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Archive for January, 2012

A week ago two lovely owl poems on this blog generated praise and suggestions for the poet.

So when I saw this article about the sensitive role of a poetry editor, I thought you would be interested.

Sameer Rahim, assistant books editor of the Telegraph in the UK, begins his essay by saying that Dante acknowledged Virgil as his literary guide.

“Every poet needs a Virgil. Wordsworth had Coleridge; Tennyson had Arthur Hallam; and Edward Thomas had Robert Frost. However, the best-preserved example of one poet editing another is Ezra Pound’s work on TS Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land.’

“The poem’s manuscript, first published in 1971 and now available on a snazzy iPad app, shows Pound’s boldness. On the first page of the second part, ‘A Game of Chess,’ he wrote disapprovingly: ‘Too tum-pum at a stretch’; further down he complains a line is ‘too penty’ – too regular a pentameter. Eliot redrafted the lines until he got an ‘OK’ in the margin. Eliot acknowledged his friend’s role when he dedicated the 1925 edition to Pound, calling him Il miglior fabbro or ‘the better craftsman’ – a phrase from Dante. …

“One of Eliot’s successors … is Matthew Hollis, a poet-editor and biographer whose account of the literary friendship between Edward Thomas and Robert Frost, Now All Roads Lead to France, [just won the] Costa Prize.

“ ‘There is sometimes a feeling that to edit poetry you have to be a poet,’ he says, going on to cite Pound. ‘If you think you may have broken your leg, you don’t take a straw poll of your friends to find out, you visit a doctor for an expert opinion.’ ”

That expert is probably another poet, but not necessarily.

“Most important is that ‘an editor listens to an author tuning into their poems.’ ” Read more here.

I know Emerson isn’t one of the greats in the poet department, but he was the only one available on short notice.

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Back when my sister was teaching tai chi and before she decided to go to medical school, I was skeptical of Eastern health practices.

I should have taken lessons then, but I’ve learned the error of my ways and am more open to trying new things. I told John I’d been trying to find a weekend tai chi class that might be good for back pain.

Last week, he called about a sign he saw in Arlington:  Zhen Ren Chuan, a martial arts studio, had begun to offer tai chi.

Saturday I went.

Tai chi is not as easy as I thought watching ladies in San Francisco and Boston parks. So many things to think about at once! In that sense alone it is a great way to clear your mind of everything else. I will go again.

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I met Mary Driscoll in playwriting class last summer.

Mary has had a lifetime focus on social justice for marginalized people. She has traveled to foreign countries to work with refugees. For people with HIV, she has taught pilates and the healing art of telling one’s stories. She has performed with mission-oriented theater troupes. And she is the founder of  OWLL, On with Living and Learning, which helps ex-offenders build new lives after prison.

At Mary’s invitation, my husband and I found our way last night to what is a virtual artist colony in the long-abandoned but reemerging warehouse district of South Boston. In Mary’s loft apartment, one of the artists she has drawn into her orbit presented a wonderful cabaret show to raise money for OWLL’s production of Generational Legacy about mothers and children after prison.

Michael Ricca interpreted songs by Michel Legrand with great humor and feeling (including the theme song of our wedding, “What Are You Doing for the Rest of Your Life?”). Ricca is performing the songs and others by Legrand at Scullers in March.

My husband and I enjoyed talking to Mary’s guests  — artists, actors, musicians, social activists, old  friends. We’re especially keen to keep an eye on the doings of the Fort Point Theatre Channel in the Midway Studios building, where Mary  lives and works. The collaborative productions in the Black Box Theatre sound intriguing and offbeat. We like offbeat.

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People where I work have been volunteering in an inner-city school for years. It started with reading picture books to first graders and expanded to second grade reading, fourth grade math, and fifth grade “Book Club,” the one I do. I once taught fifth grade, and I would still read the books written for that age even if I weren’t volunteering in the school.

This past week, the NY Times had an interesting article on using technology to enable tutors to work with elementary school kids remotely.

