Yesterday a total loss due to the urgent stuff, both time and energy consumed, little to show for it but a migraine at the end of the day.
This morning up early to write monthly report, peaceful. Read a lot of Elizabeth Bishop last night, going to sleep. Enjoyed how she wrote to her much-loved mentor in October 1917, ELIZABETH KNOWS BEST, refusing to accept any of the changes the mentor had wrought: the rhymes, the rhythm and the name of her poem The Roosters (to The Cock!). It is now one of her most famous poems, anti-war.
With regard to the vilanelle: a helpful suggestion received about the 'good name', a better line repeated, something like "My good name is all I've got to leave you", tying in with the first one, "Everything you own..., "
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
Muddling along
Half-way through the day and nothing much achieved.
At the library yesterday took out Elizabeth Bishop and May Sarton instead of Robert Hass. I had forgotten about him. Memory failure, regrettably. Maybe I wanted to be among women again.
Read some May S before going to sleep. That was good. One of the books by EB is called One Art: Letters (R. Giroux ed., 1994, Farrar Straus Giroux, NY). A heavy book I am looking forward to. A writers' life, something to think about, maybe some further ideas about how to go about things. Sometimes an old idea can be expressed differently and it appears to stand up and command attention in a new way.
Celan is peering at me from the book cover as I write - I renewed him but they only give an extra week. At a dollar a time. I wish money did not matter so much for everything.
Was up early enough, walk and breakfast and then other 'urgent' matters took over.
Wrote two poems for my collection yesterday afternoon, in a window of time between one thing and another. The ballad is leaving me cold so far. I wrote something, but it was not ballad-like. I am going to attack it again now. At least I learnt more about Kate Bush, some respect.
Have just realised that I need to write a book review for Thursday and that I had wanted to write about Elizabeth Bishop. I'd better get on to that first. I won't have time to digest her writing well enough as it is. Also a blog review due, which is easier.
I had other plans for this evening. My afternoon is already earmarked for something else ('urgent') , and tomorrow afternoon too - seeing friends.
At the library yesterday took out Elizabeth Bishop and May Sarton instead of Robert Hass. I had forgotten about him. Memory failure, regrettably. Maybe I wanted to be among women again.
Read some May S before going to sleep. That was good. One of the books by EB is called One Art: Letters (R. Giroux ed., 1994, Farrar Straus Giroux, NY). A heavy book I am looking forward to. A writers' life, something to think about, maybe some further ideas about how to go about things. Sometimes an old idea can be expressed differently and it appears to stand up and command attention in a new way.
Celan is peering at me from the book cover as I write - I renewed him but they only give an extra week. At a dollar a time. I wish money did not matter so much for everything.
Was up early enough, walk and breakfast and then other 'urgent' matters took over.
Wrote two poems for my collection yesterday afternoon, in a window of time between one thing and another. The ballad is leaving me cold so far. I wrote something, but it was not ballad-like. I am going to attack it again now. At least I learnt more about Kate Bush, some respect.
Have just realised that I need to write a book review for Thursday and that I had wanted to write about Elizabeth Bishop. I'd better get on to that first. I won't have time to digest her writing well enough as it is. Also a blog review due, which is easier.
I had other plans for this evening. My afternoon is already earmarked for something else ('urgent') , and tomorrow afternoon too - seeing friends.
Monday, 30 June 2008
On the nature of obsession
Managing to work today and yesterday. Schedule mapped out for the rest of the day. I shall pay the bills at midday, not before.
Am reading more Paul Celan whom I find stunning, though as always, so sad.
A friend lent me poetry by Aba Kovner (Israeli poet) and Nelly Sachs (German), published together in an English translation by Penguin (1995), in the series Modern European Poets. Read most of it last night (slim).
I want to be impressed by poets and poetry, to have my consciousness raised by them about how to write well. This afternoon we'll be in town, shall return my overdue books to the library and look for Robert Hass's poetry and bio.
Discussing Rilke with G. About the language that I deem excessive, she said: - but he is in ecstasy.
