[not THROOM space]
My Mother Would Be a Falconress
I Write My Poetry Lesson Plans in Free Verse
4th grade, 1 hour
pens, pencils, markers
blank sheets of paper cut in half
Read poems aloud and practice listening:
1. What did you notice?
2. What did you notice the second time through?
3. What questions do you have?
4. Personal response
first respond aloud together
then try one responding with writing on your paper
then one responding in pictures and writing
then just pictures
after four poems, choose one you like best, and write a response
use your drawing or writing to inspire you
write a postcard to the poet
I collect all the responses and tape them together into one big quilt/collage
I’m Creating a Workshop Based on This Word.
In a sentence:
“Dinner here feels like an event, and that means some theatricality.” GLASGOW HERALD (2001)
“In truth, he was impressed by the scale of the place; by its scale and theatricality.” Clive Barker COLDHEART CANYON (2001)
“Indeed, part of red lipstick’s appeal is its theatricality.” GLOBE AND MAIL (2003)
"For humans, tools point to the necessity of moral inquiry. Because nature makes only ambiguous prescriptions for us, we are compelled to ask, what is good? If you give a young boy a hammer for the first time and watch his face, you will see an awareness of this burden dawning on him (as he turns to the cat, for example)."
Matthew B. Crawford (thanks to nbnb)
That Oft-Quoted Quote That Must be Revisited Once a Year or So
When was writing ever your profession? It’s never been anything but your religion. Never. I’m a little over-excited now. Since it is your religion, do you know what you will be asked when you die? But let me tell you first what you won’t be asked. You won’t be asked if you were working on a wonderful, moving piece of writing when you died. You won’t be asked if it was long or short, sad or funny, published or unpublished. You won’t be asked if you were in good or bad form while you were working on it. You won’t even be asked if it was the one piece of writing you would have been working on if you had known your time would be up when it was finished…I’m so sure you’ll get asked only two questions. Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out? If only you knew how easy it would be for you to say yes to both questions. If only you’d remember before ever you sit down to write that you’ve been a reader long before you were ever a writer. You simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart’s choice. The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it. You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself. I won’t even underline that. It’s too important to be underlined. Oh, dare to do it, Buddy! Trust your heart.
—J.D. Salinger, from “Seymour: An Introduction”
Out Of Our Heads: Philip Shepherd On The Brain In Our Belly
"Our culture has been intolerant of attempts to reclaim this lost center of consciousness. In the early 1900s a Chicago anatomist named Byron Robinson wrote a book called The Abdominal and Pelvic Brain in which he describes the neurology of an independent brain in the gut. His work was quickly forgotten — it had no relevance to our cultural story. Then, in the late 1920s, Johannis Langley mapped out the autonomic nervous system. He said there were three divisions: the sympathetic, the parasympathetic, and the enteric. The enteric nervous system, which governs the gastrointestinal functions, is exactly what Robinson called the “abdominal brain.” Langley’s book became a classic, but the enteric nervous system was widely ignored, and students were taught that the autonomic nervous system has just two divisions.
Finally, in the 1960s, Dr. Michael Gershon rediscovered the brain in the gut. In his book The Second Brain he describes how it took him fifteen years of presenting his research and answering refutations before his fellow neuroscientists capitulated and agreed that the neuromass in the belly is indeed an independent brain. [Gershon is a professor of pathology and cell biology at Columbia University. — Ed.]
Robinson, who first discovered the pelvic brain, was much freer in his assessment of its importance than scientists are today. He talked about it as the “center of life.” I completely agree with that. It is the center of one’s being.”
Tools for Conviviality
[Ivan] Illich offers the telephone as an example of a tool that is “structurally convivial” (remember, this is in the days of the ubiquitous public pay phone): anyone who can afford a coin can use it to say whatever they want. “The telephone lets anybody say what he wants to the person of his choice; he can conduct business, express love, or pick a quarrel. It is impossible for bureaucrats to define what people say to each other on the phone, even though they can interfere with — or protect — the privacy of their exchange.”
A “manipulatory” tool, on the other hand, blocks off other choices. The automobile and the highway system it spawned are, for Illich, prime examples of this process. Licensure systems that devalue people who have not received them, such as compulsory schooling, are another example. But these kinds of tools, that is, large-scale industrial production, would not be prohibited in a convivial society. “What is fundamental to a convivial society is not the total absence of manipulative institutions and addictive goods and services, but the balance between those tools which create the specific demands they are specialized to satisfy and those complementary, enabling tools which foster self-realization.”
Albert Camus talks about his stage adaptation of Dostoyevsky’s “The Possessed” in 1959.
Hold the Landscape Culpable
"…part of our mission is to imagine the urban landscape as the cultural equivalent of a crime scene and a scientific subject; to seek out the landscape as a “person of interest” in our investigations; to hold the landscape culpable. Walter Benjamin, in his assessment of Baudelaire’s flaneurism, referred to such a thing as ‘botanizing on the asphalt.’ In doing this, so runs the artistic conceit, we can capitalize on the visible representations of the neighborhood’s sins and glories, and step back to imagine a mythological pantheon of characters, actions, and sites that more truly represent its Truths, rather than merely its Facts.
To do this, we walked.”
“One important thing that’s never been done until now is to prepare the public how to see performance,” [Abramovic] says.
But Alaina Claire Feldman, exhibitions assistant at Independent Curators International and another Summer School participant, disagrees. “I don’t think it’s necessary, because I don’t think there’s one way to prepare yourself for a performance or for art,” argues Feldman. “Every performance is subjective, based on the person who is experiencing it. And sometimes, yeah, you need to clear your head to experience something, but sometimes you also need your head to be full of things and full of your own personal history so that when you experience something it can be more full,” Feldman says, rather than less.
"Seeing Performance: The Marina Abramovic Way", by Jen Ortiz