“Edward’s tutor was not in the classroom. His school, a 20-minute walk from the nearest subway stop in a crime-plagued neighborhood, has long had trouble finding tutors willing to visit. ‘It is hard to get anyone to volunteer,’ said the school’s principal, Luis Torres, who sometimes cancels fire drills because of the gunfire he hears outside.

“Now, newly designed software for the tutoring of beginning readers has bridged the gap, allowing volunteers to meet students online from a distance. P.S. 55 is testing the program with students in its four first-grade classes.

“Edward’s tutor, Jenny Chan, was an hour away in Midtown, on a bustling trading floor at JPMorgan Chase, where she provides technology support. She was talking to Edward by phone and seeing the story he was reading with screen-sharing software on her desktop computer.

“JPMorgan Chase is sponsoring the remote tutoring program and encouraging its employees to get involved from their desks during the school day.” Read more.

There’s nothing like face-to-face contact, but if people can’t take work time for the commute, perhaps more people will tutor.

Photo: Librado Romero, NY Times

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A couple weeks ago, a friend told Suzanne that not only is 2012 the lucky Year of the Dragon, it’s the Year of the Golden Dragon — in her view the luckiest year of all.

But a little web research suggests that something was lost in the translation. The Year of the Golden Dragon was Y2K, 2000.

Not to worry. All dragons are lucky. This is the year of the Water Dragon.

The Chinese Fortune Calendar site says, “2012 is Year of the Dragon and it will arrive on February 4, 2012. (Note: Chinese New Year Day is on January 23, 2012. The first day of 2012 Chinese Astrology Year is on February 4, 2012.) Many people must be eager to know if they will have better luck in the coming year than previous years. Here, we want to use Chinese Astrology Five Elements (Metal, Water, Wood, Fire and Earth) theory to explain people’s fortune in 2012 and foresee what will be happening to them in the year of the Dragon.” Read more to learn how metal is the element associated with the Golden Dragon.

Moving right along, the 2012 Dragon site observes, “The fact that 2012 is a Water year is extremely important and demands consideration. That’s because Water nourishes the Dragon’s fixed element, Wood, giving this Dragon a big advantage over the rest of the breed when it comes to bringing good luck. The same holds true for accomplishment. This Dragon is actually going to realize some of those big dreams!” So that site maintains that the Water Dragon is the luckiest dragon.

Wikipedia: “In Chinese Taoist thought, water is representative of intelligence and wisdom, flexibility, softness and pliancy; however, an over-abundance of the element is said to cause difficulty in choosing something and sticking to it. In the same way, Water can be fluid and weak, but can also wield great power when it floods and overwhelms the land.” In our family, the attribute of not being able to choose something is called “The I-do-and-I-don’t problem.”

The Manila Bulletin Publishing Corporation weighs in: “The dragon sign is associated with spring and the dragon water sign is likely to become a flowing river rather than a stagnant lake, which means that you need to begin 2012 off to a fast start as things are expected to happen early in the year. Hopefully we used some of the quiet time in the past year to plan your moves for 2012.” Uh-oh.

But given that Suzanne is in the jewelry business (Luna & Stella), she might be most interested to know that in China, jewelry buying is going berserk for the Year of the Dragon.

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The museum commemorating the real Boston Tea Party burned down a few years ago. Now a travel company has rebuilt it bigger and stronger in its Fort Point Channel location.

I like the history lesson at the museum, but the thing I am getting the biggest kick from is the weathervane: a teapot and steaming tea cups. If this isn’t the best weathervane ever, please send me your contenders. Click https://suzannesmomsblog.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=2126&action=editto make the photos bigger.

031/31/12

Oh, wow! Just learned the weathervane is by Lizanne Jensen. Read about her at Fort Point Arts Community, here.

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I am psyched. I blogged a while back about UBS banker Geoff Hargadon, who is also a conceptual artist with a crazy sense of humor.

After Brandeis University’s then president made noises about selling the art collection of the Rose Museum, Hargadon put a sign outside on the grass: “Cash For Your Warhol.” It looked like the signs on telephones poles or in abandoned lots that lure the unwary into deals too good to be true.

