“oh, i don’t know what to do — about this dream and you.”

I had the most fascinating discussions recently with several people about poetry. Professor Perrin and I discussed Milosz’s idea of poems as thing-moments — devoted to and embodied in things, evoking, eternalizing, memorializing a certain moment in time. This, she says, is what I privilege and do naturally in my poems. “It’s a simple thing, but it’s beautiful. Don’t be afraid of that.” Lately Professor Perrin has been encouraging me not to be afraid; I should lay claim to more things in my poems, be more declarative and less obscure.

At the end of last week I decided that poetry and art are commitments to the concrete things, at base level, commitments to the concrete, detailed world. So now I am obsessed with the idea of art (any art) as a composite of thing-moments. Also at the end of last week, I decided in my head that when Dad said (once upon a time) that his art is about things that are right in nature, maybe he was talking about this love and awareness and commitment and devotion to the concrete physical world. I say that, but when I talk about love and devotion, I’m also talking about the way in which the physical embodies something - the way it locates the image of God himself.

And last night, after dinner, Liz said “I like the physical because when I move it means something. It’s not something symbolizing something else — it’s action.” That struck me as absurdly powerful. Art should mean something as an action, not simply as a symbol or allegory or metaphor. In itself as a physical object or motion it has meaning and worth, beyond what it symbolizes or means or implies.

And then I’m looking at my wall, and I see this picture that Greg gave me for my birthday. It says “Like a moment so overly abundant that it spills from your mind, through your hand, to the page.” And yes, that’s poetry. Thing-moments. A moment overly abundant and spilling from things through your hand to the page.

Also, I learned something today. Apparently addressing the beloved, an apostrophe to the beloved, began the lyric poetry tradition. I find it strange that any poem of mine is addressing the beloved in any sense — but I am pleased to find out that when my poems do address the beloved, Professor Perrin thinks that they are very strong.

This is what I love about critique: people tell me what I am doing, and then from there I can strengthen it to go where I want it to go. Otherwise I find it impossible to step outside my head and understand what is weak and what is strong. But I am learning, through critiques, to ask the questions that may tell me the answers when I am alone and trying to still work. What is at stake in this poem? That is my primary question, the one she is always asking me.

Well. I am not always sure, but I will do my best to find out. But now I kind of wonder. What is at stake in this blog?

Let me know if you find out.

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the verb ‘to hymn’

“Come with me to the akathist if you’re missing liturgy,” Professor Perrin said, her Wednesday afternoon punctuated precisely by liturgical leanings. “It’s a service to commemorate the beheading of John the Baptist.” Christine Perrin, lecturer in English, taught my first-year seminar and now advises my senior honors project. She also remembers Italy with me, Italian mass and vespers and the Istituto San Ludovico where we lived in Orvieto.

Today I am having my first meeting with Professor Perrin about this senior honors project: a cohesive body of 20 poems before finals week next spring, followed by a reading of the work. “Bring a mug,” she said, “and a recent poem, and we’ll talk.”

For me, it is the idea of disciplined daydreaming, as introduced into my mind by Professor Perrin’s first-year seminar (she introducted us, tentative first-year students, to Elizabeth Bishop, William Carlos Williams, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and Rainer Maria Rilke: minds on fire with the surrounding world), that bridges the gap between liturgy and poetry. Both are rhythmic and require discipline, both are bathed in verbal play. And, as so often my struggles to face God are the subject of my poems, my liturgical understanding is the subtext, propelling my search with the belief that metaphor or symbol or simile can be as much an answer as usual church dogma.

In the Eastern Orthodox tradition every service is sung. Even though I’m Mennonite, when I participate in an Eastern Orthodox service I’m engaging a centuries-old attempt to hymn the shape of God. It’s the same attempt that permeates my poetry work. I am creating (according to tradition I’m not sure I understand but which I love) a ritual structure, a rhythm and trying to imbue it with some lively, vibrant narrative.

I’m trying to hymn the shape of God and my own life, too.

After Italy (that phrase seems to find its way into every waking hour of my day; I am defined sometimes solely by being post-Italy), I find that I delight in participating in outward liturgy that reflects my attempts at inward poetic energy.

I especially love participating now that the services are all in English and I am able to clearly see how this narrative liturgy is forceful.

Yes. It works that there is correlation here, between liturgy and poetry. But in the case of poetry, I’ll decline to say “amen,” for the simple reason that I am not done working out this hymn yet.

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eleven more days of freedom

I cannot wait for my roommates to arrive. I moved into my on-campus apartment last Friday. . . and while I love having space which is solely mine, on some level I feel a little lost without roommates. My roommates next year, Katie and Elena, were in Italy last spring with me (that’s us on a field trip in that picture! It’s Katie’s photo, and from left to right it’s me, Katie, and Elena). They’re stimulating, challenging people, with whom I just have a whole lot of fun. Artistically, I value their judgments highly (I took wood-block printing and stone-carving with both of them in Italy) and conversationally, I value their wit. With them, any remotely interesting topic results in debate and hilarity. (The weekend trip to Sardinia pictured below definitely resulted in hilarity!)

And we’re all art majors, so we have plans afoot to decorate our apartment. Posters are key, as are photographs of Orvieto and our travels. And, since we are art majors, we decided to exploit the sketching process to decorate our apartment; we plan to hang huge sheets of paper on our walls and use them as giant sketchbooks. I’m jazzed. I think it will be heck of rocking.

Yes, we’re mildly art obsessed. Because at college, your major eats your soul (in the best way possible). I’ve never lived with art majors before, but I’m excited. I’m excited to live with people who really have an appreciation of what it takes to be an art major, the hours of work required, the all-nighters before projects are due, the delight in finally getting something you can be proud of. Also, I think it will be great to have other artists always around to bounce ideas off of – and not just artists, but artists for whom I have a solid respect.

In Italy, Elena and I ran together before class in the morning. I think I’m going to have to start running early in the mornings again, even before Elena moves in. My body has finally settled into a regular sleep pattern, one that wakes me up briefly at 6:30 a.m before I roll over and tell myself sternly not to wake up for another hour. In Orvieto, running provided me with a chance to see the landscape waking up – to soak in the new light pouring over the edge of the cliff and into the valley. If I could force myself to open my eyes as regularly here at Messiah, I think that I might find enough inspiration to carry me through my senior show.

Speaking of senior show? Yesterday I saw one of my favorite professors ever. His name is Daniel Finch, and talking to him is like drinking three cups of espresso. I’m lucky enough to be working with him for my advanced two-dimensional studies course next semester, and already he’s prompting me to consider senior show questions. What makes me make images rather than turning to any other form of self-expression? What do I lack that I try to supply through image-making?

I’ll admit, after talking to Daniel my stomach is doing nervous, excited flips. I’m a senior now, and I have to prove myself by making senior-level work! And there are so many fascinating, difficult, delving questions that I’ll spend the next year trying to answer. . . .

Countdown: 11 days to the start of classes

Filed under general, reflections, lollipops, Italian experiences, photography, vitality | Comment (1)