In Praise of Public Libraries

We awake this morning to news that there will be no government shut down, at least not right now.  Of course, this deal affects the budget that should have been passed before last October, when the fiscal year started.  I dread the bombastics sure to come as lawmakers turn their attention to the next fiscal year's budget.

I kept hearing lots of folks talking about taxes, but I can't help but notice that I'm taxed at the lowest rate I've ever been taxed.  I know people who rant and rave about the rich avoiding paying their fair share of taxes, but frankly, I'm not paying much tax either, and I assure you it's not because I'm rich and not because I have a lot of tax shelters.

In fact, I wouldn't mind paying more if the money went to things like public libraries.  I mention these items on the birthday of the first library to be supported by taxpayer funds.  In 1833, in Peterborough, New Hampshire, citizens voted to set aside a portion of their tax money to buy books--and thus was born a great American tradition.

It's an intriguing question:  which is the greatest of the contributions that the U.S. has given the world.  Some might say jazz.  Some might offer the quilt.  Some might go for a loftier idea and say that the idea of democracy is uniquely American and our greatest gift to the world.

But I could make a strong case for the idea of the public library.  Before the Internet became so widespread, the public library was the only way to access information easily and cheaply.  You can't get more cheap than free! 

I remember the first time I tried to go to the library at the University of Miami without my faculty ID, and I was denied entrance.  I felt outrage at the idea of a private library.  Oh, sure, in theory, I get it, but emotionally, I felt ashamed, almost, and denied of something essential.  I hungered for entrance!

One of my earliest memories is of my mom riding her bike to the public library with me behind her in the baby seat.  For a long time, my family had one car, which my dad drove to work. 

And later, I remember the Montgomery (Alabama) public library, which let adults check out as many books as they liked, but children were limited to 10.  My mom and I worked out a deal:  she'd check out as many books for me as I wanted on her card.

I was a voracious reader and always grateful for the library which meant  that I didn't have to buy books.  And of course, the library has always had more than books.  As poor graduate students, we had access to lots of movies (on VHS!), and the downtown Main library even had framed art which you could keep for a month, which we did.

I'm happy to pay for libraries and public education and police/fire protection and the upkeep of roads.  I'll even pay for weapons systems and multiple branches of the military, even though my younger self would be horrified at my complicity.  Once upon a time, I'd have wanted more say in the decision making process about how my tax money was spent, but now I hardly have time to do the shopping and the laundry, so I'll let the experts decide which weapons systems are best and which resources should be bought for the library.

I can't be the only one who feels this way--can I?  And yet, in all this budget bluster of the past week, I haven't heard many voices that match mine.  But I continue to be hopeful that I will.

Writer as Miracle: Happy Birthday, Barbara Kingsolver!

Today is the birthday of one of my favorite writers, Barbara Kingsolver.  The story of how she moved from being an academic and a technical writer to a woman who makes a living as a creative writer has probably inspired tens of thousands of people.

She was pregnant and suffered insomnia.  Her doctor suggested that she clean the bathrooms with a toothbrush, so that she had motivation to stay asleep.  Instead, she decided to write what would become her first novel, The Bean Trees.  She moved her typewriter into a closet so that she could write on her typewriter and her husband could sleep.

Notice that she had always been a writer.  In addition to the academic and technical writing she had been doing as part of her work, she had been writing poems and short stories (for most of her whole life).  But The Bean Trees catapulted her into popularity.  She's continued to write fantastic novels and wonderful essays.  I love how her novels weave themes of social justice into compelling plotlines with characters who are utterly believable.

I love her essays too.  If I ever give up this South Florida life and move to a farm, her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle will be partly to blame.  That book makes sustainable living sound doable.

This week has been somewhat hectic for me--several evening obligations after days at work where I've been filling in for a dean who's away giving a paper at a conference, while still covering the needs of my department.  Last night, some 15 hours after I got ready for week, I discovered that I had spent the whole day wearing non-matching earrings (luckily, I wore my hair down, so I'm guessing that few people noticed).  I've been wearing earrings since 1979, and I've never worn two different earrings.

