Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

Archive for the category “reflections”

Why We Say: #2


Title page of Three Hundred Aesop's Fables

Title page of Three Hundred Aesop’s Fables (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Continuing on with what could be an enlivening series of posts is #2: “Adding Insult to Injury”

History:
This expression is traced back to Aesop, the storyteller who attached morals onto his flash fiction parables.

Story:
Apparently a man who possessed hair deficit disorder swatted at a fly and in doing so missed the fly and smacked himself in the head.  Not only did the fly get away (the insult), but the man got a lump on his noggin for his efforts (the injury).

Application:
Today, when someone says or does something that hurts another person, either verbally or physically, and then does something that furthers this problem, such as not apologizing for the initial incident, or creates another problem, that person is said to add insult to the injury.

My Thoughts:
Did it really matter that the guy in Aesop’s story was bald to begin with? Was that the insult–that not only did the guy have no hair, now he had a lump for everyone to see.

 

 

 

A Slice of Pi


Too often I realize I am a book snob. Certain subjects, authors, or just because it is crazy popular will place me in snub mode. My shame, especially since I am a professed Book Booster. Isn’t confession supposed to be part of the cure?
This is why I am even more embarrassed I have put off reading Life of Pi for so long.

image from videostoresnearspringfield.com

When it first came out I did my huffy verisimilitude snort and bypassed it. “Oh, please, really? A boy and a tiger on the ocean in a boat and he lives to tell about?” I had no problem with C.S. Lewis creating a horse and a boy as pals, let alone a lion mentoring three British children? I really must get my veracity meter checked one of these days.

With Pi I broke THE rule and saw the movie first–home version, sans Blu-Ray or 3D glasses. My review? Magical.
And that’s it. You don’t need yet another review among the surfeit of Pi commentaries. The movie motivated me to read the book.. Fortunately, our school librarian, in the midst of checking in end-of- the year materials, hasn’t had time to shelve new books and she allowed me to take it home over the weekend. There’s nothing like a long weekend and a mesmerizing novel.
I will say this–I appreciate the novel so much more having experienced the film (possible even in plain everyday vanilla DVD fashion). Frankly, parts of the plot were a bit hard to visualize, such as the raft and the meerkat island, without the aid of movie inserts. It’s not that my imagination station is broke it’s just that Ang Lee created such a wondrous palette of preprogrammed living color the plot danced more as the movie played in my head. Then there is Richard Parker; I couldn’t have imagined him as well as his CGI counterpart. He is such a handsome tiger. Of course,  meerkats by the thousands is visually is much more impressive via the wide-screen than by my mental viewing station.

The novel contains much more detail (I, uh, flipped past some of the more colorful aspects of oceanic survival); however, aspects of the movie were better, such as the family dynamics.

The most important takeaway of both stories is this quote:

“And so it is with God.”

This quote absolutely resonates with me. The ambiguity of the story’s ending reminds me so much of Inception, allowing us the intelligence of denouement possibilities.

I wonder if there is a correlation between my initially snubbing Life of Pi because I did not grow up with pie–seriously, I don’t remember my mom serving up chocolate cake, apple pie, or cookies (I have compensated and I taught myself the art of pie making and make a mean apple custard pie complimented by “my goodness!” flaky crust). Pie didn’t interest me until I reached adulthood.

And so it is with this Pi, of which I will ask for another slice.

Cover of "Life of Pi"

Cover of Life of Pi

Verily, Verily, Verisimilitude


The Matrix Online

The Matrix Online (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“What is real?”

Isn’t that the big question asked in The Matrix?

