A Commentary On Poetry

[DISCLAIMER: Despite what I'm going to say, I still love Alice, I don't hate ALL Victorians, and I'm not totally bashing nursery rhymes. So don't freak out;)

When I was a bit younger I was terribly prejudiced against poetry. In my mind, there were two choices. On one end of the spectrum were the mushy Victorian sonnets and stale nursery rhymes. On the other end were the drug-induced (so my original theory went) compositions of Lewis Carroll and his ilk. (If anyone knows where I can find a "Vorpal Sword" please notify me immediately.)

I was mildly interested in poets like Emily Dickinson, but became irritated when one of her quotes was conspicuously hung in the produce section of my local grocery store. "How luscious lies the pea within the pod." I suppose peas are often luscious, but I never feel tempted to lavish sentimentalities on them in the grocery store. "Prithee, mother, look at the charming pea! We ought to purchase such a fine specimen while it is still on sale!"

I don't know what Lewis Carroll was smoking, but it must have been something very strange. Since Sherlock Holmes has never fallen down a rabbit hole, however, we can conclude that visions of imbecilic card guards and harebrained rabbits are not clinically proven side effects of smoking opium.
Needless to say, I nearly gave up on poetry.

A few years ago, however, I discovered the "Raven." I immediately loved it. Ravens are a special part of my life. They have picked apart my garbage almost as often as the family dog has. One rainy day in July, when a horde of hungry crows had congregated around our green dumpster, my mom threw a leftover smoke-bomb firework out into the driveway to disperse the mob.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

I can totally understand why a raven would come rapping at someones door. If I was a large, hungry crow who had been permanently traumatized by a smoke bomb, you bet I would go rapping at a particular person's door. No question about it. Poe was lucky to escape with his life, I tell you!

I recently started reading the poems of Boris Pasternak, the chisel-faced Russian novelist and poet whose career was somewhat impeded by Soviet authorities. My interest was piqued because one of his poems (not sure which) is referenced in Regina Spektor's "Apres Moi," and these days lyrics that assume intelligence on the part of the listener are something novel. (OK, sorry. That was kind of soap-boxy.)
Pasternak's poetic style is indeed morose. But since he is not a Victorian woman swooning over peas, I can forgive a lot.
I could go on about the wonderful T.S. Eliot and Alexander Pushkin, but I won't. You have probably read them and can appreciate their eloquence.

Poetry conveys something that mere prose cannot. Perhaps this is why God ordered sections of the Bible to be in poetic form. Many of the "poems" of David and Solomon are full of the sad and tragic themes we see in the works of the Russian, American, and English poets. But they have a far greater meaning, glorifying God and pointing us towards Christ.

JOB 5
6 For hardship does not spring from the soil,
nor does trouble sprout from the ground.

7 Yet man is born to trouble
as surely as sparks fly upward.

8 "But if it were I, I would appeal to God;
I would lay my cause before him.

9 He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed,
miracles that cannot be counted.

10 He bestows rain on the earth;
he sends water upon the countryside.

11 The lowly he sets on high,
and those who mourn are lifted to safety.

12 He thwarts the plans of the crafty,
so that their hands achieve no success.

13 He catches the wise in their craftiness,
and the schemes of the wily are swept away.

14 Darkness comes upon them in the daytime;
at noon they grope as in the night.

15 He saves the needy from the sword in their mouth;
he saves them from the clutches of the powerful.

I think I like poetry.

Of Novels and Scripts

NOTE: The manuscript below does not belong to me, unfortunately. It is merely being used here to entertain you while the page loads. Or something. Anyway, it fits the general theme of this post. Also, I am not responsible for scandalous epistles reproduced on this website. Read this charming Victorian handwriting at your own risk. Remember the little lectures I gave you, children? Here and here? You never know what these people may do.
Some of you may know of my love for National Novel Writing Month and Script Frenzy, two related programs encouraging the general populace to turn off their TV's for a month and actually write something. No school book reports. And NO scholarly dissertations on the organization of Wildebeest colonies throughout Africa.

