Where to Start (A Poem)

There are many things
as a teenager
that you can't bring yourself
to say to your parents

Maybe you were drinking at a party
Maybe you spent the night at a boy's house
while his parents were on their Bahamian cruise
Maybe you scuffed your bumper parallel parking
and covered it with nail polish
and just hoped

They are withholdings of self-preservation

But then there are the things
that you cannot tell
because you want to protect
Them
Or maybe you don't know
where to start

Do you start with
I'm sorry
or
I'm lost
or
I'm broken

Do you start with
I need help
or
Please do something
or
Please do nothing

Do you start with
He was my friend
or
He touched me
or
How could he?

Or maybe you just wait
hope it goes away
and perhaps with time there will be
nothing
to tell

Creative Writing - Scene of Tension assignment

     "I looked over at my mother sitting in the driver’s seat of our decrepit ’98 Accord, but she would not look back at me. She stared blankly off into the distance as we sat stagnant at the red light. All of the sound had been sucked out of the car. The otherwise noisy squealing of the heater and clink-clanking of the engine were inaudible today.

I reached my hand toward the radio dial apprehensively, eager to break up the cloudy thoughts in my mind with some mainstream pop. A few notes from a song which I immediately recognized as “Say Something” by A Great Big World came meekly through the speakers. I love this song.

      As I turn my hand to increase the volume, my mother reaches over, pushes my hand away, and turns off the radio.

     “No.” she said.

     “Bu-”

     “I said no.”

     I lacked the energy to be firmer with my protestations. Typically this same scenario would have resulted in a verbal bloodbath, with me hurling the most creatively violent phrases my 15-year-old vocabulary could summon. But the brief but sharp exchange of syllables cut through my brain and reverberated in my head among the cloudy thoughts. I was already defeated. So was she. Asking either of us to arm ourselves for battle against each other was like trying to engage a wounded animal – mostly they just lie there consumed by their own pain, defending themselves only with brief outbursts of truly deadly aggression before they eventually collapse.

So … not today.

Green light.

The car didn’t move, though. I looked over at my mother again, her knuckles white on the steering wheel and her eyes glassy with tears of anger and disappointment … but mostly anger. She still will not look at me. I open my mouth and the intake of breath before I speak sounds like a scream in my head, but my mother responds by slamming on the gas before I say a single word. My head jerks back against the seat.

“Ow!”

I had said it before I even meant to. I wasn’t actually hurt, just surprised. My mother now has a funny look on her face; as if she’s holding something back? I watch her intently as her scowl turns to a smirk.

Her face finally breaks and she lets out a loud and intense laugh.

“Haha, wow … you should have seen the look on your face!”

She continues laughing until the tears fall down her cheeks. I don’t know whether to laugh along with her or fear for my life at this point. She wipes away the tears and finally looks at me. Her smile fades, and her face goes somber again.

She lets out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry, mom.” I say, once again before thinking.

She does not respond.

She pulls into a parking space and stops the car, pushing the gear shift all the way up to “park” and turning the key toward her to kill the engine. I hear her release the brake and we wobble a bit as she does.

A small black sign sits just outside my passenger-side window and reads “Preterm”. The building is huge, with several stories and walls of glass. I could see our car, my mother, and myself, in a reflection on the side of the building. It both disturbed and made sense to me … because in this moment I was Alice and this building my looking glass.

The clouds in my head started to dissipate as rain fell from my eyes, and now something rose from the pit of my stomach; tight and burning.

I opened the door and vomited on the pavement."

The Academic - Creative Writing - Word Sketches

This past week, we were asked to write some word sketches about family members, either close or distant.  I wrote three, but for the purposes of this post, I will be sharing only two.  They are, quite obviously, about my kids.

