You are currently browsing the monthly archive for June, 2008.
At this point in my packing, I can only assume one thing: books are, somehow, in some way, genetically related to rabbits. Or, at least, my books are. This much is clear. What else can explain the fact that I have filled fifteen boxes to the very brim with books, and still there are more books to be packed? Only that my books are somehow reproducing. That, and only that.
I spent the weekend in Georgetown, looking for a place to live, and had halfway hoped that the remaining books would find their way into boxes before I returned: if books can reproduce, surely there’s some way that they can also grow legs? Sadly, however, this evolutionary step has not yet occurred. I did, at least, find somewhere to live, though I am, at the moment, wondering if perhaps I should rent an entire apartment just for said books. I fell even more in love with Georgetown, though, and can’t wait to live there. I mean, just look at this:
Perfect!
In the meantime, my World Literature I class is drawing to a close. We’ve reached the point of the semester where I fall head-over-heels in love with language again, first with Heaney’s amazing translation of Beowulf. I’m particularly impressed with Heaney’s treatment of the kenning — he goes beyond the “whale-road” and “swan-road” to having a speech-giver “unlock his word-hoard,” and having others speak of the body as a “bone-house.” The class closes with one of my great loves: Macbeth, which I’m pretty sure that I’ve read far past fifty times, and loved more with each reading. I have to catch myself so often while reading this, as I tend to get lost in the rhythm of the language. I’ve heard a billion times that the iamb is like the human heartbeat, but never really realize the full effect of this until reading Shakespeare, in whose hands the iamb moves swiftly from a gentle lullaby to heart-pounding nightmare. I must admit that each reading also brings to mind Tammy Wynette, as a particularly brilliant Sarah Lawrence production of Macbeth, directed by the particularly brilliant Kevin Confoy, featured Lady Macbeth lip-synching to “Stand by Your Man” while gathering the daggers after convincing (though whether or not he needed much in terms of convincing is a matter of debate) Macbeth to murder Duncan. Brilliant. So brilliant that I saw it three times.
In other news, I learned this weekend of the existence of the Guard Llama — a llama whose job is to guard livestock, apparently, from single-dog attacks. I think it is clear that I must have one of these, even if I don’t actually have livestock. The Guard Llama could guard the feline Gertrude Stein and myself, I suppose.
I returned my students’ mid-terms yesterday, and we’re nearly finished with the Bhagavad Gita — both signs that the summer session is past its mid-point and drawing to a close. This, along with the fact that my study currently looks like this –
– serves as a sign that it’s time I made an announcement: this will be my last class at Auburn University. I’ve greatly enjoyed my time here at Auburn, and learned so much from my students, to whom I will always be grateful. I’ve met some amazing people here and developed friendships that will last a lifetime. I’ve been so lucky to have the opportunity to teach at Auburn, and I’m especially happy to have worked with the Alabama Writers’ Forum, the Sun Belt Writing Project, and the Caroline Marshall Draughon Center for the Arts and Humanities on outreach projects.
The time, though, has come for me to move on. In the fall, I will join the English department at Georgetown College in Georgetown, Kentucky, where I’ll serve as a visiting assistant professor of English in Creative Writing and as the poetry editor of The Georgetown Review. I am absolutely ecstatic about this, and incredibly grateful for this opportunity, and, most of all, thrilled beyond thrilled that I’m going to be part of such a warm and wonderful department.
So, hooray! And please forgive the lack of updates to come. Just look at those boxes, and think of how many pairs of shoes I have, and think about how all of those beautiful shoes have to find their way into boxes before I leave for the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, and think of the fact that every time I pack a box, I spend most of my time getting the feline Gertrude Stein, who’s just jumped in the box, to jump out of the box without damaging its contents … Oh, dear.
As a child, I was a big fan of The Muppet Show. I’m going to go ahead and revise that statement, as that’s not entirely true: I am still a very big fan of The Muppet Show. There were so many things I loved about it: Fozzie’s “I Got Rhythm” song, “Pigs in Space,” the guest artists (Rita Morena singing “Fever” with Animal? Paul Simon singing “Scarborough Fair” with Miss Piggie? What could possibly be better?). Perhaps my favorite part of The Muppet Show, however, is Statler and Waldorf’s heckling. For example:
Waldorf: That seemed like something very different.
Statler: Did you like it?
Waldorf: No.
Statler: Then it wasn’t different.
The problem, though, is that sometimes, when it comes to my thoughts about my writing, I feel as though I’ve internalized Statler and Waldorf. Every poem seems flat, every idea seems tired, every word sounds like the word before it — I find myself as cranky and irritated with my own work as those two Muppets, heckling from the stage left balcony.
