Poet 3/52 – W.H. Auden - Part 1 of 2

W.H. Auden, a 20^th century English poet, has surprised me. Or, perhaps, it is a feeling of déjà vu. We, as a society, have come full circle back around to a time of economic hardship, war and political dissent. The more things change, and whatnot, I suppose.

His poem “Doggerel for a Senior Citizen”, a 1969 work, an old man reflects on the good old days. Although the references are outdated (the Edwardian age has long passed, after all), the sentiment is the same. The last stanza:

“When couples played or sang duets

It was immoral to have debts;

I shall continue till I die

To pay in cash for what I buy”

Dave Ramsay would concur. After running up some debt of my own in my wayward youth, I also agree. Sometimes, the old ways are best. Sometimes, simple is best.

“Funeral Blues” may be recognized by some. It was used to great effect in the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral”, and it is one of the two poems which in my opinion best describe mourning and loss.

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”

The notion of stopping the clocks is an antiquated one now, but the language is evocative. This first stanza, to me, represents going through the motions, similar to the Kubler-Ross’ first stage of grief: denial.

In the second stanza, the grief rises and moves from the home, the personal to proclaiming the news to the world:

“Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.”

Consider the third stanza:

“He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.”

The grief rises, like hysteria, peaks and crashes, all in four lines. If a tear does not come to your eye, well, go back and read it again.

The fourth and final stanza speaks to the anger and desolation:

“The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

The last line is haunting. This is how it feels, this is the depth of the misery, of loss, of the change in the world. I remember it well. This month marks the eleventh anniversary of the death of my beloved grandfather, Kelsie Fowler Harris. I still miss him, terribly. Poems like these help us grieve. Poems like these help us to remember the grieving.

Composer 3/52 – Aaron Copland

Returning to music, I arrive at one of my favorite composers: Aaron Copland. Copland was a 20th century American composer. His compositions were also used in movies, ballets, and plays. Towards the end of his career, his focus changed from composing to conducting. The common thread of his career was his desire to bring symphony music to the people. Like Walt Whitman, the everyman American poet, Copland was heavily involved with creating a uniquely American symphonic tradition. There are specifics about his career at the PBS American Masters site.

There are two pieces of Mr. Copland’s which most Americans could likely instantly recognize: Fanfare for the Common Man and Rodeo. “Fanfare” is the theme used for the Olympics. It is majestic and inspiring, nearly militaristic but with a little more soul. I can envision troops returning home, world-weary but triumphant, climbers reaching the peak of Everest, settlers battling down the frontier and staking a claim. It makes me proud to be an American, and yet it is not uniquely American- none of our anthems are referenced. This is Copland’s gift.

The piece “Rodeo”, particularly the Hoe Down suite, , most Americans would recognize as the theme song of an advertising campaign for American cattle. In fact, every time I played a cd with this piece on it, my beloved husband was completely unable to refrain from saying “Beef- it’s what’s for dinner” over the final strains. It is because of the iconic nature of this piece that it was chosen to represent the American west. It incorporates folk music, from early Americana, has peaks and crescendos, soaring violins, fast and furious arpeggios, and, as my son, at 3 years old, pronounced: “There are horsies on the radio”. It is clever and proud, and remains one of my favorite compositions.

Another American folkloric piece of Copland’s which is more introspective than energetic, is from “Appalachian Spring” , which is based heavily on a Shaker hymn entitled Simple Gifts. It is light and lovely, and each time I hear it, I expect to find myself in the wild days of the American Revolution, after the bloody battles, when freedom is just emerging. Heady stuff, this music. I feel incredibly patriotic today, but not in a Toby Keith terrorists-beware way.

A final piece for today is the “Billy the Kid” suite , used as a ballet score. The melody is haunting- the doomed young gun with enough courage for ten men. The story this piece tells is part of our national historical narrative. There is pride, arrogance, defeat, victory, but most of all the triumph of the human spirit. This is the essence of Copland.

I love Aaron Copland’s compositions. I hope you do as well. It is the music of America, after all.

Book 2/52 - Pride and Prejudice

Rereading "Pride and Prejudice" is like visiting with an old, dear friend you've lost track of along the way. That simile will likely not exist in another 30 years, what with Facebook and all, but for now, it holds. I remembered the story line, because of the movies, quite honestly. In 2005, Keira Knightley did a very credible job, and 1995's mini-series with Colin Firth was lovely.

To misquote Shakespeare - the book's the thing. Elizabeth Bennet is a lovable, recognizable character. Her family is as embarrassing as the cast of Jersey Shore, 19th century style. Mr. Darcy, proud, strong, silent and handsome, is all that a girl could wish for. Given the extent of Elizabeth's difficulty communicating with him (and vice versa), I am forced to wonder how happy their marriage would have been. They could likely go years without speaking to one another, over perceived slights in how dinner was enjoyed, I imagine.

This book is a lovely romp through the past, but it makes me feel pleased to be a modern sort of person. Society, as it was in those days, was a much too formal and fussy thing. Perhaps I have outgrown simple romances.

The book is a classic, in the canon of English literature, but it did not resonate any differently with me rereading it as a grown woman. The book, which made my teenaged heart swoon, did not tug on any heartstrings this time. I feel a little saddened by this. Perhaps in another decade or two I will try again.

Movie 2/52 - Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

I once again left the movie choice up to my beloved. After some fierce debating between he and my buddy B, the movie he selected was Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. What was the debate? My beloved wanted to watch Star Trek: Generations, and B did not recommend skipping ahead. After a very geeky discussion (and I say that with love), keeping continuity was agreed upon.

