Two New Words September 16, 2013

Today I discovered polymath, the non-gender term for “Renaissance man” in the context of an amazing woman who died September 17, 1179–two centuries before the Renaissance period began.

Hildegard von Bingen, also known as Saint Hildegard and Sibyl of the Rhine, was a German Benedictine abbess born in 1089. She wrote theological, botanical and medicinal texts, liturgical songs, and poems, including Ordo Virtutum which may be the the oldest surviving morality play, and she supervised the creation of beautiful miniature illuminations.

Viriditas, my second new word, was key to Hildegard’s understanding of the world, internally as well as externally. Wikkipedia explains the term as follows: “Viriditas (Latin, literally ‘greenness,’ formerly translated as ‘viridity’^1]) is a word meaning vitality, fecundity, lushness, verdure, or growth..” In Hildegard’s writings  viriditas has a double meaning; it is necessary to cherish the physical world on which life depends,and it is necessary to foster the life-renewing “greening” of the Holy Spirit in the Christian’s life.

To see Saint Hildegard’s Tree of Life illumination and to read or hear a poem about her written by English poet Malcolm Guite, visit http://malcolmguite.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/hildegard-of-bingen-a-sonnet/

Thinking on … June 18, 2012

Today I’m thinking about how writing, like figure skating, involves both technical and artistic merit. I spent quite a bit of time over the past couple of days working on the technical side, looking for the  best way to send a folder made up of about forty files. I certainly didn’t want my reader to have to open several emails, clicking attachment after attachment as he went along.

The solution I found was to download some software which then allowed me to turn manyWord files into a single PDF file. I had to cut and paste each poem into the new file, but that was a good thing because it gave me one more read–and some revisions. (Can’t seem to read without revising.) I put a table of contents at the beginning which, I think, will allow him to immediately access any poem within the file.

My cases are packed and in the car. A reliable, energetic child care person is here, taking over. It’s time  to go away and forget everything for two weeks. Mmmmm…. But I wanted to let you, my friends, know about the PDF discovery, just in case you will making large submissions in the next little while.

Of course, if you have a different, effective method we’d all like to know about it. Please comment. Perhaps I should have canvassed you before acting.

If you check back in a few days, you may find some posts about Greece.

Thinking on … June 16, 2012

Thinking on …

Searching files, paper and electronic, for the poetry of my life parallels the process of going through an album, searching out the perfect photos for the slide show at my daughter’s wedding.

I remember stories that birthed poems. Some words shape memorials for people who are gone, some are memorabilia from distant periods of my life, reminders of who I was and who I still am where it doesn’t show. What will today’s poetry reveal twenty years from now?

I find large spaces where poetry is absent and wonder why. Were the times too happy or too unhappy for writing? Too busy? Perhaps, if I retrieved a journal, I would find one long prose poem.

The appalling sentimentality of some poems has an astringent effect, bringing me back to the daunting task of choosing “the best”. Now I can see the excess of story, the too-comfortable phrases that blocked my view when I was up close. I clear-cut some, re-arrange others and watch my slush pile grow.

In all of this journey, the thing that has taken me unawares is the sheer joy of spending time with my poetry—like visiting old friends that I’ve been away from too long, like skimming over Lake Muskoka in a fast boat, like being at a bus station and realizing, with a jolt, that the beautiful girl picking up her case is my daughter. Having a reason to focus mind and heart on the portfolio project has been, in itself, a gift as great as the anticipated meeting.

The poems I hesitate to use are the new ones. Poetry might be like wine or cheese or ham—needs to age properly before it’s fit for consumption? What magic number of revisions renders it “cured”? I get into a muddle of second-guessing, going around and around until I lose any sense of objectivity

Opportunities such as this should come with an attachment that says “Warning: can be addictive.” I find it very hard to turn out the night at night. My inner voice urges, “Just one more reading, one more little change, then it will be perfect.”

That voice has been pestering my Thinking on… as well, so I will close for now.  My portfolio must be submitted before Monday when I leave for two weeks of holiday. I’ll be back in touch when I have news. Thanks for reading.

Thinking on …

I can’t not write.

Writing is the processing tool by which I make sense of the world; it’s the palette which allows me to contribute to what is lovely; it is a means of grace which permits me to shift states, from liquid to solid, to gas and back again. At times it seems like clothes donned for effect or a special event, colourful, dramatic, funny, even beautiful. But in fact it’s more like the shell of a turtle, really and truly attached.

