Category: Arts & Letters

CHOOSING, IN THE END

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I said at the time, considering …

The matter of burn-outs, too. I have a long list, from those who’d been close. The ones who self-destructed at the brink of fame, largely through misplaced sexuality. One who achieved fame while still in high school, but then pursued a tangled life more than the fact. A common story, really. Perhaps the sex, like liquor, is the cover for much deeper wounds that need to be confronted and healed – but are instead allowed to fester.

We could also look at charisma in public figures, and how so often it comes by consuming in flames those who surround you. Witness Clinton and Lewinsky. (Which also raises questions about the kind of marriage the Clintons have agreed upon – obviously, not the usual white-picket fence variety but something far more Continental. Marriage blanc?)

Yes, there are reasons for fears. Actually, before I shift gears in a moment, I should recommend Camille Paglia’s controversial but seminal Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence From Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson, a great overview of art and literature and human sexuality in the course of Western Civilization. As she convincingly titles her chapter about Dickinson: “Amherst’s Madame de Sade.”

Then there’s the whole realm of intrigue about fetishes themselves – and even whether they remain more powerful left in the imagination than in reality. Columnist Bob Greene toured the Playboy Mansion before it was torn down and was disheartened to discover how small and dingy the indoor swimming pool was compared to all the photo layouts he had worshipped in his adolescence. Maybe the potential of doing X, Y, or Z has more hold than no longer being able to do the tattoo differently now that it’s there. Ditto so much else!

The paradox, actually, that choice doesn’t exist until you choose one – and rule out the others. Guess that comes into place here. You can believe in marriage in general, but in the end it’s going to be with a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead – or for her, possibly with a baldy. Go for them all, and you avoid going as deep into the experience, or so they say. From my experience, it gets tiring investing all the effort and time in what is essentially the early stages of a life journey – I’d much rather be much further along with a reliable companion. Hope this doesn’t sound moralizing, but I’ve been making the decision to move forward on some other fronts of my life the past few years rather than jumping into another relationship that pulls me away from my life’s direction. And, yes, there are many moments of weakness in that, when the loneliness can become paralyzing.

THE CRAVING AND RELEASE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

As I said at the time: It’s power. As well as status.

There, we’ve said it. The crux of the matter. Power is always dangerous and needs to be curbed, or at least channeled. Dynamite. Gasoline. (No smoking around the pumps, ma’am.) Nuclear fission. Story of all Greek mythology, for that matter. With sex, it’s something that everyone – or nearly everything – has, in theory at least. In reality, well, we could start with one great mystery: why we are attracted to certain people but not to others. And then there are all of those mysteries involving male/female differences, as well as the daughter-father bond and the son-mother bond and the natural growth of struggling into freedom – the classic Oedipus Construction and its parallel Electra Construction. And I want what you won’t give me. Rape. Or don’t want your advances. Frigid. Or what you now threaten to take away from me. Story in the newspaper every day. Bang, bang. Especially when the balancing mechanisms break down – the commonly shared values, the commitment, spirituality, whatever. Or the out and out growing apart.

Even the religious foundations of sexuality and marriage itself can be quite different. In the Catholic and Episcopal mode, it’s procreation, pure and simple. You’ve seen the papal edicts. The best man and groomsmen in the ceremony as a vestige of forcibly seizing the bride. The ring itself as an emblem of possession. Which is why we have neither in traditional Quaker ceremony. In contrast, in the Quaker and Congregationalist/Unitarian strands, marriage embodies the sense of helpmeet or soul-mate in which Adam and Eve were created as suitable opposites for each other: deep companionship, with full equality and mutuality (no, eating the fruit is not Eve’s or the Serpent’s fault, no matter how Paul of Tarsus interprets the matter – it’s the beginning of human awareness and freedom, actually; and if God hadn’t wanted them to eat it, he wouldn’t have put it in the middle of the garden in the first place or told them, in the second, not to touch it!). (A point one of my fifteen-year-old Religious Education students argued convincingly. Kids can see through some of this stuff.) And then there’s the Song of Songs, or Song of Solomon; look up the Marcia Falk translation and explanatory notes – passion, overriding all convention.