I snuggled under a snowflake blanket with our youngest boy, and off we went. The premise of Star Trek Vi reminds me of that old action film cliche: the cop is going to retire, but he has one last bad guy to catch. This does not usually end well for the cop. It ended better for Captain Kirk and company, thankfully, but it made me a little nervous the entire time. "The Undiscovered Country" turns out to be peace between the Klingons and the Federation. From watching Star Trek: The Next Generation series through Netflix (we are up to season 6 now), I had the feeling peace would be achieved. It was just a matter of when/where/how. Since Kim Cattrall was on board playing a Vulcan chick, I also kept expecting love to be in the air.

After the ha-ha almost funny Guess Who's Coming to Dinner-party on the Enterprise with the Klingons and quite a bit of Romulan Ale, stuff starts hitting the fan. Instead of waking up with a hangover, Kirk and Bones end up on their way to a kangaroo court, where Worf from Star Trek: The Next Generation was their public defender. When I asked the inevitable question, I learned that he wasn't really Worf, he was Worf's grandpa. Ok then. Moving directly along. So Kirk and Bones are sent to an icy planet (not Hoth!) which is a prison camp called Rura Penthe. This is where dilithium comes from. Iman was there, shape shifting like a boss. Watching Iman and Captain Kirk make out was one of the odder scenes in the movie.

Of course they escape. There is an assassination plot. Kim Cattrall wants to make war not love this time around. Hasn't hurt her career any. They are chased halfway around the universe on their way to Khitomer, the only Klingon outpost anywhere. I expected a massacre there, didn't get one thankfully. Kirk needs to stop an assassination. Spock mind melds Kim Cattrall against her will. I was a little surprised by that. There weren't too many groaners in the dialogue on the Enterprise. I did however get to keep rolling my eyes at the Shakespeare-quoting Klingon general who wanted to destroy the Enterprise.

The assassination is stopped in time. Peace begins. The old crew of the Enterprise, less Sulu (who has his own starship now), gets ready to take the long way home, flying off into a sunset. This is the last movie with the entire old crew. It was much better than Star Trek V. This one represents the end of an era. While there are other movies in the Star Trek universe, other crews and other captains, it will never be quite the same again. Having seen the original series and the movies, I now feel qualified to offer an opinion: the television series was better. That's how I want to remember Kirk, Bones, Spock and Uhura- young badasses flying through the galaxy, kicking alien butt when needed, making a little love on the side, needed or not.

Quick Update

Things have been suddenly frenetically-paced at my house. I am officially slapping myself on the wrist for this.

Posts on book 2/52 "Pride and Prejudice" and the 2/52 movie review for "Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country" will be the next two up, followed closely by composer 3/52 (Aaron Copland - yay!) and poet 3/52 (W.H. Auden).

This morning, I am just hoping the migraine medicine works before I have to go to work.

Poet 2/52 - John Keats Part 3

I am writing later than usual today, because I accidentally slept in. Or, to put it another way: a week’s worth of waking in the middle of the night finally caught up with me, and I barely made it out the door on time with the children this morning on our respective way to school and work. Whoops! Anyhow, Keats and I are here now, and the first poem I’d like to spend time with is “Ode on a Grecian Urn”.

I have always thought that the true definition of the word ‘ode’ should read as follows: a chance to expound over multiple stanzas on something which normally would not require that much analysis or conversation. Despite my inherent wariness, this particular ode has some lovely language and a very catchy quote:

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”- that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Well, the part in quotes is catchy. It is a particularly noble sentiment. Considering this now, as opposed to freshman English, I am confronted by the realization that not all truths are beautiful. In fact, many of them are uglier than hagfish. But, Keats was an idealist after all.

I have no such updated realization on the first two lines of the first stanza:

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time

It’s basically a vase we’re talking about here. What on God’s green earth is Keats talking about here? These are words that sort of work together if you don’t think too hard about it. In fact, I’m going to stop thinking about it. It gives me a brain-ache.

Moving directly along.

Next up is a sonnet, a much nicer sort of poem than an ode, in my estimation, if for no other reason than that it is limited in the number of lines the author can present the reader with. "When I have fears that I may cease to be" is a nice sonnet, about being afraid of dying before you achieve all your dreams, hopes and plans and that you will have to leave your beloved too quickly. It is still valid. Thjavascript:void(0)ese are good points. It was a long day at work though and I’m tired. It’s a good sonnet- his best. Read it.

I follow up with “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”, from Endymion (Book 1) . This is a very long poem, at 992 lines. There’s a story there, a long narrative that continues in Endymion. The part which is most worth attention, if you don’t have hours for poetic contemplation, are the first 5 lines:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

This, to me, embodies the most Romantic ideals, and I love, love, love the language. Beauty is eternal, and I crave that type of sleep: restful and soothing, much as beautiful objects are aesthetically pleasing and soothing to the soul.

In total, Keats’ work holds up well to the test of time. I’m glad I rediscovered it.

Next Poet: 3/52 – W.H. Auden (who I offhand cannot name a single poem created by him)

New Experience 1/52

I am a week behind on my goal of having a new experience every week. I could argue that starting this blog etc is a new experience, but that feels like a cop-out. I will have to double-up. Yesterday, I did have a new experience, it was done deliberately and it was out of my comfort zone.

It all started at Publix, my favorite grocery store. I stopped by after work to pick up a birthday cake and some nice steaks for my sweetie's celebration.I had coupons with me, since I am a couponer and I knew I would be going. I feel like I ought to explain that I am not an extreme couponer. I am really very moderate. My "stockpile" of food does not expand out of my kitchen, and I have only once needed more than 1 cart while coupon shopping.

