It has been a while since I last posted. In the meantime, I have had some poetry and prose accepted for publication and I can share some of those links here.
At the moment, I find myself in transition. I am working with students both independently and at an independent school but I have elected to focus my writing on fictional and poetic pieces. This is why I have not been posting about education. I have been doing a lot of thinking about classroom democracy and whether the use of the Socratic Method fulfills the democratic ends that, as an educator, I would like to foster in my work. More on that later.
In the meantime, here are some links to a few creative pieces that have appeared since August with more to come as some additional work of mine (poetry, prose, photography) is set to appear in the coming weeks. Thank you for reading.
“U.S.A. is the slick of a continent. U.S.A. is a group of holding companies, some aggregations of trade unions, a set of laws bound in calf, radio network, a chain of moving picture theatres, a column of stockquotations rubbed out and written in by a Western Union boy on a blackboard, a publiclibrary full of old newspapers and dogeared historybooks with protests scrawled on the margins in pencil, U.S.A. is the world’s greatest rivervalley fringed with mountains and hills. U.S.A. is a set of bigmouthed officials with too many bankaccounts. U.S.A. is a lot of men buried in their uniforms in Arlington Cemetery. U.S.A. is the letters at the end of an address when you are away from home. But mostly U.S.A. is the speech of the people.” -John Dos Passos, preface to U.S.A.
Unlikely Stories has always been very good to me. It is an honor to be published by them again. I also appreciate that they are asking their authors to recommend a charity which they can promote. I chose the Center for Biological Diversity (a link to it is at the end of my posted bio on their website).
When it comes to the fiction of Cormac McCarthy, I rely on the words of the late Edith Hamilton: “None but a poet can write a tragedy. For tragedy is nothing less than pain transmuted into exaltation.” (The Greek Way, pp. 166)
We spent the afternoon listening to cracking trees
and rescuing voles pushed from their holes
by the surging river
I remember saying
let’s take the ferry if it’s running
the tide has never been higher
and my companion said
we’re wearing ponchos and boots
up to our knees
the time has never been better
These were suburban adventures.
I would watch rain fall
and wonder how the water
would school be cancelled
in a divine blessing
while my father thought over
insurance like a good accountant
the way any householder considering
the future for his children would
saying non-being is my being
ready to drown in cold water.