Happy Birthday, Robert Browning!

Today is the birthday of Robert Browning.  In his lifetime, he was more famous as the husband of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  By the time I was in undergraduate school, in the mid-80's, she was barely mentioned, and he was the important Victorian poet.  By the time I was finishing grad school in 1992, there was an explosion of feminist scholarship exploring her work.

When I was younger, I might have spent countless hours arguing which poet was more important--and I could argue either side.  As I get older, I'm more fascinated by the biographical elements.

Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett eloped in 1846. What a thrilling story. She was older and more established. He wrote her a fan letter. They exchanged what seems today to be an extraordinary number of letters--although if you look at the writing habits of nineteenth century British people, authors and non-authors alike, it's clear that the nineteenth century may well prove to have been a golden age of letter writing, despite the high postal rates of the time. She was a semi-invalid. That fact did not deter him. He spirited her away, they married, and they moved to Italy, where they each wrote some of their most important works. She died in his arms.


For people who assure us that marriage, parenthood, or any human relationship ruins creativity, the story of the Brownings can provide comfort. Would Elizabeth Barrett Browning have written her impressive Aurora Leigh without that marriage? Would Robert Browning have done as much with the dramatic monologue without her encouragement? What would civilization look like without the line: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways"?

When I taught Victorian poetry, it's interesting that students found the works of both writers, along with Christina Rossetti, the most accessible, the most appealing to twenty-first century readers.  My students couldn't make sense of writers like Tennyson, who has enjoyed much more critical and scholarly acclaim.  But they loved the work of Robert Browning, with his strange characters and their dramatic monologues.

So today, in honor of Robert Browning, write a dramatic monologue or two.  An assignment that works well in my creative writing classes has also worked well for me, when I find myself feeling dried up and out of ideas.

Take a fairy tale or myth and write from the perspective of one of the characters.  Or follow the narrative out 20 or 30 years:  what happens after the happily ever after?  What does Cinderella think as she holds her first grandchild? 

I like the dramatic monologue because it gets my students out of themselves.  Many students approach poetry writing with a tendency to make the poems too focused on their own lives and experiences.  A fairy tale gives them a different soil in which to root their interests.

"Homestead Acts": the History, the Present, and My Poem

One of my poems has just been published in Slant, a journal I love.  For years, Slant only chose my poems that were rooted in Greek mythology.  But this one is rooted in my love of Laura Ingalls Wilder and my weariness with meetings that accomplish nothing but going over what we've discussed before.

Those of you familiar with this blog and other works will see themes that you recognize.

And yes, after one particularly horrible meeting about assessment, I did go to an exhibit of Cuban art, and thought about that juxtaposition.  And yes, I do have a quilt made by a spinster aunt of my grandmother, but it's much too precious to actually use it.  It lives in the cedar chest.


Homestead Acts



During boring meetings, I sketch
covered wagons and sod houses.
I make lists of my possessions:
what would an immigrant need
and what could be jettisoned?

I know I wouldn’t have the right
tools. I know the history:
one group displaced
so another can homestead,
and in the end, only a few success stories.
Most went mad or broke.
More starved to death than records tell.
Sickness stalked the Plains,
and native life forms perished.

At the end of my day of combative
meetings, the modern form of scalping
and counting coup, I wander
into the museum that displays
the art of the dispossessed.
I think of Cubans and their desperate
rafts, the Pedro Pan children.

I return home to my snug
cottage with the furniture
of my ancestors to comfort
me. I think of dining room tables dotting
Western trails, and I brew
tea in my great grandmother’s china
pot. I tend to my seedlings before settling
in for the night under the quilt
made by the anxious hands
of my grandmother’s spinster aunt.

"Chance" Encounters and Discernment at a Gathering to Elect a Bishop

I am running shorter on writing time than I thought I would be this morning.  If you want a more detailed meditation on my experience at the Synod Assembly where we elected a new bishop, see this post on my theology blog.

The short version:  I'm happy with the candidate we elected, Robert Schaefer.  He's a man who seems to have a good sense of humor, a man who smiles frequently.  He seems to have a gentle spirit, a non-combative approach.  He's worked within the system, so he's not a tear down the institution to save the institution kind of candidate.

The electing approach wasn't as interesting as I thought it would be, although as we narrowed down the candidates, it got more interesting.  We never had an opportunity for in-depth discussion with the candidates.

And we never had an opportunity to do much else either.  There was no session for those discerning a call.  There weren't as many people in the marketplace, which in retrospect, is not a surprise, because we had even less down time than usual.  No networking, no innovative worship services, no interesting Bible study.

However, I did have an experience that seemed so extraordinarily outside of the realm of possibility that I'm unable to write it off as coincidence, even as I know that my scientist friends would scoff at me.

About a month ago, a friend at Create in Me told me that Luther Seminary has a low-residency track, and I did some research and found out that the low-residency is for the whole program, not just the first year.  I tucked it away and didn't think about it much more in the past month.