I only had one item that I was planning on coupon buying- spaghetti sauce. We go through about 2 jars a week. They were on sale, Buy One Get One free, and I had coupons! Publix prices in Florida change on Thursdays, so I would be just in time. Sweet deal! When I reached that aisle, I was not shocked but I was dismayed to see that they were out of stock, with little stickers on the shelf inviting me to go get a raincheck.

That's where the new experience comes in. I have never gotten a raincheck. I would rather go to another store or come back another day. It has somehow seemed embarrassing to me- an anxiety-causing experience. I had steaks and cake. It was my husband's birthday. The sale ended that night. I decided that this would be my first new experience.

It wasn't hard to do. I waited in line next to the people buying lotto and money orders. The nice girl behind the counter (who looked all of 13 - I am getting old) was perfectly friendly. She didn't flinch when I answered the question of "How many do you need?" with "10 jars". I didn't have a panic attack, and now I have a little slip in my purse which entitles me to buy 10 jars of spaghetti sauce at B1G1 free status when they are back in stock.

Rainchecks, I think I love you.

I know this experience may not exactly be the epic stuff that dreams are made of, but with enough small new experiences, perhaps I will become a more adventurous person altogether.

Coming up on These 52 Weeks:

Friday - More Keats!
Saturday - "Pride and Prejudice" is still cool. Also, baking bread and a new recipe!
Sunday - Movie review time!

Poet 2/52 - John Keats Part 2

It is unfortunate that writing love poems and love letters has been replaced by texting, email and Facebook wall posts. Something has been lost, culturally, by this trend. I think we are in too much of a hurry. Today I am in contemplation of the poem “Bright Star” , a gem of a sonnet. The poem and Keats’ romance which Fanny Brawne inspired a 2009 movie called, oddly enough, “Bright Star” . The movie looks worth watching, particularly since it was written and directed by Jane Campion, who has a way with these types of stories.

The first 8 lines of the sonnet describe the eternal purity and aloneness of a bright star, ever there, alone, lovely, eternal and sleepless (since stars don’t really sleep). Keats describes his desire to be like the bright star, except that he prefers not to be alone. The word Eremite in the poem is an interesting classical allusion that should just be considered as a hermit with a more elegant name. Although Keats seems to be addressing a star in this beginning, the final lines show that it is merely a frame of reference for the rest of the poem, that this description is actually of a person, his love.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

Lines 9-14 show his love is no longer far-removed from him, idealized; the characteristics (steadfastness, etc) remain- but she is approachable, his “fair love”. With his line “Awake for ever in a sweet unrest” , Keats demonstrates his mastery of subtlety, which is romantic in and of itself. Who would not want this? Who would not want to be the object of this poem, to be the one snuggling eternally, so revered as this bright star? Who would not want their love to want to embrace life together until death do us part?

This notion he presents that life is not worth bothering with after the “tender-taken breath” has ceased, is moving, not creepy. It reminds me of the stories one hears about husbands and wives who die within months of one another. Loving so deeply that your very vitality depends upon the other’s existence runs contrary to our modern ideals of independence, personal determination and such but yet it remains a vital pillart of our humanity. This kind of love makes one vulnerable. The passion makes the risk acceptable.

Keats’ use of the word “still” four times in five lines is nearly hypnotic. This is another example of the excellent use of multiple meaning words: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/still

still – adjective. Remaining in place or at rest.

still – adverb. In the future as in the past; even; in addition; yet.

still – verb. To calm or appease.

As a mother, I can’t help but draw a comparison to “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak, where Max tells the wild things to “Be still”, using either the adjective or the adverb. Either way works. “Still” is a word which is very much alive. I don’t think I use it well enough, and I want to change that.

If John Keats were alive today, instead of “Bright Star”, I imagine there would be a comment on a picture of his girl: “U r so hott.” Maybe he would be more poetic than that and text her: “Ur eyes are like bright starz ☺ “. Neither has quite the same effect as the poem.

Today is my beloved husband’s birthday. He remains, still, my bright star.

Composer 2/52 - Schumann

This week, I am spending quality time with the works of Robert Schumann, a German of the Romantic era, who lived from 1810-1856. His life included a heartrending love story, syphilis, and madness.

“Fantasy in C Op. 17” is in places delicate and tender, in others thrilling. When it slows to a near-total stop before vigorously returning, it is startling and grabs the listener’s attention. The piece contains several instances of this pattern. There is probably a better description, but I am no musician. It reminds me of the rapid switching of dreams in the best kind of sleep: starting out drinking tea with Shakespeare and Lady Gaga, stop for a moment and then suddenly you’re on an ice boat trying to play shuffleboard but it will not stop snowing, and then you’re at the world’s largest buffet and cannot find a knife. You are always sleeping, but the dream is evolving. That is how changeable this piece is, yet through it all, the repeating motifs and themes connect to one another. This is lovely music.

“The Kinderszenen, Op. 15” is one of the more recognizable pieces in classical music. I assume the title of the piece has something to do with children. I could use the Google, but I prefer the mystery. Something about this piece haunts me and pulls on my heartstrings. It is the music of little girls playing. Now, sweetness and light- then fighting, name-calling, girlish drama! This piece is particularly lovely for the contrasts, although the sweetness is not tooth-achingly sharp and the roughness is not violence, just small aggression. This is why it is the music of little girls playing, not of women. We women have higher highs and lower lows. It is what makes us interesting, after all.

