Soul Meets Blogtag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//82007-02-20T16:54:53ZWritings of S. Donovan Mullaney.
Commentary, criticism, poetry, and other time-wasters.
Powered by Joy.Movable Type 3.34From Vietnam to UMass Bostontag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11262007-02-20T16:47:13Z2007-02-20T16:54:53ZThe journey of Kevin Bowen, poet, veteran, and director of UMB’s William Joiner Center. Shea Mullaney: How’d you get started writing poetry? Kevin Bowen: Well, I wrote a bit when I was younger, then I went into army and went...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
The journey of Kevin Bowen, poet, veteran, and director of UMB’s William Joiner Center.
Shea Mullaney: How’d you get started writing poetry?
Kevin Bowen: Well, I wrote a bit when I was younger, then I went into army and went to Vietnam. I didn’t write when I came back; I didn’t have to words to capture that experience and writing about anything else didn’t seem to have any meaning.
Actually, both my parents were writers. My father wrote plays and wrote for the Catholic Worker and my mom directed for the Blackfriars, a local theatre company.]]>
SM: How’d you come to UMass Boston?
KB: Actually, I started as a student here in 1969, graduated in 1972. I went away for graduate school, then came back to work at the William Joiner Center since 1984. I was there when it was [in] Downtown [Boston]. We had lots of activity there, lots of events and readings.
You could say that UMass Boston has been a part of my being. It’s had a lot to do with why I’m a writer. Teachers here have been excellent. Mark Pawlak, who publishes Hanging Loose, Ron Schreiber, who passed away a few years ago, was a teacher of mine.
SM: Did you study with Martha Collins?
[Laughs.] No, I actually never took any creative writing courses here as a student. There weren’t a lot of courses back then. I was a straight English 18th-19th century literature student.
SM: You were published in the most recent issue of AGNI. Did you have to submit like everybody else or were you invited?
KB: Yup, I had to submit just like everybody else. I’ve had stuff there before; this is the third time I’ve been in there. The poems that they published are turning points in where my work is going.
SM: Where do you see your work going?
KB: The poems in AGNI are almost like postcard tableau shots of trips back to Vietnam. I’d been working on them for a couple of years before they took a turn in this direction, beginning to be snapshots about the legacy of war long after the war machine has left.
When I sent them out they were just beginning to coalesce, now I have a whole new collection. A lot of if is influenced by the Iraq war and its continuing presence in the psyche—my own psyche as a vet, that is. In my poems, I’m looking at images from peoples’ lives, a long time after war… It’s a way of seeing what’s been taken away from us in the case of Iraq because of the immediacy of the war, the bombings and the blasts...the ways people transcend the suffering of war, what their daily lives are like. We can’t lose that perspective.
SM: Tell me a bit about where your poetic inspirations come from.
KB: A lot of my early work is about the [Vietnam] war. Going back to Vietnam 20 years ago, and seeing it as a country instead of a war made a huge difference in my life. I saw that people were starting to write there…and discovering the literature of south-east Asia was a big awakening. We started bringing them to campus [to be part of the Joiner Center] because we felt that getting those voices heard was so important. We’ve had the unequivocal support of the Lannan Foundation… In fact, because of that the Joiner Writer’s Workshop used to be free, but as costs have risen, we’ve had to charge for the two weeks.
SM: At $220 for one week, and $400 for two, it’s still pretty inexpensive.
KB: We try to make it affordable for everyone. There are scholarship opportunities, and it’s free for Iraq and Afghanistan War veterans who’ve returned home. In fact, we have a veteran’s writing group that are students here that meets here on campus.
SM: What’s new at the Joiner Center this year?
KB: We also have a new program with the US State Department to bring writers from Vietnam, Northern Ireland, the Ukraine and other countries to be in residency here for three months. They’ll be giving lectures, visiting classes, giving readings. Gearoid MacLochlain is the Irish writer, he grew up in Belfast in the 1970s and writes about the troubles of that time.
