Last night, I couldn't find any movies I wanted to see playing locally. I really wanted to see the Swedish indie film, Everlasting Moments, directed by septegenarian, Jan Troell, which is a true period piece about a woman with 9 children and a brutal drunkard of a husband who discovered quite by accident that she loved photography and had a gift for it about the time of WWI. It was only playing in LA, but I learned that it was On Demand!
My fellow-blogger Lou has said in the past that one can watch films that are still in theaters on cable, but I never tried it before. This time, I watched the film, and it was really wonderful--the most beautiful cinematography and acting, though the translations were a bit dicey--not ungrammatical, just unidiomatic. Sometimes there were words that might have no English equivalents, at least not American ones. How does one translate "haulier," which apparently means a small rural transportation company? It isn't a taxi, exactly, more like a vanpool. But they weren't vans, but wagons. Perhaps one might as well English the Swedish word, which is what the translator did in the subtitles. I wouldn't tolerate a dubbed film, so I have to live with subtitles.
As I was watching, I remembered some Swedish words from my Bergman binges in the distant past at school.
I heartily recommend that you watch it--either on cable or in the theater. I'm sure it would be beautiful on the large screen.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Lizard Parts
Now that it is spring, I think that an outdoor cat is courting one of my indoor ones. I think this because, even though I haven't seen any outdoor cats hanging around lately, yesterday there was a portion of lizard, fresh and still twitching, in front of my door when I came with an armful of groceries to put things into the house. The cats had their own wee bit of grocery, though I didn't deign to bring it into the house.
It was a tail, probably a skink, with a good bit of hindquarter meat attached, and they spied it when I opened the door. These cats, who have never been outside on their own in their lives, tried to escape through the crack of the door because of the twitch of that tail. It was so alluring.
I hope it wasn't me, opening the door unexpectedly on the sunbathing skink, who caused this. In any case, from a human perspective, one cannot help but thinking that it means something. I don't know what though.
It was a tail, probably a skink, with a good bit of hindquarter meat attached, and they spied it when I opened the door. These cats, who have never been outside on their own in their lives, tried to escape through the crack of the door because of the twitch of that tail. It was so alluring.
I hope it wasn't me, opening the door unexpectedly on the sunbathing skink, who caused this. In any case, from a human perspective, one cannot help but thinking that it means something. I don't know what though.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Post Yoga Post
I went to Denise's class today in Newport Beach. It was the first time I'd been to her class since she had her surgery. She was full of energy, although she said the stitches were still painful, and it was a spectacular class. I was stiff and a bit depressed when the class started, and my stomach was still roiling. But by the time she'd wrung us out with twists and elaborate forward bends, I felt great. I always tell people that with a class like that, in which one constantly loses her balance and has to work at turning herself around like a cork screw, it feels so wonderful just to stop at the end of class and gain back one's regular sea legs, that it fixes whatever ails a person. It did me. It fully merited the pot of lily of the valley I brought her as an offering.
Last night's workshop
I wasn't feeling too well yesterday. I had a serious case of dyspepsia that seemed like the beginning of a bug. I don't get sick very much anymore, so when I do, it's like those rare stormy days in Southern California, that seem so much more extreme than they really are because we are unused to them. And I probably had a mild fever, though I dosed myself with Ibuprofen to get through what I needed to yesterday, my major work day of the week.
This morning I slept in a little, as much as Whistler would allow, and feel somewhat better, well enough to go to yoga class at 10 this morning.
We are starting to talk about sound and rhythm in workshop, which is always a challenge. As I did last summer, I began with fun and games. Rather than doing the usual academic thing of going over the various nomenclatures for rhythm in poetry (iamb, trochee, anapest, etc.), which is boring to listen to and hard to talk about, I began by choosing poems that imitated the sounds of the things they were discussing, like Yeats' "Lake Isle of Innisfree" and Kay Ryan's "Crustacean Island." Interesting they are both Islands, isn't it? We also closely examined a sound-game by Christian Bok, "Vowels," a spare little piece in which he used only the letters from the word "Vowels" to create a poem that sounded really interesting and accrued meaning as it went along.