“Carnaval” is merry and clever, nearly manic at times. It looks demanding to play. And it feels somehow lacking in heart compared to the previous two pieces. This is not sweeping, aching music. This is nearly frenzied, technically superior composition. I don’t like it. Schumann’s gift seems to be in making the listener have an emotional response. I keep waiting, and waiting, and I am just not connecting with this piece, in spite of the fact that it sounds... proper. Even listening to Rachmaninoff playing “Op. 9” from “Carnaval” , I keep waiting to be touched. It’s like trying to fall in love with someone who should be oh so right for you, a perfect fit on paper and your mother loves them. Everything seems to be as it should be, and yet it just isn’t quite working.

I conclude with a link to Victor Horowitz playing “The Kinderszenen, Op. 15”. I expect I will have this in my head all day.

I can’t say that I mind.

Poet 2/52 - John Keats

John Keats, born in 1795, is one of the great English Romantic poets along with his contemporaries Shelley and Lord Byron. He was underrated during his life, but gained widespread recognition after his death in Rome from tuberculosis in 1821 at the tender age of 26. He is now considered to be one of the masters.

"La Belle Dame Sans Merci" , which is loosely translated as “The Beautiful Woman Without Pity” or “The Beautiful Woman Without Mercy” is perhaps Keats’ most famous poem. It is clever but elegant and is even more appealing now as a grown woman than as a teenager, probably because it is both a love song and a warning away from love.

It is a story poem, of sorts. Stanzas 1-3 ask a question; stanzas 4-12 answer it. The question: What’s wrong with you? The simplest answer: Love.

The poem has a clever rhythm to it. The 4th line in each stanza is simply done, particularly when compared to the first 3 lines in the stanza:

“O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.”

The 4th line is nearly stark. The pattern, which is carried through the poem, gives a suggestion of stopping in one’s tracks. It feels vaguely sinister. In the 6-8th stanzas, even during the retelling of the romantic interlude, the words describe the traditional romance, and is nearly sweet. The rhythm however indicates otherwise. This is purposefully done, and contributes to the impression that this romance is not a healthy thing.

In the 10th stanza, this is further reinforced:

“I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

This stanza is particularly clever because while advancing the story of the poem, it can also be read to show the universal nature of love. Everyone- kings, princes and warriors- has been knocked down by love. It is part of the human condition. As the poem concludes, he has escaped the beautiful, pitiless woman (love), but still seeks her, in spite of the damage she has done to him.

This is one reason poetry is so wonderful. It tells stories and underneath the story is a truth about the human condition.

In my next adventure with Keats, more love with “Bright Star”.

Book 1/52 - Great Expectations

"A Christmas Carol" is Charles Dickens' greatest work. I have not changed my opinion on this after reading "Great Expectations".

Pip, Miss Havisham, Joe, Mrs. Joe, Estella and Biddy are a decent group of characters. Miss Havisham and Pip are still occasionally referred to. Abel Magwitch was not well-defined enough for me. He wasn't entirely a villain, but nor was he a persecuted hero either. Perhaps this was how the author wanted it- deliberate ambiguity. It was a little annoying for me though, given how inherently black and white the other characters were presented

This was a hard slog of a book for me. The slang is very much outdated and hard to follow in places. If there is humor, I think I missed most of it. The book is also long-winded, which when you consider that it was originally released as a serial in a magazine does makes sense.

I am glad that I read it, simply because it is considered to be a classic. My final verdict, with all apologies to Charles Dickens, is that the movie was probably better than the book.

Book 2/52 for this upcoming week: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I loved this book as a young girl, so I am excited to revisit it this week.

Movie 1/52- Star Trek V: The Final Frontier

With a list of 52 movies, all of which I have either deliberately or accidentally missed (and not rectified the situation) in my 33 years on earth, I was feeling a little less than enthusiastic about movie night and could not make a choice. So, while I was cooking homemade buffalo wings for dinner, my husband was picking for me, with occasional guidance from our houseguest, B. It came down to a race between Apocalypse Now and a Star Trek movie. Since I don’t want our 8 year old son to have PTSD, movie 1/52 is Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.

I am a fairly recent convert to Star Trek fandom. With the advent of Netflix streaming and a lot of coaxing from my beloved, we have now watched the entire original Star Trek series and the entire Star Trek: Voyager series. We are currently 4 seasons into Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I have been ‘encouraged’ to watch Star Trek movies I-IV. The one I really loved though was the newer Star Trek movie. I have now seen this twice, which in my world is an absolute oddity. I will even confess that I have read two of the Starfleet Academy books, although to be fair I only paid $1 for each one and I really intended them to be for the 8 year old.

Now, I have had a mental block towards these movies, possibly because when they first came out I was too rebellious and cool to handle it when my parents were excitedly popping the VCR tape rental in for family movie nights. I sat and I read instead and rolled my eyes. Like, ohmigod, it’s Star Trek. That is so dorky. Imagine my surprise as a grown-up to discover that the Star Trek universe has held up better to the test of time than New Kids on the Block, Sweet Valley High and the Babysitter’s Club.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier was released in 1989. The IMDB description is one of the best examples of summarizing I have ever seen:

“Captain Kirk and his crew must deal with Mr. Spock's half brother who hijacks the Enterprise for an obsessive search for God.”

Aside from the half-brother thing (spoiler alert much, IMDB?), this is basically what the theatrical trailer for the movie, which I always like to watch before watching the actual movie, seems to show. I have the distinct feeling after watching the trailer that I might have just seen the best parts of the movie in a 2 minutes-or-less compilation. After the movie finishes, I confirm that suspicion.