As a sister (younger? older?) asks, as we turn the phrase, “Are you a slut?” I suppose a lot of it has to do with one’s perspective – long-term, or short? Immediate gratification, or something in which every experience builds into a sustained, shared history? Put another way, will the Other still be there when your raw physical beauty isn’t? When your health has you in a wheelchair and needing the committed partner? Or when the care of children requires joint sacrifices? The fear, of course, is that once the pleasure’s gone, so is that other person. And we both know that we have down days – bad hair or lack of it, whatever – often for long periods. Period.

My last girlfriend also used to accuse me of having been promiscuous. Of course, when you add up the numbers and divide them over the years – plus all the time in between – it really becomes rather monkish. As I said, it’s perspective. And what the others’ values come out as.

Conflicts, conflicts.

If others express their fears about your adventures, there are many reasons. For one thing, your feelings are on the line. Often your deepest feelings and desires and needs. Out of which can too easily arise the How On Earth Did It Come To This you write of. The epithet of “bastard” itself. The protectiveness of keeping predators away from Mine. Hence, all of the taboos. It’s not always “moralizing,” especially if you watch the matrons at poolside closely. And the rules aren’t always written by a patriarchy, but by the matriarchs. They know a good thing when they have it. Queen Bee, Queen Bee, one per hive. One of the most difficult things about trying to date women my own age, in fact, was that most of the available ones are so bitter. There’s no lightness in their dancing, either – and I link those two. Maybe it was that the ones who can make a relationship function successfully were in faithful marriages.

* * *

How much of this, fortunately, now stands as ancient history!

DASHES DON’T SHOUT

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

100_9040The Cocheco Arts and Technology Academy, a public charter high school, has begun its new school year in a fresh location after moving from the Washington Street mill where it had resided the past five years. In its location on the top floor, CATA looked more like a lively arts colony than a high school, but the lively part had a downside, I suppose, especially when it came to music.

One of the things I’ll miss is the quirky fire door that had been painted with a wonderfully succinct set of English grammar and syntax rules. In fact, I can think of a number of people who think they’re writers (and have even been paid for their efforts) who could definitely benefit by taking these to heart.

There are parts I love, such as the “helicopter” concept for commas that close a phrase. Although I’ve had to live with newspaper style for much of my career, I’ve long preferred to use the closing comma in a series of three or more items, and from the door I’ve learned the technical term is the Oxford Comma. My!

But I will dispute the claim that dashes shout. I think they breathe. Exclamation points shout.

100_9032

The Punctuation Door to the tower stairway stood next to the Holy Quotes.
The Punctuation Door to the tower stairway stood next to the Holy Quotes.

Mentioning this to one of the students on moving day, I was told she had penciled the rules on the door and then other students painted them. Since their brushes ranged from thin to thick and their abilities varied, the lettering is hardly uniform. I think it adds to the charm.

In the meantime, thanks to Vikki for getting this started. Now the whole world gets to see it.

GOING PUBLIC

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Writers and artists who work alone may know the feeling. It might even fit composers, playwrights, and screenwriters. A piece looks quite different in manuscript or the studio than it does in a small-press journal or small gallery. It looks different, again, in galley proofs for correction or an exhibition. And it’s altogether different in full-length book publication or a major museum.

We could even consider all of the varied emotions that accompany these stages.

When the published novel’s in my hand, I’m not even sure I’d recognize its having any commonality with the manuscript or drafts all those steps earlier.

I suspect the experience for performers – especially those in groups – goes another direction. The rehearsals build a teamwork that’s carried forward to an audience. Could there even be occasions when the finished result is less satisfactory than some points beforehand?

We talk about a creative process, but I’m left acknowledging there are many.

THIRD TIME’S A CHARM

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Just want to thank all of you who have downloaded your own copy of my novel Hippie Drum and to say how much I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

Since it’s my third published novel, and another in what’s considered the “experimental” literature realm, I’m grateful for all of the positive reaction.

If you haven’t yet joined the club of readers, let me encourage you to join now. Just click here for your own free copy.

