What Has Come Since

Too much to do...

2009-05-01T02:32:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a fun run, but I'm shutting this ol' blog down. Too much other stuff to do in the real world. Thanks for reading. Feel free to contact me otherwise.

I don't really know how to delete this and don't care to try and figure it out, so I guess it will lay in cyberspace, dormant and dead. Everything goes...

Peace.

Another poem...

2009-03-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

Here's a poem I read a couple weeks ago. I know it's about a death, but it feels sacred and whole to me. Happy contemplation!

The Cross of Snow
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face--the face of one long dead--
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died, and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Welcome back to the internet

2009-02-19T02:56:00.000-08:00

Things have been crazy in the Harrity house. We're gearing up for another baby, going back to school, dealing with job woes, making home improvements, and generally living a busy life. So, blogging has been the first thing to go, but I'm making an honest effort to pick it back up again.

That being said, were coming upon the Lenten season at warp speed and I've been having trouble getting my heart and mind prepared for all the beauty of it. It's time to slow down by reading poetry. Here's a poem of mine that appeared in the most recent issue of Copper-Nickel. I'll be posting some Lenten poems by other poets as I feel fit. Enjoy.

Pe

There's such a small divide between speech and silence,
one that isn't so much about absences of sounds

as about the way two noises touch
and move to one—the way a key enters

the dark of keyhole; the pleasant scrape
of metal comes closer and is gentle on the ear.

You’re this way in the stillness before dawn—the small voice
of a coming storm, like a silence that rests between

the end of one syllable and the beginning of another
great calm—a letter within letters, a flash of breath

between two parted words. Out of your mouth
the day unlocks and opens into a quiet quake of coming

thunder, the rattle of an alphabet of rain over the ground
and my windows—a cadence emerging, a thousand

caesuras opening the chest of a sentence—
your voices and your echoes breaking over us.

I about peed reading this...

2008-09-30T17:49:00.000-07:00

Stuff White People Like...

#110 Frisbee Sports
#109 The Onion
#108 Appearing to Enjoy Classical Music
#107 Self Aware Hip Hop References
#106 Facebook
#105 Unpaid Internships
#104 Girls with Bangs
#103 Sweaters
#102 Children’s Games as Adults
#101 Being Offended
#100 Bumper Stickers
#99 Grammar
#98 The Ivy League
#97 Scarves
#96 New Balance Shoes
#95 Rugby
#94 Free Healthcare
#93 Music Piracy
#92 Book Deals
#91 San Francisco
#90 Dinner Parties
#89 St. Patrick’s Day
#88 Having Gay Friends
#87 Outdoor Performance Clothes
#86 Shorts
#85 The Wire
#84 T-Shirts
#83 Bad Memories of High School
#82 Hating Corporations
#81 Graduate School
#80 The Idea of Soccer
#79 Modern Furniture
#78 Multilingual Children
#77 Musical Comedy
#76 Bottles of Water
#75 Threatening to Move to Canada
#74 Oscar Parties
#73 Gentrification
#72 Study Abroad
#71 Being the only white person around
#70 Difficult Breakups
#69 Mos Def
#68 Michel Gondry
#67 Standing Still at Concerts
#66 Divorce
#65 Co-Ed Sports
#64 Recycling
#63 Expensive Sandwiches
#62 Knowing What’s Best for Poor People
#61 Bicycles
#60 Toyota Prius
#59 Natural Medicine
#58 Japan
#57 Juno
#56 Lawyers
#55 Apologies
#54 Kitchen Gadgets
#53 Dogs
#52 Sarah Silverman
#51 Living by the Water
#50 Irony
#49 Vintage
#48 Whole Foods and Grocery Co-ops
#47 Arts Degrees
#46 The Sunday New York Times
#45 Asian Fusion Food
#44 Public Radio
#43 Plays
#42 Sushi
#41 Indie Music
#40 Apple Products
#39 Netflix
#38 Arrested Development
#37 Renovations
#36 Breakfast Places
#35 The Daily Show/Colbert Report
#34 Architecture
#33 Marijuana
#32 Vegan/Vegetarianism
#31 Snowboarding
#30 Wrigley Field
#29 80s Night
#28 Not having a TV
#27 Marathons
#26 Manhattan (now Brooklyn too!)
#25 David Sedaris
#24 Wine
#23 Microbreweries
#22 Having Two Last Names
#21 Writers Workshops
#20 Being an expert on YOUR culture
#19 Traveling
#18 Awareness
#17 Hating their Parents
#16 Gifted Children
#15 Yoga
#14 Having Black Friends
#13 Tea
#12 Non-Profit Organizations
#11 Asian Girls
#10 Wes Anderson Movies
#9 Making you feel bad about not going outside
#8 Barack Obama
#7 Diversity
#6 Organic Food
#5 Farmer’s Markets
#4 Assists
#3 Film Festivals
#2 Religions their parents don’t belong to
#1 Coffee

Amanda and I are pregnant again...

2008-09-24T04:34:00.000-07:00

Why didn't anyone tell me this is how it happens? The Cause.

The baby is due April 11--just a couple weeks shy of Emmalynne's first birthday.

On the pathetic state of masculinity in our country...

2008-09-07T11:43:00.000-07:00

The crude humor, the booze/drug/sex antics, the crazy debt, lack of responsibility, obsession with 'cool', and generally immature behavior--all of it points to a state of arrested development that has a firm grip on males in this country, and it makes me very, very sad. Young men are mookish caricatures of what the should be, of what the realities of life demand. Gentlemen, grow up.

Finally someone gets it right.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/156372

More later.

Membra Disjecta publishes the H-Man...

2008-08-16T06:04:00.000-07:00

This very eclectic journal took a couple poems. Also, they're the first journal to pick up one from the Hebrew alphabet and my new manuscript "American Psalter"

http://membradisjecta.com/tag/david-harrity/

Ruminate Magazine (http://www.ruminate-online.org/) will be publishing some poems (3) in the coming months.

More later! Enjoy!

So awesome...

2008-05-05T08:58:00.001-07:00

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/home.do

The baby is so coming...

2008-04-07T11:44:00.000-07:00

http://harrityfamily.blogspot.com/

Please click the links...

2008-04-05T21:23:00.000-07:00

Some of you know about what's going on in this state, some of you don't. Please take a couple of minutes to see what we're losing.

HELP STOP MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL

http://www.ilovemountains.org/

PLEASE SIGN THIS PETITION

http://www.kftc.org/take-action/sloans-valley-petition/

Things I love...

2008-03-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

1. My wife.

2. My unborn child.

3. My dogs.

4. Writing and reading.

5. Louisville basketball.

Poem in New Southerner

2008-03-11T06:37:00.000-07:00

Check it out:

http://www.newsoutherner.com/dog-eared_poetry3.htm

Also, good friend and fellow poet Matt Vetter is showcased in the "Dog-Eared" section. Check out his poem: http://www.newsoutherner.com/dog-eared_poetry_2.htm

Robert Frost and the Great Posthumous Debate

2008-01-24T04:41:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is, round 2. Maybe we should just stop messing with Robert Frost's work until he rises from the grave and tells us what it is that he wants....

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/22/books/22frost.html?_r=2&scp=1&sq=James+Sitar&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

News...

