Occasional Poetry

Elizabeth Alexander took a lot of flak for her inaugural poem last week, and she has my sympathy. It's hard enough to be a poet, but to write a poem for an occasion...and beyond that, for an occasion of the historic proportions of this one..well, the pressure was on. She chose to write a prose poem, a genre that may not seem to be authentic poetry to the vast majority of her audience, as well.  A brave woman, in more ways than one.

I try not to critique other people's poems. Everyone has his or her own style and preferences. Everyone has a message and a way of delivering it that I may or may not understand. Just as in visual art, there are some artists that speak to me and others that don't. I'd like to think, however, that I can see value in their viewpoints--as should we all.

The occasional artist has a more difficult role, I think, than most. First, the subject is already defined--at least in a general sense. Most events have complete backstories, as well, and the poet, artist, musician, composer is expected to incorporate some of that history into his or her work. In a very real sense, a work created for an occasion must incorporate past, present and future; must be brief to accommodate the program; must be memorable in order to live up to the import of the event; and be able to stand alone, as it will no doubt be reproduced outside the realm of the event. This type of work must pass muster, as well, in a variety of venues. It must appeal to the average listener, as well as to the more demanding critics who will dissect it (and the artist) at their leisure. Finally, the artist must be capable of delivering the work on a very specific, incontrovertible deadline (sometimes with very limited notice), and must be able to perform it adequately for a substantial audience--whether or not she or he possesses the requisite skills in public speaking or performance.

For better or worse, and with varying degrees of success, I've faced the same sort of issues as poet laureate, albeit in much smaller venues.  Occasional poetry is not for the faint of heart, and--at least in my opinion-- Elizabeth Alexander proved herself worthy of the honor accorded her.

The Reader

In our never-ending quest to see all the Oscar-nominated pictures before the Oscars (we like to have our own opinions before they are foisted upon us) we went last night to see "The Reader". I'm not sure if there are any 'feel good' movies in the running this year, but if there were, this wouldn't be it.  Start with a love affair between a 15-year-old boy and a former Nazi prison guard, and you already have the feeling that this isn't "High School Musical 3." 

But, if you take away my predilection for happier fare, it was quite good: a movie whose performances drew me in, and left me thinking long after I left the theater--not so much about the moral questions (of which there were plenty) but of the how and why of telling the story, the ways that meaning was conveyed and accentuated, the metaphors that were chosen and how they were carried through. I find myself doing this more and more--perhaps as a result of doing the same sort of thing in my writing. How much can you rely on symbolism without beating your audience over the head with it? Will they get it at all? And if they don't, will the work make sense on the most basic level?

"The Reader" succeeds because (I think) it can be read on a number of levels, and is subject to a number of thematic interpretations.  These days, any film that leaves you thinking, and that isn't forgotten almost before you get home, is a keeper. 

 

Scattered

I have the attention span of a gnat. It is one of my greatest (and there are many...) failings. Maybe I have undiagnosed attention deficit disorder. Maybe not. A Personalysis test calls it 'being blue'--meaning that I like to consider all possibilities and look at all sides of a problem or issue. Whatever. I am easily distracted and hard-pressed to follow through on things. It's so much more interesting to flit. I am a grade-A, confirmed, card-carrying flitter, and am always on the lookout for the new and different, rather than the old and tired. I am oh-so-easily bored. Which may explain why I've never had a real career, and why any jobs that I have had incorporated variety as part of the job description. I even had a hard time zeroing in on a college major: sticking with one thing for four years? Boring.

So here I am, finally, with no boring job demanding that I spend eight hours out of every day at some repetitive (at least marginally so) schedule of duties. And with all this freedom, one would think that I would be a veritable hummingbird, sipping at the assorted nectars of all the possible and exceedingly tempting opportunities that I've missed out on through the years. 

Not exactly. I find myself bogged down in the sheer volume of 'could-be's and 'ought-to's that intrude on that recently-acquired  vacuum. As mentioned earlier, I'm not the sort to plow systematically through a list of New Year's resolutions... so, while I will no doubt make lists (I have already), I will also (no doubt) mislay them, or begin the check-off process only to be distracted by some other non-listed activity. Like Facebooking. Or, for that matter, blogging. Sigh.

Facebook

I have a Facebook page, and one of the best things about that is that it allows me a tiny window into the lives of friends and acquaintances. I get a hint of who is down, and who is up, of what's going on in the lives of all these people who have been, or still are a part of my life. Instead of a visit, what I see is a sampling of their days; not a big long letter, but a casual aside as they go about living.

Better yet, it makes me feel as if I am still a part of their day. When we meet in person, I feel like I'm up to date on what they're doing and can ask how the recipe turned out, or whether the kids enjoyed their field trip, or whether they are feeling better after a bout with the flu. It's the online equivalent of saying "Hey" in the corridor at work, or bumping into someone in the coffee room.

Of such small encounters, friendships are made and continued. Of such inconsequentialities are lives built.