rain all day -
suddenly blue sky opens
sun-drenched roses
"His success made Wright the first Black novelist to write a Book-of-the-Month-Club selection, reach the bestseller lists and receive international recognition. The Mississippi native is generally regarded as African American literature's trailblazer - one of our first literary artists of major distinction."The centennial of Wright's birth (September 4, 1908) is being celebrated around the world this year. Julia Wright, his eldest daughter, speaks about it here at Chicken Bones and lists some of the events.
"How old do you have to be?" I asked.
"Twelve," my father said.
"Eleven," my mother said.
"Eleven and a half," my father said.
"Ten," I said.
"Eleven," my father said.
"Ten and a half," my mother said.
That's when I got my good idea. "You don't have to walk a cat, do you?"
I could tell how really good the idea was by the expression on their faces. I could have counted up to a hundred before they said anything."
"If I got rid of Oscar, then maybe I should be gotten rid of too. Since my parents would never do that and I was kind of Oscar's parent, how could I do it to him? You have to keep your child even when he's bad. So I had to keep Oscar and make myself forgive him."
"Just today, when I ordered huevos rancheros (yum) at the Rogers College cafeteria, the cashier looked at me and said, "I didn't think you people liked that kind of food."
Nothing like being lumped in with a billion other people.
So I said to her, "Well, we can't eat rice all the time." She thought a moment and said, "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Other Blog Reviews (props to Sara's Hold Shelf for compiling this list of links of blog reviews)
"I've changed the official name to Mixed Experience History Month because it's important to highlight not only Mixed individuals, but also important historical events in the Mixed experience. Also, this year, I will profile people who are not necessarily Mixed but who are involved in the Mixed experience. Look for profiles of accomplished people involved with the Mixed experience each weekday of the month--specifically focusing on important historical figures. "
I am writing this letter just to inform you that the tide
is turning.
It is a fickle tide,
one that has the presence of mind
to alter its course.
You may remember how just a year ago
many believed you to be illegitimate
(you still are).
Those were the days when your
slips of the tongue
were circulated as comic relief
when in reality
they weren't very funny.
After all, they revealed
your true feelings
like the clown with the innocent face
who sneers under his smile
while handing out glasses of water
laced with arsenic.
You're a prophet, George Bush,
every dangling modifier
and stumbling qualification
were just your way of telling the truth,
like how you accidentally predicted on
Dec. 18, 2000, during your first trip to Washington, DC
as President-Elect:
"If this were a dictatorship, it'd be a heck of a lot
easier. . .
just as long as I'm the dictator. . ."
read the rest of this poem here at Poets.org.
For some reason I am in the mood to
take a hard look at politics. It seems a good time to use one's voice.
Here's the last stanza of Prevalett's poem:
Poetry Friday is hosted at Becky's Book Reviews today, where she has some sad news about the death of Mary Beth and Steven Curtis Chapman's youngest daughter. My heart breaks for them. I am glad Becky's poem is more hopeful than the one I chose for today... Where do you put your hope?If telling you these things is unpatriotic,
then poetry is unpatriotic,
and did I mention that I am a poet
paying attention to those winds,
those tides,
and all those other clichés that poets and statesmen use
to move the people to embrace one cause or another.
I am a writer of propaganda,
and here are some lines of my poetry:
Beware, the images of the future are crouching
in the shadows of grief,
welcome to the next century,
the tide is turning,
you are not the elected sovereign of the world,
you are not the king of freedom,
we will defend our rights to be citizens of the world,
you can't take that away,
you can't take that away.
Oh, no.
You
can't
take
that
away
from
me.
Sincerely,
Kirstin Prevalletfor Debunker Mentality,
for Boog City and
the 17th annual New Year's Day Marathon Reading, 2002
St. Mark's Church
2nd Avenue
New York City
My favorite chapters are the ones on what sports equipment you will need for different sports, the exercise guide, the descriptions and treatment for common injuries, and the meal plans. There are some yummy recipes using fresh, healthy ingredients put into diet plans in categories like "World Series Game" and "NBA Finals".
I highly recommend this book for families with kids and coaches working with kids in sports programs. Good, balanced advice in an easily accessed format.
The Monday Nonfiction round up is at Picture Book of the Day.
"Maybe you've heard before that poetry is magic, and it made you roll your eyes, but I believe it's true. Poetry matters. At the most important moments, when everyone else is silent, poetry rises to speak.I wrote this book to help you write poems and to give practical ideas for making your poems sound the way you want them to sound. We're not going to smash poems up into the tiniest pieces. This book is about writing poetry, not analyzing it. I want this book to help you have more wonderful. moments in the poetry you write. I want you to feel the power of poetry. it's my hope that through this book you will discover lots of ways to make your poems shine, sing, soar..."
He fills his book with clever examples of poems he has wrestled with, grounded in stories of his family life with children and grandchildren. He also gives examples of poems written and revised by kids and other grown up poets. He says
"The three pillars of poetry are emotion, image, and music."His first three chapters elaborate on that, and the remaining sections of the book unpack the toolbox poets use to refine and revise their work. He closes by sharing ideas about how to "go public" with your poems.
