A Few Thoughts on Jack Gilbert

I have enjoyed Refusing Heaven tremendously. Not since my introduction to E.E. Cummings have I come across a poet with whom I sense an affinity. One of the aspects of his work that attracts me is the minimal language that he uses (the poem “The Reinvention of Happiness” is only four lines). I think this lends itself to my feeling that his work (at least in this anthology) is “gut” poetry, so to speak. There is a tremendous amount of emotion and feeling expressed in his work. As mentioned briefly in my poetry class, some poets favor a longer discourse to convey their intent. I prefer the shorter endeavors.

In an introduction to the book Demian by Herman Hesse, Thomas Mann wrote “…it is often books of small size that exert the greatest dynamic power…” I think the sentiment that Mann wrote of novels can apply to poetry as well. I tend to think it easy for writers of any genre to become zealous, lexically speaking, in their creative vision. Words carry a tremendous amount of impact, and by adding words, it may be thought, increases that influence even more. However, I think that by limiting the amount of words one uses, they become more rare and, thusly, more resonant.

One of the most alluring poems in Gilbert’s book is “By Small And Small: Midnight to Four A.M.” Consisting of only nine lines and colloquial diction Gilbert removes any unnecessary layers and immediately arrives to the core of the poem: his regret for not embracing, who I assume to be, his wife as she lay dying in a hospital bed amidst hospital equipment. Without the use of metaphors, similes, or any other poetic tact, Gilbert evokes tangible emotion within the reader; he evokes their humanity. I prefer this route instead of a lavish attempt at poetic sensibility. Trim the fat and get to the good stuff.

Creativity and Life

In reading The Zen of Creativity: Cultivating Your Artistic Life, by John Daido Loori, for my Zen Buddhism course, I’ve come across some interesting ideas that I think not only relate to creativity, but also to life in general.

Loori writes that expectation precludes the opportunity for discovery (93). By having a goal set for any work (a poem, novel, painting, photo, et cetera) one immediately creates a confined, restricted outlook with which to embrace and use their creative faculties.

I couldn’t help but think of the late Joe Strummer saying something similar in the documentary Let’s Rock Again. He said, to summarize, that he never goes into something with expectations, that way he's never disappointed. I think that's true. I also find a correlation with this and writer’s block.

In a recent class of my poetry workshop, our instructor was discussing one poet’s thought on this subject (unfortunately, the name of this poet escapes me). This poet felt writer's block was “bullshit.” Many writers would adamently converge in opposition to such an idea, citing personal experience as evidence to disavow it.

However, as my instructor pointed out, there is truth to it.

We make our own writer’s block. Writer’s block comes about when we try to be perfect as we write. Instead, one should freely admit and accept that first drafts are often rife with total crap, plain and simple. When one accepts that their first attempts are by no means infallible, the pressures and barriers of creativity can be liberated.

In my own experience, I find this to be the case. Only when I want a poem or essay to be perfect do I encounter resistance. Lorrie wrties, “When we try to reach a goal, we become fixated on it and we miss the process. Process and goal are the same reality. Each step clearly contains the goal” (93-4).

I tend to think that life works in a similar ways. Only when one tries to force and/or manipulate perfection, does it becomes lost. Just as one cannot script creativity, similarly one cannot script life. You merely react to it. Recent experiences in my life have affirmed this. Just let life flow without the subjugation of a goal, and never expect perfection.

It takes the wonder out of things. And also the fun.

Claude Monet-Inspired Poem

Gazing at the twigs of industry
The man in the boat stands
too suddenly, rocking the small vessel.
The sunset mates with his reflection.
The heavy face, wrinkled
from years on
Monet’s harbor, watches orange
returning to the horizon, through
grey and blue.

Remembering the number of
sunsets in his fading life, the many
nights of twilight with that very orange,
He exhales his breath and stares
Up toward the sky filled
With smoke and sadness,
looking more beautiful
than it has ever before.

The Beginning of my Odyssey Years

I decided to attend college because I was afraid. I was afraid that the three years after high-school would become my life pre-retirement. My first job after graduating in 2000 was working at Victor’s Pizza, a mom-and-pop Italian-Greek restaurant. At the end of my employment, before I quit to preserve my mental health, I was working eleven hours a day, five days a week.

I then worked in the stock room of the two-level Target (the first of its kind in the state of Virginia). My experience there was so mundane and mentally debasing that I forced myself to forget those many months. I hardly remember working there. I’m serious. I really don't.

My last job before attending college was working in a frame shop of a Michael’s Arts & Crafts. Overall, it was a creative and fun environment. I enjoyed using my artistic faculties, I enjoyed (for the most part) the people with which I worked, and I especially enjoyed the relatively lax dress code. But it wasn’t what I wanted for the rest of my life.

Four and a half years later, I’m back at the same point. Mere months away from graduating with an English degree, I have absolutely no inclination as to what I want to do. I think of the movie Lady in the Water, and its theme of finding one’s purpose (not to mention the arrogance of those who think they know it for you). Although the film is rich in fantasy, it nonetheless tackles a point that many, like myself, have felt before.