Following that, we listened to some sound files from the Internet from a webpage in which an instructor read a poem by Emily Dickinson two different ways (one heavy on the poem's ostensible iambic tetrameter--blecch!) and the other to an altogether different rhythm, that of the thing he believed she was writing about, a train (intriguing and much more true to the nature of the poem). Then we sang Dickinson poems to the strain of midi tunes such as "The Yellow Rose of Texas," "Gilligan's Island," and "Amazing Grace." It was really a blast.
Then we did an exercise in which students wrote poems to the rhythm of songs of their choice, without of course ever using words from those songs' lyrics, if they had any. Some very interesting stuff emerged.
Several people were absent from class. One at least I knew was going to be absent since he was out of town. The other two might have been absent because I sent out an email and said if I was not feeling better, I would cancel class, but I didn't cancel class. Didn't send out an all clear email either because there was just too much to do yesterday. When a class is this small, that can be a problem.
I am still thinking about what my son was saying about my teaching. Though I think that I do have something of value to offer to my students or to whomever asks me to contribute my comments about their writing, I could definitely benefit from an effort to be less harsh in the way I phrase things. I resolve to work on that since it is the reason Richard hasn't shown me work in years and no doubt the reason many students have dropped and many friends don't ask my opinion anymore about things they have written.
I can only grow from the effort.
This morning I slept in a little, as much as Whistler would allow, and feel somewhat better, well enough to go to yoga class at 10 this morning.
We are starting to talk about sound and rhythm in workshop, which is always a challenge. As I did last summer, I began with fun and games. Rather than doing the usual academic thing of going over the various nomenclatures for rhythm in poetry (iamb, trochee, anapest, etc.), which is boring to listen to and hard to talk about, I began by choosing poems that imitated the sounds of the things they were discussing, like Yeats' "Lake Isle of Innisfree" and Kay Ryan's "Crustacean Island." Interesting they are both Islands, isn't it? We also closely examined a sound-game by Christian Bok, "Vowels," a spare little piece in which he used only the letters from the word "Vowels" to create a poem that sounded really interesting and accrued meaning as it went along.
Following that, we listened to some sound files from the Internet from a webpage in which an instructor read a poem by Emily Dickinson two different ways (one heavy on the poem's ostensible iambic tetrameter--blecch!) and the other to an altogether different rhythm, that of the thing he believed she was writing about, a train (intriguing and much more true to the nature of the poem). Then we sang Dickinson poems to the strain of midi tunes such as "The Yellow Rose of Texas," "Gilligan's Island," and "Amazing Grace." It was really a blast.
Then we did an exercise in which students wrote poems to the rhythm of songs of their choice, without of course ever using words from those songs' lyrics, if they had any. Some very interesting stuff emerged.
Several people were absent from class. One at least I knew was going to be absent since he was out of town. The other two might have been absent because I sent out an email and said if I was not feeling better, I would cancel class, but I didn't cancel class. Didn't send out an all clear email either because there was just too much to do yesterday. When a class is this small, that can be a problem.
I am still thinking about what my son was saying about my teaching. Though I think that I do have something of value to offer to my students or to whomever asks me to contribute my comments about their writing, I could definitely benefit from an effort to be less harsh in the way I phrase things. I resolve to work on that since it is the reason Richard hasn't shown me work in years and no doubt the reason many students have dropped and many friends don't ask my opinion anymore about things they have written.
I can only grow from the effort.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Chapbook
I have been writing poems half my life, at least, but for some reason, with the exception of the two collections I had to put together for my degrees in writing, I have never been able to pull them together into a real collection. I have resolved to do this, and I'll start with a 25 page chapbook for qarrtsiluni's contest. Though I have no illusions about winning it, at least it will motivate me to put something together!
With the workshop this semester, I have been writing so many new poems, and of course I have a backload of poems that haven't been published (and some that have), so I should, theoretically, be able to put something together. The problem is that it just seems so forced, and all the cliches of sections of a book don't seem to fit, for some reason. Then there's a title. But I'll have to give it a try. Starting with a chapbook should get me into the mood for doing the work of organization.
I don't want to sew the poems into pillows, as Dickinson did. After all, I can't even sew! So this seems like something I must do at some point. It might as well be now.