Interspersed with these down to earth lessons are interviews with Kristine O'Connell George, J. Patrick Lewis and Janet Wong. I particularly enjoyed a poem Lewis shared from his then-soon-to-be published book called "Please Bury Me in the Library: Poems About Books and Reading". When asked what sort of writing tasks Lewis does on a regular basis (prewriting/brainstorming, etc.) he says "Communing with nature, keeping a journal, joining writers' workshops - all of these undoubtedly inspire the aspiring. I confess I don't do any of them." Ha!
When asked why she loves to write Janet Wong says "It only takes five minutes to write a good draft of a poem. I can jot down a first draft of a poem and then go and eat a bag of potato chips; come back and spend five minutes writing a second, different draft and go for a swim; write a third draft the next day or the next week, and so on. I write between ten and fifty drafts of most of my poems, and the hardest part is always having to choose the draft - or parts of a draft - I like best." I find that very encouraging!
One of the chapter opening quotes that really grabbed me is the one Fletcher put at the beginning of chapter six, 'Crafting Your Poem':
"The world is full of poets with languid wrenches who don't bother to take the last six turns on their bolts." -X.J. KennedyAh. Back to work now.
What book do you take with you when spring fever pulls you outside?
The Friday Poetry roundup is at Two Writing Teachers. Enjoy!
What were you doing five years ago?
What are five of your bad habits?
What are five places where you have lived?
What are five jobs you've had?
What five people do you want to tag?
"Suddenly, I felt like a flower wilting. Was it true? Was the only boy I'd ever be a cute couple with Dun-Wei? Would nobody else ever like me because I was Chinese? And I wasn't even really Chinese either! It wasn't fair! I felt angry - angry at Charlotte for saying it, and angry at Dun-Wei for being fresh off the boat, and angry at myself because I was Taiwanese."
"When I looked up, I saw Becky looking at me with her head cocked like a surprised pigeon. Slowly, she nodded.
"You're right," she said. "It is mean. I won't do it anymore."
"Thanks," I said, and it was as if the ice in my stomach had suddenly melted away.
"I didn't like my dress. It was bright green, the color of steamed broccoli, with gold dragons all over it. It was Lissy's old dress that she grew out of. She had picked it for the dragons especially, but I thought dragons should be on boys' clothes, not a girl's dress. And I didn't think it was fair that I was the only one that had to wear an old dress to the wedding.
"My dress is old, too," Mom said, when I complained. Her dress was green-blue silk.
"That's not the same, " I said. "Yours doesn't count."
"Why not?" Mom asked, laughing.
"Because," I said, "You're Mom!"
"With native grace in spring's luxuriant reign,
Smiles the gay mead, and Eden blooms again,
The various bower, the tuneful flowing stream,
The soft retreats, the lovers' golden dream,
her soil spontaneous, yields exhaustless stores;
for Phoebus revels on her verdant shores."
"Look at this one of mom," he said, holding up a picture of my mother looking up from the book she was reading, Pride and Prejudice, her favorite novel of all time, her forehead furrowed with deep lines, as though they had drawn them on. Her expression was clearly saying, I get five minutes to myself all day, so you best back out of the room slowly and leave me be.
"That's not going to be her favorite picture in the world," I said. "I'd think twice before showing it to her."
"Yeah, maybe you're right." TJ put the photograph down on the floor and picked up another, this one of the Colonel getting out of the car after work. It was what they call a candid shot, which means the Colonel didn't know TJ was taking it. His face was halfway in the shadows of the carport, but the sunlight caught the shine of his polished boots. I was surprised by how tired he looked.
"When did you take that one?"
TJ shrugged. "A couple of weeks ago, I guess. He looks like an old man, huh? I guess that's another one not quite right for the family album."
I took the picture from TJ and examined it more closely. There were bags under the Colonel's eyes. He was carrying a briefcase, but by the slump of his shoulders, you'd think he was carrying a suitcase full of cement.
There was no doubt about it. The Colonel looked like a man who hated his job."
"Kids," he'd say, leaning back on the couch, his arms spread out wide, "I am a man of the world, full of knowledge and vision, a lover of international cuisine, an appreciator of fine art and good-looking women, and I have the United States Army to thank for this most excellent state of affairs."
"In our society Man Himself is idolized and publicly worshipped, but the single individual must hide himself underground and try to save his desires, his thoughts, his soul, in invisibility. He must return to himself, learning self-acceptance and rejecting all that threatens to deprive him of his manhood."
Although the main character is Black and faces the unique challenges of being African American, he is also universally human, facing the same challenges of humanity that everyone must face. Bishop says,
"Ellison's story explored issues never before discussed by a black writer. However, he has vigorously argued against interpreting it as simply a novel of racial protest. In creating a black hero with intellectual depth, he has transcended racial stereotypes. As his childhood belief in the Renaissance man would suggest, he was concerned with achieving a universal outlook on life, not a limited one."