Casually reading The New York Times today, I came across an op-ed by David Brooks titled “The Odyssey Years.” In it, Brooks writes of the changing understanding of life’s stages. Sandwiched between traditional notions of adolescence and adulthood is the emerging recognition of the odyssey years. In this time, Brooks writes, young twenty-somethings change careers, fall in and out of love, live with friends, even living back at home for a time. It is a life of improvisation. It is a life that I will enter later this year in December,

So, as I dress in business-casual attire tomorrow to attend a college Job Fair, and as I worry about finding my purpose just as Cleveland and the tenets at The Cove did in The Lady in the Water, I will remember that I am not alone. Odysseus is traveling along side me as we search for our Ithaca.

Another Look at Jesus

In reading The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions for my New Testament course, I've once again come across the wonderful interpretation of Marcus Borg. Borg is a New Testament scholar who does not share the beliefs that many traditionalists and fundamentalists do. He does not believe the virgin birth narratives of Matthew and Luke are historical, nor does he feel Jesus saw himself as the Messiah. Perhaps most in contrary to traditional Christianity, he feels the second coming of Jesus maintained in various Christian literature was just plain wrong. He is also a professed Christian.

To the modern individual who is open to a Christian experience within their religiosity, notable aspects of Christianity can impede the logical next-step. People may be weary of restricting (in some cases assassinating) their reason and rationality to partake in religion as a means to experience a divine entity. Must one believe that Jesus walked on water to immerse themselves in a Christian experience? That he was born from the womb of a young Jewish virgin? That he was raised from the dead? It is neither shameful nor unreasonable to uphold such doubts. The likelihood that such events are literal events of history is unlikely, at best.

But does one need to view such events as actual history in order to find commune in the Christian movement? To the fundamentalist, the answer is yes. If one does not hold such supernatural beliefs they are considered foolish and arrogant. I think the opposite is the case.

Borg provides an alternative; a more reasonable, accurate one.

In summary, Borg distinguishes two unique Jesus personae: a pre-Easter Jesus and a post-Easter Jesus. The former is the understanding of Jesus as Galilean Jewish peasant of the first century (7). The latter is what Borg describes, "...what Jesus became after his death" (7). It is the Jesus whom his followers continued to experience after his death as a living, spiritual, and ultimately divine reality (7).

The writers of this burgeoning religious movement engaged actual history, but retrojected metaphoric language and imagery to convey a truth that was lacking in literal history. For instance, the myth of a young George Washington cutting down a cherry tree comes to mind. When questioned about the cut tree, he responds with chivalry, stating that he cannot tell a lie. Is this story literally true? No. Is there metaphoric truth to it? Perhaps. Here, history is reexamined with interpretation (i.e. Washington's prominence in American history) that arrises after the fact.The birth narratives in Matthew and Luke are excellent examples of this phenomenon.

First, it is important to observe that there are no virgin birth accounts in any of the other New Testament documents. The earliest documents were the authentic letters of Paul (of which there are roughly seven, the others are fakes), who mentions no birth account whatsoever. The earliest Gospel, Mark, omits such an event as well. Therefore, Borg would argue, one can see a developing tradition taking place when the authors of Matthew and Luke (their actual names are anonymous, just as are the Gospels of Mark and John) decided to retroject such narrative in their sermons.

The birth narratives are different in these Gospels as well. Matthew introduces his very Jewish-oriented Gospel by depicting the concern of King Herod and the slaughter of the innocents in similarity to the birth account of Moses. Matthew also depicts the birth within prestigious circumstances, which is the opposite of Luke, who depicts the birth in very poor conditions.

Not surprisingly, one of the main themes of Luke is the righteousness of the poor. What’s a great way to introduce this theme? Have Jesus born in a poor manger. Instead of the virgin birth serving as historical recitation, they become devices of metaphor.

To Matthew, Jesus is the new Moses, and the King of the Jews, so he constructs his birth narrative accordingly. To Luke, Jesus is a social prophet, condemning the rich and uplifting the poor. He also constructs his birth narrative accordingly to fit this theme at the onset of the Gospel.

By understanding such metaphoric principles, Borg argues that Christianity can serve those who desire an ongoing Christian experience in their lives, yet who are unwilling to part with critical thinking. Unfortunately, it might be a heavy cross to bear in a country where conservative Christianity yields the most influence.

Inspired by William Butler Yeats...

This Fine Autumn Day

An apparition makes her beauty shine proud
In a restless fit of old thoughts and dreams
A tender walk through an old mountain stream
Becomes a relic, more than Turin’s shroud

How many walks I made in younger years
Were filled with deep silence and solitude
And many doubts about Love’s fortitude
Drenched my mind in a great many of fears

Yet, now in older meek and humble ways
I search for a touch to come from your hand
Like an ancient jewel entrenched deep in sand
Longing to meet on this fine autumn day.