Have been listening to Kate Bush and downloaded the words of her ballad on Pi, for our ballad exercise. The song is lovely, but the words and the meaning do not seem that special to me. Is my perception blunted ?
I was interested to find out what triggered her writing on this topic, but no luck. So many mathematicians have been involved with defining Pi.
"...with an obsessive nature..."
Any deliberate and continuous focus is always deemed 'obsessive' by those outside it - by that measure Cezanne was 'obsessive', so was Rilke, and in fact almost anyone who sets themselves a goal (Kate Bush? The monks in Into great silence?) must 'obsess' about it. (This is not an original thought.)
The DSM-IV or whatever number it is now would call obsessive what 'gets in the way of normal functioning', like repetitive handwashing or compulsive checking. Activities which do not create anything, which can prevent any creativity from occurring. Does that apply to finding out the value of Pi at x decimal points?
Never mind.
Am reading more Paul Celan whom I find stunning, though as always, so sad.
A friend lent me poetry by Aba Kovner (Israeli poet) and Nelly Sachs (German), published together in an English translation by Penguin (1995), in the series Modern European Poets. Read most of it last night (slim).
I want to be impressed by poets and poetry, to have my consciousness raised by them about how to write well. This afternoon we'll be in town, shall return my overdue books to the library and look for Robert Hass's poetry and bio.
Discussing Rilke with G. About the language that I deem excessive, she said: - but he is in ecstasy.
Have been listening to Kate Bush and downloaded the words of her ballad on Pi, for our ballad exercise. The song is lovely, but the words and the meaning do not seem that special to me. Is my perception blunted ?
I was interested to find out what triggered her writing on this topic, but no luck. So many mathematicians have been involved with defining Pi.
"...with an obsessive nature..."
Any deliberate and continuous focus is always deemed 'obsessive' by those outside it - by that measure Cezanne was 'obsessive', so was Rilke, and in fact almost anyone who sets themselves a goal (Kate Bush? The monks in Into great silence?) must 'obsess' about it. (This is not an original thought.)
The DSM-IV or whatever number it is now would call obsessive what 'gets in the way of normal functioning', like repetitive handwashing or compulsive checking. Activities which do not create anything, which can prevent any creativity from occurring. Does that apply to finding out the value of Pi at x decimal points?
Never mind.
Friday, 27 June 2008
The first and the last
Vilanelle duly found wanting by the class: too obvious, too in your face. My words, not theirs. Back to Emily Dickinson, Tell it slant. More work required: I was saying to Lorraine, in a year or two, and she said, oh no, in a week or two, surely.
I'll leave it for a few days.
Very good 1-hour session with James Brown the poet, such good use of the time. Interesting to hear him talk about his difficulties with poems, the importance of first and last lines of poems, first and last poems in books, in sections within the book. Discussion about the use of the word 'synapse' in that poem. He said that he usually writes in colloquial language and has what he calls a 'limited vocabulary', I wonder what he considers 'limited'? (Reminded me of Amichai, who introduced that simplicity into Hebrew poetry). He's a born teacher. He wrote the e-course I've just completed, which was so interesting .
(The stimulation reminded me of hearing James McNeish speak about his latest book, The Sixth Man recently and being enthralled at all the stuff he was talking about, much better than listening to him read something he'd written already. It was fresh, new.)
The best part for me was James B's reading out that lovely piece of prose by Amichai. And an hour or so later finally read out to the class the review I'd written of Amichai's poem. So that is now done and over, on to the next book review. Am no longer sure it should be on David Whyte.
Bill read a review of a book by Robert Hass - humility does not usually feature in American success. I must find out more.
Talking of humility (not): I've heard today from the Holocaust Centre that my little doco film of Dora Suuring (holocaust survivor) is going to be promoted. They are going to make an event of it, as I'd always hoped. I'm happy.
I'll leave it for a few days.