With the workshop this semester, I have been writing so many new poems, and of course I have a backload of poems that haven't been published (and some that have), so I should, theoretically, be able to put something together. The problem is that it just seems so forced, and all the cliches of sections of a book don't seem to fit, for some reason. Then there's a title. But I'll have to give it a try. Starting with a chapbook should get me into the mood for doing the work of organization.
I don't want to sew the poems into pillows, as Dickinson did. After all, I can't even sew! So this seems like something I must do at some point. It might as well be now.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Ratemyprof.com
Today my son told me had read what students had to say about me on Ratemyprof.com, this after I told him I didn't want to know, didn't care, didn't want to read, ever, what those students, embittered, angry ones, mostly, had to say about me or my teaching. But he, after all, an expert, a college student of the very sort who writes these choice notes about a person who has spent all of his or her life attempting to communicate with college students like himself, with various degrees of success, feels that if I listen to the overall tone and message of these ratings, I may have more success reaching the very audience I aim for. In his view, if I just ease up, give less work, grade less onerously, I will be popular, and therefore reach more students.
I am skeptical. I have never in my life been popular with the majority of people around me. Why would that start now, no matter what actions I take? The students who don't want to be there, who don't care about the subjects they are taking, are not going to want to hear about those subjects no matter how the teachers package them. And those who want to try, who are inspired to learn, are going to pay attention, and some of them are going to do fine. Some are not. That is just the way it is.
If I didn't have to give grades, I could shrug and send students on their way to the next class. But since I have to, I must apply those standards to everyone, in a fair and equal way. Otherwise, I couldn't live with myself and wouldn't be doing my job.
No one ever taught me to write, till I got to college. I guess I want to return the favor, even if students would rather that I didn't.
I am skeptical. I have never in my life been popular with the majority of people around me. Why would that start now, no matter what actions I take? The students who don't want to be there, who don't care about the subjects they are taking, are not going to want to hear about those subjects no matter how the teachers package them. And those who want to try, who are inspired to learn, are going to pay attention, and some of them are going to do fine. Some are not. That is just the way it is.
If I didn't have to give grades, I could shrug and send students on their way to the next class. But since I have to, I must apply those standards to everyone, in a fair and equal way. Otherwise, I couldn't live with myself and wouldn't be doing my job.
No one ever taught me to write, till I got to college. I guess I want to return the favor, even if students would rather that I didn't.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Plans
I should already know that plans are just plans. They often don't happen as one wishes. But I've got my eye on the upcoming spring break. I want to do something I don't usually have the time to do when things are rolling along full force, take a train somewhere, go on an adventure. I don't want to do it by myself though. That's not fun. If any of my loyal readers want to join me, let me know.
I am still looking into field trips for my workshop. It seems though that Casa de Tortuga has not given public tours since 2006. I found a website that declared this, when no one answered the phone call I made to the number I found for the place. Disappointing. I have sent an email asking if there are other places of this nature I might take the class. No word yet.
I may have to forstall all my plans again to find my parents another place to live, unfortunately. My dad needs to have a nurse present who can change the catheter on a regular basis. I don't know at all how we are going to manage this. I don't want to separate my parents or put dad in a nursing home. He doesn't need to be in bed, and he will be very unhappy. So will my mom. Who knows what I can do about this! I hope the nurse practitioner has some good suggestions because this is really troubling me.
But I know I am not the only one with worries. I am sending out more virtual hugs to my friends R. and M.. M's brother is very ill and refusing medical care. For what it's worth, I am thinking about you.
I am still looking into field trips for my workshop. It seems though that Casa de Tortuga has not given public tours since 2006. I found a website that declared this, when no one answered the phone call I made to the number I found for the place. Disappointing. I have sent an email asking if there are other places of this nature I might take the class. No word yet.
I may have to forstall all my plans again to find my parents another place to live, unfortunately. My dad needs to have a nurse present who can change the catheter on a regular basis. I don't know at all how we are going to manage this. I don't want to separate my parents or put dad in a nursing home. He doesn't need to be in bed, and he will be very unhappy. So will my mom. Who knows what I can do about this! I hope the nurse practitioner has some good suggestions because this is really troubling me.
But I know I am not the only one with worries. I am sending out more virtual hugs to my friends R. and M.. M's brother is very ill and refusing medical care. For what it's worth, I am thinking about you.
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