Reading another novel by Nadine Gordimer. I don't know why I do this to myself. Her prose is so tortured, so dense, so filled with excess verbiage, that I get tempted to throw the book against the wall. A 320 page book could have been so much more eloquently stated in 200 pages, or even less. This one is called None to Accompany Me, but it applies equally to all the others.
So while I'm inclined to throw the book against the wall... I don't.
There is insight into the political and social life of South Africa that keeps me plodding along. Gordimer truly has had something useful to say about South Africa, and the deeper things that spring from the conflicts in that country, and it makes me willing to wade through a style of writing that I see as tedious.
It begs the question as to what is good writing.
Gordimer's prose is crap, but is she a good writer anyway?
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The Experts
It's a funny thing about tourists - so many seem to come back to their natal abodes and cohorts as sudden experts on almost every aspect of the place they've visited, however briefly. Their friends and family gush and quiver with excitement and envy at every new tale told of the 'adventure'.
Well, a trip to a new place, exposure to a new culture, and a new geography, different politics, etc., is an adventure. It's a wonderful thing to do. But what can you learn about a place on a two or three week visit?
Damn little. That's the truth.
All the same, you're bound to hear rabid pontificating and lecturing from returning tourists who've ventured into unknown lands. It seems like it's the worst with Americans, but maybe it's just a more general phenomenon of tourism. It seems like it's worse with Americans because they are on average affluent enough to be frequent tourists.
This realization will only come to one after one has lived in a tourist destination, or a foreign land of some attraction, and had the opportunity to listen to the speeches of the returning touristas about that place.
Generally, they don't know their asses from a hole in the ground.
I lived in South Africa for 8 years and traveled widely in that time as a biologist scouring the bush for insects. I read and listened to the local news and literature extensively, I listened to the music, walked the streets, watched the cricket and rugby and soccer, enjoyed braais, drank in the pubs, drove the bloody dangerous roads endlessly, worked and taught and laughed with a wide cross-section of the society, got burglarized regularly, got paid in rands not dollars, paid taxes - participated in every way as a member of South African society.
After all that time, I still don't know my ass from a hole in the ground. The history and culture and land is complex and it is likely that a foreigner will never really be in with it (South African tourists to the USA - you fall into this category too).
But there's something about Americans (USA Americans, that is). About 2-3 years after movng to SA an American couple came over to work on higher degrees. We had a few get-togethers. Within 6 months they were absolute experts on a vast array of aspects of South African life. It was astounding! They would go on and on, contradicting anything I tried to say from my own experience.
It was also absolute bullshit.
Fascinating phenomenon.
Be humble and honest, people. Life is much nicer that way.
Well, a trip to a new place, exposure to a new culture, and a new geography, different politics, etc., is an adventure. It's a wonderful thing to do. But what can you learn about a place on a two or three week visit?
Damn little. That's the truth.
All the same, you're bound to hear rabid pontificating and lecturing from returning tourists who've ventured into unknown lands. It seems like it's the worst with Americans, but maybe it's just a more general phenomenon of tourism. It seems like it's worse with Americans because they are on average affluent enough to be frequent tourists.
This realization will only come to one after one has lived in a tourist destination, or a foreign land of some attraction, and had the opportunity to listen to the speeches of the returning touristas about that place.
Generally, they don't know their asses from a hole in the ground.
I lived in South Africa for 8 years and traveled widely in that time as a biologist scouring the bush for insects. I read and listened to the local news and literature extensively, I listened to the music, walked the streets, watched the cricket and rugby and soccer, enjoyed braais, drank in the pubs, drove the bloody dangerous roads endlessly, worked and taught and laughed with a wide cross-section of the society, got burglarized regularly, got paid in rands not dollars, paid taxes - participated in every way as a member of South African society.
After all that time, I still don't know my ass from a hole in the ground. The history and culture and land is complex and it is likely that a foreigner will never really be in with it (South African tourists to the USA - you fall into this category too).
But there's something about Americans (USA Americans, that is). About 2-3 years after movng to SA an American couple came over to work on higher degrees. We had a few get-togethers. Within 6 months they were absolute experts on a vast array of aspects of South African life. It was astounding! They would go on and on, contradicting anything I tried to say from my own experience.
It was also absolute bullshit.
Fascinating phenomenon.