I attempted the novel program back in November 08. I never finished- by the time Thanksgiving rolled around I realized it was futile to attempt to finish my 11,000 word manuscript. Part of this was due to the lack of plot. I've always had a difficult time creating a coherent story line. When I was younger I'd frequently skip to the end of books to read the last paragraph. Climactic parts have never been my favorite. Certainly I get wrapped up in novels- but I tend to focus more on the characters and the general style of the book I'm consuming.
Needless to say, when I tried to write myself, I tried so hard to make the characters just as I wanted them- instead of concentrating on the action. I naively assumed that plots were somewhat dispensable. This was a mistake. My novel was a whirlpool in the midst of Editor's Hell- duplicate characters wrecked havoc in a strange new world full of word deadlines and "pep talks" that were emailed out by the writing "staff" to all those brave souls who somehow found themselves involved in this massive literary expedition.

Suffice it to say, I now have greater respect for The Plot- something that would have kept my novel alive.

April '09 came quickly- time for the script writing challenge. I chose to do an adaption of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. I'd never read this book in its entirety, but having read bits of it, assumed it was the ideal book for me to mess with.
The stage script that result was epic. Not epic in the sense of being "awesome," rather epic in that it required a grand total of 70+ actors. I finished, feeling very satisfied, and a bit overwhelmed- due to my massive cast.

Altogether, Script Frenzy had been a good challenge- something to occupy my time. I would go to my theater rehearsals and write while I waited to go on stage.
I'd work on it in the evenings and during the day when I had a spare hour. Since portions of Bunyan's work is actually in "play" format, much of my job was simple organizing words.

So will I finish the script challenge this year? It has been neither confirmed nor denied that I will triumphantly write that last page and receive a insignificant little badge that pronounces me a winner.

But until I find out, it's sure going to be a lot of fun. Want to join me?

Photography Books

I received a mysterious package from my aunt and uncle in the mail Sunday afternoon. Photo Idea Index: Things was put together by Jim Krause. It's full of random, colorful pictures intended to inspire photographers who use standard digital equipment. Krause, as far as I can tell, often disregards typical photography "rules." His pictures are fun and quirky. What immediately endeared my to the book were all his photos of junkyards. He shoots busted up lightbulbs and seems to have an immensely fun time doing it. If you know me, you'll admit that is definitely something I would do:)

I really love this book. It's lying on my desk right now. I don't want to shut it!

Another photo art book I like is Boston's North End: Images and Recollections of an Italian-American neighborhood. Author Anthony Riccio interviewed countless Italians who live[d] in the northern district of Boston. This section of the city is quickly changing as the elderly immigrants die and the hip, urban culture encroaches on this rustic locale. After walking down the streets past the aging brick flats I was struck by the thought that someday soon this little society will be gone.

Riccio's book reminds one of the work of KayLynn Deveney- a photographer from New Mexico who moved to Wales and happened to meet 85-year-old Albert Hastings. With Hastings' permission, Deveney began photographing his daily activities. Her portraits are mellow and unobstrusive.

Deveney also befriended Edith and Len, an elderly couple who resided in a Welsh nursing home together. She tactfully photographed the couple who had been married for 7o years and told their story one frame at a time.
"It was clear that I could not come into Edith and Len's small room and be a fly on the wall. Nor did I wish to be. Nine months after my first visit with Edith and Len we had thoroughly and knowingly blurred the line between a conventional photographer-subject relationship and a friendship," Deveney writes.
The photos of people in the aforementioned books really aren't that glamorous. But in the end they are the ones that are remembered.
Anyway, I find them interesting.

Sunday Thoughts Part IX- SQUIRREL!

I confess- the past few days I have been ignoring the little "SAT Prep Question of the Day" email that magically appears in my email inbox every 24 hours. Or perhaps not so magically. After all, I was the one who clicked the "sign me up for free practice!' button on the SAT registration website.