We’ll also host and train poets here in water puppet theater , a thousand year old Vietnamese art form in which puppets are moved over water. Chu Luong is leading that. He will be in residence here for six weeks, from April 5 to the end of May. The other writers will be here from April thru July 1 for the workshop.
SM: Will Carolyn Forche be back this year? She’s had to keep a low profile for health reasons.
KB: Yes, it’s our 20th anniversary, so we’re counting on her to be here and she’s getting more active again. And Grace Paley will be back, as well as Sam Hamill. Martha Collins will be back leading a translation workshop again, and she has a great new book out, too. So it should be a good year this year. This State Department program will be great, and the regulars will be back. The English department here has always been an anchor, in terms of attracting high quality students and producing quality graduates.
SM: Is there anything you wish to say?
KB: Just that UMass Boston is an incredible place. The student body here is different than anywhere else, engaged in way that brings their real life experience to the campus, which affects the learning here. It’s not thinking in a vacuum.
For example, people on campus are talking about trying to create a poetry room here. It’s a testament to how important poetry is the life of this university. I don’t know if students know the stature of the teachers we have on campus now and the stature of people in the past. The Watermark is a great journal with a history of great work and great editors. I hope you appreciate what you have here.
About The William Joiner Center for the study of war and its social consequences
The William Joiner Center was founded in 1982 as a response to the initiative of the university's large student veteran population. Named after William Joiner, an African American veteran and the university's first Director of Veterans' Affairs, the center is supported by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and by grants from both public and private sources. It provides educational and other services to veterans, conducts research and makes policy recommendations on issues relating to veterans, and encourages teaching and scholarship on War and its social consequences.
For more information, or to sign up for the Center’s 2007 Writer’s Workshop from June 18-19, 2007, go to www.joinercenter.umb.edu.
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Ballad of a Haunted Oaktag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11232007-02-02T06:12:29Z2007-02-02T06:18:37ZThe following lyrics were adapted from Paul Laurence Dunbar's "The Haunted Oak." When I first read this, I thought to myself "this is a Blues song." So, I've monkeyed with the original. Dunbar gets the credit, though. "Ballad of a...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Dunbar gets the credit, though.
"Ballad of a Haunted Oak" by S. Donovan Mullaney
CHORUS:
So bare, so bare, is the old oak tree;
so bare is the old oak tree.
It's dried and dead; it's burned with dread
where a guiltless man swung free.
A guiltless man swung free.
And when I go through the shade it throws,
a shudder runs over me.
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They charged him with the old, old crime.
They set him fast in their jail.
How the dogs howl all night long,
and how the night wind wails.
The judge wore a mask of black;
the doctor wore one of white.
Minister brought his eldest son
to witness the justice that night.
CHORUS:
They ride, they ride, on a moonlit road;
they're haulin' a shameful load.
Their rope is long; their minds are wrong,
and the lies they tell are bold.
Laughter low in lying throats,
their hearts are moonlight cold.
Their hearts are moonlight cold.
He prayed his prayer and he swore his oath
he raised his hand to the sky.
Before that night took its last breath
a guiltless man did fly.
They left only the tree to hear his last sigh,
to shake with his gurgling moan,
to tremble as they rode on by
and left him swingin' alone.
CHORUS:
So bare, so bare, is the old oak tree;
so bare is the old oak tree.
It's dried and dead; it's burned with dread
where a guiltless man swung free.
A guiltless man swung free.
And when I go through the shade it throws,
a shudder runs over me.
The rope runs against the moonlit trunk;
it creaks under the strain.
And in the throe of an innocent's woe
the tree feels its own last pain:
"Free man, dead man, I promise you now
that after little a little space,
time will come when these men shall dread
the mem’ry of your face."
CHORUS:
No leaves, no leaves on the old oak tree;
no leaves on the old oak tree.