2008-01-18T10:55:00.000-08:00

Award Nominations for "Morning...":

The Conference on Christianity and Literature's Book of the Year Citation (no cigar)
The Pushcart Prize (no word yet)
The Kentucky Literary Award (no word yet)

Publications:

Ars Poetica ("The Room," link on the right)
Riverwind ("After Chuck's Zen Garden)
Words ("Spofford Lake")
The Chrysalis Reader ("In January," tentatively accepted)
New Southerner ("Your Days Are Waiting", link on the right)

Public Appearances:

January 29 @Holly Hill Inn, 6:30pm for "Tapas Tuesday" reading with Lynnell Edwards, Erin Keane, and Ben Lesousky.

February 9 @ The Carnegie Center in Lexington, 9am-12pm for a lecture/workshop on William Stafford and Practical Poetics.

Every Monday in March @ Asbury Theological Seminary, 5:30pm for a reading of "Psalm: A Meditation on God and the Hebrew Alphabet" and a workshop on "Modern Psalmists." See J.D. Walt's blog for more details.

...and the best for last...

Baby Gigi

She's happy and healthy and giving Amanda hell doing ninja moves in the womb. Amanda is taking it in stride--still looking beautiful, still going strong. We're really looking forward to April 28th (and the surrounding weeks...)!

Some Thought's on Phillip Levine's "At Bessemer"

2008-01-16T09:46:00.000-08:00

AT BESSEMER

19 years old and going nowhere,
I got a ride to Bessemer and walked
the night road toward Birmingham
passing dark groups of men cursing
the end of a week like every week.
Out of town I found a small grove
of trees, high narrow pines, and I
sat back against the trunk of one
as the first rains began slowly.
South, the lights of Bessemer glowed
as though a new sun rose there,
but it was midnight and another shift
tooled the rolling mills. I must
have slept a while, for someone
else was there beside me. I could
see a cigarette’s soft light,
and once a hand grazed mine, man
or woman’s I never knew. Slowly
I could feel the darkness fill
my eyes and the dream that came was
of a bright world where sunlight
fell on the long even rows of houses
and I looked down from great height
at a burned world I believed
I never had to enter. When
the true sun rose I was stiff
and wet, and there beside me was
the small white proof that someone
rolled and smoked and left me there
unharmed, truly untouched.
A hundred yards off I could hear
cars on the highway. A life
was calling to be lived, but how
and why I had still to learn.

—Phillip Levine

What a great way to open a poem, “19 years old and going nowhere…” Levine’s work is filled with meditations on his young life and the memories that linger in his mind. Levine is a poet of justification—meaning that he seeks, in many parts of his work, to understand his experience and streamline into lines of poetry. In this way he justifies his experience; he shows his reader that tough times make the man.

There are many strange things going on in this poem. First, there is this issue of “the runaway.” The speaker here is not necessarily a runaway in the traditional sense, but is drawn away from his loser life to this dark town. We get the indication that the speaker is retelling this story from further down the road of life—the judgment of “going nowhere” being the indicator. We know the poem is retrospective and that time is functioning as memory—a memory that will be defined in the end by the speaker. We know from the opening lines that this poem will be a coming-of-age story, a story of self-awareness when one’s eyes are opened to the harsh realities of the surrounding world—this is a moment of revelation that all people have. Can you think of the moment where you realized this? That this world is full of pain and violence? Everyone has a moment when there innocence is lost. In this sense this poem is elegiac and seeks to understand that moment of loss. This sense of “waking up” becomes a literal moment in the poem when the speaker wakes to darkness in the woods—the comparison is an obvious one and the reader has the sense that something about the speaker has changed, the realization has occurred. We’re introduced to a character with no real identity, a hobo who watches the speaker during sleep, touches him once and smokes a cigarette. The speaker wakes while this is going on but isn’t sure if it is dream or reality—there is a blurred truth resting in the land between reality (the harsh creepiness of a voyeur) and the mind (the very life that must be enlightened to reality). This is where innocence moves from naivety to relativity or “reality.” The speaker then falls back to sleep and dreams of “a bright world where sunlight / [falls] on the long even rows of houses”—a stark contrast to the dreary Bessemer, a suburban post-war paradise of promise and prosperity. And as the worlds of dream and reality run together, so do the descriptions of the contrasting worlds, a masterful move on Levine’s part that leads to the ending of the poem: the turn and the realization of experience.

This is also a poem of place, as indicated by the title giving the setting. Bessemer is an Alabama steel town, a place that went to hell after WWII, the time in which this poem probably takes place. The mill is there, cold, stoic, dark, and the speaker thinks he is above it (“…I looked down from great height / at a burned world I believed / I never had to enter”). Indeed, the speaker thinks that he will be able to avoid losing his innocence in a way, but the observation is a statement of arrogance in a way. But the whole situation is unavoidable—the voyeur has already been there to strip away his virtue (not be rape or violence, but simply by presence—the idea that a person would watch another in such a vulnerable position), and we know, because this poem is written, of the moment’s significance: that the road ahead is hard and long, that the speaker must embrace the inevitable future in all it’s shinning uncertainty. This is where we learn about hard times on the horizon as if it is a kind of prophecy.

And then there is the ending:

A hundred yards off I could hear
cars on the highway. A life
was calling to be lived, but how
and why I still had to learn.

We see the remnant of the old life (the cars) as a distant din, a fleeting noise moving away from the speaker’s ear and then time comes back into play—that wise voice-of-experience from the beginning of the poem returns to place a value on this night—that the whole world is ahead and waiting to be lived in. In the end, this poem chooses the embrace, it chooses life, and in that, chooses hope, however reluctantly.

EXERCISE: Try to remember a moment in your life where you “opened your eyes”—it might in fact be your earliest memory—and write a poem in the voice of an adult recalling this moment. The poem should focus on the reconciliation of the childhood memory with your perception of reality as an adult.

John Guzlowski...

2007-12-28T11:09:00.000-08:00

http://lightning-and-ashes.blogspot.com/

Happy Birthday to a Favorite Poet...

2007-11-28T06:26:00.000-08:00

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

1794

Spending Thanksgiving with Leonel Rugama...

2007-11-22T11:55:00.000-08:00

THE EARTH IS A SATELLITE OF THE MOON

Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 4 cost more than Apollo 3
Apollo 3 cost more than Apollo 2
Apollo 2 cost more than Apollo 1
Apollo 1 cost plenty.

Apollo 8 cost a fortune, but no one minded
because the astronauts were Protestant
they read the Bible from the moon
astounding and delighting every Christian
and on their return Pope Paul VI gave them his blessing.

Apollo 9 cost more than all these put together
including Apollo 1 which cost plenty.

The great-grandparents of the people of Acahaulinca were less hungry than the grandparents.
The great-grandparents died of hunger.
The grandparents of the people of Acahaulinca were less hungry than the parents.
The grandparents died of hunger.
The parents of the people of Acahaulinca were less hungry than the children of the people there.
The parents died of hunger.
The people of Acahaulinca are less hungry than the children of the people there.
The children of the people of Acahaulinca, because of hunger, are not born
they hunger to be born, only to die of hunger.
Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the moon.