I love free stuff. I used to have study-related web apps galore. Until recently, my bookmarks folder burgeoned with links to copies of the Lord's Prayer in French, time zone charts, and sketches of ancient Greek apparel. With Wikipedia embedded in my online dictionary, I had millions of files, pictures, and links at my personal disposal. It was great fun bookmarking all that stuff.
I learned practically nothing.

After a while I made the very unoriginal observation that perhaps less information is more. (Actually, I think my mom made that observation to me...and then I just sort of reobserved it. And invented the aforementioned word in the process. I deserve a gold sticker!) But back to the topic...
Unfortunately, the famous missionaries who learned complicated tribal languages with the help of only a few poorly written textbooks and a group of indigenous speakers had no flash card apps on their laptops and smart phones. They had smart brains (an ingenious invention, I must say!) and willing hearts.

The best introductions to classic books I have read were written by people who clearly loved the volume they introduced and were not intent on peppering their readers with facts. Recently I wrote about C.S. Lewis' view on old books. Although I thoroughly respect the stereotypical British scholar (pipe and all)- it was refreshing to read something that was shockingly subjective. Shockingly honest. Shockingly...well, simple.

Honestly, I appreciate nearly all introductions I've read. But after you read a good book cover to cover and suddenly wake up one night and realized it changed your view on life you will probably not care for the introduction very much.

So there you have my view on introductions- those helpful (but often boring) creatures that pack an extra serving of knowledge into your book.

I am reading Augustine for a good part of this semester. I don't care if I haven't read online biographies about Augustine, or missed out on some "amaaaaaaazing study guide." (I dare you to read "amaaaaazing" without bleating like a sheep, by the way.)

Basically, I plan to read Augustine without frantically bookmarking sites about him every hour.

What a simple plan.

C.S. Lewis's View On Old Books

Note: After yesterday's ridiculous post about spiders, the last thing you probably expect is the following. But here it is. Because it was, ahem, an assignment. And because I kind of like the topic.

I'm currently reading On The Incarnation, by Athanasius himself. I love that guy. He'd be a fascinating person to listen to, I suspect. So would his acquaintances, the early monks who spent long periods of time in the desert. But more on all of them later.

C.S. Lewis wrote an introduction to Athanasius' work which I found to be unlike many lofty (and sometimes just plain condescending) introductions to "scholarly books."

Lewis' introduction is blunt, honest, and humble. Shame on you Robin Seagers out there.

To begin with, Lewis advises that “it is a good rule after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between.”

Why does Lewis feel it necessary to remind readers of the need for old books?
For one, he explains, new books have not been tested “against the great Body of Christian thought down the ages."

I often make the mistake of thinking that classic books are only good for their literary merit- but wise readers like Lewis realize that a book cannot simply be judged by the words contained in it. It needs to be studied in light of the thoughts, words and actions it inspired in people over a long period of time.

Also, if we will often find ourselves confused if we only read modern books. Lewis points out that sticking to a contemporary diet is like joining at eleven o’clock a conversation which began at eight. References, jokes, and insults might be missed or misunderstood by the latecomer.
Lewis also mentions that each generation has insights and lessons that can benefit those who come after them- “People were not cleverer then than they are now; they made as many mistakes as we. But not the same mistakes” (pg. 5). If we only read books written by our contemporaries, who often share our cultural views- how are we growing and challenging our minds?

Another important benefit of reading old books by Christian writers is that we see what Lewis calls the “immensely formidable unity” that is Christianity throughout the ages. Contemporary books may excellently discuss modern debates in the Church- but only reading about present-day situations will leave our culture rather introspective. How encouraging it is to listen to writers who may have lived in a radically different time but still share our faith!
C.S. Lewis warns readers not to neglect Athanasius simply because his book is given the dry label of “theology” instead of “devotional.”
“For my own part,” he says, “I tend to find the doctrinal books often more helpful in devotion than the devotional books, and I rather suspect the same experience may await many others.”

In the end, Lewis makes a powerful case for reading books like On The Incarnation. Sometimes the "dry," and "scholarly" books in the end prove themselves to be the brightest stars in the literary universe.