MORE ANCIENT HISTORY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

As I said at the time, there I was, actually, admitting that about now, whenever that was, it would be nice to find a big chunk of time to work on some new poems. Hadn’t done diddly since my week in the Maine woods, back in October, years ago. Had a big project lined up, the first draft already keyboarded – but other projects intruded, including a book-length prose manuscript I tried launching with a holistic Certified Public Accountant. Most of that volume was already written, but getting her input sometimes felt like pulling teeth. Figured that one would occupy my “writing” space through May. And then it went nowhere.

Was also trying to master the new computer means that my reading time was spent mostly with those fat manuals – good thing they’re indexed! Wished I could get those damn AOL logos off the bottom of my screen, too. I shifted over to Mindspring – for now, at least. And one more thing to master, in time, this e-mail process! (Well, I was already doing my checks from the terminal, and had a lot of the genealogy input. Transferring old 5.25-inch floppies in WordPerfect 4.1 was now possible, thanks to a drive a friend installed a month ago, but very time-consuming – a lot of garbage had to be removed with S&R, a big job when you’re handling drafts of novels! I expected to be nibbling away at that well into the autumn.)

As I was telling a certain woman in the midst of all this:

OK, you do have me reading the celebratory Poppy Z., at least in snippets as I find time. A month or so ago, I turned to one of the Goths in our poetry circle and mentioned there was an author a ‘zine editor-friend of mine out in Chicago raves  about, and somehow one piped up, “Oh! Poppy Z. Brite!”- so there you have it! (My friend, by the way, is in N’Orleans for Fat Tuesday and some recovery time thereafter – but I sense it’s part of a much bigger story I shan’t touch on just now, except that it looks like all the nasty fallout.) What impresses me most with PZB right now is how masterfully she handles dialogue – especially with seemingly inarticulate people. How evocative it is! (Envy time.) Since you have been smitten by N’Orleans (as, somehow, has a colleague at the office – again, another story), I must recommend an astounding novel by John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, which kept me up most of one frigid night in that cabin in Maine – as logs roared and sizzled in the fireplace – a box of Kleenex by the finale is advised, too – a real vortex of history, place, and those realms of caring for others that sometimes can never be spoken directly. By the way, did you catch the Streetcar Named Desire opera telecast on Public Television? Andre Previn’s music somehow intensifies an already sizzling text, and the casting would do Hollywood great. Less than a week after it was aired, I found myself spending an afternoon with a Cajun welder and his wife, whom my companion for the day had told me was involved with another man. Talk about things that cannot be spoken directly!

At any rate, much of your prose delves into matters that are generally not spoken directly – especially by a woman and by one who is still at an age when they are fresh! Matters of sexuality immediately stir up conflicts – lust versus love, power balances and reversals within relationship, passions/desires/dreams, promises and betrayals, egos, appetites, aging, vulnerabilities, layers of intimacy or distancing, pleasure/pain dimensions, possessiveness/freedom, giving/taking, nurturing/devouring. And that’s before we even touch on money, time, labor, wealth matters – the stuff that triggers most divorces – or questions of child-rearing or larger family interactions.

My, how much we had stirred up at the time! And how much lingers …

PUBLISHING DECISION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

He admitted it was an academic book that deserved to be published, but their research indicated they’d be lucky to sell 400 copies. Without a hefty subsidy, there was no way his university press could afford to move forward on the project.

Welcome to the club.

THE DYING ART OF CARTOONING

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Flipping through the latest New Yorker and admiring the cartoons brought a sense of loss, too. While the New Yorker and Playboy had long been the epitome of the art, paying the premium rates for work that matched the highest standards, almost every magazine ran cartoons, at least as fillers in the back sections. These days, though, hardly any of them do.

When I was in high school, the wit of fellow Buckeye James Thurber became a model, along with the Addams Family even before the TV series. And then there was Gahan Wilson’s mordant pen. But who’s come along, say, in the past decade to fill the ranks? Not in magazines, as far as I see.

Or in newspapers, where having an editorial page cartoonist was seen as a badge of distinction. (Except at the New York Times, of course, which abstained.) In the collapse of the second newspaper in most markets – and the elimination of afternoon editions – the ranks of those cartoonists have also been evaporating. Even before we get to the recent rounds of attrition.