If you've been having a similar week, a week where you wonder if anything you do is worth doing, here's a quote from Kingsolver to inspire you:  "What a writer can do, what a fiction writer or a poet or an essay writer can do, is re-engage people with their own humanity. Fiction and essays can create empathy for the theoretical stranger."

The Temptations of Diane Lockward's Latest Book

One of the things that I miss about being in school was that knowledge that if I was consumed by my reading, other people were reading the same books, and I had a built-in discussion group.

When Dave Bonta announced his plan to read a volume of poetry each day and to blog about it, I wrote to ask if those of us who couldn't be that ambitious could tag along anyway--could we vote in advance to read a book a week and discuss it?  He said yes--and it's not too late for you to join in!  Go here for details.  Our first book for National Poetry Month is Diane Lockward's Temptation by Water.

Dave Bonta live-blogged his reading of the book, which I found fascinating.  I wrote a response blog post that imagined what my live-blogging would look like in the day of an administrator, but that was not my serious response to the book.  I've spent the last week returning to this book again and again--it's that kind of book that rewards multiple readings.

I first read this book back in July, in the way that I usually read a collection of poems, by dipping in and out.  As usual, I loved her poems about food.  I worried about fully immersing myself, since the poems seemed to have a bluish tinge of loss.

I'm glad that I read the book as a whole, because that reading has given me a different sense of the book.  There are plenty of poems that explore the ways "Winter consumes what I love and leaves / behind the wreckage of absence--" ("Hunger in the Garden").  Even with the theme of loss, however, I found myself delighted by the new metaphors Lockward uses to describe it:  "Azaleas, too, surrender to teeth, to hunger's / chomp and winter's bite" ("Hunger in the Garden").  Yes, the collection explores loss, but also the ways that loss makes us stronger:  "Even the chain link fence endures, no matter what / has happened here, it grows rusty but endures" ("Learning to Live Alone").

The first poem in Section 1 both warns us and comforts us, reminds us of " . . . how we are all / looking for someone to push back / the waves, to grab hold of us, and keep us / here, pressed to this earth" ( "Weather Report").  One of the ways we grab hold of each other is through food, a wide diversity of food, from plums, to soup to pork and potatoes in multiple forms.  My favorite of the food poems is "You Offer Lychee to Your American Friends."  This poem explores the nature of sweet treats across cultures and encourages us to "Breathe the ghost of cacoa tree."

Nature also keeps us anchored to the earth.  "Birdhouse" reminds us that for every loss, comes consolation; in this poem, the speaker doesn't get a profusion of flowers, but of birds.  "For One Who Crumbles in Spring" reminds us that no matter the desolation, Spring's lushness returns every year.  The speaker in "The Temptation of Mirage" says, "Give me starkness on the horizon, / predictability of beige and brown," yet this collection of poems celebrates a wide diversity of colors.

I've loved Diane Lockward's books, each and every one, and I first found her work by reading her blog; if you've ever wondered if a blog can lead readers to your other creative works, I'm here to report that they can and do.  If you've ever worried that by putting your individual poems on your blog, people might not buy your larger works, I haven't found that to be true.  I like to have a complete collection.

And Temptation by Water is the kind of collection that rewards us for our attention.  It's wonderful to perceive the poems relating to each other, both those in close proximity, and those across the collection.  It's wonderful to see poems that get their inspiration from traditional sources, like nature and love, but also popular culture, like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.  But most important, it's the kind of collection that holds treasures for both the casual reader and the close reader.  You don't need an advanced degree to understand these poems, but if you're the kind of person who likes to delve below the surface waters of a poem, there's plenty of undersea poetry life here.

And now, sensing that I may be stretching the world of metaphor too thin, I'll return to my own poetry writing, refreshed by this immersion into Diane Lockward's Temptation of Water.