—Leonel Rugama, from The Earth is a Satellite of the Moon

A few weeks ago, before Residency, my mentor Maureen Morehead (one of the best poets I’ve ever read…more on that in the coming weeks) and I started talking about the above poem. This poem came up as part of an ongoing conversation about the nature and intersection of politics and poetry. Maureen’s lecture during residency was about good political poetry—something that I feel is very rare. My friend JD and I also spent some time discussing this poem and he enjoyed it also (I believe). This poem has been one that I enjoyed since I first read it as an undergrad. The poet died at 20 or 21—he was a freedom fighter in Nicaragua. Kinda crazy. Below are some of my thoughts on this poem. Maureen asked me what I thought about it after I made some off-hand comments about the poem in an email (one more reason I love Maureen--she never lets me just shoot my mouth off). Here’s my answer…

“I'm not sure if I think the social criticism is fair--that is, I don't think there's anything wrong with going to the moon, reading the Bible there, etc. I think Rugama has created a Straw Man (the fallacy) in the space program. It is my perspective that things like Space, adventures and exploration, are so rare and so valuable for the general human experience that we should engage them. I guess the poem is very one sided in that way--it sees the situation as black and white and I'm not sure it is. But that, I have come to conclude, is the value of socially critical poetry, that it charges us to think and usually does that through a means of frustration. I do see, and agree with to a certain extent, what the poem is saying about religious hypocrisy and dominance, but I think those things might be unavoidable to a great degree when you are dealing with fallible people. Yes, some of the greatest atrocities in the history of humanity happened because/in company with religion, but, there is always a flip side to that coin--some of humanities greatest triumph happened because people answered the call to serve. I guess what I'm trying to say is that poverty and hunger aren't simply issues that concern money. Therefore, the people of Acahaulinca cannot be fixed by using the money from the Apollo mission--that is Rugama's Straw Man. Money never remedies, it only corrupts. It can be used to aid in the fixing of problems, and is indeed necessary for solving many of them, but charity and compassion are far more powerful. Service, genuine connection between humans, compassion, and and hope, can solve poverty. Example: The story of Feeding the 5,000, I once heard it put, might not be a miracle of multiplication of food and resources. What if the real miracle is that 3,000 people brought food and willingly shared it with the 2,000 people in need of food? That would be a miracle; that would be service; that would be answering the charge to "love thy neighbor" and "do unto others..." Does that make sense?

It is wrong for people to neglect those in need--the widowed, the orphaned, and the poor (these days I would add several other groups/types of people). That is why service and charity are integral to every faith--not just Christianity. They work on a personal level. And when personal understanding, love, and intimacy (non-sexual) are cultivated it leaves little room for control, dominance and "wrong-doing." Indeed, the Christians who are not involved with service to others and love toward their neighbors (which I think must be redefined in the 20th/21st centuries) are dangerously against the teachings of Christ, and every other major religious leader in any religion across the globe. I would even go as far to say that they aren't "Christian" at all. It was James who said that "faith without works is dead."

Christ doesn't say "don't be a hypocrite"--it's unavoidable, we're fallible and human. Christ's hyperbolic statement "be perfect as your Father is perfect" is another social charge to me--it is a way to get us to think about his other teachings and activate them in a human context. We make bad decisions; we don't always make the right decision. And this poem tends to magnify one bad decision--the neglect of the people of Acahaulinca. It is true that I am reading the poem one way when it can be read in others, and that I'm reading it through my own lens. Nevertheless, this poem got me thinking about the importance of service in the Christian faith--that it isn't enough for us to "send money" or just "be nice" to others--we are commanded to go "the extra mile." This poem helped me develop standards within my own faith, standards that I feel Christ commands us to engage in directly. This poem addresses the Beatitude directly ( Blessed are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of heaven is theirs..., Matt 5:3). Rugama replaces the kingdom of heaven with the moon--something much less valuable, in fact it has no value compared to food or even the promise of heaven. My friend at the seminary, who is in his late 30’s and is the Seminary Chaplin (I mention this because sometimes I feel a bit of inadequacy teaching such a wise person), wrote a great poem addressing some of the short-comings of the church and ideas of faith--the premise of the poem was that Christians sit in church for hours on Sunday and don't address some of the terrible things that are going on in their communities and communities around the world (once again, no human entity can be prefect, but he was trying to say what wasn't being said). His poem echoed the Rugama poem without ever knowing it. I gave him the Rugama poem as something to meditate on. The final lines hit him in the gut--"...they hunger to be born, only to die of hunger / Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the moon." You can imagine that much of our discussions about poetry venture into discussions of faith and the sacred--this one was no exception. He was stunned by Rugama's audacity, I think, to replace the words of Christ in such a way. He didn't think it sacrilegious (don’t think), just exciting.

This poem, to me, is an excellent social commentary because it is highly original, well executed, and very layered. There are many other modes of criticism that you can take to it--I just chose the avenue above because it seemed most obvious to me. What are your thoughts on the poem, what I said about it, etc. Feel free to comment as much or as little as you'd like. And let me know if I need to clarify anything.”

As usual, I’d love to read some of your thoughts and start a bit of debate. Please comment on anything you’d like to about this piece—it has several different dimensions. On a day when all of us eat too much and celebrate everything that we have, this poem is particularly relevant. Be sure to take some time today to meditate on those who have less than us.

Have a great Thanksgiving.

Some great news...

2007-11-19T08:19:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've been lax on the blogging, things have been completely nuts around the Harrity house. But I wanted to post some exciting pieces of news:

1- Amanda and I are expecting! Our baby is due on April 28. We'll know the sex on December 14, but the doctors think it's a boy.

b- I'm finally finished with my MFA, phew!

c- I sent out submissions to 30 journals. We'll see what happens.

4- Morning and What Has Come Since has been nominated for two awards! The first is the The Conference on Christianity and Literature's Book-of-the-Year Citation. The second is the illustrious and much coveted Pushcart Prize. Please pray and cross every part of your body.

Happy Thanksgiving! More later...

I'm not a reviewer, but this CD rocks...

2007-10-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

I have the luck to know many great artists--poets, writers, painters, and especially musicians. Recently I received an album from an old friend and one of Louisville's up-and-coming talents. Scott Kirkpatrick's most recent musical venture, Chemic (isn't that a fantastic name?), released their first album this summer. I know our little music debate occurred back in June (and Scott himself weighed in with a list of 100 talented writer/artists), and that I haven't posted in almost two months (for many good reasons: school beginning again, the finishing of my Creative Thesis, and recent knowledge of a baby on the way), but I feel this album marks a substantial moment in the career of a good friend, and, even more importantly, a musician who I feel will be important as his talent, musicianship, and career bloom.

Chemic's summer release of "Fever on the Forest Floor" was a slow train coming. Recorded over the past year or so with songs that Kirkpatrick has been working on for several years, the album really came together after Louisville producer Keith Miller began laying down the tracks and adding a bit of flare to Kirkpatrick's already brilliant acoustic work. Add a bit of Shane St. Clair (on keyboards, etc.) and Ric Sinclair (drums) and you've got yourself a good thing working out. Several other musicians contributed substantially to this fine album--Derek Keijener (guitar), Mark Lurkey (bass), Jordan Holtrane (guitar), and Gabriel Burkum (upright bass)--and served to fill out many of the eclectic sounds that fuse together to create a very smooth alt-rock, jazz, and sublime music combo.

What I love about Kirkpatrick is that he's a writer, through and through. You can tell the lyrics are a forethought, an integral part of the writing process. They aren't trite or schmaltzy, there just damn good. Check out this lyric from my favorite track, "Don't Go Close":

Truth is, I found what I never looked for
The soothing sounds of his hand-held wars
And with great force in the streets of rage
He shoulders more because he loves the taste
Or the excuse of weight

or, later...

The sweetest voice that you've ever heard
made the biggest noise with the smallest worth
and still a girl at just 19
she claimed the world and left it burning.

All of the songs, there isn't a weak song on the album, are full of wonderful lyrics, subtle, stretched, full of life, meaning and intelligence. Here's another bit of poetry, this time from "Let's Take Care of Ourselves":

Take the shirt off of my back
'Cause I never get cold
Take my car, I don't mind walking home
Take the couch out of my house
'Cause I never sleep there when I don't feel like waking up in bed alone
Take the feet off of my legs
'Cause these days I'm flying
Yeah, these days I'm really flying high
With all the love in this town
Who wouldn't want to die?