It's dried and dead; it's burned with dread
where a guiltless man swung free
from the bough of a haunted tree.
And when I go through the shade it throws,
a shudder runs over me.
The Equation of Love Doesn't Add Uptag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11222007-02-01T15:03:05Z2007-02-01T15:06:43ZSo, I turn ABC's Good Morning, America on every weekday morning first thing. It's the right balance of fluffiness to keep me from starting the day as a coach potato, but enough serious journalism, snippets of local news (plenty of...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Good Morning, America on every weekday morning first thing. It's the right balance of fluffiness to keep me from starting the day as a coach potato, but enough serious journalism, snippets of local news (plenty of time for that,) and weather to start my mind moving toward the upcoming day. This week, I caught a segment about an online test that predicts the solidity of your relationship. Oh god, I thought to myself, it's one of those stupid Cosmo quizzes a lot of women like. ]]>
But, I admit, I'm a sucker for online quizzes. Especially if they're well-designed and FREE, i.e., do NOT require more than anonymous registration.
I know which Smith's Song best represents me, my Myers-Briggs score, which Thundercat AND X-Man I am, what the physical type I'm typically attracted to according to facial recognition, which I took one of those online quizzes.
So, I took the online test from Family DynamicsTM, (musn't forget the Trademark,) called the "Love & Relationships Test." I scored much lower on "Commitment" than I thought fair (would you believe "Just So-So") according to this test from what turned out to be a Christian non-profit organization. A poorly thought-out question tripped me up. Re-reading the question betrays a certain cultural bias behind the test that runs afoul of my Buddhist tendencies. Also, I became suspicious of the "We Can Help You.." links after each scoring section. This screams cult to me. (For information of what's a cult and what's not, and how to tell if you're a member of a cult: I recommend the Web-site www.rickross.org.)
I'm a deeply committed lover. Which brings me to my point. I know who I am. Although I don't mind wasting a little of my mind's auto-pilot on these silly quizzes, I refuse to let my life be ruled by anyone's equation or plan for me. Been there, don't that. It didn't work out. Check's in the mail. Give me mysweater back. Etc. I have spent my life seeking my own heart's equation, and I find this standard, my own, to be the only true test of love & relationships. (Perhaps MY personal bias is showing, now....)
But seriously, do we need a test to know we're in love? Think hard before you answer the question. Life is action. Actions have consequence. If, by the magical algebraic property of substitution love = life, than love has consequences, which are a sort of test. (The real question is, how many re-tests do you let your lover take and vice versa.) Just love. Make mistakes. Love again.
So, I think love is tested all the time, it's just that I don't want to be the tester, nor do I want my partner to be. Nor do I want some organization with a certain agenda to be. Good morning, America, indeed.
Letters from the Jalopy (CD) by Ksenia Macktag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11212007-02-01T15:00:30Z2007-02-01T15:02:42ZThis woman's got a mochaccino in her voice and lightning in her hands. Letters from the Jalopy is a self-produced studio album from Medford, MA guitar-teacher and folk-singer, Ksenia Mack. Mack's voice has at times the lilt of Joni Mitchell,...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Letters from the Jalopy is a self-produced studio album from Medford, MA guitar-teacher and folk-singer, Ksenia Mack. Mack's voice has at times the lilt of Joni Mitchell, the warm low tones of kd Lang, and the blues of old Bonnie Raitt, her style blends such disparate influences with old-fashioned songwriting and scorching guitar-work. She's more incredible in her live performances than on this album, but Jalopy's well worth a listen.]]>
Black Coffeetag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11202007-02-01T02:56:03Z2007-02-01T02:56:36ZBoot black, chicory black, deeper than dilated pupil, darker than a power outage, blacker than the mood of Monday morning drivers and late-night Friday office-workers. Why do you water me down? Whiten me up? Pour sugar down my throat? I'm...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
yes ma'am or yessir
or any way you like it.