At lunch on Friday, our pastor told us that lots of seminaries are creating low-residency options and all kind of other approaches for people who can't just pick up and leave.  And then, we returned for the afternoon's smaller group sessions with the bishop candidate.

I found myself sitting beside a man who is a student in the low-residency program at Luther Seminary!  What are the odds of that?

I found out because I asked him if he'd be going to the dinner to honor the Bishop.  He said he had to finish a paper for seminary.  He said, "You wouldn't expect it, would you, that I'd be working on a paper, for my seminary in Minnesota?"  Something clicked in my brain, and I blurted, "Are you part of the low-residency program?"

Indeed he is.  I asked lots of questions, and I am just so happy to have met a real, live person who is experiencing the program.  He spoke very highly of it.  He's managing to go through without taking on debt, through grants and scholarships and careful budgeting.  He said it's a great option in that he doesn't have to pay for a whole year at the beginning of the year.

He said it is somewhat exhausting to continue to hold down his full-time job, which involves working outdoors, and doing the school work.  As summer has approached, he's felt even more tired.

He praised the community that he feels, which has been one of my concerns.

It was interesting to me that just as I was despairing about the lack of anything other than electing the bishop, I sat beside just the person I needed to meet.

I'm sure I'll be writing more on discernment as the weeks go by.  I don't feel like I'm any closer to knowing anything for sure.  But I do know that it was an important encounter that I had this week-end at Synod Assembly.  It doesn't feel like it was random chance.

Last Day at Synod Assembly

I am writing this post in advance, since I'm not sure what my options will be while I'm at Synod Assembly.  By the time this post goes up, most of Synod Assembly will be over.  ELCA Lutherans from across the state of Florida and various Caribbean nations will have gathered and focused upon the question of who should be the next Bishop of the Florida-Bahamas Synod.

I wonder what answer will be emerging.  I've met plenty of people who could make a good Bishop.  As with being President of the U.S., I'm unsure of why anyone would want the job.

There may be other answers to emerge from Synod Assembly.  There's usually a session for people who are discerning a call.  If you've been reading my blog for very long, you know that there's a part of me that feels pulled toward ministry.  This year, I'll attend the session for people who feel called.  I'm sure there won't be a definitive answer, but I can at least get a handle on the process.

This will be my fifth Synod Assembly.  It may well be my last for awhile.  Of course, I say that every year.

Will I see people whom I know?  By now, I see people who look familiar, even if I don't know them, because we've been assembling for so many years.  I often see people whom I know from various Lutheridge connections.

For me, Synod Assembly is a bit like an academic conference.  There are usually some interesting sessions which make my brain perk up.

But it's also a bit like camp or college, where I realize that we're a group that won't be together long, and thus, I forge connections more quickly.

It's a bit like a creativity workshop, where I say, "Hey, I could do this myself.  Hey, I'd like to make something like that.  Wow, what if I took what they're doing with this thing and applied it to that thing?"

And it's a bit like the best church, with great worship opportunities.

I'll report more fully upon my return.

What Do You Love about America? A writing prompt from Richard Blanco

I realize that many of us are winding our classes, but I couldn't resist recording some teaching ideas that I picked up at the Richard Blanco events on Monday.

Blanco pointed out that his first assignment in his first MFA poetry class was very similar to what he had to do for the Inaugural poem.  His class spent time reading Whitman, William Carlos Williams, and Robert Frost.  And then, the assignment:  write a poem about America.

You can read that first poem here.  Compare it to the Inaugural poem, "One Today," which is here.

Your Composition or Lit students could compare the two.  The webpages have ways to have Richard Blanco read the poem.  It would be interesting to have students discuss and then write about the difference in hearing the poem and in reading it.

And then, students could write their own poem about America.

Blanco said that the question that led to the rough draft of "One Today," was "What do I love about America?"

I've had good luck with the opposite question, and there's a long history of poets critiquing America.   My students react to Ginsberg's version as if he's a bit insane--which of course, you could argue that he was.  They can't imagine anyone being so angry about the atom bomb.

I ask them, "How would you fill in this blank today?  F--- you America, with your ________."

I like Blanco's question better these days.  What do you love about this country?  I'm tired of hearing about what makes people angry.

Tell me what you love.

Moves

I've been thinking a lot about the future, where I should be, what I should be doing.  I'll probably write a Discernment II kind of post next week.  But it's also been on my mind this week, as my spouse and I have thought about moving to a better neighborhood now, while we can still afford it.  It's been on my mind as I've been back and forth across Broward county, realizing how long I've been here.

When I went to the South campus at Broward College on Monday, I didn't think about how many people I'd see.  When we first moved here, in 1998, I taught there, and through the years, I've met other people who have gotten teaching jobs there.    It was like old home week coming back.