I once heard an author explain how she developed realistic characters. She pointed out that vices and virtues are universal. We all have all of them in varying degrees. The secret is to search for traits, perhaps envy, malice or generosity, within one’s self, then magnify it to the degree that it controls the character.

This is what I see as the holistic challenge of writing. It’s the setting aside of the whole in order to dwell only in a part, while maintaining the capacity for return to the original which will then have an additional richness.

When I taught young children, we used to dye Easter eggs. Most children would choose a colour, dip the egg, then leave it, happy with a clear, bright colour. But I remember one child who was tenacious in his dipping. After red he moved to yellow with the predictable peachy coloured result. But he didn’t stop there. I cringed when he added green, purple and blue to the sunset-coloured egg. But the resultant colour was rich and beautiful.

The melding of unlikely colours on that child’s Easter egg parallels the way that unexpected, even apparently clashing elements have somehow led to some of my most effective writing experiences. One of my poems reflects this: “Glory is white, a piling up and reflection of all colours…”.

When I attended U of T, I  registered for Creative Writing as one of my first-year credits. I had a small portfolio of publications and was eager to pursue the craft of writing. But my delight turned to terror when I discovered that we would be writing poetry for the first half of the course. I almost withdrew before classes began.

I teetered through the first few lessons and assignments, never really sure if I was on the right path or just wandering in the woods. I remember one October evening when I spent several hours at the kitchen table working on one poem. My frustration grew to the point at which I rewarded every failed attempt by dramatically crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room.

The following week, when I showed some  poems to my professor, he read that one and said, “Hmmmmm…”.  Then he read it again. He told me that if I could write two or three more to go along with it, they would make a strong entry for the U of T poetry competition. So I did. And they did. And those poems won E.J. Pratt Prize that year.

Last fall I determined to attend James’ Tuesday poetry class. My primary intent was to keep some part of “me” while the rest was submerged in family crisis after family crisis. Along with my ongoing desire to learn about poetry and to raise the level of my writing, I felt a sense of urgency in my need to recapture the part of me that sings when I write.

In every situation there is theory and there is practice. Practically speaking, my initial class focus was less about writing than about  figuring out how to get to there and how to do it on time. By the sixth class I had missed three. Something unexpected would happen at Princess Margaret so my daughter couldn’t make it home to be with the boys, or she had to wait to see a doctor and arrived home late. It was very frustrating! Things improved when a family friend returned from vacation and helped out with child care. Bless him!

When I finally settled in to regular attendance, I was surprised at how much fun I had. I enjoyed getting to know each person’s voice and was continuously impressed by the variety of perspectives and the high quality of work people were presenting.

When the subject of the Anansi Press opportunity came up in class, I would engage in a little internal speculation.

“I think  he will choose  _____ or _____, although ______ has an amazing voice. And then there’s _____ and _____ and _____ and _____.”

I did not even toy with the idea that it might be me. I was hunkered down, completely focused on getting through a marathon in pouring rain.

It’s not surprising then that the first stage of my response to having been chosen for an interview with Jared Bland was one of utter disbelief. This reaction was a strong one and actually immobilized me for several days.

Sue Reynolds helped me move on to the next stage when she observed, in a congratulatory note, that being chosen was quite a compliment. Her comment penetrated my paralysis. I straightened up, dusted myself off and decided that I might as well live up to what I was being offered.

And so my adventure began—first with me, then with my poetry.

We’ll  get into the poetry part next time.

Thinking on …

June 13, 2012

Every Tuesday last fall, in a small town of southern Ontario, nine people gathered weekly for one purpose: to explore the world of poetry.

Ensconced in the literary ambiance of Blue Heron Books, the group flourished under the wise tutelage of poet, editor and publisher, James Dewar. Prompts were provided, skills were honed and instincts deepened. Eight strangers coalesced into a tightly knit group that supported diverse interests and styles of writing. Poetry emerged: quixotic, thoughtful, funny.

The final class was spent choosing the three “best” poems from each class member. The addendum to that was finding the perfect title for the book they would become. Tuesday’s Child was born, then launched and celebrated.

By special arrangement Jared Bland, managing editor of the prestigious Anansi Press, received a copy of the anthology and agreed to choose one poet with whom he would meet. Every writer’s dream!

Word of his choice came through in May. Jared chose Bonnie Beldan-Thomson. That’s me! I was dumbfounded, astonished, incredulous—and over-the-moon delighted.