I'm vitality
squeezed, dark nectar
of roasted beans; I'm supposed to sting
and burn a bit as I go down.
I'm your cup of coffee
and I'm meant to be drunk black.
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Next Callertag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11192007-01-26T14:34:18Z2007-01-26T14:49:43ZNo, you have me confused with another Tom in Quincy. No, I've never been on your show before. No, I didn't call last night. There's plenty of Toms in the book who like football. So, we both have a raspy...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
No, you have me confused with another Tom in Quincy.
No, I've never been on your show before.
No, I didn't call last night. There's plenty of Toms in the book who like football.
So, we both have a raspy voice. What kinda proof is that?
Just let me on, would ya?
Listen, I don't need this hassle. Are you gonna let me on or not?
I certainly wouldn't call a sports talk show if I'd been drinking!
I tell you, you're not the only game in town.
Anyways, I don't need to call your stupid show to hear myself on TV.
Coffee Poemtag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11182007-01-26T08:51:04Z2007-01-26T10:58:27ZI like this random poem I found on the Internet at Lost Horse Press. Click on the picture for a larger, more readable version....S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Lost Horse Press. Click on the picture for a larger, more readable version.
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Friendtag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11172007-01-26T04:39:21Z2007-02-08T03:41:36ZThe love of a friend is moonlight, the reflective heart of a silvered night, bright blanket that highlights shadows, knowing even they are worthy of light. The love of a friend is the first flicker of a streetlamp that turns...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
The love of a friend is moonlight,
the reflective heart of a silvered night,
bright blanket that highlights shadows, knowing
even they are worthy of light.
The love of a friend is the first flicker
of a streetlamp that turns on faithfully
with each yellow dusk, a cone of brightness,
a safe place to walk in the darkness.
The love of a friend is a meteor,
an unexpected fist of fiery light
that says "Look up, the sky wants you to fight."
The love of a friend is a candle,
a keeper of nighttime secrets,
a solitary light from which another is kindled.
The love of a friend is "thank you"
and "how are you?" sometimes "I'm sorry"
also "I understand and forgive."
The love of a friend is beyond belief,
like the way you just know--in your last unbroken
bone and only unbruised muscle--the way you just know
that if you make it through the night, dawn is coming.
Plain Love Poemtag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11162007-01-25T22:57:39Z2007-01-26T05:16:18ZLove, you have not arrived to discover what I've become. I prepare breakfast for myself; I serve coffee for one. When the day's chores are finished and all the tasks that had to be done are over, what opportunities will...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Love, you have not arrived
to discover what I've become.
I prepare breakfast for myself;
I serve coffee for one.
When the day's chores are finished
and all the tasks that had to be done
are over, what opportunities will have gone by, love,
while I turned about all wrong, staring
at the shadow of love instead
of hearing its song?
Love, you still have no name,
but I keep your side of our bed made.
I see a pillow smooth and blank
where I'd rather see your rumpled face, love.
Embracing the Other: The Practice of Diversitytag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11142007-01-19T07:48:19Z2007-01-19T07:50:45ZA Celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day When I look into the mirror, I don't want to see white. I'm not talking about color-blindness. I don't mean to say that that white skin isn't beautiful, it is, because...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
A Celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day
When I look into the mirror, I don't want to see white. I'm not talking about color-blindness. I don't mean to say that that white skin isn't beautiful, it is, because skin itself is beautiful, whatever shade it comes in. ]]>
You’ll need a talk, an oral walk,
Something natural and recognizable by your folk,
Something of music something of meaning,
A style capable of running-off at-the-mouth
When Massa AmEuroBrit Lit irks you most,
A little something-something of ancestry
And the courage not to accept any award
that helps you
and hurts others.
You’ll need “Saturation”,
Your own profanity of Sundays,
Breakfast and Blackfist.
Wherever there is living You must listen
For the if and when the vernacular gives birth, again.
You will need more than reference
Coulda woulda shoulda
And more than edjumacation.