Bam! A song version of Wright's "Lying in a Hammock..."--it just punches you right in the gut with brutal honesty and surprise.

Musically, Chemic is a listening game. Several influences can be heard and experienced in the intricacies of the music. Some of those influences (Jeff Buckley, The Promise Ring, Pedro The Lion, and many others) come to mind through several of the songs on the album. Soft, deceptively simple, and melodic, the songs are woven consistently together. It’s great to hear a disc without a weak song, or a song that one is tempted to skip over to get to a better one—this album is solid all the way to the end.

I hope that you’ll spend a few bucks and just buy one. Now. Check out Scott Kirkpatrick in the link column or on the new Louisville is For Lovers Comp out last week.

Until next time.

New Poem...

2007-09-01T13:24:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, life has been a little hectic.

Here is a new poem from my collection in the works--"Find the Line." It's another Hebrew alphabet poem. This character in the alphabet represents a snake or serpent. Enjoy.

More later...

Teth

It’s hard to have faith
when every part of you

is crowded into the skin
of one loaded word—believe.

I want to divide you
with two smaller syllables,

the same way water
separates two bodies

of land. I should learn
how to remove the ghost

from the bone, the pain
from the nerve, the way

the soul can be recovered
from the iron of a body.

I need to learn how we swim
to each other, to find the line

that makes us two bodies
on separate shores

of a curving river.
I can’t remember

any strokes to beat
the rushing tow.

I can’t remember how
to believe enough

to make my body move,
to believe enough

for my feet to cut the water.
And though I see you

swimming the river now
I’ll have trouble

with our embrace: your steps
will lead to me, you’ll look

into my face and see
I’m afraid, deceived,

without faith enough
to try. From my mouth

you’ll hear the curse—
two halves, my lies—goodbye.

P.S.- I added a new site to the "Friend's Sites" list. If you like sonnets you'll love this guy (he's prolific)--visit Kenny Welborn's webpage.

Two Readings

2007-07-29T08:25:00.000-07:00

Hey all, wanted to let you know about a couple readings coming up...

The first is Thursday, Aug. 9, at the Jessamine County Public Library at 7 pm. After the reading interviewer Steve Flairty and I will discuss aspects of the writer's life and writing poems.

The second is Friday, Aug. 10, in Louisville for the InKY Reading Series. I'll be reading with poets Jeffery Bean and Adam Day, there will also be a musical guest. Things start at 7 pm at the Rudyard Kipling (422 W Oak St., Louisville, KY 40203, 502.636.1311).

Will post more this week. Thanks for sharing all these great opinions about music...

Why Bruce Springsteen is one of America's greatest living poets

2007-07-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injectedand steppin' out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we're young
'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims
and strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
We'll run till we drop, baby we'll never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
'Cause baby I'm just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild
girl I want to know if love is real

Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody's out on the run tonight
but there's no place left to hide
Together Wendy we'll live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don't know whenwe're gonna get to that place
Where we really want to goand we'll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us
baby we were born to run

------------------------------------------------------------

I have recently observed on my local NPR station that the state of modern American music is in trouble. Normally I am moderately happy with NPR's general selections, but I have noticed that many of their musicians are bad writers. Right now, I have no artists and song names to give you as examples, mostly because I get so frustrated with the song that I shut it off, but I am going to try to compile a list of names from my local station to make this debate a little more juicy and credible.

My point: lyrics seem like an after thought to the music. This is a gross disservice to the listener, the credibility of the musician, the song, and, as said before, me, the listener. The songs are filled with trite and simple rhymes, mediocre rhythms, and just plain carelessness when it comes to writing actual words. Many people beat up on rap artisits, but you have to hand it to them, they can write--their rhymes are creative, they play with complicated meter, and their music is driven by words, not just beats. Maybe this, coupled with crass commercialism, is why the youth of America as all drinking from Lil' Jon's diamond studded goblet. I beleive that music without great lyrics is like a film or fiction with low character development and fast plot--sure you're entertained, but are you left any different than when you started? Is there any catharsis or change? It is junk food, to me. I admit, we all have guilty pleasures, mine being N'Sync, but isn't this getting out of hand?

I know that I have several writers and musicians who read this blog. I would like each of you to weigh-in and tell this little cyber community your thoughts. Who in the music industry is writing good songs? Who isn't? What do you feel musicians are doing well or poorly? What makes a song "good" for you? How important is writing to music? Can people get away with crap lyrics? Should they? What is your personal standard for music?

Above I pasted the standard, my standard, for song writing--my favorite song lyrics. The song has everything--fantastic music and something to say in its beautiful words. This song is the American Dream captured in a few stanzas. I had a brief conversation with a musician (Drew Holcomb, blog on the right) a few weeks ago and he described this song in a perfect way--the Great American Novel in verse. It has journey, sex, attitude, death, speed, freedom, etc. What do you think? Don't be shy, POST!

P.S.- In the days to come I will be reviewing the album "Fever on the Forest Floor" by Louisville band Chemic. Also, I will be revisiting this music stuff. Please read and write with me.

Live from Cleveland! A Week in Film!

2007-07-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

Dave Harrity's ratings for films her watched this week:

Evan Almighty: B+
With its surprisingly spiritual content, this movie was great. Steve Carrell did a great job and Lorelai Gilmore did great, too.

The Good German: D (for "dumb")
This movie just plain sucked. A big disappointment from a brilliant director.

Live Free or Die Hard: A (for "ass kicking")
John McLain, need I say more? So much outrageous violence I almost couldn't handle it.

Transformers: A (for just "all right")
This movie was interesting to watch, but was poorly written, even for a movie about alien robots.

Ratatouille: B- (but the Health Department would give the movie a F)
This was a decent movie--not Pixar's best, but still good. Although the rats cooking was severly disgusting, the movie was funny and the charaterof Linguni looked like my friend Matt Rupp.

More later...

New Poem

2007-06-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

Hey all. I wanted to post a poem for everyone to read. Some of you know that I have been working on a series that examines the mystery of God through the Hebrew alphabet (alefbet). This poem is about the 11th letter, which pictorally stands for a wing and the palm of the hand. Let me know what you think. I'll post more later this week.

KAPH

What do I know about offering? I have nothing to give you
but all these weary words, the deep hollow of my hand, my palm’s

empty face. I believe. I believe in what it means to be
apart—I believe in the weight of my own weaknesses. I want

you to know that I will learn how to find you,
that I am learning how to gather your symbols together,

all the pieces of you that have been thrown.
My palms wait to be filled with you,

to pull you from the earth’s black soil.
I want to know every word of you.

Ask me to offer my palms
pressed together as a gift

so that I might move
into you. My hands

will open like wings
beginning to pump:

again and
again I

believe.

Economy and Tragedy: Kim Addonizio's "Verities"

2007-06-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

VERITIES

Into every life a little ax must fall.
Every dog has its choke chain.
Every cloud has its shadow.
Better dead than fed.
He who laughs, will not last.
Sticks and stones will break you,
and then the names of things will be changed.
A stitch in time saves no one.
The darkest hour comes.