"Jubilant. Inquisitive. Every other word is “why?” She always says, “I’m a seven year old but I’m as big as a ten year old!” with great pride. She believes that if she’s bigger, the world might take her a little more seriously. Sandy hair sits right under her jawline and waves in odd directions which make it look like you’ve never brushed it. “Goofy” and “dorky” are adjectives that suit her well when you omit the insulting connotations. She refuses to wear anything that’s “not pretty” and will fight you with all of her power if you try to make her wear jeans. She is expressive, and creative. There is an artful clumsiness about her, as if she is a nimble ballerina in her mind with a body too tall and clumsy to quite accomplish what she imagines. Her smile is mine, with a touch more quirkiness. There is untapped wisdom in her eyes and I wait patiently for its unveiling every day. If you asked her what she wants to be when she grows up, you’d get “princess” one day and “surgeon” the next. The third day, you might get “zombie-hunter”. She lives with her eyes wide open."
------------------------------------------------------------

"Sturdy, tall (for his age) and lean. The soft, youthful skin of a child who knows how to walk the earth but does not yet understand “don’t put that in your mouth” with 100% success. He knows what his name looks like, but can’t write the whole thing. Hair the same color as a perfectly-baked pie crust, and half the time at least just as sticky. A light shines from within him with energy and weightlessness, pouring out of his green/gray/hazel/moody eyes like laser beams of wonder, joy and hope. He’s always singing. Curiosity is written all over his face; typically in the form of a furrowed brow over some device beep-beep-blooping inches from his nose. His grin is only ever a grin, and never a smile. He is surprising and impressive and problematic. He lacks common sense in the most admirable ways you might be able to imagine, and embraces his new-found playground with clear, unbridled willfulness."

THE ACADEMIC - Abnormal Psych Discussion Post

The following is this week's discussion question, and my subsequent response, for my Abnormal Psych class:


Why is depression, and its treatment, so popular in American society?  It is very easy to acquire anti-depressants.  Are Americans more depressed today or seeking a quick fixes?


There are so many pieces of the puzzle working together to make this trend happen, in my opinion.  As others have said, people "don't want to take the time" to get therapy from a psychologist ... but I believe that there is much more at play than people just "not feeling like it".  For example, as much as awareness about depression has increased in the past few decades, and there is less stigma surrounding the disease, it is still there.  Many people in my generation grew up believing that depression meant weakness, danger, or "crazy"/unpredictable.  Even if you weren't brough up to feel that way, chances are you were not in a family where one of your parents or elders was going to therapy, and if they were, they were not open about it.  Much of the mental health culture in the United States is about hiding mental illness because it is perceived as weakness.  So, even if you have an open mind about mental illness, if you never had an example of someone seeking mental health care in your family, it still might be hard for you to accept that 1. you should go or 2. that you even need it.

I think another factor that is at work has to do with the pharmeceutical industry itself, and how it works in congruence with society's perception of mental health.  Taking medication on a daily basis is something that you can hide from friends, family, and co-workers much more easily than having to go to therapy once every week or two.  Americans also have to worry about how time taken off to seek mental health care will negatively affect their employer's perception of them.  Admitting to a mental illness or needing therapy could cause some employers to think that you aren't capable of performing your job properly, or that you are perhaps not capable of a promotion that may come up.  There is the possibility of social consequence when you disclose that you are seeking treatment for a mental illness, even though there really shouldn't be.  Because of these feelings, patients are more likely to accept medication-only treatment.  Yes, it's "easy" but it's also the socially "safer" option, which I believe plays a greater role in patient's decision-making about their mental health treatment.  Doctors hand out medication like it is candy.  You can literally schedule an appointment with a new doctor who has never seen you before, have a 15-minute appointment, and then walk out with an anti-depressant prescription.  I know, because I did it when I was 18 and I had a major depressive episode the first time I went to college.  And because, as a culture, we are not well-versed in mental illness, potential treatment, or most effective types of treatment, most patients accept the words of their doctors as being "good enough" for their care.  If a doctor gives you a prescription for anti-depressants and sends you on your way ... if that's good enough for them, it should be good enough for you, right?  I think that's the stance that many Americans take.  And, let's face it, there is no money to be made by big pharma if we actually made it public knowledge that medication-only treatment is basically the most bare-bones means of treatment along with a laundry list of side-effects which may include making you feel worse, or even suicidal.