You may even need to sell you and buy you,
So low
So long
Sold
Or to slant yourself into a container whose symbolism
Is unknowingly superior
To standard usage,
A brilliant Attitude loved by Good.
His poem gives me hope that I can get past being merely "white." I don't have the ancestry, but I sure am sick of "Massa AmEuroBrit Lit." I've had to buy and sell myself. I had the opportunity to question Ellis on this poem. I asked: "I'm a poet who happens to be white. Can I be black in a poem?"
"We live in an age where when it comes to culture or cultural selection, it really is up to the individual. I mean there’s more choice and room for exchange, culturally, so it is really is up to the individual, the desire of the seeker. Everything is for sale and anything can be adopted. The lesson of...the briar patch is a gift for all of America, for everyone to consume and learn and to become a part of. To be black in a poem might just mean to struggle to be free in the selfhood of your work."
His answer gives me hope, but I'm hesitant to borrow another person's culture for my own artistic benefit. We have such a history in this country of white people taking...taking Native American land, or taking African-American art to sell as their own and not giving credit where credit is due. This has always been wrong, and that's not who I want to be. Yet I worry that I will always be an outsider when it comes to cultures other than my own. It's such a powerful and pervasive line that we divide ourselves up with: outside vs. inside. Must it always be this way?
As a working artist, I see that a further shame stem from these past sins: the shame that people, particularly artists, are not as free as we could be to inspire one another across racial lines. Another shame is that creative work—particularly if the artist is a person of color—gets pigeon-holed or typed by race: he's a Latin-American painter; she's an African-American writer. I notice that white people are usually referred to merely as 'artists' and 'writers.'
In its worst form, the form TS Ellis mentions in his poem, the attitude that white people's poetry is for everyone, but art and culture of color is only for people of that color. These attitudes are so subtle if you're on the majority side that it's easy not to notice them. Human beings of moral character must notice them and say "that's not how the world is, anymore!" We need to shout it and act it out, until it's true. That's the only way it can happen.
You might say that it's easy for me to talk about these things, that I don't have to live my life as a person of color and go through the down-side of race relations in America. It's true. What I have to live up to is my friend Darrick Jackson's challenge.
When Darrick preached last summer at the Arlington Street Church, Unitarian Universalist in Boston, he challenged my long-held understanding of diversity. He said, "We want more people of color, but we want them to leave their noise, their culture, their differences at home. We want them to come to where we are and be just like us." Darrick gave me a new framework to understand the true nature of diversity by sharing this quote from William M. Chace's The Language of Action:
"Diversity, generally understood and embraced, is not casual liberal tolerance of anything and everything not yourself. It is not polite accommodation. Instead, diversity is, in action, the sometimes painful awareness that other people, other races, other voices, other habits of mind, have as much integrity of being, as much claim upon the world, as you do. No one has an obligation greater than your own to change, or yield, or to assimilate into the mass. The irreconcilable is as much a part of social life as the congenial."
Diversity is about accepting the other into our selves and lives and changing ourselves to co-exist. Diversity is neither color-blindness—for to ignore a person's color is to potentially exclude his/her unique history and experience of the world—nor is it tolerance, a condescending position of magnanimous superiority. Diversity is not "us" vs. "them." The real practice of diversity, and part of the message of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is that there is no "them," we're all "us."
Christians have a practice of seeing every person on the street as Jesus, and to treat each one as you would Him that goes back to the Bible. In the Gospels, Jesus in fact said that he would be each of those people.
Buddhists do the same thing with Buddha, imagining him in challenging stranger as much as the beloved friend, and they take it one step further. Imagine that each person is your mother, your daughter, your brother, your son. The Buddhist belief in reincarnation actually tells us that in one lifetime in our consciousness' history, this was or will actually be the case.