—Kim Addonizio, from Poetry and The Best American Poetry: 2006, ed. Billy Collins

Economy is everything in poetry. In fact, one could argue that, besides the line break, it is one aspect that only poetry utilizes well within a given unit—that is an individual poem as compared to a larger piece of prose. Economy is a natural state for a poem, a familiar place to exist. One might be able to achieve economic language in prose, but prose, by it’s very nature, is long, while poetry is intended, in most cases, to be brief. Kim Addonizio’s poem “Verities” is very brief. Only nine short lines long, the poem captures, through the alteration of trite phrases, the sad state of existence. Through economy, Addonizio brings the reader into a sad perspective of the world: a place where danger is just around the corner, and misery is waiting to prey upon an innocent victim.

Even with its dismal subject matter, Addonizio manages to invite the reader into the poem with one sweetly cynical first line: “Into every life a little ax must fall.” The reader becomes painfully aware of the presence of tragedy. Indeed, this line speaks to the inevitability and sly way that misfortune seeps into an individual’s life. But this line holds another secret: the line is two cliché phrase joined together—“into every life a little rain must fall,” and “waiting for the ax to drop.” Both phrases are indications that something bad is imminent, but Addonizio ups the ante by combining the phrases and giving the former (“...rain must fall”) a tinge of violence. This will happen in almost every line of this short poem.

Addonizio then moves into three fast paced statements that hit hard with pessimism: “Every dog has its choke chain. / Every cloud has its shadow. / Better dead than fed.” (2-4) These lines allude to three phrases: “every dog has its day,” “every cloud has a silver lining,” and “better off dead.” These three lines act as a dirge to carry the reader into the poems dark heart where Addonizio will reveal, with even greater cynicism, the futility of existence.

In lines 5-7, Addonizio writes, “He who laughs, will not last. / Sticks and stones will break you, / and then the names of things will be changed.” Here is the real turn in the poem. We know a turn has occurred because of the shift in tone and diction, also a shift in punctuation. Between lines 6 and 7 a comma is used instead of a period, which draws the reader’s attention by breaking an established pattern. Similarly, the turn of phase is altered from being a statement to an assertion—the phrase becomes remarkably active. These signs act as arrows that point to and underscore the subtle change. Line 6 is a non-negotiable for Addonizio who isn’t suggesting but telling—the reader can see this authority by the injunction in the line—this line is a command. Line 7 begins with the words “and then...” which indicate a shift in tone, and a phrase that relies on the previous line. In other words, “because sticks and stone will break you, all the names of everything you know will be changed; your world will be altered by the violence of poor fortune.” This switch is attention grabbing because it is an exciting change of pace. The reader is pleasantly surprised by the phase alterations (“he who has the last laugh” and “sticks and stones will break my bones”) while ironically receiving a bit of bad news that life will change for the worse.

Finally, Addonizio ends the poem with these somber lines: “A stitch in time saves no one. / The darkest hour comes.” (8-9) Ironically, Addonizio’s altering “a stitch in time saves nine” serves as a numeric orientation in the poem—both literally and figuratively. The poem has “nine” lines, but no “one” can be saved from disaster or “a stitch in time” will not save any one of these nine lines from looming calamity. The reader has traveled through all of Addonizio’s “verities” or short statements of truth. In essence, the poem itself is a verity—it is one statement about life’s futility and darkness, and the poem’s length is a literal comment of the brief nature of life. Addonizio’s meaning: live your sad, short life expecting tragedy, because it is coming, whether you want to admit it or not. Economy is what makes this poem work; the poem itself is a phrase because of its length. Without its shortness, this poem would drone on and on, become whiny, and just plain depressing. The poem’s length gives it an element of control and a sense of wisdom, and makes its own misery bearable.

Various Items

2007-06-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

I wanted to post a few things, just some little stuff that some people might find interesting.

First, my wife has also joined the 21st Century. She is now on Facebook. If any of you feel that this blog is not a substantial portrait of the goings-on of the Harrity family, please consult her Facebook for minutia—both the strangely titillating and the horribly mundane. So far the experience has been good. We have been able to connect with many people who we’ve lost track of over the years—old Young Life kids (who are “kids” no longer, friends from other parts of the country, and maybe some pervs, too—only time will tell).

Second, I hope everyone has been checking his or her mailbox for the book. It’s heading your way. I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to honestly comment on it, question it, or whatever. This blog is a safe space.

Third, Young Life camp. Amanda and I take kids every year. Next week we leave for Windy Gap in North Carolina for a week of insanity, late nights, zip-line, horses, go-karts, great food, ropes courses and repelling, and general pandemonium. For those of you who do, please pray for our kids that it would be a good break from all the distractions of life and that they would be able to connect with God and themselves.

Fourth, I know that Seth Rogen and I could be brothers. I think I made the wrong decision in terms of career.

Fifth, I want to leave you to contemplate a poem. Li-Young Lee’s “The Hammock” is one of my all time favorites. I am currently trying to commit it to memory. I first heard this poem at a reading. For me, it is a deeply moving poem. Last summer, in San Francisco, I visited City Light Books and found a broadside of the poem, which now hangs in our office. I love the movement of this poem—the way it swings back and forth like a hammock, the way the speaker moves between to worlds—history and the future, both of which he has no control over. Lyrically, the poem is subtle, plainly stated, and filled with a quiet kind of observation. The speaker is reconciling time with mortality and there is a kind praise instilled into the poem, an acceptance of things that cannot be controled. Be sure to read this one slowly, maybe even twice, and revisit it a few days later. I promise the payoff will be big. Please post some comments about it. I really want to hear what you think. Until next, peace.

THE HAMMOCK

When I lay my head in my mother’s lap
I think how day hides the star,the way I lay hidden once, waiting
inside my mother’s singing to herself. And I remember
how she carried me on her backbetween home and the kindergarten,
once each morning and once each afternoon.

I don’t know what my mother’s thinking.

When my son lays his head in my lap, I wonder:
Do his father’s kissses keep his father’s worries
from becoming his? I think, Dear God, and remember
there are stars we haven’t heard from yet:
They have so far to arrive. Amen,
I think, and I feel almost comforted.

I’ve no idea what my child is thinking.

Between two unknowns, I live my life.
Between my mother's hopes, older than I am
by coming before me. And my child's wishes, older than I am
by outliving me. And what's it like?
Is it a door, and a good-bye on either side?
A window, and eternity on either side?
Yes, and a little singing between two great rests.

—from Book of My Nights

An article

2007-06-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

I found this article by Kentucky author Erik Reece about the dangerous situation plaguing my state. Please read this article about, A Beautiful Mine, and let me know what you think. I will write more about it later. This has to stop--it absolutely has to stop.

Live From Louisville!

2007-06-01T14:54:00.000-07:00

This week, in honor of Lemony Snicket (a.k.a.: Daniel Handler) visiting, all the MFA students of Spalding University wrote children's books. Below is mine. It is a picture book--you can image what it might be like. My first book, "What Happened to Grandma," was pocketed for being too "dark." Can anyone say "gloom and doom"?

A Walk in the Park with Mom

Today the grass is green, bright and warm holding all the sunlight.

~

Today the birds are singing to each other. They are playing in the pond together.

~

Today there is a slithery snake resting on the warm rock. He is working on his tan.

~

Today a duck and her chicks waddle across the shallow bed of the stream in a straight line.

~

Today, between two long tree branches, a spider swings from her web, making a new home.

~

Today a bumblebee buzzes from flower to flower in search for food.

~

Today the ice-cream man has a red balloon floating over his ice-cream case.

~

Today mommy bought me an ice-cream cone and we at ice-cream together.

~

Today, when I was finished with my ice-cream, I threw my napkin in the grass because I was too impatient to wait for a garbage can.

~

Tomorrow the park will be a desolate wasteland because of all my trash.