I don't think that more Americans are depressed than they have been in the past, though I do think that more Americans, in general, know that depression exists.  I think that we've gotten enough awareness to know that, but we don't have enough education to treat it as the public health crisis that it really is.

Our healthcare system is also another obstacle that gets in the way of Americans seeking proper mental health care.  Many people can barely keep up with their medical bills for just their physical health, let alone their mental health.  And many healthcare plans provided through employers have limitations of coverage on mental health services, being typically either a percentage covered, only a limited amount of sessions covered, or even a costly deductible before any benefit is received.  Even after you pay into it with every paycheck ... you have to pay more to receive the benefit.  What sense does that make?  Even with NYS Medicaid, which is arguably one of the best health care plans you can get in NYS in terms of coverage, only offers 10 visits for mental health care annually.  The American health care system is reactive instead of proactive -- and when problems inevitably arise, we cover incomplete solutions and treatment, but not complete ones.

Being Thankful

I wrote a thing.  A thing about what I am thankful for.  Let's face it -- I'm way too lazy for those daily Facebook posts.  Those are better left to someone more consistent than myself.  But random, stream-of-consciousness free-writing?  I can do that ... even if it isn't pretty, it's out there.

Enjoy.  Or don't.  It's more for me than it is for anyone else, anyway.

Thankful

I am thankful for my brain

I am thankful for my amazing, beautiful, functional body

I am thankful for every tiny bit of love that comes my way

I am thankful for my warm, fuzzy, monkey slippers

I am thankful for the care and love of my family

I am thankful for my sense of humor

I am thankful for my family's sense of humor

I am thankful for my brother, who is in many ways my best friend

I am thankful for my mother, who is in many ways my best friend

I am thankful for the trees in my backyard

I am thankful that I have a backyard

I am thankful for my two amazing, incredible, beautiful children who surprise me each day
I am thankful for my incredible niece and nephew who bring me so much joy when I see them

I am thankful that they are all healthy and capable and, frankly, the best ever ever ever ever

I am thankful for art (all kinds) – both the expression and appreciation of

I am thankful for those who care more than I know, who I often fail to mention, and perhaps even take for granted

I am thankful for my teachers

I am thankful for my education

I am thankful for my renewed passion for learning

I am thankful for my personal progress and growth throughout the past two years

I am thankful for the people who have helped me in that growth and progress – you know who you are

I am thankful for no-pants dance time

I am thankful for my health (that which I have)

I am thankful for medical care to aid with the parts that aren't as healthy

I am thankful for “enough to make ends meet,” even if it takes a lot of help to have it

I am thankful for my creativity

I am thankful for my voice
I am thankful for my beauty, even if I can't always see it – I know it's there waiting for me to find it again

I am thankful for leggings that make my ass look great, even if I refuse to wear them in public

I am thankful for my house

I am thankful for all the conveniences that it holds which make what could be a much more difficult life just that much easier

I am thankful for the internet and social media (because let's just be honest here)

I am thankful for the incredible generosity of others when I have been in need

I am thankful for the example they set; for others, and for myself

I am thankful that I got as much time with my dad as I did before he passed away – it wasn't always easy or perfect, but I learned a lot from him and the legacy he left behind

I am thankful for the experiences that present themselves to me which challenge me in new ways … even when they scare the hell out of me

I am thankful for the things and people which make me laugh – the laugh where I feel like I can't breathe

I am thankful for adventures, of which I have had more in the past year than probably in the past decade

I am thankful that there are plenty more adventures ahead of me

I am thankful for this gift which is my life

I am thankful that even my most challenging frustrations are only temporary

I am thankful for love

I am thankful for hope

I am thankful for contentment – even if it isn't consistent







I am thankful for you. The person who cares or is curious enough to want to peer into my life and see these pieces of me – these tiny flickers and giant floods of light that splash over my life and allow me to see all the colors of my world.