Hobbes, Locke, and Those Legislators Who Want to Read Our E-Mails

Today the news is full of stories about government shut downs.  It's the birthday of Thomas Hobbes, and so, a good day to think about the role of government.  Do we want governments that troll through the e-mails of university professors, for example?  More on that later.

When I taught the Brit Lit survey classes, I always periodically gave my students a crash course in political theory.  It was great fun to talk about Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, and their views of humanity.  I'd include a question on the exam:  are you more like Hobbes or Locke in your view of human nature?  In some ways, it was a give-away answer, except that for the student who wasn't there the day we discussed the 2 philosophers.

So, are you more like Hobbes or Locke?  Oh, how I wish I could believe, like Locke, that humans are by nature rational and reasonable and tolerant.  But I turn on the news, and it's hard to argue that point.  These days, we all seem to be like Hobbes, who describes the lives of humans left to their own devices as "poor, nasty, brutish, and short" (Leviathan).  Yes, I know, I'm simplifying their views. 

But on Hobbes' birthday, it's worth considering the idea of government as social contract, an idea that can be traced directly back to Hobbes.  Do we want government that controls our most base impulses towards each other?  Do we want a government that somehow ennobles us (or, as a Simpsons episode might say, embiggens us?).  And how do we manufacture such governments?

I'm rather intrigued by the drama playing out in Wisconsin, where there's a state legislator who wants access to the e-mails written by a university professor.  Really?  Really???!!  What on earth does he expect to find?  News stories like that one bring out my Hobbesian beliefs--but why do nasty and brutish people become legislators?

National Poetry Month brings out my Lockeian self.  I'm amazed at how people in the poetry world help each other and look out for each other.  I'm happily surprised at the level of support that's out there.  Look at what Dave Bonta has done in his live-blogging post that also reviews Diane Lockward's Temptation by Water.

I will be writing a post about this book tomorrow or Thursday, but I will not live-blog.  Here's what my live-blog would look like (a disclaimer:  all the writing below describes fictional events, although it points towards the truth of my administrator life):

Thirteen e-mails with syllabi attached.  All looks well with the syllabi, as it always does.  I file them into the appropriate folder, just in case a student appears with a question later or in case something happens, and I need to cover a class.

Read a poem.

Read two e-mails that were forwarded to me so that there would be an e-paper trail.  As far as I can see, they don't require action on my part.

Read a poem.

Read ten e-mails about various student issues that don't really concern me or my department, but I'm kept in the loop as a courtesy.

Try to read a poem, but interrupted by an irate student who is upset because she had to do a group project for her Anthropology class, but she didn't think she should have to do a group project, she prefers to work alone, she shouldn't be required to work in a group, and besides, her group was lame.  When I point out that she had the syllabus from day 1, and the syllabus is very clear about the group project, she asks, "How would I have known about that?  I didn't read the syllabus."  I almost say something unkind, but choke down those words.  We go round and round, and she claims that working in a group will have no relevance to her future life when she's a famous director of films.  Finally, I resort to one of my points I always have to make:   the syllabus says there will be a group project, and it's a contract of sorts.  We continue in this vein for over half an hour.

I want to read a poem, but my head hurts.  Instead, I eat chocolate.  In the time that I've been talking to the irate student, I've gotten 30 more e-mails.  Not a one solves essential problems.  Not a one will be important a month from now.

I think about that legislator who is convinced that those of us working in the post-high-school educational fields are plotting great social change via our e-mails, and we must be stopped.  I think about my 19 year old self, who would not believe my life has come to this:  a relentless cycle of e-mail management.  I try to remind myself that I do some good in the world, even if I'm not setting the world on ear, like a liberation theology priest, like Archbishop Romero, but surely he felt ineffectual at times, as the bodies piled up and the rivers ran red with blood during that horrible time in El Salvador.

I go back to reading the blog posts of others, and I feel better, knowing that there are kind poets in the world, wonderful voices, everyday acts of kindness and redemption.  I make a note to myself to remember to make a vegetarian lasagne for dinner with the homeless on Wednesday and to call those people who need a ride to the BOLD Justice rally Thursday night.