So, let's just blend in. It's so tempting, right? Not to be different. Not to march to our own drumbeat. Let's figure out what the majority does and do that. Let's figure out who the people in power are and become just like them, regardless of where we come from, what gender we identify as, whom we sleep with, what color our skin is. It's an easy and ultimately flawed vision of success.
Success is not a single vision of the future. It's a plural vision. We are individual, we shape one another, we are not all the same, yet we each can be one another when we truly see with plural eyes. We can even be that lone, dissenting voice that points at that the barriers we build between ourselves are artificial. While it's easy and comforting to know that humans are one race, the practice of diversity demand that we don't leave out our differences.
We are one infinitely varied race: varied in identity, culture, appearance, sexual orientation, skills, monetary position, belief system. And we're all here together. There is no one size fits all, one way to live, one way to be.
Diversity is how life propagates itself. Nothing could be more natural. It's coded into our very DNA. Eco-systems rely on biodiversity to remain healthy. Evolution is driven by diversity and change. Welcoming the other is about dialogue and learning, not monologue and conformity. To achieve the nation of freedom and love that Dr. King dreamed about, we need to mix things up and love that other as much as we love the familiar, and we must love the other for its own sake.
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Book-fed, Not Breast-fedtag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11112007-01-12T10:42:36Z2007-01-12T11:10:41ZShe reads her homework assignment aloud in Spanish and cries as she does so. The homework exercise I assigned the class members last week was to imagine oneself as a non-human object and write a story, poem, or journal entry...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
She reads her homework assignment aloud in Spanish and cries as she does so. The homework exercise I assigned the class members last week was to imagine oneself as a non-human object and write a story, poem, or journal entry from the perspective of that object. I got this exercise from a writing teacher of mine.
Maria has imagined herself to be a small ship on the ocean. The ocean, she explains, is a foreign country in which her options are uncertain. She is an undocumented "alien" from Peru. She came to the United States with her husband, who promised to provide paperwork for citizenship. He still hadn't by the time Maria left him for abusing her. Her divorce is in progress.
She presently resides with her ten-year-old son in a domestic violence shelter in the Boston area, a shelter where twice a month I lead creative writing workshops including the one we're in on this night. Maria's time in the shelter is almost up; she cannot find a job and cannot apply for Section 8 housing because of her citizenship status. I look at her symmetrical face—even her tear-tracks run in parallel down her high cheekbones from underneath her glasses—as I realize that I cannot promise her anything, not even that her little boat is sturdy and will make it to land.
Inez imagines herself to be the air. She flows over the earth and her troubles flow through her and away. She travels with the birds and looks down at everyone. The sun flows through her and she carries its warmth all over the world.
Rosa is the sun. She brings life and spreads happiness wherever she arises. She encourages things to grow.
I pull out a few copies of The Watermark, the journal of arts and literature which I co-edit. I tell the women in Spanish that these books are written by students at my public university. I read them one of my poems, "Chief Sunday's Squaw," then translate it into Spanish. They like the poem. I tell the women that they can aspire to write even better than this. Everything I've ever read, studied, or written has led me to this moment, so that I can be here for these women who have seen so much of the dark side of human nature. I tell them in my halting gringo Spanish to keep writing and assure them that their words and their story mean something, even if only to them and to myself.
* * *
The question is how my reading life has impacted my writing life. The simple truth is that words are my life. As an agnostic, the only immortality I believe in wholeheartedly is whatever words and art I leave behind to inspire others on their own journeys. My writing is how I will be remembered.
In ancient Celtic traditions, Druids were the oral historians, justices, musicians, and priests. They preserved the culture of their people in highly-trained memories. Part of that training included an initiation to break down the candidate's worldly life and introduce him/her to a new life of otherworldliness. The acolyte spent the night outside, entirely undefended. The darkness would dig up a candidate's fears and hurl them at his/her mind. Those who successfully faced their fear were trained as full Druids; those who failed could not continue forward. All were marked as "touched" by Higher Powers. Poets would go through a similar rite, spending full moons in stone circles or on top of hills. Buddha sat under his bodhi tree and faced Mara, the embodiment of fear and evil. Christ passed through Satan's temptation in the desert. Native Americans held similar yet varied rites of passage, involving sweatlodge ceremonies, digging and spending a night in one's grave, burying up to the head and taunted all night, among others.
