Blog Pedagogy!

In class, we were assigned to read Bridging the Composition Divide: Blog Pedagogy and the Potential for Agnostic Classrooms by Janice Wendi Fernheimer and Thomas J. Nelson- it's timely as I was questioning what a blog does to writing and audience. A blog is a new genre - a space that is semi-private/semi-public. The shifting nature of it is interesting-- I'm using it more as a notebook and marker of things than a journal now. 

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day

I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent

This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!

And more must, in yet longer light's delay.

With witness I speak this. But where I say

Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament

Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent

To dearest him that lives alas! away.

I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree

Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;

Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.

Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see

The lost are like this, and their scourge to be

As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

--Gerard Manley Hopkins

When Ecstasy is Inconvenient

Feign a great calm;

all gay transport soon ends.

Chant: who knows—

flight's end or flight's beginning

for the resting gull?

Heart, be still.

Say there is money but it rusted;

say the time of moon is not right for escape.

It's the color in the lower sky

too broadly suffused,

or the wind in my tie.

Know amazedly how

often one takes his madness

into his own hands

and keeps it.

—Lorine Niedecker  

* published in Poetry 42.6, September 1933 

Durch den sich Vögel werfen

What birds plunge through is not that intimate space

in which you feel all forms intensified.

(There, in the Open, you'd be denied yourself

and vanish on and on without return.)

Space reaches out from us and translates each thing:

to accomplish a tree's essence

cast inner space around it, out of that space

that has its life in you. Surround it with restraint.

In itself it has no bounds. Only in the spell

of your renouncing does it rise as Tree. 

— Rainer Maria Rilke (Trans. Edward Snow)

Durch den sich Vögel werfen, is nicht der

vertraute Raum, der die Gestalt dir steigert.

(Im Frein, dorten, bist du dir verweigert

und schwindest weiter ohne Wiederkehr.)

Raum greift aus uns und übersetzt die Dinge:

daß dir das Dasein eines Baums gelinge,

wirf Innenraum um ihn, aus jenem Raum,

der in dir west. Umgieb ihn mit Verhaltung.

Er grenzt sich nicht. Erst in der Eingestaltung

in dein Verzichten wird er wirklich Baum.

The Space Between Words: Book Review

My review of John Burgess's second book of poetry, A History of Guns in the Family.

Reintroduction

I've kept this blog around without updating it in nearly four years. It was my space to write in-between my transition from Japan in 2004 to life back in California--I was surprised by the frankness of my posts and how much I've changed since then. Most people didn't know about my blog, so it ended up being a confessional space--something I wouldn't share now. I've left a few posts that remind me of my time back then that aren't as confessional. 

I'm always hesitant to start writing in my blog again--it becomes a journal when it's not a personal journal--some days I'm in a confessional mood and other days I'm very private, which is difficult to monitor in a blog when typing and clicking "publish" is so easy. 

Writers are writing to an audience. Sometimes in a blog an audience is a friendly ear--one can only picture the eager blogger readers enjoying every secret disclosed. Reading my old posts, I noticed that there was an element of confession, but an element of resolution. As I typed, I figured out the whys of my wonders-- and I kept writing in that way because I felt closure--later I'd realized I'd disclosed too much. 

Returning to this blog may be productive for me to do now as I'm close to finishing my first year of the MFA program in poetry. Last semester was a deluge of poetry for me. This semester I'm quiet. Giving myself some space to write out things in other venues and forms than poetry or academic papers may be what I need to gently keep my pulse going.

Meditations and Questions

I've found a secret retreat, hidden away in the woods, with a lotus garden, where I can practice yoga and feel like I'm in Bali again. I didn't even seek it out, either. It was serendipitous how I found the brochure at the coffee shop near work, not even knowing a place like this existed in Carmichael.

I went there this morning and did hatha yoga. It was so relaxing that I still feel calm 2 hours later.

I'm going to quit my gym membership, as I only joined for the classes, I hate the whole gym vibe. I like being outdoors, running, rather than on a treadmill. The yoga classes were just crowded and I didn't get much out of it.

Discovering this place is wonderful, but it also made me question my own life path. I've always been down to earth and my philosophy of life ties close to Buddhism, but I feel that after college it's been more and more difficult to live a life close to that. I fear that I'm turning into a yuppie because now I have a nice car and am working so much.

At the retreat, there was a commune vibe there. I walked into what I thought was the yoga studio, but was actually the live in quarters for the staff. It reminded me of a hostel I'd been to in Japan with the wooden shelves out front filled with shoes. A girl was sitting right inside, prayer beads wrapped around her hand; she showed me to the yoga studio and told me about the meditation circle that happens upstairs.

I guess I felt so connected to a place like this and feel in awe that young people live there. It's the sort of life I've kind of wanted, to live in a retreat among gardens and nature. Yet, I know that I don't want to be them. I'm not as free-spirited as I think I am, at least not to live in a community house.

I've also felt in awe of people who could travel the world with little money and have a carefree way of living giving themselves time to live and explore life without the shackles of a career.

