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February 27, 2007
WHAT?!
Guess I'm going to have to change my previous post about pigeons to state that we DO know what is responsible for their traveling precision.
Micro electrodes planted in their tiny brains? I’m frowning.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070227/od_uk_nm/oukoe_uk_china_pigeon
Posted by Heidi V. at 10:11 AM | Comments (5)
February 14, 2007
Educate and Enlist
Language is powerful. As one of my favorite writers, Marilynn Robinson, said, "Language has the power to educate and enlist." Perhaps the most blatant example would be cautionary phrases like, "Heidi, stop looking at the asphalt! You’re going to be killed by oncoming traffic!"
Education: cars can and will kill you REGARDLESS of how worthy of admiration asphalt rocks may be.
Enlistment: I am actively running from the highway traffic, because I've been educated.
But perhaps a more relevant example, the inspiration for my blog today, is the way in which poetic language did this for me. I was a sophomore in College, when I took my first Literature course. The class: American Lit. The subject: famous poets from the last 100 years. Great class! We warmed up with a bit of Frost, firing on into Plath, until we were ablaze by the end of the semester for some of the more obscure poets. Most classes were enjoyable to me cause poems were like a window into somebody else's world; a world you could revisit if you liked it, or walk on by if you didn't. Some windows were beautiful offering clear views, others challenged me with cracks, some foggy with the fluff of language. But regardless of the structure or style, each poem had the potential to teach us about ourselves or others. Education yes, but Enlistment not so much,that is, until I began studying a woman by the name of Gwendolyn Brooks. Brooks was an African American Poet who specifically sought to write about lower middle class African American experience in the Midwest. I must say the enlisting happened much after what Jacob and I refer to as my first “college meltdown”. By meltdown, I'm referring to crying uncontrollably in class with a sense of “we’ve got to do something now!”. If you want to read the entire poetry book that initiated this meltdown it's called A Street in Bronzeville (1945) but for now I'll just include one of the poems I found particularly weighty.
Kitchenette Building
We are things of dry hours
and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray.
"Dream" mate, a giddy sound,
not strong Like "rent",
"feeding a wife",
"satisfying a man".
But could a dream sent up
through onion fumes
Its white and violet,
fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening
in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down
these rooms,
Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?
We wonder.
But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of
the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water,
hope to get in it.
I had expected to look into her poems like all the other poems, but with Brooks I found her style not only gave me a glimpse of her world but allowed me to step into it. And there I was smelling, tasting, and feeling something that I didn't know existed before. I saw the racial tension everywhere I went, and couldn’t believe I had been so numb to it before. I suppose she kindled a passion to understand race relations more interpersonally. But it wasn’t all roses. The world Gwendolyn invited me into broke my heart. It was a world where dreaming didn't have a place because survival was all consuming, where hate wasn't an adjective you use in reference to cherry ice-cream (oh how I dislike cherry ice-cream), but a one that could result in the loss of you or loved ones lives. I knew racial/socioeconomic tension existed but not how personally connected and responsible I was until poets like Brooks opened me up to the concept.
So, In honor of African American History month, if there must be a seasonal reason, I say thank you to Gwendolyn Brooks. God rest her soul. Also, thank you my black brothers and sisters for letting me in, as ignorant and selfish as I have been. I thank God for the nuance in each of my brothers and sisters lives, and pray for my continual growth as they teach me more and more. Please God help those of us privileged stand and fight…but…only after sitting and REALLY listening first.
Happy Valentines Day! Happy African American History Month!
P.S. Here is a link if you want to know a little about her life:
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/brooks/life.htm
Here’s another neat website:
http://www.infoplease.com/spot/bhm1.html
Posted by Heidi V. at 12:49 PM | Comments (2)
February 06, 2007
Cloud of Down
“A stand of cattails, brown heads erupting seed, silk tufts unfolding from coarse velvet. I stopped and studied them.” Andrew Hudgins
Yesterday I experienced the fascination with what Andrew Hudgins describes as "the silk tufts" and "coarse velvet". On Jacob’s dresser I have an arrangement dried flowers: a good mesh of sharp and soft. One of the flowers in the arrangement was a cattail. Now, that cattail has been there for over a year, offering a sort of earthy beauty to what one (and I'm referring to my mom here) might call a wild and discardable display. The cattail didn’t majestically swoop or gracefully wind like the other flowers, but it was solid; a constant that I had grown quite fond of. As usual I was rushing around looking for something before running out the door(more specifically, I was looking for my favorite pair of Jacob's socks, I prefer to wear them for dancing cause they're really cushy). Anyway, as I approached his dresser my eyes widened in horror. The dresser was covered, in cloud of down. What? Had the cattail unraveled? Exploded? I have no idea how it had happened. My horror quickly turned to acceptance, which turned to amusement. I'm glad the cattail went out with a bang. Here are some pictures. I think they look quite ethereal.
My only regret was that I didn't take more pictures while trying to move the cattail outside...if you'll notice, only a tiny part had unraveled when I took the first few pictures, but by the time I had carried it out, the entire thing had unfurled. I looked like a big stick of cotton candy.
Posted by Heidi V. at 11:01 AM | Comments (4)