13 Part Deux
Friday:
First item of significance -- the Donald Justice panel, which I really enjoyed. Someone read "The Wall". There were a lot of anecdotes, about his penchant for poker among other things. C. Dale read "Psalm and Lament", then his own piece "Late Poem" which teared me up and I wouldn't mind seeing again (hint). I'm dreadful with names, but someone quoted from a letter in which Justice had offered this criticism of a poem (I'm paraphrasing and hopefully didn't hash it up too badly): "There is no moral structure or (viewpoint?) underlying the work, which might serve to give it meaning and life." That's interesting set up against what seems to be the current fashion for not taking a definite stance or making moral judgments in our work. Does this arise from empathy, the desire to give houseroom to all points of view? (Someone on NPR once joked that a liberal was someone too open-minded to take their own side in an argument.) I wonder if the role of the impartial reporter isn't sometimes limiting and lifeless, if it can become a form of moral cowardice to conceal where one stands. If so, I've been as guilty as anyone else. But then you get into the quicksand of persona poems, etc., so there are no easy answers.
As an aside, I realized that politicized rhetoric which assumes that no intelligent person of good conscience could hold an opposing view is equally tiresome no matter where it springs from on the ideological spectrum. This is my impression from the whole experience, not the Justice panel.
Next up: "Writing Nature In An Age Of Irony" was disappointing, with one spectacular exception. The presenters seemed indifferently prepared for the most part, and it was largely preaching to the choir, anyway. I was hoping for a multi-layered discussion of how the natural world finds a place across the spectrum of contemporary poetry. Not jewels like, "Don't sentimentalize. Be scientifically accurate." All very well as far as they go, but why not go beyond? I should have gone to Josh Corey's panel instead, I think. But I'm glad I didn't leave; Brenda Peterson, an essayist, novelist, and reporter from Seattle just returned from Mexico, from the lagoons where the grey whales calve, with the most amazing story. I can still hardly believe it. It's not uncommon for the whales to exhibit "friendly" behavior, to approach the small boats on their own volition and allow themselves to be touched, etc. But there is a new "behavior" this year; Brenda said this happened about once a day while she was there. A mother grey whale swims under the (small) boat and lifts it up slightly, gently on her belly. At the same time, she holds her baby on her pectoral flipper, and raises it to eye level with the people in the boat. For all the world like an introduction, although for whose benefit ... who knows? What makes this even more astonishing is that there was whaling in these very lagoons within living memory of at least some of the resident whales, who should have no particular reason to view humans in boats with tolerance, let alone any more sociable impulse. A young woman who skippers one of the boats, a 17-year old girl named Lupita, said, "Las Ballenas (the whales) and God are one. And they have taught me forgiveness."
Although this only brings us up to noonish, I think it's enough to be going on with.
First item of significance -- the Donald Justice panel, which I really enjoyed. Someone read "The Wall". There were a lot of anecdotes, about his penchant for poker among other things. C. Dale read "Psalm and Lament", then his own piece "Late Poem" which teared me up and I wouldn't mind seeing again (hint). I'm dreadful with names, but someone quoted from a letter in which Justice had offered this criticism of a poem (I'm paraphrasing and hopefully didn't hash it up too badly): "There is no moral structure or (viewpoint?) underlying the work, which might serve to give it meaning and life." That's interesting set up against what seems to be the current fashion for not taking a definite stance or making moral judgments in our work. Does this arise from empathy, the desire to give houseroom to all points of view? (Someone on NPR once joked that a liberal was someone too open-minded to take their own side in an argument.) I wonder if the role of the impartial reporter isn't sometimes limiting and lifeless, if it can become a form of moral cowardice to conceal where one stands. If so, I've been as guilty as anyone else. But then you get into the quicksand of persona poems, etc., so there are no easy answers.
As an aside, I realized that politicized rhetoric which assumes that no intelligent person of good conscience could hold an opposing view is equally tiresome no matter where it springs from on the ideological spectrum. This is my impression from the whole experience, not the Justice panel.
Next up: "Writing Nature In An Age Of Irony" was disappointing, with one spectacular exception. The presenters seemed indifferently prepared for the most part, and it was largely preaching to the choir, anyway. I was hoping for a multi-layered discussion of how the natural world finds a place across the spectrum of contemporary poetry. Not jewels like, "Don't sentimentalize. Be scientifically accurate." All very well as far as they go, but why not go beyond? I should have gone to Josh Corey's panel instead, I think. But I'm glad I didn't leave; Brenda Peterson, an essayist, novelist, and reporter from Seattle just returned from Mexico, from the lagoons where the grey whales calve, with the most amazing story. I can still hardly believe it. It's not uncommon for the whales to exhibit "friendly" behavior, to approach the small boats on their own volition and allow themselves to be touched, etc. But there is a new "behavior" this year; Brenda said this happened about once a day while she was there. A mother grey whale swims under the (small) boat and lifts it up slightly, gently on her belly. At the same time, she holds her baby on her pectoral flipper, and raises it to eye level with the people in the boat. For all the world like an introduction, although for whose benefit ... who knows? What makes this even more astonishing is that there was whaling in these very lagoons within living memory of at least some of the resident whales, who should have no particular reason to view humans in boats with tolerance, let alone any more sociable impulse. A young woman who skippers one of the boats, a 17-year old girl named Lupita, said, "Las Ballenas (the whales) and God are one. And they have taught me forgiveness."
Although this only brings us up to noonish, I think it's enough to be going on with.
posted by Jennifer at 10:13 AM
4 Comments:
A young woman who skippers one of the boats, a 17-year old girl named Lupita, said, "Las Ballenas (the whales) and God are one. And they have taught me forgiveness."
Man, if there isn't a poem (or several) there, I don't know where one is...
I've read a lot about those whales (though I hadn't heard about the new behavior you describe, how cool!) -- just reading about them or seeing pictures sometimes chokes me up a bit, and I don't really know exactly why. I plan to go there someday to see those whales. (It's going to be my 50th birthday present to myself, in a few years, if I don't get there sooner.) Anyway, if you want to read a lot more about them, there's a terrific book by Dick Russell called Eye of the Whale -- goes into the whole history of human/gray whale interactions, from whaling and destroying the environment via salt mining to the current tourist industry surrounding the "friendlies." Good stuff.
Jennifer,
"Late Poem" is still pretty new, but I will send it to you soon. I think it should be done soon.
Diane, the tough thing is it seems almost complete already, it's hard to imagine where to go with it. But I agree.
Anne, I so hope you get to go. I want to, too, now. Thanks for the heads up on "The Eye of the Whale".
Thanks, C. Dale, I'd love to see it.
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