With a bit of peace restored, I return to Lockward's book . . .

National Poetry Month Day 4

Today I have switched to the composing choice with Blogger that allows me more choices.  I changed the type font.  I wonder if I should change the type size.  We shall see.

This morning was more hectic than I thought it would be, but it means I get a middle of the day breathing space at home.  I needed to go to school early, which I didn't anticipate, to find some subs for an instructor who found out that her father died on Saturday.  So, I went to school, took care of various administrator duties, and then came home (I'll go back again this afternoon).  I tried to replicate the gratinee that I had at the French restaurant a week ago--it was tasty, but not the same.  I have laundry in the washing machine.  I'm trying to ignore the rest of the dirt in the house so as to have a chance to write.  I'm trying to ignore the lure of the afternoon nap.

I'm feeling slightly sad because everyone else seems to be having a more productive month than I am, and it's only day 4 of National Poetry Month!  I'm trying to remember the advice of my yoga instructor who always used to reprimand us when she'd catch us staring at others in the mirror:  "Quit comparing yourself to others.  It doesn't help."

Besides, it's not like I've been completely indolent.  On Friday, I had lunch with a friend who's a writer, and after that, I decided to be big and brave and go to the local wine store with the lovely wine bar to see if they'd let us come do a poetry reading there.  They said yes!  Here's hoping the date checks out.  I've sent out some e-mails about my forthcoming book.  I've done some reading.  Yesterday I continued to work on my 2nd trailer for my book.

But still, I need to write a poem before the month goes on much further.  So, by this time tomorrow, I'll write a poem.  That gives me some time to plot, and then tomorrow, I'll get some poetry writing done.  It's not a poem a day, but I'm cool with that.

St. Petersburg Sojourn and Thoughts on Academic Conferences

Months ago, I submitted an abstract to the College English Association and happily, my paper was accepted. In past years, I've gotten away from the practice of going to academic conferences. They can be ghastly expensive, and out of price range for adjuncts. And I wrestle with whether or not presenting at academic conferences will be seen as important, should I ever go on the job market again. Some years I think it's far more important to focus on my poetry, and others, I worry about this hole in my CV.

So, even though there was no travel money this year, I decided it was time to go to academic conferences again. I went to the AWP and enjoyed it thoroughly. I decided to cut my time at the CEA short.

For one thing, when I had originally thought about going, I thought that my spouse could go with me, and it would be a mini vacation. Alas, he had to work. Suddenly, that special conference hotel price of $129 a night started to look very expensive.

So, I decided to cut my time short. I looked forward to time away and the chance to explore a new city. However, it was not a good weather week-end for exploring--very stormy. Plus, St. Pete was having some sort of Speedway car racing event, which meant that parts of the city were impassable,wrapped in chain link fencing. And when you've come from the DC region, where the Smithsonian museums are free, finding out that the museums in St. Pete charge $14-21 for admission--well, I decided to stay put.

I braved the winds and read by the pool. No threat of sunburn on Wednesday. I came back to the room and did some final proofreading for my writing project that was due Friday. I looked through the volumes of poetry that Dave Bonta and I will be discussing. I read some of the poems in each book and took notes for what to look for during my intense read. I read Kelli Russell Agodon's Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room straight through. I made notes on my presentation.

I didn't write a paper, the way I would have when I was younger. One of the reasons that I don't like traditional literary conferences is that everyone reads a paper, often in a dreadful monotone. One of the reasons that I liked the AWP so much is that people had conversations. So, I approached my CEA opportunity as a talk, not a paper presentation.

It went very well. I presented at one of the very first of the 12 (!!) concurrent sessions, at 8:00 a.m. We had an audience of about 8 people, not counting presenters--that's about 6 more people than I was expecting.

