Saturday, September 12, 2015

Looking to Sea


Looking across rocky fields, past cliff edges to open sea. Sky is overcast, cloudy.



Voices by the Shores     

Jesus! Look at them!
They are dirty, their teeth disgusting.
Look at them! Jesus!
That dress could feed my family for a month.
The man who sits silently turns his head.
Still they shout.
They are dirty. They stink.
They are black. No, they are white.
No, they are Latin American.
Yes, they are Middle Eastern.
They are not ours.

Not us! Jesus, we don’t know how,
it’s your problem.
Wait, not our hands!


September 2015

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

First Prayers Learned by Heart -- Part 2

The prayer I remember learning after "Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me," is "God is good," the table grace. I think I learned it in kindergarten, but maybe I learned it from my mother. Or maybe I learned it from Romper Room, which was, perhaps, the 1950s equivalent of Mr. Rogers.

In any case, we said it in kindergarten. We were only there for half a day, but we had a snack. Every day we each had one of those little milk cartons, and some crackers. (I hated milk. After the day I threw up as soon as I finished my carton, my teacher didn't make me drink it anymore.) But before we ate & drank, we folded our hands, bowed our heads, and said together,

"God is great, God is good,
Let us thank him for our food.
Amen."

It was a prayer that, in that day, place & age, we could all say -- Baptist, Lutheran, Mennonite, Quaker, Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Jewish, Episcopalian. I don't remember having any Muslim classmates. For atheists, I imagine God was still like Santa Claus: a story that little children were allowed to enjoy. 

And we still had a few years to go before we decided G-d should not be limited to maleness. At that point, those of us who lived on farms knew that a cow was a girl cow or a boy cow and a bull was only a boy cow; a ewe was a girl sheep and a ram was a boy sheep; and I knew that a bitch was only a girl dog, but a dog was a girl dog or a boy dog, and how to tell the difference. Some of us might have known that a boy horse who couldn't make babies was a gelding, a boy horse who could be a daddy was a stallion, and a girl horse was a mare. That was enough to sort out for a few years. 

As a child, I enjoyed having a being who looked after us all and that we could all thank for the gifts in our life. And it didn't matter to us that we worshiped in different settings (or didn't worship). On the negative side, maybe it reduced thanking God to some part of our civic life or part of having good manners. But I think it was also part of learning to be thankful for life, and of sensing that something bigger than our community made us equal to each other.

Once I knew the words, saying grace at the dinner table became my job. Except on Sundays. But that's a story for another time. 

Meanwhile, do you have any prayers for meals you learned as a child (or later) in your faith tradition? You are welcome to share them in the comments!

Saturday, September 5, 2015

"...I Am..." (and landays links)

At the end of our first session of our first day at Beyond Walls, a writers' conference at Kenyon College, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat gave our small group an assignment. She offered three writing prompts. We could pick one and write something we might want to post on our blogs. Unfortunately, I had just been stricken with a bad case of writer's block. Couldn't think of anything to say about any of the prompts.
A few weeks after returning home and getting over the writer's block, I remembered both the undone assignment and a poem I had worked on in April. The prompt that I thought of from the assignment was "Write 'ten things about me' that you would want your bloggers to know." The prompt I remembered working on was for Day 21 of the 2015 Poem a Day Challenge:
   "For today’s prompt, we’re dealing with our third “Two for Tuesday” prompt(s):
  1. Write a “what you are” poem, or…
  2. Write a “what you are not” poem."
I had worked on a "what I am" poem, and took my original inspiration
from the landays being composed by women in Afghanistan. (See below
for links to important articles about the landay today.) When I tracked down the draft of it in my computer, I could see that I had basically just nodded at the landays being written today. Still, it had provided a rough framework and inspiration to get something recorded in a computer file. It doesn't meet the criteria of 10 items, either. Maybe someday I'll rewrite it, maybe add a couple more items. Or... maybe I won't.




Dragonfly on weathered wood, veins in wings making shadows.


...I Am...


... no longer skinny; voluptuous
would be exceeding kind, earth mother might come to mind....


... not rich, having chosen a different path,
although I find I’ve even less for paying bills than I expected...


... not famous — my 15-second share
of fame mostly broke me of desiring it...


... not as wise as I used to think I was,
not even a dragonfly’s breath of what I thought...


... some days too much a needy flapping tongue
unable to sit still or to quiet itself...


... some times sitting quiet with the green frogs,
waiting for the red efts to immerse themselves...

... some days perhaps an ashtray
where the great I AM rests a stray tip of light like a tired firefly...


I am ... humbled by the landay form and those who compose it


I began by trying to use the form of the landays, which I had just read about. I still need to learn more about it. It’s a form Pashtun women use among themselves, a little like a haiku but with more social implications for the women, and perhaps more jarring.


http://www.poetryfoundation.org/media/landays.html
An article (a wonderful long article, filled with photos) by Eliza Griswold with photographer Seamus Murphy

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/12/afghan-women/rubin-text/1
This article by Elizabeth Rubin, with photos by Lynsey Addario, talks a bit about landays and tells something of the lives of women who share them.

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/04/06/beauty-and-subversion-in-the-secret-poems-of-afghan-women.html
Review of the book Griswold and Murphy made to show the poetry they discovered, apparently based on the Poetry article above (or vice versa). They make me realize how far I have to go to be worthy of writing a true landay. : "Eliza Griswold and Seamus Murphy have made a book that is necessary reading for anyone who has ever made assumptions from a distance about what a burka-wearing woman might be like, and for anyone who cannot fathom how poetry could get you killed. In other words, this book is a must-read for every U.S. citizen."