Very good 1-hour session with James Brown the poet, such good use of the time. Interesting to hear him talk about his difficulties with poems, the importance of first and last lines of poems, first and last poems in books, in sections within the book. Discussion about the use of the word 'synapse' in that poem. He said that he usually writes in colloquial language and has what he calls a 'limited vocabulary', I wonder what he considers 'limited'? (Reminded me of Amichai, who introduced that simplicity into Hebrew poetry). He's a born teacher. He wrote the e-course I've just completed, which was so interesting .
(The stimulation reminded me of hearing James McNeish speak about his latest book, The Sixth Man recently and being enthralled at all the stuff he was talking about, much better than listening to him read something he'd written already. It was fresh, new.)
The best part for me was James B's reading out that lovely piece of prose by Amichai. And an hour or so later finally read out to the class the review I'd written of Amichai's poem. So that is now done and over, on to the next book review. Am no longer sure it should be on David Whyte.
Bill read a review of a book by Robert Hass - humility does not usually feature in American success. I must find out more.
Talking of humility (not): I've heard today from the Holocaust Centre that my little doco film of Dora Suuring (holocaust survivor) is going to be promoted. They are going to make an event of it, as I'd always hoped. I'm happy.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
Devotion
Wrote a bad villanelle, spent all day at it, shall have another go tonight, now that I'm back home again (long walk today).
As usual, the problem is the rhyming while keeping the sentences fluid and natural. I mean that is my goal, not what I've achieved. One of the recommended texts (on the villanelle) said, the success is in the attempt. A useful way of looking at it.
Reading: someone lent me a book about the Sarajevo Haggadah, called People of the Book, (Geraldine Brooks, 2008, Viking Penguin): thought I'd allow myself to read it as a reward for finishing one course. It was not a reward. The characters are beautiful and clever, unreal: the curse of the 'special', particularly when there is no reason for them to be special except that the author says so, I mean, it is not through some believable development that they become so except an accident of birth. That does not make for depth.
I have been affected by the text about Cezanne and Rilke's flaming arrow. In my case it was at the most a twinge: how to do the best you can, if you do not give it everything, focus entirely?
I know of a musician who refuses to father children because they would distract him from his work. Hard on the partner. This text makes such total focus a more common attitude than I had thought. I was also reminded of the monks in the film, Into Great Silence, devoting themselves completely to what is important to them. Of course, no children.
Devotion makes me think of mothers. Their devotion is why there are fewer women geniuses than men, their own desires and wishes coming second, or who knows, third, last. I once asked a Rabbi why, in orthodox Judaism, it is necessary that there be ten men rather than ten people, present before a service may start? Why are women not included?
From what I see in our liberal community, which does not differentiate between men and women, the women have the knowledge of devotion, they take over the tasks that run the community as a matter of course, it is just one more thing that needs to be done. Men appear to be less inclined that way. We have a few who are, and those, I realise as I write , are also outstanding fathers. Could it be, I asked the (orthodox) Rabbi, that it is because the men need to be made to do it, or they will not know about devotion? That the devoting needs to be seen as a male activity and obligatory, for them to engage in it?
He agreed that it was so.
As usual, the problem is the rhyming while keeping the sentences fluid and natural. I mean that is my goal, not what I've achieved. One of the recommended texts (on the villanelle) said, the success is in the attempt. A useful way of looking at it.
Reading: someone lent me a book about the Sarajevo Haggadah, called People of the Book, (Geraldine Brooks, 2008, Viking Penguin): thought I'd allow myself to read it as a reward for finishing one course. It was not a reward. The characters are beautiful and clever, unreal: the curse of the 'special', particularly when there is no reason for them to be special except that the author says so, I mean, it is not through some believable development that they become so except an accident of birth. That does not make for depth.
I have been affected by the text about Cezanne and Rilke's flaming arrow. In my case it was at the most a twinge: how to do the best you can, if you do not give it everything, focus entirely?
I know of a musician who refuses to father children because they would distract him from his work. Hard on the partner. This text makes such total focus a more common attitude than I had thought. I was also reminded of the monks in the film, Into Great Silence, devoting themselves completely to what is important to them. Of course, no children.