It’s not a laughing matter.

SINGING WHERE WE LIVE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Like all of the arts, poetry has a long tradition of speaking for the marginalized and disenfranchised. Just look at a lot of the Psalms (even those attributed to David the King!) or Isaiah, for starters. That, as well as the court poets throughout antiquity. Or Wallace Stevens, the insurance executive. We sing where we live.

As for the review, remember: being a writer requires a thick skin when it comes to criticism – and, as Gertie Stein said, every writer wants to be told how good he is, how good he is, how good he is. Now, let’s look at the depth of this “criticism”: adjectives like dumbest, dumb, dumb … how many times? To say “I didn’t like this” is not criticism, O Wondrous Publisher, but the lowest form of consumerism.

Much of the most powerful art we find unlikable in our initial encounters – only through repeated exposure and exploration do we finally begin to see it open in its fullness and awe, and to appreciate its scope. (Not that everything that’s unlikable is great art, or even art, mind you – just that candy in and of itself can leave one seriously malnourished.) So don’t invite this cad to the opera, Shakespeare or Shaw, the symphony, art museum, jazz, a wine-tasting or brewpub, wilderness camping/backpacking, or your next edition. I once counseled a photographer I know in the Pacific Northwest to go beyond the obvious, superficial beauty there and to instead capture the real nature of the landscape.

Last time we talked, he said his work had taken on a breathtaking intensity, but that none of the galleries would touch it – because they didn’t believe it was real! It isn’t what the owners and collectors think they see in the outdoors – it’s the reality, in its naked majesty, instead. That’s what art is about! Or should be.

Or, as Gary Snyder once argued, all poetry is nature poetry – even if the closest the poet comes to nature is his old lady’s queynt.

Another thing to remember when it comes to publishing: not everyone will like everything. Back when Doonesbury was the “hot” comic strip, one newspaper was astonished to find in a survey that the strip was both its most popular – and the most hated! Please the latter subscribers and you might not be selling copies to the former; but please the former, and the latter will still be onboard, to get whatever it is that they like. Or. if a restaurant removed every item that any of its clientele found objectionable, there would be no menu. Even McDonald’s has detractors.

Of course you’re going to tinker with each edition! Every poem is different, too – or should be. (I could name some writers who are repeating the same formula they struck upon ten or twenty years ago, but that’s not for me – Eskimo artists, I’ve heard, will do a subject only once and then move on to another. Good model, methinks, although the “once” might mean a work within a series of sixty to a hundred poems – kind of like a novel, I guess.)

Maybe you’ll even have a stretch where the personal life and upheaval and discovery and adventures quiet down, and you feel it’s time to do a mostly-poetry issue – go for that, too!

Right now, what’s singing where I live is the mockingbird. Ever so gloriously, with a song that’s rarely the same.

SHIFT IN SUBMISSIONS STRATEGY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

For decades – perhaps generations – writers would send their works off to magazines as exclusive submissions. Only one journal at a time would get to look at a piece, usually taking six months to reject it. And with rejection rates running 95 percent and higher, a writer could spend a lifetime trying to see a piece published.

More recently, many editors have turned to allowing simultaneous submissions, something I’ve avoided simply because of the difficulties of keeping track of what I have out where. But I don’t call mine exclusive submissions; if I don’t hear back in six months, I assume the work was lost, the periodical’s gone kaput, or the piece has been rejected – and then I put it back into circulation.

The Postal Service submissions also meant including an SASE – self-addressed, stamped envelope – for return of the work and the typical rejection slip or scrawl or, happy day, the rare acceptance note.

When I returned to submitting after a five- or six-year hiatus, much of the field had changed. Many of the journals now took submissions only electronically, especially through one of several formatted services. For a while I tried to maintain two separate sets of files, one for submissions I was sending off in envelopes and another for the online offerings.

And then, one day, I looked at the odds. All of my acceptances were coming from the online submissions. More impressively, some came within six hours rather than six months.

A few editors still limit themselves to entries on paper. But they’re not seeing my work. At the moment, I don’t even have easy access to a printer. (But that’s another story.)