Ellison worked all his life to develop rounded talents, studying music, sculpture, and writing, and travelling widely in performances and in the Merchant Marine. During the 60s, when Ellison was a well known writer and teaching at several colleges including Bard College, Rutgers University and Yale, he was popular with many people but criticised by some radical Black leaders. They thought he was too eager to cooperate with whites. When Ellison said he thought that Black culture had blended with European cultures in America they thought he was denying the strength and uniqueness of African American culture. Ellison saw his role as an artist offering a novel as "a raft of hope... that might help keep us afloat as we tried to negotiate the snags and whirlpools that mark our nation's vacillating course toward and away from the democratic ideal." In art we have an opportunity to consider and visualize the world as it is and as it could be.
What intrigued me most in this particular biography, written for middle school and high school students, is the way the author presents Ellison's way of developing his own identity. Earlier in the book Bishop is describing how Ellison made the adjustment from his childhood life in Oklahoma to the more difficult environment in the deep South when he attended Tuskegee University in Alabama. He says,
"Fortunately for Ellison, he was "disciplined to endure the absurdities of both conscious and unconscious prejudice, to resist racial provocation and, before the ready violence of brutal policemen, railroad 'bulls,' and casual white citizens, to hold my peace and bide my time." But his stalwartness had a price."
I had to stop and think about that for a while. Given that later in his life he was considered by some to be too easily accommodating of whites, and recognizing the times he grew up in, I wonder if those traits are really beneficial in the long run. Maybe they were survival skills that kept him alive. I wonder if they still serve Black men and boys today. And I wonder what discipline Black young men are schooled in by family and community today. What do you think? If you've read the book The Invisible Man, what did you think of that? Is it still relevant today?
Picture Book of the Day has the Nonfiction roundup today.
"Looking at the image, I'm aware of a primal desire for one of those white, blonde babies. I see in my mind a photograph of my mother and me when I'm a year old. I'm pulling off her glasses and she has her head thrown back, she's laughing. I have blonde, curly hair like the baby in the photo, and my mother is happy, like the mother in the photo.
All thoughts of Ken, waiting for him, leave me for the moment.
Yet I'm uncomfortable with what feels like an egocentric and narcissistic longing. The white-haired baby. It brings to mind a feeling I've harbored since I was a teenager, growing up fat: Well, I may be fat…but at least I'm blonde.
We live in a world that undeniably values Caucasian, blue-eyed babies. As I sit here wanting one, myself, I wonder where my politics have gone: my belief in equality and the beauty of a multicultural universe.
"I just want the baby to look like me," I tell my coworker."
I appreciate how honest she is at this point, in sharing what she really thought and felt about her future child. Yet it deeply disappoints me. On many levels I can identify with the author. I am a single mom. I chose to become a mother (while single) three times; I have three sons. I know what it feels like to wonder about all the issues Alex faces. On this point I think she fell short. She did amazing work on herself to loose weight, to face her fears, to come to the decision to live the life she wanted without waiting for Prince Charming. In so many ways she grew past her fantasies and childish daydreams. When it comes to the race of her child she stays stuck.
When I was first pregnant I imagined I was carrying a little girl who would look just like me. I had a name for her, I daydreamed about what she would look like, I imagined people would tell her all her life that she looked just like me. The way people tell me I look just like my mother. After my son was born that bubble popped and it was a good thing. It freed me from carrying that daydream and burdening my child with my own identity. As he grew I had to come to terms with the fact that he looks a lot like his father. He walks, talks and acts like his father in ways I would rather not have to notice. That's a good thing for him and for me.
When Alex bought sperm to make herself the perfect baby she missed a great opportunity to get beyond her own image issues. Not only did she let racism trip her up, she let her weight, childhood abuse history and painful relationship issues continue to burden herself and her child. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with wanting your kids to look like you or to be the same ethnicity as yourself (Alex is Scandinavian). That's what usually happens for most people who have kids the old fashioned way. I 'm saying when you make a conscious choice about your child's sperm donor you have an opportunity to shed some of your baggage. Alex chose not to.
The main thrust of the book is about desperately wanting a baby and getting pregnant. The part of the book that I enjoyed and appreciated the most was the last section. Alex is honest in dealing with the actual nitty-gritty difficulty of parenting after the baby is born. She is so full of dreams and hopes before the baby comes it is a huge shock afterward, when she doesn't know how to keep the baby from screaming night and day. She is lost and alone, frustrated and sleep-deprived. She relies on friends and family to get through the first couple months and she often questions whether she's made a big mistake. She gets sick and scrambles for babysitters. She looks for daycare, is scandalized by how much it costs, and changes care providers when one is not doing a good job. That's all realistic from my experience. I know those feelings all too well.
I wish there was a whole 'nother book on life after the baby came because I think she could have said a lot more. What I kept thinking was I can't wait till she writes the next book about when her daughter Kaj gets to be two or three and she has another one. She has no idea how much harder it can get!
Alex has published parts of the book in a Babycenter column and as the short story "Baby Fat" in Literary Mama.
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)