Regardless, wings in hand, we begin on a funky desert with Sybok galloping across the barren wasteland. Sybok looks like the lovechild of Dr. Phil, Lawrence of Arabia and David Koresh. His new number 1 fan who he voodoos into joining him is less than toothsome with his Lord Voldemort-esque balding head, Lurch-like gait and evil grin. Apparently there are still idiots in the future in galaxies far, far away.

Suddenly we cut away, to Spock, Kirk and Bones on vacation in Yosemite. Yay, Earth! Yay, shore leave. That’s –never- interrupted, ever. Spcok has hover boots. Kirk nearly dies. Bones is grumpy. The visual effects are a little pale in comparison to say the technology of the 21st century, but I forgive them.

We cut back to the dusty land, which is actually called Planet Nimbus III, and are taken down to the Paradise City where there is no grass and the girls onscreen are not actually pretty. They do, however, have a Thundercats stripper. We are in awe of this, collectively, and pause to refill our drinks.

On the Enterprise, which is being remodeled, we get to see Uhura. You can tell that she is older because she has salt and pepper hair. Other than that, she’s still rockin’ it. Apparently there are no hair dyes in the future? This makes me nervous. Oh good, we’ve got a mission- save the hostages from Nimbus III even though the ship is not really functioning well. Nimbus III is in the Neutral Zone. I have now watched enough Star Trek to ponder why it’s called the Neutral Zone, why does so much crap go down there? It is supposed to be –neutral-.

And we’re back to Yosemite. I’m getting whiplash. Sulu and Chekhov wandering the woods together takes on new overtones given George Takei’s closet-exiting maneuvers. I like this possibility. Everyone needs love, especially bridge officers. They are lost in the woods and Uhura will send a shuttle.

Cross over to Bones, Kirk and Spock, sitting around a propane-based smokeless fire. Has anyone else noticed that Bones is only southern-sounding when he is cooking or preparing libations? Probably. I am late to the game for Star Trek, after all.

Favorite unintentionally funny line so far comes from Spock:
“I have little choice but to sample your beans” Oh, Spock. Leave Bones’ beans alone. He’s never kind to you. Have some self-respect.

Favorite melodramatic possibly foreshadowing line so far:
“I’ve always known I’ll die alone.”

Oh, Captain. Is that why you always have an alien hottie companion? Maybe the Dr. Phil of the Desert (Sybok) can help you out with your issues.

The sudden appearance of a football-headed Klingon with nappy hair who is bored so he wants to take on a Federation starship takes me by surprise. I thought we were friendly with Klingons? Someone should provide a chart for newbies. I am reassured to see however that in the Star Trek universe even Klingon women wear heavy eyeliner, mascara and eye shadow. Beauty is intergalactic.

The prophet Sybok looks slightly like Saddam Hussein- eye bags, bushy eyebrows. I don’t know if this makes him more sinister or not. The crew of the Enterprise is being tricky so that they can rescue the hostages. Uhura’s doing a feather dance in the desert and singing. I think it’s in her contract that she must always vocalize! She’s still got thighs good enough to make Tina Turner high-five her. Rock on, Uhura.

Did Spock seriously just do the pinch on the neck on a HORSE? Seriously? Oh, Spock.

We’ve determined as a group that Paradise City is the Vegas of the future, only with less interesting stuff to do. There’s the bar fight as they’re trying to free the hostages. Someone has not planned well. The universal movie question arises: Why must the strippers always suffer? The thundercats chick falls in the bar aquarium, shattering it, and appears to pass out.

“Why did the water knock her out? What’s in that tank?” My husband asks, rhetorically.

“Cats don’t like water” My 8 year old son and I reply simultaneously.

We pause for a high-five. My kid is epic.

Sulu crash lands the shuttle craft. Spock does not shoot his half-brother. Everyone is either suffering from Stockholm Syndrome or in the brig. Sybok is hypnotizing everyone by making them share their secret pain. He really is Dr. Phil. Apparently Uhura’s secret pain is that she wants to make sweet, sweet love to Scotty while wearing very orange lipstick. Scotty is –not- having it.

The Award for Trying too hard to be funny line goes to Scotty:
“Do you not know a jailbreak when you see one?”

I’m going to have to say probably not. Does this happen often? Cut them some slack there, and ease back on the replicator rations, Scotty old pal o mine.


Okay, now we’re off to find the planet Shakira or Shakari or similar, which is the Eden planet beyond the Great Barrier (reef?) in the center of the galaxy, in theory. No one has ever gotten there. Ooh, the Enterprise gets past the barrier because after all, it is designed to boldly go where no ship has gone before. Suddenly there it is- the sparkly planet with giant cyborg-eyed God-type creature who is really some type of cosmic prisoner who wants to steal the Enterprise so that he can wreak havoc on the rest of the galaxy (galaxies?). Sybok returns Spock’s favor and saves his life by distracting our evil homeboy so that the Bones, Kirk and Spock can escape. Of course, the transporter has been fixed, BUT there’s only enough power for 2 to transport up. Kirk is in jeopardy! Oh, no! We are all shocked.

And, at just the right moment, the Klingons attack. Fortunately, the Klingon hostage from Paradise City on Nimbus III happens to be his superior officer and everyone is forced to play nicely. For a Great Barrier, it is not actually very impressive since both the Enterprise and a Klingon war bird made it through within a few hours of each other. What’s up with that?

Now that the problem is solved, the Klingons and the Enterprise denizens are having a champagne reception overlooking the new planet. We are all jovial. And we move from that drinking occasion back to Yosemite, where they are finishing their shore leave. It makes a full circle, which was probably the plan.

So, in summary, this was not the best of the Star Trek movies I have seen, but it was not the worst. I probably won’t watch this one again without coercion, but it did have it’s funny moments. There are worse ways to spend a Friday night.