As I listened to Richard Blanco talk about the South Florida immigrant experience, I thought back to 1998, when I was first meeting Cuban-Americans.  I remember feeling so inspired by learning about new corners of history I didn't know before.  I remember exploring South Florida and writing rapturous e-mails that said, "I get to live here!" 

Now of course, I'd be writing e-mails that would say, "Should I still be living here?"

If I'm honest, one of the reasons that I want to move to a new area is to capture that euphoria of a new place to explore.  I could just go to a new place for a vacation, couldn't I?

I'm also one of those people who thinks that any number of problems will be solved by moving to a new place, as if I could leave all my current troubles behind.  But it's our cultural myth here in the U.S., isn't it?  Some of us have been content to settle in deep roots, while others of us are restless, always moving on, often headed west, in search of the next best place.

My spouse would be happy if we could stay here forever.  And since he's happy here, we'll stay here.  After all, if we moved, I'd look back on South Florida with yearning and nostalgia.

When I talk about my longing for land in the country, people often tell me that I'd miss the cultural activities available down here.  They're probably right.  If I lived in a rural place, how far would I have to travel for a free poetry reading? 

On Monday, I could zip back and forth between the Richard Blanco events.  There's something to be said for that.

When we first moved down here, I was enchanted by the historic neighborhoods, but it was fairly clear we couldn't afford one of those houses.  Now, because of the housing collapse and because it's fifteen years later and we have more resources, we can.  A commitment to place can make some dreams come true.

There are anxieties, of course.  I'm old enough to know that every choice comes with some opportunity costs.  I'm not as confident that we'll have good jobs as I once was.  But I also know that we're fairly good at managing resources, even when they're scarce or strained.

So, it will be an interesting summer.  Our housing market is heating back up, so it's time to make these decisions, instead of pondering and waiting for the right time.

Some of you might say, "But wait!  Weren't you thinking of seminary?  Didn't you have dreams of other careers?  What happens to your creative life if you move to a new house?"

I go back to what Richard Blanco said, when he advised the student who was wrestling with the choice of a major.  He reminded us all that we don't have to choose just one thing.  He warned us away from the thinking that says, "I can only be/do this one thing."

And if I'm careful, perhaps the choices that I make this summer can lead to expanded possibilities in future years. 

May Day: Maypoles, Marx, and Miracles

May 1:  have you been up before sunrise, putting bouquets of flowers on the porches of those you love?

Me neither--but when I was in elementary school, it always sounded neat.

I have May Day memories from my youth, memories of Maypoles and ribbons and weaving something interesting out of scraps.

It's only been more recently that I've thought of the labor relations aspects of this day.  I have a BA in Sociology in addition to English, so I could give a little lecture on Marx and how his writings seem more relevant today in some ways than they did when I first read them in undergraduate school in the 80's.  We could talk about workers and alienation and who owns the means of production. 

But let's begin in a more simple place.

With the collapse of the factory (in Bangladesh?) that makes cheap clothes for Westerners, it seems a good day to think about where our clothes come from.  Just after the collapse of that factory, I heard a commenter on NPR say that we're sensitized to where our food comes from and safety issues with all sorts of commodities, but most of us don't give much thought to our clothes.

I'm not sure I agree.  I know many people who think about it, but it's hard to find clothes that come from non-third-world countries.  All of those industries have been moved.

It's a good day to think about who sews those clothes in those Dickensian factories, who grows the food we eat, who ships all of our goods to us.  It's a good day to think about who cleans up our workplaces after we're gone for the day.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about meaningful work and what I'd like to do with the second half of my life.  It's a good day to be grateful that I have the luxury to do that, and to say a prayer for those who don't have that freedom.

We could also say a prayer for workers of the future.  Today is the day for many schools when students must put down a deposit to secure their space for fall.  What will they study?  What career fields will exist for them that we can't even imagine now?

It's also the feast day of St. Philip and James; for a spiritual take on May Day, try this post over at my theology blog.  I'm intrigued by how small a role Philip and James have as apostles.  Yet still, they get a feast day.

Perhaps there's a lesson there for all of us.  I spend a lot of time feeling like my work doesn't matter.  It's only occasionally when I say to myself, "Hey, this woman has a full-time teaching job at the community college.  I gave her one of her first teaching opportunities, when she had almost no teaching experience.  I couldn't give her a full-time job, but the adjunct job I could give her surely paved the way to better things."

I do my best to transfer in credits, to mediate disputes, to give faculty and students good schedules, to plan for the future at work--it's not all writing meaningless, yet lyrical, e-mails.

I often wish there was more success at the end of a day:  factories saved from collapse, working conditions improved across the globe, better opportunities for more people.  But I can only do so much on my own.

So, on this May 1, this Worker's Day, let's remember all those who don't have good working conditions.  Let's envision a world where workers will be safe--that envisioning is the first step.  Let's imagine a world of increasing opportunities, not collapsing futures.  Let's not give up on miracles!