly backyard. Under the oaks and in the dry, crackling California weeds, we played out scenes from our favorite book, "The Dark is Rising."
As my children, now almost 3 and 4 1/2, mature, their games and play become more and more intertwined in the magical and make believe. My son loves to play superhero games and battle as his original "Stinkbug," even going to the grocery store in character. My daughter flits around as a princess who can cast spells and recently paid me the best compliment, telling me "You're not a woman. You're a fairy, like me." I watch them with their current children books and am thrilled to think about all the amazing stories they have ahead of them.
Writing, in itself, whether it is about magic or the supernatural is magical in itself. Writing is magical in our ability to use words to create books and in the act of setting out a world on a page to share with others. If you write, you may have had the experience of writing a piece, completing it, setting it aside, and picking it up sometime later to find that you have no memory of what you wrote. This is such an amazing experience, a magical experience. When else do we pour ourselves into creating something - a baby, a meal, a garden - to forget what we created?
I am in awe of God's gift to man, starting with Adam who was given the job of naming the animals, of words. There is, indeed, something supernatural - even magical - in our ability to use words and to create worlds with them.
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