I had thought that I might stick around for more sessions, but the weather that morning had already been apocalyptic to the north, and the system was expected to head south and settle in by afternoon (which it did, with massive damage). So, after my presentation, I threw my stuff in the car and headed home.

There are people who might criticize my approach to this conference. They might say that I should have made more of an attempt to network, never a strong suit of mine. What if I find myself flung back onto the merciless job market?

Well, it will be hard to know which connections will be most important, should I find myself out of work. Will it be the people I might have met at conferences? Will it be old friends from grad school? Co-workers from past places? People I've met through blogging? I suspect the latter categories will be more important than random connections I might make at a literary conference.

It's the same way that it's hard to know how best to prepare for retirement. Or to return to an earlier example, which form of intelligent interaction with my field will be most important (conference presentation, poetry publication, reviews, literary criticism, something that hasn't even been invented yet?) should I ever need another job?

As with investments, I try not to put all my eggs in one basket. I publish creative works and theology and the occasional review or literary criticism piece and I hope that my Renaissance approach will be appealing to the kinds of places (non-research focused, post secondary education) I would apply.

The best part of my 20 hours in St. Pete? The chance to reconnect with old family friends, who have known me since I was 4. They've seen me in all my unattractive phases (think smart-mouthed 19 year old in combat boots), and they were still willing to meet me for dinner. We had a lovely evening with a perfect dinner.

The best part of my drive? That trek across the state, through the Everglades, with broad vistas unmarked by humans--well, except for the stretch of Interstate, of course. If I had been in a mood to stop and take pictures, I'd have taken a shot of the sign that said, "Check your gas gauge. No facilities for the next 50 miles." How often do you see that? I might have also taken a picture of the sign that announced the Florida Panther Sanctuary.

But I took no pictures. I got home, put my stuff away, and went right back to the process of meeting deadlines, thinking about book promotion (look for upcoming announcement about a reading in the wine shop--hurrah!), grocery shopping, laundry, what needs to be done at work. I'm both missing my St. Pete sojourn and feeling happy to be back home. I need to get back to poetry writing, and what better time than now, National Poetry Month!

Big Poetry Giveaway and Other Ways to Celebrate National Poetry Month

Happy National Poetry Month! Yes, April is busy, and yes, I'd prefer we have National Poetry Month in January, but since the month now has momentum of its own, we'll celebrate!

Kelli Russell Agodon has launched her wonderful Big Poetry Giveaway for 2011. Go here for complete details. You've got lots of chances to win books; go here for the updated list of who's participating; Kelli's even taken the time to link to the blogs. Basically, all you have to do to be entered is to leave a comment, and if you're commenting as Anonymous, you'll need to leave a way to get in touch with you. On May 2 or 3, I'll put all the names in a bread bowl, and I'll draw out some winners. I'm also likely to have some surprise winners, more than 2, for books yet to be announced, so stay tuned! One book that I've really been enjoying this month has been my friend Shefali Choksi's new book, Frontier Literature. She writes amazing poetry, the kind that makes me shake my head in wonder at the connections she makes. If you're the kind of person who loves allusions to fairy tales and mythology, she's the poet for you. Plus, she uses both western fairy tales/mythology and fairy tales/mythology from her native India. She's remarkable, and I'm happy to share her work with you.

The second book that I will give away is a copy of my first chapbook, pictured below.

What else am I planning for National Poetry Month? I need to work on promoting my forthcoming chapbook, I Stand Here Shredding Documents. The amount of copies sold in this prepublication period determines how many copies overall will be printed, so I need to work on generating sales (go here to order; I'll be happy to sign it for you later, and I'll pay for the postage it will take to get you that signature). I'm also going to read a book of poems a week along with Dave Bonta and others, and participate in a phone interview with each poet and Dave that will later be available as a podcast. For the schedule, go here. And for those of you writing a poem each day, here's Kelli's list of all new prompts, and here's my list of prompts that I created last year. Happy National Poetry Month everyone--may you enjoy poems, either those that you write or those that you read. May your month be filled with happy surprises and wonder.