Poet 1/52 - Emily Dickinson - Day Three

The first poem in Part Two: Nature, has an intriguing first line, so I am beginning my voyage today with “Nature, the gentlest mother”. I am feeling very motherly today, with both children home from school on winter vacation. In fact, it’s impossible to forget, what with the occasional bloodcurdling scream of “Mommmmmmmy!” coming from the playroom. What’s childhood without the occasional epic battle with your sibling, after all?

Referring to nature as a mother feels a little overused, but it may not have been so when the poem was written in the mid-1800s. I will give Ms. Dickinson the benefit of the doubt there, particularly since the first stanza is so tender and gives me the warm fuzzies.

“Nature, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,—
Her admonition mild”

My oldest son is autistic. I wouldn’t call him feeble or wayward, per se, but if you substitute the world disabled in there, it becomes a very loving description of parenting. This is excellent personification, probably considered sentimental by the critics, but as a mother, this metaphor is for me and my people.

After reading the rest of the poem, longer than her usual style, I am picturing Nature as a tall woman, with a bosom of soft leaves or moss, sturdy tree-trunk legs, and strong, flexible vines for arms, cradling all the creatures of the earth. I want to hug her.

This poem was fantastic enough that none of the others in Part Two: Nature really were able to stand up against it. Therefore, I will move right along to Part Three: Love .

I was surprised and pleased to discover some feminist leanings in Ms. Dickinson in her poem “She rose to his requirement, dropped” . The first stanza:

“She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife”

This is a poem of what women lose when they give up their independence and join the realm of the wives and mothers. This is a phenomenon which still exists to this day, albeit to a far smaller extent than in Ms. Dickinson’s day. The legal rights are now there for women, but there is still a nearly primal aspect to marriage and motherhood which can strip us of our independence and lay us bare to the needs of our families. I have noticed that women tend to identify themselves as a mother and/or a wife before all other descriptive labels. I have not seen this same trend in the men I know. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Ms. Dickinson also offers up the fairly standard but still clever ode to physical attraction in her poem “He touched me, so I live to know” . Some of the word choices seem awkward now (“groped” for example), but the sentiment carries well through the centuries.

And finally, “The moon is distant from the sea” , which serves as her ode to the gravity-like power a man has on a woman (or vice versa, in a variety of possible permutations, I suppose). It’s a clever conceit.

I had planned on reviewing poems in Part 4 and Part 5. I’ve run out of time, and had too much fun with Parts 1-3. Perhaps next year, she will return to the list. My overall impression is the Belle of Amherst remains worth taking the time to enjoy.

Next week: Poet 2/52 – John Keats.

Composer 1/52 - Johann Sebastian Bach, The Remix

I was very pleasantly surprised to see that yesterday's post about Johann Sebastian Bach was republished on a website which calls itself, oddly enough, J.S. Bach News.

How did this happen? I tweeted, which is still a new and wondrous universe. My twitter account is m_w_bell . If you are also a twitterer, let's follow one another through the world of social media!

Composer 1/52 - Johann Sebastian Bach, Part 2

Well-fortified with a good cup of strong coffee, I return to Bach, and am pleasantly surprised. The first piece on my list for today is the “Well-tempered Clavier Prelude No. 1 in C Major” which sounds like an enthusiastic music box. It is vibrant but not too demanding. Is ear candy a phrase? If not, it should be, and this is an example. Good start!

I continue on to the “ ‘Little’ Fugue in G Minor” , which has an undertone of evil. This could be the background music of political mischief-making or other elegant terrors- nothing brash, just sinister, white-collar evil. This is music that demands your attention. If this were the song of a music box, there’d be an evil clown inside it.

Moving right along to “Passacaglia in C Minor” is like a progression into the circles of evil, a Dante’s Inferno of modern villainy. This is the music that should play when the audience knows bad things are going to happen but the characters in the movie/play are oblivious. This could easily be the theme music for the entrance of evil characters into a dinner party or a Washington D.C. reception or a gentlemen’s club thick with cigar smoke and glasses of sherry or brandy everywhere. Bach seriously had a dark side. I’m impressed.

I conclude my whirlwind romance with Bach with the famous (infamous?) “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” , which to me remains the epitome of scary music. We are at Dracula’s castle, the madman is scaling the fence to the old English estate, Rochester’s wife is ready to burn the whole place down!

Or maybe I just think the organ is inherently sinister. Either way.

My overall impression of Johann Sebastian Bach is that he is the composer of the soundtrack of places you don’t necessarily want to be. Whether that place is a wedding, a formal tea, in the company of lobbyists or hiding in the closet from the monster at the window, Bach has got the piece for you.

Composer 1 out of 52 complete. Next week: Composer 2/52 – Schumann.

Poet 1/52 - Emily Dickinson - Day Two

I am returning today to Emily Dickinson. The poem and piano piece from Sunday (“The Heart Asks Pleasure First”) left me feeling a little tenderhearted. Having the advantage of some familiarity with her works, today I will be perusing some of the more cerebral, less emotionally wrenching poems.

Part One of "The Complete Poems" contains yet more of Ms. Dickinson’s most well-known poems, including “Much Madness is Divinest Sense”, “I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed”, “I’m nobody! Who are you?” and “Hope is the thing with feathers”. They are famous and well-known for a reason.

I’m going to skip past them, simply because they are well-known and beloved. I am such a rebel.

Instead, I'll begin with a poem that I forgot I knew: “The soul selects her own society”.

"The soul selects her own society

Then shuts the door;

On her divine majority

Obtrude no more.”