We live in the real, yet we crave for an escape, hence literature and film and video games.  Yet, as much as we push the boundaries of “What is real” and explore space, time periods, new worlds, ways to expand our minds, change our bodies, there still needs to be verisimilitude.

veri·si·mil·i·tude

noun \-sə-ˈmi-lə-ˌtüd, -ˌtyüd\

Definition of VERISIMILITUDE

1
: the quality or state of being verisimilar
2
: something verisimilar
veri·si·mil·i·tu·di·nous \-ˌmi-lə-ˈtüd-nəs, -ˈtyüd-; -ˈtü-də-nəs, -ˈtyü-\adjective

Examples of VERISIMILITUDE

<the novel’s degree of verisimilitude is compromised by 18th-century characters who speak in very 21st-century English>

And there it is–like Neo, there is the invincibility that comes from stretching the dream world, and the knowledge of being tethered into reality.

For instance, I can believe a girl from Kansas can get whirled up into tornado and be dropped in a magical land of talking scarecrows, populated by little people, witches (both good and bad), flying monkeys, and horses of a different color. Nevertheless, I’d be hard pressed to believe she goes back to Kansas in a rocket ship or sprouts wings to fly there herself.  There must be real enough with our unreal.

Recently I completed a triology, where the story is set after the modern world has ended due to a pandemic virus. The world that is rebuilt is based on medieval times, complete with castles, warriors, limited technical knowledge. There is also the aspect of the people discovering the religion of their ancestors, which lends a blending of past, present, and future. I hung with the entire series, barely so at times because of one annoying problem: verisimiliutde slippage.

There we would be, the hero and heroine recointering after a tremoundous battle and after some appropriate,  credible medivialistic setting, into the dialogue would pop out, “Wow, those guys were tough.” Poof, verily, verily, the magic bubble popped. I couldn’t wrap my mind the modern vernacular.  I’m not looking for “forsooths and thous”, only credibility.

Anyone else have a book or even a film that tweaked their need for verisimilitude?

Umbrellas and Choice


One of the benefits of taking on April’s National Poetry Month was discovering cool stuff like Poem-a-Day.  Everyday, free of charge, straight to my mailbox, I get to savor a new verse flavor.  I like it.  This one especially feathered my appreciative factor:

L’Avenir est Quelque Chose
by Dobby Gibson

All day for too long
everything I’ve thought to say
has been about umbrellas,
how I can’t remember how
I came to possess whatever weird one
I find in my hand, like now,
how they hang there on brass hooks
in the closet like failed actors,
each one tiny or too huge,
like ideas, always needing
to be shaken off and folded up
before we can properly forget them on the train.
Most of my predictions are honestly
just hopes: a sudden sundress in March,
regime change in the North, the one where Amanda
wins the big book award from the baby boomers.
There’s that green and white umbrella
the cereal company interns handed us
outside the doomed ball game,
the one just for sun,
the one with the wooden handle
as crooked as the future
that terrifies me whenever one of us uses it
as a stand-in for a dance partner.
You once opened it in the living room
so Scarlett could have a picnic
beneath something that felt to her like a tent
as it felt to me like my prediction
When I want to try to understand now
I tend to look up and how
truth be untold, I might see nothing
more than a few thousand pinholes in black nylon,
it’s enough to get you to Greece and back,
or something to kiss beneath,
who knows how this is going to play out?
I know you won’t ever be able to say
exactly what you’re feeling either,
the way worry might pop open overhead
like fireworks oozing pure midnight —
will we ever see the sun? —
the way we’re sure to pull closer
to whatever’s between us, the rain playing
the drum that’s suddenly us.e would live forever was already true.

About This Poem: from the author
“‘Rather than approaching a new poem as if it might be your last, try approaching it as if it’s simply your next.’ I had scribbled this advice to myself in my notebook just before I wrote this poem. It was a cold and rainy day in Minneapolis. The future seemed impossible. I grabbed the first thing I could find nearest the door.”

Roughly translated I believe the title means: “The future is a thing that overcomes. It is undergoing not the future, it is fact.”  Does anyone have a truer translation (I *cough* never took French in school, and um, sailed in the low passing in German).