Devotion makes me think of mothers. Their devotion is why there are fewer women geniuses than men, their own desires and wishes coming second, or who knows, third, last. I once asked a Rabbi why, in orthodox Judaism, it is necessary that there be ten men rather than ten people, present before a service may start? Why are women not included?
From what I see in our liberal community, which does not differentiate between men and women, the women have the knowledge of devotion, they take over the tasks that run the community as a matter of course, it is just one more thing that needs to be done. Men appear to be less inclined that way. We have a few who are, and those, I realise as I write , are also outstanding fathers. Could it be, I asked the (orthodox) Rabbi, that it is because the men need to be made to do it, or they will not know about devotion? That the devoting needs to be seen as a male activity and obligatory, for them to engage in it?
He agreed that it was so.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
In praise of Imagists
This may be the longest interval between postings so far, except when I was away. The e-course porfolio was posted yesterday, and am reasonably happy with it. It's tidy, an occasion to review/rediscover poems.
Rilke is giving me indigestion, like a rich meal, his elegies too romantic. Tried reading some of his letters. I think that what gets in the way is that nothing is ordinary for him. Here's an example from a letter (p. 9 of Letters on Cezanne, 1985, Fromm International Publishing Company, NY): it starts with :
Never have I been so touched and almost gripped by the sight of heather...
I want to cut out the Never, (just as I tend to recoil from the word always). His only excuse is that he is writing to his wife (about sprigs of heather she sent him). A few lines later: But how glorious it is, this fragrance. The tone remains at full pitch, blaring.
However: in the introduction (by H.W. Petzet), there is a story about Cezanne (p. xxiii)
"...the ancient enmity between life and the great work (as Rilke put it in his Requiem) endured by the artist with such exemplary devotion: [...] during the last thirty years of his life, he removed himself from everything that could 'hook him' (the expression is Cezanne's) and when, for all his tradition-bound and believing Catholicism, he stayed away from his mother's funeral in order not to lose a day's work. '
Rilke adds: "That pierced me like an arrow... (and he can't leave it at that) ...like a flaming arrow".
[...] Cezanne's example revealed to Rilke his own existential conflict. He began to realise that his life must utterly belong to his work, and that he must never again be "delighted and awed" - as it says in his 'Testament' - except by his work."
Scary focus.
I should not be so denigrating of Rilke. I still have to find out what he actually wants to say. It is my loss, for the mean time. Maybe I'll find some way of reading him; shall see if I can find a commentary that speaks to me. The introduction by Robert Hass (in the book of poems) made my eyes glaze over.
Maybe it's tiredness, because turning to the second book of Coetzee's essays, (Stranger Shores, Literary essays, 1986-1999, published by Viking in 2001) and reading one on Amos Oz and one on Harry Mulisch, both authors whom I know, it was also an effort. After midnight, maybe not a good time. He also wrote an essay on Borges, we were discussing him in class the other day.
Read more of Yehuda Amichai's 1967 poems. Since writing a review of his work for the course, I read them with ease and a new feeling, of being spoken to directly. Always this requirement to go deeper.
I should probably write a review of Rilke.
Started on Viv's Imagist portfolio: I had never heard of the Imagists before, it is a similar turning away from florid-ness that happened in the other arts and in other languages. Could it be thought of as 'modern'? Bauhaus versus Baroque, for instance. I remember my father: "If a feature has no function, it has no place in the building".
In poetry, if the word does no work, take it out.
Thanks Viv.
A villanelle is due for Thursday. A villainous villanelle. Already, a favourite among those Hine gave us to read is The Art of Losing, by Elizabeth Bishop . The language is simple - here is an excerpt:
The art of losing isn't hard to master
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
The end of the poem is poignant.
Maybe I'll find her in the library.