Christine Barbetta, one of the fine poets from the group, said she would like a peek into the process of preparing poetry and self for meeting Jared Bland. She asked if I would blog my journey. One more intriguing  idea from the Tuesday’s Child Group!

If you share Christine’s interest, I would be delighted to have you return tomorrow for Thoughts on …

Thinking on …

Thinking on … June 15, 2012

A Sunday Morning Quote June 9, 2011

Quoting Rev. Wayne Kleinsteuber from a message given to Malvern Presbyterian Church, May 22, 2011

“The validity of ministry is that it is accompanied by visible signs that God is present and acting.”

“The Church is not a memorial society for someone who died 2000 years ago.  It is the living Body of Christ.

REVERSED THUNDER by Eugene H. Peterson May 17, 2011

FAMOUS LAST WORDS FROM THE BOOK OF THE REVELATION (WHICH IS THE LAST OF THE WRITTEN WORDS FOUND IN THE BIBLE)

THE LAST WORD ON SCRIPTURE:

Page 17: “The sensory imagination is sacramental; it makes connections between what is sensed and what is  believed.”

THE LAST WORD ON CHRIST:

Page 26: “Jesus is both the content of the revelation and the agent of the revelation.  Jesus Christ is the way in which God reveals himself to us; Jesus Christ is also God himself being revealed to us.”

Page 32: “Churches are characteristically poor, often sordid, frequently faithless…God deliberately set Jesus among the common and the flawed.”

THE LAST WORD ON EVIL

Page 85: “…the bible does not provide an explanation of evil–rather, it defines a context: all evil takes place in an historical arena bounded by Christ and prayer.  Evil is not explained but surrounded.”

THE LAST WORD ON PRAYER

Page 98: “The exodus plagues were not punitive but purgative, sent not simply to make Pharoah miserable, but to get him to change his mind, to repent.”

THE LAST WORD ON WITNESS

Page 111: The Revelation is, in large part, a provisioning of the imagination to take seriously the dangers at the same time that it receives exuberantly the securities, and so to stand in the midst of and against evil.”

Page 111: “Christians at worship find their place in a cosmos of redemption…”

Page 113: “Law (Moses) is the revelation of God’s truth.  God wills us to know what is real…Prophecy (Elijah) is the immediate application of God’s truth in current and personal history…Prophecy is the call to live the revealed truth.”

Page 114: “Prophecy points out connections between dailiness and God’s eternity and calls us to choose to live these connections…Prophecy addresses our wills with an invitation to participate in God’s will…Law tells us how God is involved in our lives.  Prophecy tells us how we are involved in God’s life…[Law and prophecy] point to the Christ who reveals all of God to us, and to the Christ who is our total response to God.”

THE LAST WORD ON POLITICS

Page 125: “Endurance and faith are aggressive forces in the battle raging between God and the devil.”

THE LAST WORD ON JUDGEMENT

Page 140: “…worship is the act in which we are reoriented contextually.  Worship is the essential and central act of the Christian.”

THE LAST WORD ON SALVATION

Page 153:  “If there is no accurate perception of catastrophe, there can be no adequate perception of salvation, for salvation is God’s action that deals with the catastrophe.”

Page 153: “The root meaning in Hebrew of “salvation” is to be broad, to become spacious, to enlarge.  It carries the sense of deliverance from an existence that has become compressed, confined, and cramped.”

Page 157: “What we know and believe of Christ in his incarnation, and what we expect and hope of Chirst in his coming again, brackets our present lives.”

Page 157: “I maintain continuity with the killed and raised Jesus who is salvation, not by learning something or by performing something, but by eating a meal.  The eucharistic meal uses the everyday elements of the common life to connect me with the extraordinary and unique crucifixion and resurrection of  Jesus.”

THE LAST WORD ON HEAVEN

Page 172: “Heaven is not what we wait for until the future or where we go when we die, but what IS, barely out of the range of our senses.”

Page 172: “The vision of heaven is not the promise of anything other than what we have already received by faith; it does, through, promise more, namely, its completion.”

Page 172: “Heaven is not fantasy.  We have access to heaven now: it is the invisibility in which we are immersed, and that is developing into visibility, and that one day will be thoroughly visible.”

Page 181: “Evil…starves us of what we need to live, while it surfeits us with what we don’t need, masking our need.”

Page 185: “If we don’t want God or don’t want him very near, we can hardly be very interested in heaven.”