Be humble and honest, people. Life is much nicer that way.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
The Craft of Poetry
One of the few journals that has accepted my work has recently gotten a new editor. This editor has stated that there will be less attention to 'free association' writing, and more to the 'craft of poetry'.
Phew!
I know what that means.
It means he's not likely to publish me in future issues.
Not that my poems are 'free assocation'. They aren't. I work reasonably hard on each and every one, giving great thought to the nuance and meaning behind each and every word and image, after the initial inspiration that burst forth. There is a clear form, even if it is not an established form.
There is an addiction to phony formalism in poetry that sickens the soul. An adhesion to a formalism that does nothing to further meaning or expression.
It's interesting that I reject the standard forms of poetry, because I don't reject the standard forms of song - the 12 bar blues, the 32 bar song form, the 3 chord country songs. It seems like a contradiction, but it isn't really - I expect more from poetry, or something different. Songs can almost be poetry, but mostly they are just songs. I don't mean that in a demeaning way, because they are tied to music - the greatest art of all. Poetry is something else however, and if it is forced into the confines of an accepted form that will only be recognized as such if coming from a practitioner of the 'craft of poetry' it is as dead as snakeshit.
Is there craft in this poem?
I think so.
Phew!
I know what that means.
It means he's not likely to publish me in future issues.
Not that my poems are 'free assocation'. They aren't. I work reasonably hard on each and every one, giving great thought to the nuance and meaning behind each and every word and image, after the initial inspiration that burst forth. There is a clear form, even if it is not an established form.
There is an addiction to phony formalism in poetry that sickens the soul. An adhesion to a formalism that does nothing to further meaning or expression.
It's interesting that I reject the standard forms of poetry, because I don't reject the standard forms of song - the 12 bar blues, the 32 bar song form, the 3 chord country songs. It seems like a contradiction, but it isn't really - I expect more from poetry, or something different. Songs can almost be poetry, but mostly they are just songs. I don't mean that in a demeaning way, because they are tied to music - the greatest art of all. Poetry is something else however, and if it is forced into the confines of an accepted form that will only be recognized as such if coming from a practitioner of the 'craft of poetry' it is as dead as snakeshit.
Is there craft in this poem?
Art
One must believe that there are modes of expression
that pull back the curtains
that cover the core of life.I think so.
Advice
What is it with people and their penchant to hand out advice? Who asked for it? Do the people giving advice have any expertise to back up the advice that they give?
Generally, the answer is no. That includes the people who have 'credentials' and are supposed to know how to give advice.
The problem is that advice is not what is needed, and there are very very few who are in a position to hand out advice in a credible manner. The advice givers seldom really have the street cred that lends real meaning to their pronouncements. They are operating from a menu, a recipe book.
For example, a useful review of any of my writing would not say:
'You should do this...'
'You should do that...'
Rather say:
'The book bored me.'
'I got bogged down around chaper 13.'
'I found too many adjectives.'
or,
'I laughed my ass off.'
'That scene at the dock was cool.'
'The bit about meeting the woman at the bar knocked my dick in the dirt.'
That's enough for me. It'a all I ask for.
Do not give advice. You do not know what you are talking about.
Reactions work for me.
Generally, the answer is no. That includes the people who have 'credentials' and are supposed to know how to give advice.
The problem is that advice is not what is needed, and there are very very few who are in a position to hand out advice in a credible manner. The advice givers seldom really have the street cred that lends real meaning to their pronouncements. They are operating from a menu, a recipe book.
For example, a useful review of any of my writing would not say:
'You should do this...'
'You should do that...'
Rather say:
'The book bored me.'
'I got bogged down around chaper 13.'
'I found too many adjectives.'
or,
'I laughed my ass off.'
'That scene at the dock was cool.'
'The bit about meeting the woman at the bar knocked my dick in the dirt.'
That's enough for me. It'a all I ask for.
Do not give advice. You do not know what you are talking about.
Reactions work for me.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Big Projects
Well, it's been awhile since I've posted anything on this wildly popular blog. I have the twinge of an urge to do so now after watching a Frontline show on a proposal for an open pit copper/gold mine in Alaska. The CEO of the mining consortium lamented about the obstacles to executing 'big projects' brought on by people with environmental priorities. There's a stink of backroom scheming and dark alley salivating over profits behind these kind of proposals, however rational and considered are the concerns about 'coexisting' or 'making it work for all concerned'.
But that's not what I'm on about.