And the grass won’t keep the sun.

And the birds won’t sing.

And the snake won’t sleep.

And the ducks won’t waddle.

And the spider won’t swing.

And the bees won’t buzz.

And the balloon will pop.

A note to my students...

2007-05-21T13:04:00.000-07:00

Everyone should no that I have made a commitment to blog once a week. Eddie Kaufholz will hold me to it. This week I want to do something special and say goodbye to my creative writing students. I will say some sappy things and leave them with a poem that best describes my feelings.

I know that you have worked hard all year, for my class and for others and I know that you are tired of work and are ready for summer. So, since we have no more time left together, I wanted to take this week's blog to publicly say goodbye.

You have been a fun class--always chipper, ready to share (some of you too ready to share things that I didn't want to know or things that will be forever inappropriate for a classroom setting), and enthusiastically putting up with my erratic teaching style and writing excercises, my sometimes very strange guest speakers, and my odd personal sayings (we have had a fatty-bo-batty year, though).

I am happy and honored to have been your teacher. I hope that you enjoyed learning to write creatively and that you actually did something you are proud of. You should all be very proud. Each one of you made tremendous strides and embraced your creative side--something that surprisingly few people are able to do over the course of a lifetime.

I know that some of you believe that I am full of bunk (i.e. The MacGuffin) but I want you to know that I respect your protest and dissent. It is what will make you great men and women and better writers. You have all impressed very much.

I hope that each of you will revisit the craft of writing throughout your life and find some pleasure in it. I also hope that you found a poem or story you connect with. Never forget that that is the purpose of writing--connection. Find what you like and stick with it; read what you like and try to connect with others who like it.

I want to leave you with words of wisdom. Many times we find ourselves short of words, short of being able to describe the way we feel--we turn to poets to do it for us. This is what I have done. Unable to come up with just the right words, I found a poem (a song really) by one of the late 20th Century's finest wordsmiths (you all know by now how much I hate that label). We did not study her in class but that should not minimize her prolific contribution to American literature and music. Her name is Colleen Ann Fitzpatrick. The following is her magnum opus.

GRADUATION

And so we talked all night about the rest of our lives
Where we're gonna be when we turn 25
I keep thinkin' times will never change
Keep on thinking things will always be the same
But when we leave this year we won't be coming back
No more hanging out cause we're on a different track
And if you got something that you need to say
You better say it right now cause you don't have another day
Cause we're moving on and we can't slow down
These memories are playing like a film without sound

As we go on we remember
All the times we had together
And as our lives change come whatever
We will still be Friends Forever

So if we get the big jobs
And we make the big money
When we look back now
Will our jokes still be funny?
Will we still remember everything we learned in school?
Still be trying to break every single rule

Will little brainy Robbie be the stockbroker man?
Can Vela find a job that won't interfere with her tan

I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbye
Keep on thinking it's a time to fly
And this is how it feels.

La, la, la, la…
Yeah, yeah, yeah
La, la, la, la…
We will still be friends forever

Will we think about tomorrow like we think about now?
Can we survive it out there?
Can we make it somehow?
I guess I thought that this would never end
And suddenly it's like we're women and men
Will the past be a shadow that will follow us 'round?
Will these memories fade when I leave this town
I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbye
Keep on thinking it's a time to fly.

Fly high, School Children, fly high...

The book, Lincoln's melancholy and mine, things I think you should buy, Residency, and The Beatles--the title is lengthy, but well represents the post

2007-04-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

Where to begin...

Business first, always...I hope everyone is getting excited about getting a book in the mail. The release date is May 18th. I am excited. Do leave a comment, positive or negative, when you get it and read it. As far as I know everything is on course. I am scheduling readings for the summer and fall. I will be reading at Lexington Catholic High School on May 23rd at 12 p.m. Let me know if you'd like to come so I can tell the school--I'll put you on the list.

I just finished reading a very interesting book—“Lincoln’s Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness” by Joshua Wolf Schneck. Damn, what a great book. For those of you who don’t know, I am a wannabe Civil War buff; I say “wannabe” because I am not super knowledgeable, but am getting there. I think the great part of this Lincoln book is that I found it by accident. I was at the Jessamine Library and went looking for another book, and there it was just sitting alone on the shelf with Lincoln’s solemn face glaring at me. The whole book deals with Lincoln’s deep sadness. I would like to go into more details but it would just take too long. I recommend visiting Schneck’s website (http://www.lincolnsmelancholy.com/) and reading a chapter excerpt. This book really helped me see my own melancholy personality in a different light. For so long I have thought of my gloom and sadness as something to be ashamed of or hide. But Schneck asserts that Lincoln couldn’t have done such marvelous things without his melancholy—his melancholy fueled his achievement. I am in no way comparing myself to Lincoln (except that we are both poets) when I say that I was able to understand myself when I sought to understand Lincoln. I have recently come out of a depression, nothing crazy, just unexplainable sadness, and this book explained it and taught me how to value my own sadness as a strength and not a weakness. Mind blowing, really, I suggest you read it.

I have recommendations for everyone. Go buy these DVDs immediately: “Children of Men” (This movie’s greatness has been debated, but I just watched it and am here to tell you how truly brilliant, sobering, and fascinating it really is), “Neil Young: Heart of Gold” (this live concert of ole’ Shakey and his friends is worth every dime you’ll pay for it and stars Emmy Lou Harris—can you beat that? She sings like an angel), Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedian” (this documentary is fantastic; I have been a fan for a long time but have recently renewed my interest in the film since I made my creative writing students watch—it’s all about generating art, performing, writing, and the depth of the human ability to create). If you have seen any of these (or if you take me up on my recommendations) please leave your opinions on them; I would love to hear your opinions.

Residency countdown (the H is O!!!): 25 days. I finished reading Terri Whitehouse’s creative thesis, “Modern Friction” (awesome title, huh?). I am happy to say that I found it excellent. We should all hope some publisher picks it up soon. Terri, I hope you don’t mind me writing this; everyone visit her blog, “A Little Bit of Country...”—the link is on the right. Also, be sure to read Lemony Snicket—I hope his name is not an indication of his personality. Does anyone know how to use Blackboard yet?

Now, for something inspiring, maybe. Three things get me in the mood to create: quiet (often nature), reading, and music. Music is probably my favorite of these three (Check out the music thing on my profile for artists that rev my creative engine). I recently tried something fun and am going to pitch it to all my writer friends as an exercise. It will take up a good chunk of time but may help if you feel stuck. Go out and get the Beatles’ new album “Love,” you’ll quickly notice that is all songs you’ve heard before. But you’ve never heard them like this. They are all retooled, remixed, and revamped. These aren’t crappy mixes like Jay-Z’s “The Gray Album” (I know I will get flack for saying that album is crap, but I think it is—feel free to disagree in a post. Just because you sample Beatles songs and place them over beat doesn’t make the album brilliant—the mixes on that album are just plain shotty; they’re unbalanced, noisy, mismatched, unnecessarily rough, nearly unrecognizable, and just plain lame. As far as mixes, go they aren’t up to Jay-Z's normal calibur, so if people were hoping that great Beatles songs would overcome the shortcomings of bad beats, they were mistaken. I expected more from such a talented artist, and, yes, I even believe his version of “Still My Guitar Gently Weeps” is a piece of junk. Sorry, tangent). Anyway, go out and get “Love.” Listen to it, loudly, all the way through in one sitting. Then select three of the tracks from the album that are very familiar to you and go download (or consult your record collection) the original recordings of those songs. Listen to those songs back to back. Then listen to those three songs again on “Love.” Focus on hearing subtle changes, combinations, and sounds. Now, take out a draft that has been puzzling you, confounding you, irritating you, or one that you have been just plain chicken to touch. Read it out loud to yourself. Do you hear anything subtle? The Beatles mixes should give you insight into the subtlety of creation—that any change, no matter the size, can change the course, scope, and sense of a piece. Is it easier for you to see where the draft is going wrong? Try it and respond.