Hargadon has put his signs up hither and yon, like the street artist Banksy in a way, or Shepard Fairey.

Yesterday I noticed one in the Boston financial district as I waited for the light to change. It’s at the corner of Congress and Franklin streets. I came back today and took a picture. Anyone want to call the number?

 

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Photograph: Mark Brown, Boston Globe

What a treat! A poet who follows this blog just sent me two lovely poems about a snowy owl she once saw. Or perhaps I should say, she once experienced. She would appreciate feedback on the poems, so please let me know your reactions in the Comments feature. E-mail is fine, too, suzannesmom@lunandstella.com. (And if you have a photo of a snowy owl in flight, I will replace the rather contemplative owl from National Geographic, below.)

Snowy Owl, by Nancy Greenaway

White shuttle of silken feathers
wefting across cloud warp of winter gray,
silently weaving sky with sea,
looming above watching walkers
tucked between patchworks
of stone-bound fields
and folds of silvered awe.

Snowy Owl 2, by Nancy Greenaway

Wide-winged whiteness
sensed before seen
swooping soundlessly
under low-lying layers
of cloud gauze

white on white
white on gray
soft on soft

too large to be living
and airborne

too white to be
worldly and wild

floating unruffled
on drafts of arctic cold

piercing consciousness
not with bill
or talon
or quill

but with light
and motion

avian divinity
spirited from
another dimension

penetrating dusk
by force of feathers

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Jim Robbins writes in today’s NY Times that snowy owls are showing up where they have never been seen before (Hawaii!). Bird lovers are thrilled, and scientists are puzzled.

“From coast to coast across the northern United States, a striking number of snowy owls have been swooping onto shorelines and flying over fields this winter, delighting bird-watchers and stirring speculation about the cause of the spike. …

“Why so many more of the birds are showing up is largely a mystery, [Denver Holt, director of the Owl Research Institute in Charlo, Mont.] said. ‘We do know they had a really good breeding year, and there was plenty of food last year,’ he said. Instead of no chicks, or one or two, a single nest will produce five, six, seven or more fledglings in a good breeding year, he said.

“The owls are even showing up in urban and suburban areas, along highways, on signs and fence posts, and in other places where people can more easily spot them. It has been a good snowy owl year at Logan Airport in Boston, too. Because the airfield looks like tundra, snowy owls tend to flock there, and they must be trapped and removed.

“ ‘We’ve removed 21 so far this year, and the average is six,’ said Norman Smith, who works for the Massachusetts Audubon Society and traps the birds. The most ever trapped was 43 in 1986, Mr. Smith said, ‘but the year’s not over.’ ” Read more here.

WordPress blogger Photo Nature Blog captures birds really well. Here is one of a snowy owl getting ready to take off.

The owl below is from the National Geographic.

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Back in the early ’80s, when we still lived in upstate New York and the kids were small, I made up some silly lyrics about winter.

If you don’t know the tune of “I’m Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover,” it is going to seem even sillier. But when we moved to Massachusetts, Suzanne told her  music teacher about it, and she liked it.

What is the reason
That we’re all freezin’
And the birdbath is filled with ice?
Why does my Omni go sideways down the street?
Why do my children wear baggies on their feet?
What normal fellow whose brains aren’t Jello
Would keep fighting this cold war?
What is the reason
That we’re all freezin’
And what did we move here for?

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Margareta e-mailed one of my entries to her extended family with a note and copied me. Once I had used Google Translate on her note (Google Translate gets better every day), I read some very nice things she was saying about the blog. That made me want to keep on truckin’.

At work I struggled all week with a pretty terrible article that I probably should have rejected. But then I ran into another of my authors who made a point of telling me that she really liked the editing I had done on her submission. So I redoubled my efforts to salvage the terrible submission.

And here’s a compliment that made me laugh. My colleague who creates gallery exhibits invited me to lunch with a couple of her external collaborators. As she introduced me, she seemed to stumble at first on what to say, given that my job as an editor actually has nothing to do with her exhibits.

She said, “She’s and editor here … and … uh … she’s interested in … stuff.”