THE ACADEMIC - "Hazel Tells LaVerne"

Poetry analysis questions and responses on "Hazel Tells LaVerne" by local Ithacan poet Katharyn Howd Machan.

2. What creates the poem's humor? How does Hazel's use of language reveal her personality? Is her treatment of the frog consistent with her character?

In many ways I believe that the language use itself is what creates the poem's humor. Also the absurdity of bringing a magical creature/fairy tale element into a very “real world” setting. It's very specific – not just a hotel or a motel, but a Howard Johnson's. It stirs up images of some ultra-70s teal and orange building with rooms that smell of cigarettes. It's a very realistic setting which is a stark contrast against the whimsy of the magical frog “prince”.

Hazel's language use gives us the impression that she is uneducated, but independent and (for lack of a better word) “sassy”. The use of “sohelpmegod” without spaces or “well I screams” … or the fact that the entire poem reads like one giant run-on sentence lends to its colloquial nature.

Hazel's treatment of the frog is consistent with her character – and it is in line with two different interpretations that I've considered for this poem. The first is that Hazel is an independent woman who rejects the notion of a “fairy tale” because she is a reasonable and practical woman – and that she is unwilling to resign herself to a fate that exists only as a relation to a man. The second interpretation is that because of her lot in life, a simple housekeeper leading a terribly UN-glamorous existence, Hazel doesn't believe that she is worthy or capable of being a “princess” and that the frog MUST be trying to sell her a lie because something like that happening to someone like her would be impossible. (“rags to riches”, low-class to high class, etc.) Hazel feels trapped by her social status.

4. What is the theme? Is it conveyed through denotative or connotative language?

I have two different interpretations as to what the theme might be. It's either about a woman feeling empowered to reject the notion of a fairy tale or an existence that only is available to her through the offering of a “prince”/man, or it is about a woman who feels trapped within her social class and cannot believe that her becoming a princess could ever even be a possibility – so she assumes that the frog is only trying to serve his own desires to be kissed in exchange for nothing.

Machan's works in feminist publications and interest in women's rights and feminism would support her desire to write about this topic with either interpretation.

6. Comment on any other poems by this author which might provide insight into this one.

In the poem, “Ada Macomber: Redwing, 1888,” a similar situation about a woman feeling trapped by her social class and circumstances is presented.

Here on Maple Street, civilized

high white walls and proper

doors with knockers shaped

like foxes, I entertain

friends, acquaintances, skirts

full and corsets carefully

laced, smiles the curve

of husbands' success. Who

am I to widen out my

boundaries, embrace a man

of loam and seed? He

says my name, the one

I never dare pronounce where

silk dulls tongue: I

dance within his gaze like light

gone wild, new sun ray swaying

blue to gold to blue again

before dark calls, before

time becomes a way of staying

distant, lifeless, pure.

(Machan, Louisiana Literature)

Though the speaker in this poem is in the opposite social class, she faces a similar problem about feeling stuck within the confines of her “place,” socially. I think that this is still a problem that women face in current society. I think it's something that men encounter as well, but in many ways the social expectation of a woman is to “dance” or “tiptoe” around a man – or that her identity will be defined by her relationship or usefulness to a man.

In looking for another poem to compare, I read through several of Machan's poems, and what I found most fascinating about them is that they cover varying topics about the human experience and that, many times, each speaker has a very distinct personality and characterization. It speaks to her creativity that she is able to use such varying yet distinguishable “voices” within her poems.

And I loved reading the poetry of someone who is from our area and takes such pride in living in Ithaca. It was really inspiring!

Works Cited

Machan, Katharyn Howd. “Hazel Tells LaVerne”. The Bedford Introduction to Literature. Ed. Michael Meyer. 9th ed. Boston: Bedford, 2012. 608. Print.

Machan, Katharyn Howd, “Ada Maycomber: Redwing, 1888”. Louisiana Literature. 27.1 (2010): 80. Humanities Source. Web. 17 Oct. 2013.