If you read this entire post you just wasted atleast 20 minutes of your life—get back to work, go to school, go for a walk, plant a tree—do something productive for God’s sake...

Bad news, semi-good news...

2007-04-13T11:42:00.000-07:00

I am sorry to say that the KFTC Flyover has been cancelled. Here is the email from the KFTC explaining the situation:

"Because of a complicated set of circumstances that involves new FAA regulations that may or may not govern events of this type and pilot certification, a difference in interpretation of those regulations by the FAA and pilots, the unwillingness of pilots we had contracted with to meet these guidelines and some unclear reporting requirements, the Flyover Festival has been postponed until we can get these details worked out and new pilots lined up."

I'll give you more information as it becomes available. In the mean time, read this poem to sooth your nerves. I have been working on a series of "modern pslams." This is one of the newer ones. Please feel free to critique and offer your opinions in a post.

LAMEDH

...to all correction I see limit, but your commands are boundless.
–119th

Today I learn the truths of you.
You answer my questions

with questions, you must try
to harness me like an animal

to drive me through the dirt,
goad me into moving one direction

with a plow tethered to my shoulders.
Today you take me to a field.

There is a farmer there
and an ox, turning everything over.

One of them is mastered by the other.
Teacher, where do you want me

to believe—should I know that this
lesson is hard to teach? It is true

that the best lessons aren’t learned in books
or in the alphabet. You are rabbi; I am talmide.

It is harder to learn ownership than anything.
If I am owned, I want to hold the key to my chains.

More Mountains...

2007-04-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

I wrote about Mountaintop Removal a few weeks ago, and I am unsure about how many of you agree with me or are interested, but I have a challenge for everyone.

This month, April 21st to be exact, KFTC (Kentuckians for the Commonwealth) will be having their "Flyover Festival." The day will be devoted to taking civilians (me and you) around in a helicopter and showing them, from the air, the effects of Mountaintop Removal. I want to challenge the readers of this blog (a small but fiesty/worthy/savvy group of individuals) to come to the flyover.

In essence, I am pretty much asking you to have fun (since there will be games, musicians, authors, and other activities) and experience a helicopter ride (which might freak the hell out of you). I know some people care a bit about this cause, so I want to challenge the people who say they care to do something: come! Put your money where your mouth is.

I am especially asking all of my friends who are regional writers (T.W.T.W., you know who you are...), musicians, and artists to come with me on this. As Kentucky devotees to the arts who have the ability to voice our opinions and rally people by publishing, playing, or painting, we have a responsibility to at least consider joining the fight, especially if it effects Kentuckians.

The event is in Prestonburg (carpools will leave from Lexington) from 9:30 a.m. till 6 p.m. The flights cost nothing to you (unless you can make a donation, $20 is recommended) and the event is open to anyone. Please consider joining Amanda and I as we learn more about this process that is harming our fantastic state.

Who's with me?!?! Bring it...

P.S.- I will post a poem sometime soon. Until then, everybody go to the mountains!

A poem worth sharing...

2007-04-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

Hey all. I am posting one of the best poems I've read in a long time. I love the chaos of it. Brouwer's mixing of his own personal life and the personal of Kafka, the movement and simplicity of the language, even the sly humor. It just works. If I could write poems like this I'd be in business. Enjoy!

A REPORT TO AN ACADEMY

And so among the starry refineries
and cattail ditches of New Jersey
his bus dips from egg-white sky into shadow.
When he next looks up from Kafka a blur
of green sanatorium tile flows by
then presto, Port Authority, full daylight.
He has been cheated of: the river, dawn,
a considered fingering of his long
and polished rosary of second thoughts.
Is it any wonder children are born
weeping? Out to Eighth Avenue to walk
twenty blocks home to her sleeping curve
beneath a sheet. He cracks three eggs into
a bowl and says to each, Oh you got trouble?
The yellow yolk is his, the orange is hers,
the third simply glistens, noncommittal.
Except to mention Kafka's restlessness
before his death, his trips from spa to spa
to country house to sanatorium,
and that she's awake now, sweet with sleep sweat,
patting her belly's taut carapace and yes
hungry as an ape but first a kiss mister
how was your trip and what have you brought us,
and that the knowledge that dooms a marriage
is the knowledge prerequisite to marriage,
the poem has nothing further to report.

Joel Brouwer
POETRY
Volume CLXXXIX
Number 1
December 2006

I, also, have nothing further to report. Peace.

Kudos...

2007-03-22T09:57:00.000-07:00

Things here are going well. I hope you had a chance to check out some of the links and think about how you can help. There isn't too much to report on my end but let me, for a moment, spotlight some friends. At the risk of this feeling/looking/sounding/smelling like a Carson Daly-style "shout out":

Congrats Drew and Sue who are pregnant! You all will make great parents!

Congrats Mari and Brent who are getting married! I wish you many long years!

Congrats to Andrew whose book is getting published! Can you say hostile take over?

Drew, Mari, and Andrew's blogs are on the right...

Books, Mountains, Kentucky, and God

2007-03-12T19:41:00.000-07:00

Well, my commitment to blogging has waned—that’s probably good for everyone else—but I figured this was a good time to update the site.

I want to thank Drew for making my blog “searchable,” hopefully soon this blog will pop up if people Google my name. Some things to mention: friend and fellow poet to the north, Canadian author D.S. Martin, has a chapbook forthcoming from Rubicon Press, “So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed.” I am looking forward to picking up a copy and everyone should check out his blog. He is a fine poet and a friend from Calvin College’s Festival of Faith and Writing, a wonderful literary event that happens every other year. Also, I finally finished my Extended Critical Essay (part of my thesis) for my MFA. The official title is “The Odd Negotiation: Anne Sexton’s Struggle to Understand God Through Poetry.” I am so happy to be done and will be shopping it around to some magazine soon.

Please keep checking the blog for more updates—I will do better, promise. I will be doing some readings as the book release approaches. It would be nice to see old friends if possible. I want to thank everyone who ordered a book. I have sold over a hundred, and it is only week two, so I’m very pleased. I really am very grateful to all of you—I couldn’t do any of this without faithful readers, faithful readers I never knew I had. *tears*

Okay, enough touchy stuff. I have had some epiphanies recently. A few weeks ago a man named Jack Spadaro came to Lexington Catholic, the school where I teach. Spadaro is a mine safety and environmental consultant from West Virginia. I have known for a long time about the environmental issues that plague Kentucky and Appalachia on a daily basis and the changes in policy and practice over the past two decades. Long story short: mining is one of Kentucky’s stable and most profitable economic practices and, until recently, was done with little damage to Kentucky’s beautiful landscape. Now coal companies are changing their practices for the worse. Mountaintop removal is quickly becoming one of the coal mining industry’s most acceptable and practiced means of extracting coal. Instead of finding a seam of coal and then building a traditional mine and burrowing into the earth, the practice of removal encourages the miners to literally cut off the mountaintop and remove the coal using trucks and cranes. After this practice the land is far beyond reclamation and is permanently destroyed and the aftermath of this practice pollutes water, destroys local economies, and alters the wilderness forever.