Why Pick This Poem:
Umbrellas are a fave of mine.   That instant bubble zone of being in the weather, yet being protected at the same is both cozy and reassuring. It’s a lot like getting an idea and being immersed in it while coping with paying bills, driving in traffic, grading papers–I’m involved in the everyday, but walking in the bubble of an idea. Just like I carry an umbrella in my car, have one in my classroom, and there’s one hanging in the home hallway. One never knows when walking in a bubble is needed.

The Measure of Significance


Birthdays, diplomas, penciled increments on the door jamb, even odometer rollovers. These are all measures of significance. Certain birthdays hold more meaning than others. You probably remember your 21st birthday more than your 20th. Graduating from high school no doubt was more memorable than sixth. Finally marking off that coveted inch or two on the door frame meant the fulfillment of growth status. And who doesn’t thrill to see the odometer ceremoniously roll over to 100,000 miles?

Significance gets celebrated with cards, cupcakes, and hearty congratulations.  Milestones are meaningful; they create memories, kinship, and bonding.  I’m not much of a sentimentalist, and even my family jokes about my prickly practicableness, yet they don’t even know that some milestones in my life have more carryover than others.

For instance:

  • locks of hair from first haircuts
  • florist cards
  • child art
  • check stubs
  • fifth grade teacher praise

And now I have a new one:

TA-DAH!!

This is my 200th blog post

(Well, I’m kinda excited about that…)

 

“We are not amused.”


I am surprised the progeny survived my nursing skills. One of their mom jokes about me is when they were tykes, after a bash or a crash, they would come looking for some tea and sympathy. I would look them over and note: “if it’s not broken or bleeding you’re fine.”

This explains why it’s taken me two weeks to get myself to the doctor.

Yeah, I’ve been feeling a little off, downright miserable a couple of days, and wanting to sleep a lot. Okay, maybe I should take my temperature. Oops–100.9 isn’t good, is it?

Who gets walking pneumonia in May, especially when it’s 80 degrees out?  Antibiotics, fluids, and lots of bed rest for now. Good thing I have a slow, thick read by the bed.

The Lowdown on the Upside of NPM


Whew!

Whew! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Where did April go? Wasn’t it Sprink Break just a blink ago?  And now I’m making plans for Memorial Day Weekend and soon after school’s out.  Time doesn’t fly these days–it hyperlinks!

 

Among other celebratory events residing in April, Library Week being one such, I choose to go the whole tamale and celebrated National Poetry Month every single day. Planning a daily post involved some careful coordination and creativity.  Have I mentioned how much I appreciate the scheduling feature of WordPress? Couldn’t have done the super stretch of 30 posts without it.

 

I’m in a reflecting kind of mood here, so please bare (bear?) with me for a nanosecond or two. As I get ready to go back to my regularly scheduled program mode I’m not sure I shall.  I learned some things whilst committing to a month of poetry.  Here is my lowdown on the upside of celebrating National Poetry Month:

 

  • a lot of people like poetry–which gives me hope my students will one day grow out of the lip curl mode when immersed in that required unit
  • I gained about 20 new followers–that’s darn right pleasing
  • WordPress makes it easy to batch post–that schedule feature (again)
  • there are a lot of people who want to tell me all about their marketing ideas–thanks, but no thanks, I really do like my day job
  • I had fun selecting various themes and posts–it wasn’t as difficult as I thought to come up with a variety of post material
  • And I got an award!

 

liebster-award_zps3c945071

 

Thanks JenniferK! New blogging follow and a fellow writer.  I think this is the spiffiest award yet–I like the razzle dazzle bling.

 

I will have to come back and name the three or so new blogs to pass on the award.  I really haven’t had time to sift through all the new blogs I’ve come across this month, but hope to set aside this weekend to do so.

 

Last bit of reflection (you’ve been so wonderfully forbearing–here, have a cookie…)

 

 

I’ve decided with May’s arrival, which coincides with Spring–renewal, and all that new growth stuff, I shall try a new direction with the posties.  Something old, something new, and something cool.  The ideas are percolating.