When I dream, I dream like a free-spirit, when I do, I do like a rational person. How do I meld these together? How do I balance these sides of myself so that I don't feel empty or feel that I'm betraying my true spirit?

I guess I'm continually discovering who I am. I want to make the right choices, and I know that I will find complete peace inside of me where my life's work will be in balance with my life's life. It's hard to be able to travel and do the things I want to do without money, and I'm just afraid of taking a risk for fear that I'll just end up from scratch again, with no money, and having to depend on my parents who can't financially support me any longer.

I am, mostly, happy with where I am right now. I guess I am continually searching for my next move and I still don't know what, exactly, it is that I'll do next. I just don't want to lose sight of my creative happiness.

The reidisu biker club

Kaori Shoji writes an  article describing what it's like to be part of a girls' biker gang. It reminds me of the character, Ichigo, in Shimotsuma Monogatari (Kamikaze Girls in US).

The movie was filmed in Shimotsuma and the title is literally, Shimotsuma Story. Shimotsuma is near Tsukuba-san, and my friend Lianne, who taught at Shimotsuma Niko, knows some of the students who were in the movie.

Excuse My Grammar

Despite all my efforts to be as literary as any English major AND writer can be, I am still losing my English. So, now, I am not only losing my Japanese, but I am also losing my English.

But I have excuses! First, I just got back from Japan, and Second, I am reading school kids' essays all day and sometimes using the word "was" instead of "were" sounds completely legit to me. I can't even use idioms correctly. So if you ever hear me say something like this: "... all the Japanese I've learned since now..." just kindly walk me out the door.

I hope there's such a thing as an ex-native English speaker, cuz I am not no native no more.

Nihongo

I went to a Meet Up group for Japanese, and I actually reinforced all the Japanese that I've learned so far. Even though I can speak Japanese with mom, it's just different when you have to express yourself to new people. It felt nice to be around people who like Japanese and I could talk all I wanted about specific Japanese things and their eyes don't wander.

I think I really needed to connect with a group like this. These days, I had been feeling as though my whole Japan experience was slowly melting away. I know that I keep it within me, but at times, when all I see is English, and all I hear is English, I stop caring. It was so much more fun to be able to look at anything in Japan and learn something new. On the train, besides people watching, I'd make out the advertisements hanging from the silver bars, and I'd noticed that as the months went by, I could decode more and more of the kanji around me. Now, on my commute to and from work, I obsessively study car makes and models; something I never had an interest in before. I reckon after learning to consume so much information every minute of the day, I can't stop even now. I miss seeing kanji everywhere!

The best part was when we all took a purikura-like shot at the end of the meet-up with Aaron's sony vaio. It made me all natsukashii!

Just Thinking About....

This time last year and the year before I was spending the Thanksgiving holiday in Tsukuba, Ibaraki, trying to get my students enthused in the traditions of Turkey day. I remember once in my classes at 並木 高校, I showed them pictures of the Macy's parade online, trying in vain to get them excited about big balloons of cartoon characters they didn't know. As I clicked on each picture, while they were sitting quietly at their desks, looking at their screens, I tried soooo hard to be excited about Rocky & Bullwinkle! The Turkey! Some Random Marching Band! Oooh, Oooh, Spiderman~~ you all know the new Spiderman movie, right?!

Although, every year we have the parade on in the background of our Turkey day preparations, that's not enough to feel that, hey, it's Thanksgiving. You have to be at home with family, wake up to the spicy smell of pumpkin pies baking and listen (however passively) to the somewhat cheesy, but oh so requisite parade sounds.


(Right now Elmo, Big Bird, The Grouch and all the Sesame Street Crew are singing!)

Happy Thanksgiving!

I Could Eat You!

I just read Kaori Shoji's piece , in The Japan Times, about Japanese food, language, and culture. She always has the most interesting articles connecting the language to the values in Japan.

I guess I was hanging out with "crude circles" in inaka (country) Ibaraki as I always called rice balls, onigiri not omusubi. Oops!

Food in Japan is totally connected to relationships. And often words aren't used when the meals are there to show the sentiment. It is a sad thing when a child or a husband arrives at school or work without a bento.

Early on in my stay in Japan I devised my own "bento-check." If I wanted to discreetly find out if a man was married or not, I'd check to see what he brought for lunch. If it was a bento it almost always meant he was married or seriously attached OR a mama's boy! If he brought bread things (oh the horrors!) or 7-11 snacks, he wasn't happily married or was single.

Now, this was just a fun game for me to pass the time away in the shokuinshitsu and I'm sure that there are exceptions (well, of course!) I just like being nosy.

I do know that one of the biggest compliments a Japanese man gave give you is that your food is umai (or oishii -- for the non-crude bunch)!

A Highly Commendable Mention.

The Preacher
Okinawa

He could have hailed from Texas with all his gospel.
He approached us--
we, stretching bodies on this Miyako Island sand,　hair in the perfect breeze.

He's a retired man, stepping pristine sneakers into pristine sand.
He points to my friend, "you're American." And to me, "you're half."