Whatever culture, encounters with the less-rational, emotional and intuitive half of our natures change a person, marking him or her indelibly as other. My love of books has always marked me "other" or "different." My mother tells me I taught myself to read using the book Wild Goose Chase by at age four. She also says that by age six, instead of playing with other kids, I wrote and illustrated young haiku in the guidance counselor's office. I often got called "bookworm" for reading by the lake at summer camp rather than running around.
I read my grandmother's books. I read my father's books. Instead of playing sports, I stayed home to read my mother's books. These private collections of books changed and shaped me even more than did teachers at school.
Then, of course, there was my own collection, mostly science-fiction and fantasy. When Mom took the television away to punish some infraction, we both knew she was being kind by leaving me with my books. The literature you would see on my bookshelf today, like that of any responsible literary citizen, would be considered eclectic—for the most part broad with a few areas of depth and number of titles. Books that bear the hard marks of repeat re-read includes science fiction/fantasy titles such as The Dune series by Frank Herbert, Memory and Dream by Charles deLint, His Dark Materials Trilogy by Philip Pullman, The Dark is Rising Sequence by Susan Cooper, The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia McKillip, White Light by Rudy Rucker, Neuromancer and Mona Lisa Overdrive by William Gibson.
You'll find classic fiction by Jane Austen, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Sonnets of Shakespeare, Donald Allen's The New American Poetry, Break Blow Burn: Camille Paglia Reads Forty-three of the World's Best Poems, Claudia Rankine's Don't Let Me Be Lonely, Pietro di Donato's Christ in Concrete, Complete Poem collections of T.S. Eliot, Elizabeth Bishop, and William Blake, as well as Helen Vendler's Poets, Poems, Poetry: An Anthology.
You'll encounter contemporary non-fiction by the likes of Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron, the Dalai Lama, social researcher Malcolm Gladwell, sober memoirist Augusten Burroughs, and travel writer Bill Bryson. You'd find historical works by Doris Kearns Goodwin. Typical of my generation, I grew up watching Doris on local television long before discovering her thoroughly-researched, acerbically-written works. (Atypically, I was reading Doris Kearns Goodwin.)
On dating/networking Web-sites such as Friendster.com, a condensed version of this reading list serves to attract like-minded of people to me. Bookish. Non-mainstream in viewpoint. Passionate. Educated. Awake. Indeed the first thing I look at upon entering a person's abode is his/her book collection. Through my undergraduate studies here at the University of Massachusetts, Boston, I've discovered a whole community of like-minded people—professors, staff, and students. I've also discovered their reading lists.
Each week, I come to school knowing that I live a life entirely devoted to my writing: I know that each week I will read for my classes and write academic papers; I will read books, see movies, listen to music, and attend theater not only for the pleasure, but also to write reviews for the school's independent newspaper; I will co-edit the University's literature and arts journal, The Watermark;I will maintain my blog and Web-site, which together receive a approximately 1500 pageviews per week; I will create poetry and articles to send for publication in literary; I will market my book and spoken word CD. I will seek to pursue to Master's in Fine Arts so that I can teach others how to nurture, commit to, and grow their talents the way I have been taught to do for mine.
Being a literary citizen and a working writer requires many levels of engagement—first with the experience of the moment, second with the writer tool-box (everything from writing utensils to personal rituals), next with the editor, next with the reader, but at the deepest level with myself, where I balance artistic integrity with the business of creating and maintaining a readership. Being such a person requires answering certain questions often thought of as ultimate: "Why am I here?" and "Why do I wish to go there?" The answer is because I know who I am and whom I wish to become. I know how to get there. "I know only my own ignorance." I know how to take and give feedback. I know enough to know where to stand my ground. I know how things change.