I particularly like this poem because I tend to be a little antisocial. I think it's anxiety or shyness. It takes me awhile. Once I care about somebody (once they have been "selected"), they are in solidly and it takes emotional dynamite to remove them. Opening the door to that society (and the older you get, the less knockers there are), is hard to do. Perhaps I fear vulnerability? I'm not sure. But this is how I am. Like Ms. Dickinson, I could probably live easily with just my family off on some estate, communicating with the world only by letter (email/facebook). It's probably healthier for me that this is not an option.

I find the title of this next poem, “I had no time to hate”, ironic, because it seems like no matter how busy we get as a society, or even as a family, there is always time to hate something or someone. I'm not saying it's appropriate, but it'd be naive to pretend it doesn't exist.

"I had no time to hate, because

The grave would hinder me,

And life was not so ample I

Could finish enmity...

Much as I like the optimism, I feel compelled to point something out. The average life span has now at least doubled, if not tripled, since this poem was written. Speaking exclusively from a time management vantage, that's really not a concern anymore. You've got plenty of time. Modern medicine has marvels, and not wearing a corset constantly helps too, I'm sure.

We are also living in a highly social, crowded world. I'm sure it would be very easy to avoid hating your immediate family and the servants on your estate. Living in isolation, you can effectively, select your own society (see what I did there?). Most of us aren't doing this, however. We are living in large groups in communities, many members of which do. not. know. how. to. drive. the way my husband thinks they should.

The existence, alone, of 24 hour news networks also makes it far easier to hate, and gives us more knowledge of people in the world who are available, even if long-distance, to direct our enmity towards.

Second stanza:

"Nor had I time to love; but since

Some industry must be,

The little toil of love, I thought,

Was large enough for me."

See, we always find time for things we want to do. This is why I haven't finished repainting my sons' playroom but I am up to episode 74 of Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix. But beware, Ms. Dickinson, beware. Love doesn't always work out well or easily. You have told us this before.

I chose the poem “For each ecstatic instance” from the first line index because the first line made me want to read the rest of the poem. If it were simply called "Balance" or "Harmony", I probably wouldn't have clicked and read it. Well-played, Ms. Dickinson, well-played.

“For each ecstatic instant

We must an anguish pay

In keen and quivering ratio

To the ecstasy.”

I can do ratios. I had algebra lovingly beaten into my head. 1:1 ecstasy to anguish. Got it. I even agree with it. I am a big fan of the cosmic balance theories. I am a Virgo. Justice, harmony and all that stuff appeals to me. I am also a mother. Heartache exists in that condition, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the sheer wonder and joy of it all. Becoming a mother was the most joyous and amazing blessing of my life. Learning that my oldest son is autistic was one of the greatest sorrows and has certainly provided me with great moments of anguish (to borrow Ms. Dickinson's word). We don't sit around everyday as a family moping and Eeyore-ing, but autism is always there, always a part of our lives, no matter how much we may try to ignore it, like that one roommate in college who you just can't get along with but can't fight with because you still have to live together at the end of the day and the semester's almost over anyways.

I am particularly struck in this first stanza, by her brilliant word choice in using "keen". Multiple meaning words for the win!

keen- adj. 1. finely sharpened, as an edge; so shaped as to cut or pierce substances readily.

2. sharp, piercing, or biting

keen - noun. 1. a wailing lament for the dead

keen - verb. 1. to bewail or lament by or with keening

I love the English language, and I love poets who know how to use it well.

For my next adventures with Ms. Dickinson, I will be exploring Part Two: Nature and Part Three: Love. I'm sure there won't be several hundred excellent poems to choose from given those topics.

Composer 1/52 - Johann Sebastian Bach

The first composer out of These 52 Composers, Johann Sebastian Bach, is a pretty popular guy. The composition “Air, on the G String” from Orchestral Suite 3 is nearly required by law for the pre-wedding sitting and waiting period. But- what else did this master compose? To paraphrase a movie/meme, I need to go deeper. In lieu of actual scholarly research, I turn to Wikipedia, putting my faith in the community braintrust.

Wikipedia does not let me down. Bach lived from 1685-1750, he was German, and his style was Baroque. That is an efficient, one paragraph trifecta of information! I really do love Wikipedia. It also has a list of his most famous pieces. I didn’t even have to scroll down at all. It’s as if they knew people would be interested in just the basic facts…

I will begin with the Brandenburg Concerto No. 3, 1^st Movement, for no particular reason. The Brandenburg concertos were sort of “lost”. They were written around 1721, but not published until 1850. This is your standard classical music, very elegant and complex. My Starbucks House Blend (Medium) K-cup coffee in my Rainforest Café mug does not seem upscale enough for this moment. As I listen to the Brandenburg Concerto No. 2, 3^rd Movement and No. 4, 1^st Movement, I find myself humming along. And then I try to figure out where I know this music from. Enter Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, and then I’ve got my answer!

My oldest son, who is 11 years old and autistic, has been watching the Baby Bach vcr tape/dvd since he was a wee little toddler. Lately it has fallen out of rotation, simply because he has been obsessed with Baby DaVinci, another movie in the series. I know more Bach than I realized, owing to the magic of Disney. At one point, I think I even owned the Baby Bach cd as night-night music for my little man.

The Baby Bach CD versions are not quite as lovely as full orchestral versions, but they do have the advantage of lulling children more easily to sleep, given the lack of soaring violins and startling trumpets.

Minuet in G Major is lovely, like something you’d perhaps expect to hear at a fancy tea. In Bavaria, of course.