Rilke is giving me indigestion, like a rich meal, his elegies too romantic. Tried reading some of his letters. I think that what gets in the way is that nothing is ordinary for him. Here's an example from a letter (p. 9 of Letters on Cezanne, 1985, Fromm International Publishing Company, NY): it starts with :
Never have I been so touched and almost gripped by the sight of heather...
I want to cut out the Never, (just as I tend to recoil from the word always). His only excuse is that he is writing to his wife (about sprigs of heather she sent him). A few lines later: But how glorious it is, this fragrance. The tone remains at full pitch, blaring.
However: in the introduction (by H.W. Petzet), there is a story about Cezanne (p. xxiii)
"...the ancient enmity between life and the great work (as Rilke put it in his Requiem) endured by the artist with such exemplary devotion: [...] during the last thirty years of his life, he removed himself from everything that could 'hook him' (the expression is Cezanne's) and when, for all his tradition-bound and believing Catholicism, he stayed away from his mother's funeral in order not to lose a day's work. '
Rilke adds: "That pierced me like an arrow... (and he can't leave it at that) ...like a flaming arrow".
[...] Cezanne's example revealed to Rilke his own existential conflict. He began to realise that his life must utterly belong to his work, and that he must never again be "delighted and awed" - as it says in his 'Testament' - except by his work."
Scary focus.
I should not be so denigrating of Rilke. I still have to find out what he actually wants to say. It is my loss, for the mean time. Maybe I'll find some way of reading him; shall see if I can find a commentary that speaks to me. The introduction by Robert Hass (in the book of poems) made my eyes glaze over.
Maybe it's tiredness, because turning to the second book of Coetzee's essays, (Stranger Shores, Literary essays, 1986-1999, published by Viking in 2001) and reading one on Amos Oz and one on Harry Mulisch, both authors whom I know, it was also an effort. After midnight, maybe not a good time. He also wrote an essay on Borges, we were discussing him in class the other day.
Read more of Yehuda Amichai's 1967 poems. Since writing a review of his work for the course, I read them with ease and a new feeling, of being spoken to directly. Always this requirement to go deeper.
I should probably write a review of Rilke.
Started on Viv's Imagist portfolio: I had never heard of the Imagists before, it is a similar turning away from florid-ness that happened in the other arts and in other languages. Could it be thought of as 'modern'? Bauhaus versus Baroque, for instance. I remember my father: "If a feature has no function, it has no place in the building".
In poetry, if the word does no work, take it out.
Thanks Viv.
A villanelle is due for Thursday. A villainous villanelle. Already, a favourite among those Hine gave us to read is The Art of Losing, by Elizabeth Bishop . The language is simple - here is an excerpt:
The art of losing isn't hard to master
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
The end of the poem is poignant.
Maybe I'll find her in the library.
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Focus?
Timer set again, very short time today, I have to prepare for Whitireia tomorrow, not prepared enough, not enough time allowed. Got caught up in preparing final portfolio for e-course. So only 4 min here today.
Read Rilke last night, the first elegy of the Duino Elegies. What I think of as the backbone of a poem - a thought, an insight, a metaphor - he has for every line. I went reading other bits, and came upon one where he says at the end, baldly: "I must change my life".
Read more Maxine Hong King, relief.
Life took over instead of writing: car to be fixed, shopping.
Buzzer went, not enough time. What I wanted to say was: I should have been writing or editing, instead of reading. Not enough writing these days, except for the free writing exercise, and that not every day. Maxine HK writes that she writes every day. Am sure she means writing proper.
Read Rilke last night, the first elegy of the Duino Elegies. What I think of as the backbone of a poem - a thought, an insight, a metaphor - he has for every line. I went reading other bits, and came upon one where he says at the end, baldly: "I must change my life".
Read more Maxine Hong King, relief.
Life took over instead of writing: car to be fixed, shopping.
Buzzer went, not enough time. What I wanted to say was: I should have been writing or editing, instead of reading. Not enough writing these days, except for the free writing exercise, and that not every day. Maxine HK writes that she writes every day. Am sure she means writing proper.
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