He used this time to speak with foreigners--practice his English he acquired at Texas
Christian University. "I am a Christian" "I am a hater of sinners" "I believe in God, the son
of God and the holy ghost" "I believe Jesus died on the cross for our sins"

( I was waiting for the war question, the Bush question)

Here we were just hours after President Bush, in the name of America,
began the bombardment of Iraq.

This island--Miyako-- with its turquoise stillness, soft sand, green sugar cane fields
could not feel real.

This war-- miles away, endangering people I have never met--never will, information filtered so much, what can feel real?

Am I allowed to feel lucky?

The preacher declares he wrote a letter to Bush denouncing this war.
"If he was a believer in God, he wouldn't have started this war."

I won't pretend that I know the travesties of war. For the sake of the souls who do have
this knowledge, I won't pretend I know.

The preacher, done with his gospel, we three-- still in half womb position,
knees dug into sand, arms outstretched above us--
said little, smiled, and continued stretching.


I just found out in an e-mail that I won (no money) but a nice acknowledgement and publication (if desired) in The Tom Howard/John Reid Poetry Contest for that poem right there.

I wrote it after visiting the lush Okinawa island, Miyako in April of 2002. Hiromi, Brenda and I had boarded the flight from Haneda to Okinawa literally minutes before Bush would declare war on Iraq.

Soon To Be Employed...

Next week I start my job scoring tests. I'm just happy that I'll be getting back into a schedule. I guess, the faster I can make some money, the faster I can fly to Europa. I'm really excited, so been reading guidebooks and what not.

Sometimes I feel like my whole Japan experience didn't happen. It is internalized in me, but my life is so different now, at this moment, than it was severals months ago. It is different in good ways, but it's strange, I guess, or human, I guess, how people can adapt so fully into new environments and almost have to move on from the past experiences. I keep in touch with friends in Japan, so I do still feel connected, but my whole diet, my whole day, what I see,what I hear, what I say is different.

Japanese Story

I'm obsessed with the Aussie movie, Japanese Story, starring Toni Collete.
I felt a strong connection to the characters and obviously the Japan connection made me natsukashii for ol'Nihon, but I think that what resonated with me was how people who are strangers to one another at first, can change each other-- it is a not a defined relationship-- but something else outside what we traditionally call a relationship. It becomes an experience with a lovely human being and leaves a print on your skin forever whether or not you ever see that person again.

In Living Color!

I can post pictures now.... yipee......
Ah, Yamanote Sen

Mushi Atsui

It ended up being a good day. Driving home from the train station in my little Nissan March in the rain, the dark and listening to jazz-- oh, what serendipity-- to turn on the radio here and hear a lovely rendition of Good Morning Heartache. I forgot how much I love jazz-- haven't been listening to enough of it these days.

And just minutes before, standing on the platform in the station waiting for the train, the rain down on the tracks-- wet, and this is what Japan is-- that sultry wet warmness. And this evening it was wonderful. After a few glasses of red wine, splendid.

A short and doughy businessman about my age, looking a little red in the eyes, asked me the time the train'd arrive. 11:25, the last train. Then he recognized me, that split second look, "moshikashite," "maybe, are you..." "Yes, I'm not Japanese." I said to confirm his doubt.

For the next 30 minutes we had friendly conversation in both English and Japanese. He asked me what Japanese actors I like, I told him, Watanabe Ken, the sexy samurai in The Last Samurai. He told me he liked Cameron Diaz. Then said, "Oh, you look like Cameron Diaz." I just had to laugh because I have brown hair, am not tall, am not skinny,.... Later he said he liked Beverly Hills 90210 and said I looked like Brenda. At least he got the hair color right this time and he said, No it's everything about you! "Brenda is beautiful, a pretty girl."

We didn't exhange names, and was relieved he didn't ask to become my language exchange partner, but even though he was uninhibited by the beers he probably drank after work, it was just a sweet exchange. That was cool that he had the guts to have a normal, friendly conversation with me in English. Most people don't.

Kimochi Warui

Today it was nearly summer weather, yet I stayed in all day. I could have at least taken a walk around Doho Koen. I had the worst cough all last night and just felt like crap this morning, so I decided not to go to Tokyo for the Career Seminar. I'm really disappointed that I didn't go, but I don't think I would have enjoyed the crowded train for 2 hours, while coughing and hacking.

I think I needed some rest anyway after the first 2 weeks of school. The only place I went today was Kasumi to get some food for dinner. I only have 3,000 yen til pay day (I don't know how that happened-- maybe my shopping spree in Harajuku on pay day?!) I didn't buy any fun foods today. Just the basics-- carrots, onion, bell pepper, hamburger meat and avocado. I was feeling like eating something American tonight. In the meat section I saw the most interesting and disgusting thing-- an obasan who was serving sausage samples had made an animal sausage tree. It was a tree-- something you'd use to hang easter eggs-- and it had all over its branches cut up sausages connected together with toothpicks in the shape of dogs, cats and pinwheels. I couldn't help but say "sick" under my breath, a moment later another customer carted by, looked at the sausage tree and also said "sick," but in Japanese, "kimochi warui."