Not amusing

With having to give up teaching this semester, I've also lost my access to the library resources and databases. No more OED, no more MLA research, no more reading journals stored electronically. And perhaps, most disappointing, no more inter library loan. Of course, I can go sign up for a community user card and use the library itself and my hope is that some of these resources will be available then. I've also lost the hours of work I'd put into my "online" sites for each of the classes I've taught. Yes, I backed up the documents that were vital. But it still takes hours to upload and tidy and tweak those sites.

On a more amusing note, I recently finished Teacher Man. It was quite an enjoyable read. I especially liked this bit:

They (students) don't like it when Mr. McCourt says, Why was Hamlet mean to
his mother, or why didn't he kill the king when he had the chance.
It's all right to spend the rest of the period going round and round
discussing this, but you'd like to know the answer before the goddam bell
rings. Not with McCourt, man. He's asking questions, throwing out
suggestions, causing confusion,and you know the warning bell is about to
ring and and you get this feeling in your gut. Come on, come on, what's the
answer? and he keeps saying What do you think? What do you
think?

--From Teacher Man by Frank McCourt

I think that next time I step in front of a literature class I'm going to hand them this quote and spend the first day of the semester discussing it. Literature is no fun when other people make the discoveries. I hate cliff notes for this very reason. I like to puzzle it out on my own; I like to leave the class thinking about why.

With treatments every other week, I'm starting to understand a bit what it might be like to be manic-depressive. Last week, I was incredibly depressed and couldn't see my way to this week. This week, I'm wondering how the hell I even had half of the thoughts that went through my brain last week. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but I have to remember that the bad weeks will too pass.

Spring is arriving. The robins are flapping around in huge groups. I'm on the lookout for the pair that nests in the ceder tree.

Be well.

Connections

There is a very readable interview with Gary Snyder at the Poetry Foundation with links to a nice selection of his work. I've always been fond of his "Axe Handles" even though I'm not as certain who's work is shaping me. Pound, yes. Snyder, perhaps. So many that it's impossible to choose. Auden for certain.

I like "The Bath" as well. I like how these poems show a sense of connection between the generations. There's a hope there that I find intensely reassuring.

Settling Back

After the past 8 weeks of chaos, I'm finally settling into a routine that allows time to dedicate to writing and reading. It's strange how the most terrifying news can be eventually absorbed by your life and your thoughts. A few weeks ago, while recovering from the surgery, I was an emotional wreck. But now, I've come to accept this new "normal."

We went to a concert tonight. My son was dressed in the standard black and white. It's amazing to think he's in highschool. I can't imagine how that has happened. It doesn't feel so long ago since it was my highschool band up on the stage. The music was a joy.

tick tock.

Don't blink.

Why the answers change

I am a person who thrives on routine. If someone says the plan is "a, b, c," I'm good with "a, b, c" but when the plan changes, "2xa, +b, -c, +e and f" I get a bit stressed.

I am not very flexible.


Perhaps Yoga would help.


On a poetry note, I don't often push boundaries and submission deadlines, but due to this messed up bit of my life, I did this week. And they were nice enough to let me know that they'd still consider it. A small bright spot!

There is sun today and the snow is melting away. I hope it is enough to raise my spirits a bit.
"February, Thinking of Flowers" by Jane Kenyon seems apt today. Bees, and the garden in the late afternoon haze.

Cleaning out dusty shelves, I came across a poem I don't remember writing. I remember the experiences of the poem, but not writing it. This feels a bit odd and a bit like reading a stranger's diary. Except it's my handwriting and my memories.

Some Answers

Last time 'round, I did a chemotherapy called "MAID" which required hospitalization for 5 days for each round. It was tough but I made it through. This time, because different cancers respond to different chemotherapy drugs, the doctor is sending me for a variation of Folfox, which is outpatient and only a few hours long once a week. If all goes well, I might be done with the active part by mid-summer. I am feeling much better about this treatment. I didn't know how I would manage to be in the hospital so much again, so it is a relief that this one will be less time consuming.


It's hard to write without feeling like I'm wallowing.

This is; I'm dealing with it; life goes on.

Yellow Calla Lillies

you must be depressed my neighbor says as she drops off lillies
i'm looking forward to spring and hope you'll be well by then
spring? with six new inches of snow tonight? this spring?
I can't even bear to lie and say no or yes

the days are fine, but evening and each day's death
too much. I wait for the sun, for April, for answers.

Lake with Ice

We drove out to the lake yesterday and again this evening. The skies are filled with Canada geese, snow geese, and a multitude of ducks with their wings beating wildly. The lake is almost frozen solid, and this is a huge lake mind you, and the ducks and geese crowd around the edges of the open water.

Yesterday, between the flights of geese, I spotted an eagle. I've been lucky to see at least one or so a year as long as we've lived here. I don't know what he was doing, though, flying over the cow barns at the ag college. Picking off pigeons perhaps?

Tonight at dusk, we drove by a field with hundreds of mallards. The sound of them taking flight was beautiful. Comically, a few ducks stayed down until the flock was quite far away. Then, one would rise up and frantically flap towards the flock. This was repeated several times; I suspect they believed the flock would resettle, but they were off towards the lake to raft for the evening.

A heron waded in the overflow of the dam; a flock of redheads flew above us. The ducks seem frantic in flight compared to the measured flapping of the geese.

How to make this poetry? I'm still thinking about it.