That’s me! Interested in stuff. Here’s some stuff.

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I should check the weather report more often.

Today was the second time this week I woke up, looked out the window, and was surprised to see snow. I bundled up and went for my walk around 5. The snowplow drivers probably thought I was in the way of their serious business, but the snowplows themselves seemed to rejoice that they were finally getting some exercise.

Today is the right day to reprint this from the poem-a-day listserv of Poets.org.

Winter
by Walter De La Mare

And the robin flew
Into the air, the air,
The white mist through;
And small and rare
The night-frost fell
Into the calm and misty dell.

And the dusk gathered low,
And the silver moon and stars
On the frozen snow
Drew taper bars,
Kindled winking fires
In the hooded briers.

And the sprawling Bear
Growled deep in the sky;
And Orion’s hair
Streamed sparkling by:
But the North sighed low,
“Snow, snow, more snow!”

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I have always wanted to attend a citizenship ceremony. It turns out the Boston branch of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services performs them every week at historic Faneuil Hall, which was a witness to some of the first rumblings of the American Revolution. It’s an imposing place for a great event.

There were 376 immigrants from 79 countries today (Belarus, Egypt, Sweden, and 76 others). It was moving to think about those 376 people wanting to be citizens and also to think about the United States as a place that can mean hope and opportunity. I did find myself wondering whether some of the new Americans were feeling a little sad, especially refugees and the elderly, who might be thinking about the way their homeland used to be — or could have been.

I saw Ione lining up outside. She looked happy and beautiful. Inside, I was surprised to observe a man I knew through my work also becoming a citizen.

The first announcement made me chuckle:”Is there anyone on the floor who speaks Russian?”

As things got underway, the supervisor from the Boston office of U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services explained that the order of activities related to the different color packets given out to organize the applicants. (He referred to one kind of packet as “skin-colored,” which considering his experience and the broad spectrum of skin colors in the room, seemed odd.) Staff conducted people efficiently along tables where their papers got checked. Then the judge entered.

When the judge entered, the hall became a courtroom. Becoming a citizen is a judicial process, we were told. A young man sang the national anthem. The judge started out lightheartedly by reading the list of 79 countries, making comments about his visits to a particular country or about the country’s soccer status. (I guess “football” is an international language.)

In the solemn part, everyone took an oath of loyalty to the United States. As the complicated phrases were read aloud, the applicants held up their right hands and repeated the historical words about rejecting monarchs and potentates and serving in the military if required by law.

Finally, the judge asked the small citizen daughter of one new American to lead everyone in the Pledge of Allegiance. It was hard to speak. A wonderful moment.

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I am reading A Pigeon and a Boy, an Israeli novel by Meir Shalev. Although I’m really enjoying it so far, I don’t like to recommend a book until I’ve read through to the last page, so stay tuned.

In addition to getting wrapped up in the book’s interwoven stories from two time periods, I’m also learning quite a lot about pigeons.

In 1574, Leiden was under siege and ready to surrender when a pigeon brought news that help was near. “And during the campaign against Fort Souville at Verdun, who was it that succeeded in taking off above the clouds of poison gas … and transporting a message to the front? Only a French homing pigeon. …

“A Canadian homing pigeon named Sunbeam rescued fishermen whose boat had nearly capsized in the frozen waters off Newfoundland.”

Homing pigeons are not the pigeons you normally see (real name of city pigeons: Rock Doves). Though Rock Doves are an urban scourge, they are often beloved of small children. I’m told I was fascinated with chasing them as a toddler. And when Suzanne went to the big city at age 2, the sight of a pigeon caused her to break into the “Stop the Pigeon” song from her favorite cartoon show.

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My Neighbor’s Cow

My neighbor’s cow is still sporting Christmas lights in mid-January. I like the subjects that interest her deeply (in her gut, really), and I love her high-heeled shoes and pink socks. I also appreciate that she is very calm and unlikely to kick over a a lamp and start the Chicago Fire.

My neighbor’s cow is detached and steady and, other than donning Christmas lights, never changes.

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