There is a subset of the population, in almost any field, where people are intoxicated by the idea of the Big Project. In my own field of science I've been around people who pushed for Big Science - ever larger, highly collaborative endeavors, across disciplines, involving large numbers of researchers in projects requiring huge amounts of money. They get delirious about these Big Science projects. Their eyes glaze over as they fantasize and proselitize about the many wonders and benefits that will rain down on all. Somehow they seem to think that good science will not get done without huge amounts of money, massive inputs of infrastructure, vast numbers of graduate students, all pumping out paper after paper - not to mention large amounts of PR. All the better to get more research funding.
Well, it's good to get students trained, and it's good to get research done and published. But face it, most research papers are garbage, and Big Science only increases the depth of the dump pile. It gets to be like a treadmill, and it's dubious how much value derives from the Big Project mentality.
It's really all about Big Prestige. With Big Prestige comes Big Funding, and with Big Funding comes more Big Projects, and with more Big Projects comes more Big Prestige.
Oh well...that's the way it is...it isn't pretty, and if one looks through history at the most elegant and insightful science one will see that little of it came from Big Projects.
It's a kind of sickness that has its roots in the bowels of the capitalist system and the marketplace. I see that as a problem.
Bigger is Better...
or not.
But that's not what I'm on about.
There is a subset of the population, in almost any field, where people are intoxicated by the idea of the Big Project. In my own field of science I've been around people who pushed for Big Science - ever larger, highly collaborative endeavors, across disciplines, involving large numbers of researchers in projects requiring huge amounts of money. They get delirious about these Big Science projects. Their eyes glaze over as they fantasize and proselitize about the many wonders and benefits that will rain down on all. Somehow they seem to think that good science will not get done without huge amounts of money, massive inputs of infrastructure, vast numbers of graduate students, all pumping out paper after paper - not to mention large amounts of PR. All the better to get more research funding.
Well, it's good to get students trained, and it's good to get research done and published. But face it, most research papers are garbage, and Big Science only increases the depth of the dump pile. It gets to be like a treadmill, and it's dubious how much value derives from the Big Project mentality.
It's really all about Big Prestige. With Big Prestige comes Big Funding, and with Big Funding comes more Big Projects, and with more Big Projects comes more Big Prestige.
Oh well...that's the way it is...it isn't pretty, and if one looks through history at the most elegant and insightful science one will see that little of it came from Big Projects.
It's a kind of sickness that has its roots in the bowels of the capitalist system and the marketplace. I see that as a problem.
Bigger is Better...
or not.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Pieces of Pride
Pieces of Pride
My little pieces of pride
what’s left of the whole
will see my ass to hell.
I should have left it all
buried it in the trash
the same way I’ve buried
so many other delusions.
I get so het up about the inconsiderate nature
of human interactions.
It’s as rare as diamonds to find someone
who will offer a human response.
They’re busy, they’re busy, they’re busy…
They’re assholes is what they are
and there is no other explanation
for their crude and crass behaviour.
It’s as if they think I’ve never been busy.
The other day I sent a poem to an editor.
I didn’t expect a response
and I didn’t get one.
A couple weeks later I get a knock on the door.
Shit! Who the fuck is that?
I ask myself.
I get up and answer the pestiferous thing.
There’s some wizened little guy with a shaved head standing there
he’s got a little gold earring in his left earlobe
and a Masai stretched plug thing in his right earlobe.
Very unimaginative that
the little shit.
He’s got tattoos smeared across both his arms
and who knows where else.
Doesn’t he realize that he will never experience nudity again?
Who the fuck are you?
I ask.
I’m Nate Miller
Artistic Editor of The Weed & Scratch Review.
Ah, you…I reply.
You’re the guy who doesn’t have the common courtesy
the common decency
the simple respect
the team spirit
the union with fellow
artists
writers
musicians
the poor and reviled
such as myself
to spend 30 seconds of your time
on a single line response.
Get the fuck off my porch asshole, I hiss.
But I have something to tell you, he says.
Get off my fucking porch before I fucking put my foot a mile up your asshole!
I lunge out the door at him.
He skedaddles down the steps
sidles across the grass
sidestepping the birdbath.
We want to publish you! he shouts
as he backs off toward his bike.
I don’t hear him though
I’m simply sick of it all.
Damn!
I say to myself
it’s too early for a beer.
The last little pieces of pride stick
like spikes in my side.
I’ll be a monk yet,
someday.
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