Sleepers Wake is a very misleading title. The children were still asleep when I played this piece this morning. It did not wake them up, although the dogs were either barking along with the music or requesting me to change songs.

Sheep May Safely Graze is another gentle and lovely piece. It sent me running to my wedding album.

Thus far, the main conclusion I have about Bach is that this is not good background music. This music makes me feel like I should be wearing heels and hose, a dress and my good pearls either in a church, a reception hall or a fancy restaurant where they think cucumbers are an acceptable filling for a “sandwich”.

Later in the week I will go in search of pieces which do not make me feel underdressed and under-fancy.

Why Kindles Are Amazing

I was looking through the list of 52 books, trying to decide where to begin, when I had a flash of insight. Kindle has many classics available for free, as public domain works. I love it! Half an hour later, I have 13 out of the 52 books downloaded without spending a penny. It's a beautiful thing.

Book 1/52 has been chosen: "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens

I have never actually read this book, which is a little embarrassing to admit. It just never came up. "A Christmas Carol" is one of my holiday favorites. "Oliver Twist" and "A Tale of Two Cities" were both required reading between high school and college. "Great Expectations" has just never made the cut, until now.

This is very fun, so far.

Poet 1/52 - Emily Dickinson - Day One

As a female who was raised in Massachusetts, I do own the obligatory greatest works collection of Emily Dickinson. It is currently sitting on a bookshelf in my sons' playroom. However, it is a little scary in there right now with the post-Christmas toy and game explosion. I will likely have mommy-explosion and start cleaning and yelling (simultaneously), so I am better off just avoiding the whole area for now.

Instead, I turned to the interwebs. Project Bartleby is an excellent source for the work of authors in the public domain (read: they've been dead a really, really long time). Project Bartleby has the 1924 edition of The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, replete with 597 poems. That's probably about 577 more poems that I'm willing to read. This particular volume is organized into 5 sections: Life, Nature, Love, Time and Eternity, and The Single Hound. One a day should be about right. There is no point in being contrary, so I will start in the Life section.

Emily Dickinson was not in the habit of naming her poems. They are mostly referred to by first lines. The first poem of the book happens to be an old favorite of mine: "Success is counted sweetest". This is so easy it feels like cheating.

" Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne'er succeed

To comprehend a nectar

Requires sorest need "

Is it irony that she uses or just sharp realism? I have always found this sentiment to be true. When we had an apartment, we wanted a house. We have a house, yet we strive for a bigger one, with more land and a pool. Humans are, by nature, ambitious. It's the goal you don't reach that means the most to you. Or put it this way: $1,000,000 in lottery winnings means more to someone who was living in poverty than to, say, a Kennedy or a Rockefeller or a Hilton. Sing it, sister.

There's a poem in this section that was particularly meaningful to me years ago, back when love was a new and fascinating feeling and heartbreak could bring me (temporarily) to the brink of despair. It is called, "The heart asks pleasure first", and reading it as a semi-mature adult still makes me clutch a little. Here is the first stanza:

"The heart asks pleasure first

And then, excuse from pain

And then, those little anodynes

That deaden suffering;"

The second stanza speaks directly to the depths of human misery. Go ahead, click over and read it. The name of this poem is also the name of an achingly beautiful piece of music from the movie "The Piano". This is, I think, the nature of love, rushing heedlessly to the heat of the fire and then complaining of the burns. Maturity reminds me of the healing balm of time.

It also makes me feel profoundly grateful to be settled, to be loved and to love in return. You couldn't pay me enough to go through the drama of dating ever again.

I will return to Ms. Dickinson later. It's time to go kiss my husband and take the banana bread (new recipe 1/52) out of the oven.

The Quest Begins

Hello and welcome!

My name is Mariann, and I am a list maker.

In early December (2011), I was sitting at my laptop, browsing the great books lists to get Christmas ideas for my sons, my younger brothers, my nephews and nieces when I came to an unsettling realization. As much as I love to read, there were many, many books on the lists that I have meant to read over the years.

I started making my own list. It grew very long.

At 33 years old, as a mother, a wife, and a teacher, with 2 dogs, 2 cats and 2 aquariums, I do not have as much free time as I did in my teen years. Without a plan, my lofty goal was never going to be achieved. The girl I was who read everything, everywhere, rebelled at that thought. Out of that ambition, These 52 Weeks was born.

I've added on to the idea, particularly during the last few days of December, when a new year looms and resolutions began popping up on Facebook statuses everywhere. This may not be the year I lose all the baby weight (from the 8 year old baby), but this year, I will enrich my life. I will bake bread, a hobby I love that takes time, care and energy. During these 52 weeks, I will make one loaf a week. I will boldly venture forth into my cookbook collection and during these 52 weeks, I will try 52 recipes I haven't made previously. I love music, so immersing myself in one composer a week during these 52 weeks will be fun and probably a stress-reliever.

As a wildly impatient person, sitting down to watch movies usually isn't one of my favorite things. My husband Derek, my buddy Brian and I had fun coming up with a list of 52 films they think I should see. In order to sit through those, I will also be learning to make 52 different cocktails during these 52 weeks. I will probably need them.

Poetry was a natural offshoot to the book list. During these 52 weeks, I hope to remember that heady feeling of wonder at the rhythms of language and the condensed storytelling the best poets create. I've grown staid, a little boring, very middle-aged, so I've signed myself up for 52 new adventures. Climbing Mt. Everest is not in the cards, but maybe I'll be brave and go on a glass-bottomed boat ride through the Everglades or just see what it's like to get my legs waxed.

I hope this will be a year of wonders. I hope you will join me.

It begins now.