 

Until next post,

 

Blue Skies
CM

 

 

 

 

500 Poems on the Wall…


Nope. A month is simply not enough. Thirty days hath April, but it would take a lifetime to truly discover the all and all of poetry.

There are at least a bazillion sites dedicated to poetry. I tend to gravitate towards http://www.poets.org, since they celebrate poetry in a BiG way. There is also http://www.poemhunter.com, which has this massive list of 500 poems.  Click and feast.

500 Poems

POETRY SOCIETY POSTCARD

POETRY SOCIETY POSTCARD (Photo credit: summonedbyfells)

Happy Poetry Month!!

Shaping Up Poetry: Found Poems


Found Poetry is another one of those amazing forms that tweak our known ideas of what poetry should look like or what it should be. So, today let’s look at finding poetry in unexpected places.

What is Found Poetry? (thanks Wikianswers)

A found poem is one in which words and phrases are taken from various sources and then strung together to make sense.

It is named because the elements which compose the poem are “found”. The words or phrases “found”, although they were written in totally different contexts and not meant to be used together, all have some kind of common theme. When placed together, they make a poem that makes sense.

Directions:

1. Grab any prose source (newspaper or magazine articles, ad flyers, instructions, directions, even textbook passages) and select a passage of 100 words or less.

2. Go through and find words and short phrases that have a “poetical” sound or are unusual or simply seem unique or interesting.

3.  If possible cut these out from the source, and if this is not feasible (some schools and libraries are picky about cutting up their books and magazines) write them down.

4.  Collect about 50 words and set them aside (roughly “find” about half of the original count 100=50).

5. Begin moving them around until the poem finds its way on the page.  One idea is to create the basic idea of the original piece. Found Poems can be typed out or formed into a collage.

Of course, these are basic guidelines and there is lots of flexibility to finding your own poem.  Here are a few examples demonstrating the creativity of this form:

First of all, go to Poets.orgto read a “legit” Found Poem.

Now, for some collage styles:

 

This is an example of  blocking out the words in the source (be source it’s okay to do so!):

One other example is taking prose, in this case an excerpt of a short story,  and finding a poem within it: (my rendered interpretation)

From “the Osage Orange Tree” by William Stafford
On that first day of high school in the prairie town where the tree was, I stood in the sun by the flagpole and watched, but pretended not watch, the others.  They stood in groups and talked and knew each other, and standing near the corner looking everywhere but at the crowd.

First Day
She stood lonely
as the tree
in the school courtyard.
Everyone busily
moving
and
greeting
one another
bridging summer into fall.

She stood alone,
like the tree.
I saw her.
She didn’t see me.
As you can read I didn’t follow my own directions of cutting the words down to half.  That’s the loveliest aspect of poetry–it’s aching to have its own rules broken.

Hoping you will find your own poetry in whatever prose you come across.  Finding a poem hiding within the everyday stuff words are made up of is a bonus.

Happy Poetry Month!

A Triptych of Daffodils


The Poem

The Daffodils (I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud)

by William Wordsworth

Portrait of William Wordsworth, by William Shu...

Portrait of William Wordsworth, by William Shuter, 1798. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Parody

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cv1L-8f2erg

 

The Possibility*

       JOY

Multicolored splendor
that’s just how my day has been
Confetti bits of happiness
round about me swirling
filled with
Dancing Bright Lights
of promise
Like spring after
a tedious winter–
a golden day filled
with pristine greens
The release of dark days
and the renewing
of earth’s
bounty
Liberating–
like the  spangle sparkle
of firecracker flickers punctuating
the night sky
Free–
grass blades shimmer emerald
tree leaves bud pink
robin song chuckle eloquent
Bright light points of promise
that dance out from the earth
tingling and jingling
into
smile
eyes
all in reach
catch that feeling
of delicious buoyant
bounce of new
and they, too
will become
Joyous like a chartreuse star
Confetti

Confetti (Photo credit: DuracellDirect)

*from the collection The Dance of Color (an exploration of synesthesia)

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