I am deeply saddened by what is happening in my backyard. I am proud to be a Kentuckian; I am proud of the freedom I experience everyday as an American. I am a patriot and a believer in freedom for all people. We must stop practices that are so detrimental to our landscape. I urge you to take a look at some of the websites listed on the side of this page and make an informed decision—if that decision is not the same as mine then I encourage you to voice your opinion. There are so many sides to every issue and all of them valid. There is a way to compromise and that begins with dialogue and activism. If you are concerned, please call your Representative and ask them to fight for the environment—write letters, clean up trash, conserve energy, recycle and complete the circle by buying recycled products, use GE compact florescent bulbs, plant a tree. It is trite but true: if we all do a little...

I am also proud to call myself a Christian. I am not always proud about the browbeating and extremism that people of faith sometimes cultivate. I am also not proud of the way Christians treat the environment with such disregard. As believers in God and Christ, we should be the most active environmentalists—God’s charge is clear: care for the earth and everything in it, read Gen. 1-3. I would like to challenge any Christian who comes across this blog to think long and hard about his or her role in tending for this world.

Thanks for reading, buying, thinking, talking, and caring.

Faith. Hope. Love.

Book for sale!

2007-02-09T12:23:00.000-08:00

Everyone, good news! My book is now purchasable on the Internet! Just click the link on the side bar and it will take you to the Finishing Line Press New Releases page. The book is called Morning and What Has Come Since. Pre-sale is going on between now and April 18. Your copy will ship May 18—just in time for summer reading. You should also get a copy for your friends, relatives, dogs, maybe one for each bathroom in your house; tell everyone you know. I don't know, whatever, just buy a copy—they're only $14. Also, I'd like to thank my cousin Jim whose lovely photography graces the cover. You can take a better look at Jim's work by clicking the link "Jim Golden Photography." I will write more about life and it's meaning soon, but right now I am going to head home for the weekend. At any rate, happy ordering and reading. Two poems from the book is pasted below just to sate your sweet tooth. Enjoy!

GET YOU SOME POETRY!

A View From Ohio

What comes in winter is the quiet kind of storm,
rain to flake, soundless, framed by this great window.
We have watched this storm move over the field,
the white sky still, fixed gray as far as we can see.

I have traveled far to get here and this weather
makes me want a good, strong Kentucky summer:
a hot breeze thick with sweat and oak leaves, the body's slow
drown in pollen. At night the sky is open and settled,
the stars spread out as flecks of mica hanging over us.

I once read that if the Earth moved only a foot
from its rotation that we would plunge into
a new Ice Age, that we could freeze to the core.
It is funny to think of it that way—
inches away from a season, rather than days or months.
Back home there is warmth, but not here.

But this window is wide enough to see all across the plain
and I watch as our car is slowly covered along with the street.
If I press my ear to the glass, I can hear that there is a sound
that snow makes when it hits the pavement.

My Grandfather Sings Again

I found a cassette with your voice singing.
The wheels of the tape turned away from time
to let me hear your rendition of Folsom Prison Blues.
When I was a boy, I sat on your lap and you taught
me those words—the song of a lonely prisoner
staring from his cell window at the miles
of metal rail that lead the train past the jail.
When I was a boy, the dollar bill woven in your strings
was a rattling snare of steam; your voice was a wheel
grinding the track, rolling across California.
But now, when that song floats into my adult ears,
you are the whole train pressing on into the distance
and I am the prisoner listening to a whistle blow
the hot sound of freedom. I am watching
the train’s slow escape, the soot billow falling behind
to earth as a frown of black cloud.

Recent News... Chapbook!

2007-01-17T19:20:00.000-08:00

Some of you may or may not know but I found out recently that Finishing Line Press (whose link is over there to the right) has taken my chapbook Morning and What Has Come Since. I am very excited. Be sure to watch for updates about buying the book. I believe it will be out sometime near the summer; I am waiting to get an official date from the publisher. As soon as I have it, there will be a presale link on this blog. Please check back later.

I need to presell 50 copies of the book for it to go to print so, I think, everyone should by one. I know what you're thinking, this jerk is trying to push his book off on me... and I guess I kind of am, but that's the way it has to be to presell 50 copies. I hope you'll understand.

Stephen Dorrsett, a co-worker and friend, has passed along some paintings for the cover. Also, my very awesome cousin, Jim Golden of Oregon has graciously volunteered some of his photography. I am not really sure how to load pictures onto this thing yet, but you can check out Stephen and Jim's artwork by clicking their respective links (also on the right).

I hope all is right in your world.

Faith. Hope. Love.

The reason I am here: shameless self-promotion

2007-01-06T19:08:00.000-08:00

I am pretty sure that at this moment only three people have looked at this blog. I haven't really told many people about it. So, if you're one of the three, please send it on to someone else.

The reason for starting this blog is simple: publicity. I have real friends, with skin, so I don't need to make any more here on the Internet. I am not blogging to speak my mind, although that will inevitably happen. I have this blog so that people can read the work that I will post. With that being said, I would like to post a new poem, one that not many people have read. Feel free to leave an honest comment, positive or negative, about the work; share the work with someone else; or email me to ask questions. The poem is from a series I have been working on for my Masters thesis. The series is called "Westward" and sort of deals with the theme of identity.

Enjoy.

GOD WALKING

I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me...His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire.
Revelation 1:12, 14

Collect all the faithful like wheat,
gather them at the beginning
of the rolling mountain—
this is where I will come to you.

I will give you each a name,
one name for each head of hair,
one for each hungry mouth.
one for each back bearing weight.

I will be born with you, with
human hands. I will be cast in
your own iron. I will be like
a raving bull among the people.

But you will scatter across this world
just as easily as you were gathered.
Throw yourselves like seeds to the hungry
fields of earth. You will be turned over.

You will be smashed into the soil
with my thunder hand. You will
be divided again and again. It will
be easy for you to forget your name.

This mountain will fall from your
mind like a wasted dreams and you
will wander far from me into
this world’s dark wood.

You will build bridges to abandonment.
You will flock east, like a driven
chevron of fading birds. You will run
from each step that I have taken.

Each footprint I have pressed into the
clay of the earth. Carry yourselves.
Confused created, work of my hands,
you have lost me—follow my steps

back from the deep dark of the east,
back to the red door of my house,
back to the searing fire of my eyes,
back to the ashen wool of my hair.

Come back to these arms, daughters
and sons, I will forgive your wandering.
Be joined with your father,
take back the light of your names.

Yes, I've joined the 21st century. Welcome me to your world.

2007-01-04T12:02:00.000-08:00

Here it is, a blog, with my name attached to it. Who could have guessed? I have held off doing this for a very long time and am only doing it as a marketing tool but I am sure that it will become some kind of sick addiction. Well, I hope the Internet universe enjoys my sick addiction. If not, I suppose my life will go on.

I realize that I will face ridicule from friends and family because of my Neo-Luddite tendencies, my resistance and criticism toward MySpace.com/Facebook, and my general outspokenness about the dangers of tearing down local community at the expense of the Internet and the "friends" one acquires from it. In short, I quote Whitman:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
-Song of Myself, 51

Something always gives. The Internet finally got me; raise a glass to progress. I will type more and try not to let this monster swallow me whole--everything in moderation.

I am still learning how to use this thing. I got stuck and called Rod Dixon (there is a link to his blog over on the side bar) for tech support. Thanks, Rod. I am a tech-tard. I didn't know my own blog-site address. Please don't mock me.

Happy reading.

Faith. Hope. Love.