poetry and prayer on Good Friday

I subscribed to Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac, a daily newsletter that highlights historical events and provides a brief biography of a few notable people born on that day. I subscribed just in time for my all time favorite poet Louise Gluck's birthday (today!). I got so excited when I opened my email and one of her poems was the first entry in the newsletter. It makes me happy that other people have also started the day with a Louise Gluck poem, perhaps being exposed to her work for the first time. If you are interested, here is a list of some of them. Pick one and read. Many of the poems from her book The Wild Iris are firmly entrenched in my memories of phases and seasons going back to my sophomore year of high school. Still, every few months, I read one that voices to my current questions, desires, or sacrifices and I'm grateful.

Today is Good Friday. This prayer helps my "faith imagination," encouraging me to take hold of what's really possible in Christ. It is originally from People's Companion to the Breviary, Vol II. I read it in The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime.

"O God, you sent Christ Jesus to be my shepherd and the lamb of sacrifice. Help me to embrace the mystery of salvation, the promise of life rising out of death. Help me to hear the call of Christ and give me the courage to follow it readily that I, too, may lead others to you. This I ask through Jesus, my shepherd and guide."

travel plans

Plane tickets to Chicago PURCHASED. It's been nearly 4 years since I've seen my dear roommate. I've been itching to travel, especially to visit friends in their post-college cities.

Next stop: South Carolina, perhaps?

Cloves galore

Last night I made this. 44 cloves of garlicky goodness. I came across the recipe and instantly thought of my mom, who only eats garlic when my dad is out of town because he hates the smell and won't kiss her if she eats it. This is the man who nearly always prefaces his criticisms with "I'm not that picky BUT..." Yes, Dad, you are.

Anyway, I was a little nervous, but the soup was a success and my mom and I enjoyed two nights of this creamy, surprisingly subtle-tasting (because of the parmesan and whipping cream) soup.

Don't be afraid. If you are in an adventurous mood, try it!

echoes of Dante

Scenes of Hell - Billy Collins

We did not have the benefit of a guide,
no crone to lead us off the common path,
no ancient to point the way with a staff,

but there were badlands to cross,
rivers of fire and blackened peaks,
and eventually we could look down and see

the jeweler running around a gold ring,
the boss captured in an hourglass,
the baker buried up to his eyes in flour,

the banker plummeting on a coin,
the teacher disappering into a blackboard,
and the grocer silent under a pyramid of vegetables.

We saw the pilot nose-diving
and the whore impaled on a bedpost,
the pharmacist wandering in a stupor

and the child with toy wheels for legs.
You pointed to the soldier
who was dancing with his empty uniform

and I remarked on the blind tourist.
But what truly caught our attention
was the scene in the long mirror of ice:

you lighting the wick on your head
me blowing on the final spark,
and our children trying to crawl away from their

eggshells.

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Billy Collins first enticed me with his use of crisp images and brilliant metaphor in this poem but of course the Dantean spirit is what wins me over. He certainly makes it his own - this poet's "lostness" is different from Dante's, no "ancient guide" (i.e. Virgil) to lead the way. He imitates the structure of the Inferno: he starts off lost on a path and even his first observation involves a circle (the ring). Using abbreviated phrases, he initially alludes to menial sins paired with nearly comic images but then gradually descends into the grotesque (whore impaled by a bedpost, children with toy wheels for legs). True to Dante, ice composes Hell's center.

I'm not sure what to make of the images he and his companion point to - she points to a soldier dancing with his empty uniform, him to a blind tourist (notice he has emphasized the sense of sight so far). Are they struck by those who mirror their own weaknesses or do they point out the other's? I think the the latter interpretation aligns with human nature's tendency. Does she idolize superficial signs of importance or is she suggesting that he does? Is he the one who travels but has not the eyes to see or is he suggesting this to her?

The last images are striking - each family member's particular suffering at the hand of another. The extinguished flame and the eggshells accompanying conflict.

I borrowed the title for my blog (The fire becomes the mirror) from a Louise Gluck poem, and I associate that fire with suffering which purifies sight. But in "Scenes from Hell", ice is the mirror exposing vice. And now I'm contemplating what image I would see....

student poetry!

Read my students' poems! I asked the seniors to write a poem in response to "Cry the Beloved Country" and I was delighted with the result. After a difficult month, seeing the fruit of this exercise has given me "purpose again for my strength/Like the laborers returning to work from a strike" to quote David's poem. It made me happy that this assignment inspired Josh to put so much creative effort into his first poem and that it gave Shea an outlet for her spiritually sensitive observations.

and with the rest of the literary world I turn to...

a poem that a former professor of mine says is "the Purgatorio between the Inferno of “The Waste-land” and the Paradiso of the “Four Quartets.” And I'm always appreciative of an allusion to Dante.

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

-"Ash Wednesday" - T.S. Eliot

goal-making

For me, making goals is a matter of bravery. I fear failure. I asked my 9th graders the other day what they fear most and aside from 15 year old boy silliness ("I fear cellulite on old women in bathing suits"), that same boy said "I fear failure." Yeah, you and me both. And that is why I avoid making goals. Running through my mind right now are my to-do lists from my senior year of college with bullet point after bullet point of massive undertakings with little time or just enough time and not enough diligence.

I am ready to be courageous. Goal-making, here I come.

Goal #1

I want to put more effort into creating beautiful spaces. I don't have a track record of putting much thought into consistent organization (order in the unseen) or aesthetic pleasantries for my living spaces. I am challenged/inspired by friends Andrea and Mary , coworkers, and blogs by people I don't know who will have more domestic success in a day than I'll have in a lifetime.

First steps for Goal 1:

1. In the classroom: Clearing out rubbermaid containers full of my materials I used over a month ago.

2. Picking up half my closet off the floor after my too-long endeavor to find the right outfit for the Mardi Gras party I attended last night. (First time celebrating Fat Tuesday and it was on a School Night!)

Goal #2

I want to grow herbs. Cilantro, basil, and mint.

Roadblock: I have a black thumb. Seriously can't keep anything alive. But I am determined to have success!

First steps for Goal 2: Buy pots. Buy seeds. Reread those how-to-grow-herbs articles.

Here is what I tell myself:

In the span of a year, I went from screwing up box brownies to cooking delicious meals for my family every week and baking cookies that have become just slightly infamous (for good reasons) in my little community, I can manage a little space-shaping and herb-nurturing.