THE ACADEMIC - Ode on a Grecian Urn

This week in our Literature class, we began studying poetry.  I was apprehensive at first, because it is something that I have notoriously disliked and also been quite terrible at.  However, I've had a really excellent experience with it this time around, and within this post you will find my responses to some discussion questions that I chose to cover for my assignment.

If you haven't read Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats, here is your chance:

Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.

John Keats. 1795–1821

625. Ode on a Grecian Urn

THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape	5
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?	10
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave	15
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!	20
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!	25
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.	30
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,	35
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.	40
O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!	45
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'	50

http://www.bartleby.com/101/625.html

And here are my responses to the discussion questions:

2. How is the happiness in stanza III related to the assertion in lines 11-12 that “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter”?
   
   This line refers to the assertion that the “song” being played by the “fair youth” can only be seen and not heard – and is therefore romanticized in the mind of the person viewing the art because it can be anything that they want it to be.
   
   “Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone ...” (Meyer, 623)
   
   
   It is about the song transcending the sense of “hearing” (as it obviously cannot be heard because it is only a visual depiction of music) and it is being “played” straight through to the core/soul/spirit of the onlooker.
   
   However, the “reality” of this thought is paradoxical, because a song that is “unheard” is not even really a song, is it? The sound (or song) cannot be “sweeter than” anything if it is, in fact, nothing. This paradox illustrates the contemplative, philosophical tone of the poem which questions and contrasts art vs. life, or the philosophy of art vs. reality. (Brooklyn.cuny.edu)
   
   Keats himself suffered a lot of difficulty and emotional trauma in his very short life, so it is very possible that contemplating these overly-joyous images on the urn causes a certain amount of resentment within Keats, causing him to reflect on the images and compare his own personal experiences/reality with his perception of the figures' reality.
   The happiness in stanza III is related to this line because it is also paradoxical when in the context of the entire stanza. Keats talks about the happiness of the images, but also talks about their stagnation. Keats uses the happiness as hyperbole, almost like sarcasm, to discredit the true happiness and beauty of the images.

2. What is the difference between the world depicted on the urn and the speaker's world?

The world depicted on the urn is a joyous celebration with music and love – all positivity. We all know that life is not always like that, but there is a phenomenon about memory that causes us to always try to preserve our most positive memories and experiences. Have you ever thought about how individuals and families preserve their memories through photos? Birthdays, weddings, parties, vacations … all the “happiest” moments of our lives. The same principle has been applied through art in the past – and specifically in this instance.

Keats almost seems offended by this artistic “misrepresentation” of reality; so he compares it to his own reality and also points out many of life's beauties that the figures will never be able to experience. The whole poem seems like a way to assert that his own life (though riddled with trauma) is just as beautiful as the one depicted on the urn, if not more so because it is real.

7. What do the last lines of the poem mean? “Beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all Ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.”

My interpretation of this line is actually that the speaker believes that this art in particular is “a friend to man” because it is selling us a beautiful lie. The line itself reaffirms the “truth” of the statement with its use of the word “truth” itself – but I believe that is a purposeful overstatement of the word in order to emphasize the pieces of truth that the statement lacks.

The “lie” is that beauty is all that we will experience on Earth and that it is all we need to know, but that lie serves the purpose of keeping our life worth living. Our ability as human beings to remember the good times that we have in life and emphasize them as much as possible (same thought as the family photos previously mentioned) while doing our best to learn from our tragedies and traumas is what keeps life being “worth” living. It is a function of survival to maintain our mental health.

So, we can appreciate the beauty of the images of this piece of art to let us remember a beautiful part of life – but I believe that Keats' perspective is that, though it serves a purpose, this is a hollow and empty experience if that is all we see life as being (“Cold pastoral”). The pain of reality and the spectrum of the human experience is what emphasizes life's true beauty.


Works Cited:

"Ode on a Grecian Urn" "Ode on a Grecian Urn" N.p., 13 Feb. 2009. Web. 26 Sept. 2013. http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/cs6/urn.html

Keats, John. The Bedford Introduction to Literature. Ed. Michael Meyer. 9th ed. Boston: Bedford, 2012. 623-624. Print.