I’m usually very frustrated with my Statler/Waldorf periods, but I wonder if there isn’t a worth to them, after all. I mean, after all, it’s in these times of deepest frustration, when I’m sick to death of the sound of my own voice, that I tend to take leaps and risks and jump as far outside of my box as possible, just to quiet Statler’s complaining.
Perhaps the most relevant Statler and Waldorf quote, then, doesn’t begin and end with a Boo! after all:
Waldorf: Well, you gotta give them credit.
Statler: Why’s that?
Waldorf: Well, they’re gonna keep on doing it till they get it right.
My co-teacher, the lovely and talented Whitney Reed, sent me these photographs today, which reminded me of something truly terrible — I have yet to post about the Sharing the Spotlight reading, the culminating event of the Art of Writing Program Whitney and I taught this spring! The program, incidentally, was made possible by grants from the Alabama State Council on the Arts and the National Endowment for the Arts, the Caroline Marshall Draughon Center for the Arts and Humanities at Auburn University, the Sun Belt Writing Project at Auburn University, and the Alabama Writers’ Forum — all wonderful organizations that do a great deal of good for a great deal of people in Alabama and beyond.
The reading, which took place on May 21, served as the official release for the anthology of poems by the students in the program, titled The Amber Moment and gorgeously designed and produced by Russell Helms and co. at Absnth Publishing, Inc (seriously — the book is amazing, and Russell was a dream to work with — if you ever need a professional publishing service, he’s the man to call). Nine young writers read their poems, and I was amazed and awed not only by the strength, beauty, and clarity of their work, but also by their phenomenal readings — they did a wonderful job bringing their poems to life! I was inspired by hearing them read in a way that I’m rarely inspired — it was incredible to hear these poems they’d work so hard crafting, which spoke so honestly, beautifully, and movingly of their experiences and emotions, their hopes and dreams. Our guest speaker, the always-incredible Chantel Acevedo, gave a rousing speech which encouraged the students to believe in themselves, their writing, and their experiences. Sage advice, and advice I hope they follow!
Here are the girls gathered before the reading, with Whitney Reed (in the red dress on the far right), myself (with new bangs and odd expression on my face), and the city of Valley, Alabama’s Mayor Arnold Leak, who was wonderful enough to join us — thank you, Mayor Leak!
After the reading, the girls had a book signing — they’re superstars! I can’t even express how proud I am of them and the work that they did this spring, nor can I express how grateful I am to them, for how much they’ve taught me, and how much they’ve inspired me. Thank you, everyone, for an unbelievable semester!
Oh, goodness. My apologies for vanishing from cyberspace. I’m spending most of my time, at this point, reading graphic and violent Greek tragedies in preparation for my World Literature summer course (Hecuba, today — if you haven’t read it, you should read it, and you should pre-order Anne Carson’s translation, which first appeared in the APR a while ago, and is absolutely amazing), relocating Gertrude Stein after she’s jumped into a half-packed box, and dealing with various equally massive piles of papers (paperwork to fill out, papers to sort through, papers to recycle, papers to shred, papers to grade). And, I apparently did not get enough of self-torture during April, and have begun another poem-a-day project. But! I do have announcements:
Announcement the first: The Mariner’s Wife has shipped! I’m always happy when I don’t have to try to make a pun because, well, when I do, it’s a disaster. The chapbooks have set sail (see? disaster) via priority mail, and should appear in your mailboxes soon. An infinite amount of gratitude, again, to everyone who ordered a copy.
Announcement the second: Well, it isn’t so much an announcement as simply a statement of something that happened … Finally, after two years of work, I decided to put all of my witch poems into one file, and found that the file is … fifty one pages? Which seems suspiciously close to a “manuscript,” though I’m kind of loathe to use that word. Let’s just call it a vaguely-manuscript-like-pile-of-paper. The vaguely-manuscript-like-pile-of-paper has made its way to two trusted and fabulous readers, and into a desk drawer, where it’s going to sit a while and think about what it’s done before I approach it again. After all of this, of course, it’ll probably be a lot closer to eleven pages to fifty one, but I’m very pleased to have the basic bones of it down. Finally.
Announcement the third: Bread and butter pickles. Delicious.
Announcement the fourth: Someone sent me this cartoon this morning, which has absolutely made my day. Enjoy!
Announcement the fifth: Incidentally, the little guy with the really round head speaks the truth — love IS like DANG.
Emma Bolden is the author of How To Recognize A Lady, a chapbook of poems published as part of Edge by Edge, the third in Toadlily Press' Quartet Series, and The Mariner's Wife, a chapbook published by Finishing Line Press. Her third chapbook, The Sad Epistles, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. Her short story, "Sympathy," was selected as the winner of the 2007 Georgetown Review prize, and her one-act, Drinks, was selected as the winner of the American Theatre Co-Op's Winter 2004 Contest for Original One-Act Plays. 
