Tag: Hippie

WHAT A YEAR THIS HAS BEEN

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

While this was the year I officially retired, what really happened has me once again (or should I say finally?) wearing my novelist’s cap, with four ebooks published at Smashwords since May and more planned ahead. What a relief it is to see these in public at last, rather than sitting forever in filing cabinets in the face of an increasingly difficult traditional book publishing industry. (Hooray for the ebook upstarts!)

The first half of the year included a rash of poetry acceptances in literary journals around the world, including three in India. In fact, in sheer numbers, it was my best year ever, even before I had three presses accept poetry chapbooks for their offerings. (Please stay tuned.) That’s always an honor and something of a breakthrough for me.

On a lower note (pardon the pun), I joined the baritone section of the Boston-based Revels Singers – performing with Ciarin Nagel of the Three Irish Tenors in June and Noel Paul Stookey of Peter, Paul, and Mary in September – on top of the choir’s weekly workouts in Watertown. Apart from the rush-hour part of the commute, it’s been a heavenly experience.

I can also claim some pride in my major contribution to the garden efforts – the many black bags of seaweed gleaned from Kittery Point, Maine. Rachel was especially impressed by the way the mixture repelled our notorious garden slugs, even before we got to its impact as a high-quality fertilizer. More will be on the way.

And, yes, I’m still Quakering madly.

Did I say retired? A better description is that I changed careers. At last.

And looking ahead, as we open new calendars, this hope: May we all have a happy and prosperous New Year!

SCARF ‘ROUND THE NECK

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 7 Comments

At the first college I attended, nearly all of the writers wore scarves. I don’t think it was a conscious decision to create a group identity, but the school, small as it was, had an excellent writing program. As a commuter campus, we wound up hanging out in what was called a cafeteria, not that I recall a real food line. But the round table (as a roundtable, at that) was open, and maybe the scarves were initially just a way of finding a circle of kindred spirits.

In a way, the strip of cloth may have served like those reminders of guilds and monastic orders of ancient times and their echo in modern clerical and academic vestments. We weren’t yet hippies, with all of their expressive sartorial flair, but it was on the horizon. Think of it as a badge of self-identity and distinction.

In the years since, as I’ve come to appreciate the way scarves can add a layer of comfort through a northern winter, I keep recalling that circle and our aspirations. A few went on to earn literary recognition, but some of the others were also immensely talented and yet have vanished from sight.

Come to think of it, so have many of my own favorite scarves – especially the ones my new stepdaughters latched onto when they came into the picture.

Any way I look at it, a scarf still beats a necktie as an item of apparel. Remind me to wear one next time I pose for the back-of-the-book jacket portrait.

Oh, here we are, back to those aspirations, aren’t we?

BEAT IT

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Reflecting on the hippie movement and even trying to define just who was and wasn’t included has also had me thinking of the earlier bohemian movement known as the beats.

While I’m not about to get into a detailed description of beatnik identity, I will admit to being a big fan of many of the writers who fall under its label as well as a lot of the jazz and folk musicians and, especially, painters. Where I grew up, the word beatnik also conjured up the village of Yellow Springs and its Antioch College.

A few years ago – OK, a little longer than that – I sat down with great anticipation to delve into Ed Sanders’ fat volume titled Beatnik Glory. To my surprise, it was a depressing experience. I was left with the impression of one self-centered male artist after another expecting his girlfriend/mistress/wife to take care of him, earn an income, and raise their kids in her spare time so he could tend to his higher muse, which somehow often seemed to include drugs of one sort or another, at least until some of the women wised up to the reality they were being used or could do better. Then, of course, we were left with the males’ lament of being abandoned. That was hardly my idea of glory.

I suppose that also fits much of the stereotype of “hippie,” even though I saw some much different action. Many could be considered enterprising and/or hardworking, for one thing. Nor was it all a white-male thing, not by a long shot. For starters, the Pill and Feminism changed that equation, and there’s no turning back.