I practice the things I've described here because I am living out my vision of myself as a literary citizen and working writer. However, more of me does them to allow myself opportunities to witness moments like this moment of catharsis for Maria, in which we both extend comfort to one another. I do them to be present for this moment of imaginative awakening for Inez. Writing is about connectedness and sympathy inherent in a shared human condition. Writing is about right now, and right now I only know I'm meant to read, and write, and teach for the rest of my life.
Poem Published in Pemmican!tag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11082007-01-11T21:54:02Z2007-01-11T22:34:43ZMy editorial friends and colleagues over at Pemmican Press, a stellar online political magazine, have decided to publish my poem "Shopper's Prayer" in their Spring issue. You can view the poem here. Remember, you all read it first here on...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
a stellar online political magazine, have decided to publish my poem "Shopper's Prayer" in their Spring issue.
You can view the poem here. Remember, you all read it first here on Soul Meets Blog. Thanks for your patronage. :) ]]>
It's fiction, but it's not that far off.tag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11022007-01-08T09:27:57Z2007-01-08T10:43:22ZRemember college? Not many of us do. But yes, I do remember that first apartment. I thought I'd had freedom in the dorms; it was nothing compared to my first apartment at 8 Griggs St in Allston. The 3 bedroom...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
I'm the kid in the bathtub and with the box on his head. Enjoy. We sure did.
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Snow Patrol - Set The Fire To The Third Bartag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.11032007-01-07T12:18:30Z2007-01-07T12:19:41ZToday's song is from Snow Patrol, off their latest disc, "Eyes Open." Enjoy. "Set The Fire To The Third Bar" (feat. Martha Wainwright) I find the map and draw a straight line Over rivers, farms, and state lines The distance...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Today's song is from Snow Patrol, off their latest disc, "Eyes Open." Enjoy.
"Set The Fire To The Third Bar"
(feat. Martha Wainwright)
I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from here to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My finger in creases of distant dark places
I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science
Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me
I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms
After I have travelled so far
We'd set the fire to the third bar
We'd share each other like an island
Until exhausted, close our eyelids
And dreaming, pick up from
The last place we left off
Your soft skin is weeping
A joy you can't keep in
I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms
And miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
and I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms
Happy Wolf Moon!tag:www.volumefreak.com,2007:/seagda//8.10972007-01-07T07:01:09Z2007-01-07T12:24:43ZP-oz shared this wonderful article on the different full moons from Space.com. Check it out... Eleven years ago, the Harvest Moon bestowed my first adult poem, "I've Never Been," upon me. I looked up to see a ring around the...S. Donovan Mullaneyhttp://www.volumefreak.com/seagda
Check it out...
Eleven years ago, the Harvest Moon bestowed my first adult poem, "I've Never Been," upon me. I looked up to see a ring around the moon, and a door opened in the back of my head. Perhaps this is what they mean by "lunatic." I've been writing poetry ever since.
One year ago my book, Follow the Wolf Moon, came out. Coincidentally, the release date happened to be right around the Wolf Moon, the first full moon of January. The cover image of my book happens to be a doctored photograph of the Wolf Moon over the lake where my family lives, taken by my mother.
I owe it all to the moon. ]]>
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Eleven years ago, the Harvest Moon bestowed my first adult poem, "I've Never Been," upon me. I looked up to see a ring around the moon, and a door opened in the back of my head. Perhaps this is what they mean by "lunatic." I've been writing poetry ever since.
One year ago my book, Follow the Wolf Moon, came out. Coincidentally, the release date happened to be right around the Wolf Moon, the first full moon of January. The cover image of my book happens to be a doctored photograph of the Wolf Moon over the lake where my family lives, taken by my mother.
I owe it all to the moon. ]]>
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