Sunday Poetry XXXVIII -- "YOU'VE JUST BEEN TOLD"

One of the many great things about being a teacher, or English teachers, anyway, and especially for those working in old buildings, is book inheritance.  Pretty much every time a teacher changes classrooms, especially in the case of assuming the former classroom of a now-retired English teacher, is the mass of books left behind.  Sometimes hundreds.  Really.  Literally.  Over the last ten years, I have been the move-inner to the former space of three departed English teachers and have duly reaped the literary benefits.  (Of course, I assume that these teachers left behind only the books they didn't want to take home with them, but still, I've scooped up some pretty awesome windfalls.)

As all of my favorite books are boxed up in the garage, and as I used some of my less-favorite books as buffers in the stacking and packing before the drive eastward, which books are not in boxes, it is from this latter pile (quite, again, literally, I'm sorry to say) that I draw today's material: You've Just Been Told, by one Elizabeth Macklin, whose book has just been out in the garage, unprotected, alone, and (oh, I'm embarrassed) left on the concrete floor.

I've never read any of Macklin's poetry.  I kept the book because, honestly, it looked nice and, originally, I thought it might serve as potential inspiration for coming English students.  Well, that's out, so I probably ought to determine if the book's worth holding the space it takes.  I will randomly open the book three times--yes, in just the moment between right now and final typing of this sentence--and copy out the three poems I find there.

***and as I crack open the book, it literally crackles.

I don't think it was ever read, even by the former owner[s]***

The Lazy Girl Was Never Scolded

(p58)

Then: New-painted ceilings shed light, in our place,

as if they were living, or holy/  That smell was early

spring, with the windows open.  Ambition was only

sleeping, or shortly to be awakened, and would not disappear

forever into compliant ambition.  One time, I sat down

on the steps of a ladder, holding a cup of black

coffee that nearly woke the world.  Paint was spread bright-

yellow into the corners.  Turpentine curled

from woodwork and settled.  I did not sit straighter.

A willow outside the window reeked in the sun of doing

nothing, up in its branches, its leaves whole stories,

all summer.  A long blond girl, dark in the backlight,

I seized what is nowadays made to seem

nearly nothing.

Almost

A qualifier of superlatives

(p29-30)

How much of this

was misunderstanding--

how much was almost blindness?

We did math at the table

almost forever.  Or I "helped"

around you finicking chores.

I almost certainly thought

you couldn't see me.

You almost always said

yet again "You with me?"

I was certainly

angry with you.

Dear Old Dad (your almost ironical

nickname; y our invention), explain

our delay in getting the gist

of kindness.  I didn't see you almost

might've but couldn't;

you didn't tell me stories

about your childhood.

You were maybe afraid, almost.

And so, almost maybe, was I.

But beatings, chiggers in Texas,

butter borrowed on welfare

are almost laughable

after a lifetime,

fears of a planet

or angry passion

almost a memory.

Wholly unique (though yes we

have no degrees of uniqueness)

your almost irreconcilable

lifetime:

qualifying the present

and almost the past

by strict, strong, stronger

grammars of attention--

just when you're thinking 

of dying, you marry again,

quickly, almost ecstatic,

trusting at last your almost

perfect decision, your superlative.

Yet almost just as jealous

of each wife, child/children:

how our love is apportioned.

See? I'm almost

with you again.

I'm almost angry

with you again.

At 43, She Thinks What

to Name Her Children

(p84)

Oh . . . Firstborn, Asher!--asher means "happy"--

because I am happy.  Carlyle, Joseph,

Robert and Richard, for family names:

namesakes all unspeakably loved, for all their flaws.

Jean, Margaret, Ila for girls,

to say they were loved, and will be loved.

All of them out of two originals--Margaret Jean,

Ila Margaret--not to be copied.

Or--she hopes, does she?--uncopied by me.

Because not wishing harm on a daughter?

Margaret, Jean, Ila, Margaret--all

speakable now, since now chosen.

Or else--can it be a name for a woman?--

the lastborn, Asher: no, possible Asher,

"Do what you can--I love you, Asher,"

because I'm alone but I am happy.

Wednesday's for Kids XXIII -- DOUG TENNAPEL (woo-hoo!)

from Ghostopolis

For kids a little older than I usually address here (and this week I'm trying to make up a bit for my tardiness the last couple entries), I present the great Doug TenNapel, graphic novelist (he does other stuff, but I'm pretty much only familiar with the books) and certifiable nutcase.

In the collage below are all the books of his which I've read, some of which I proudly own and all of which I highly recommend (those who are both interested and astute may recognize the absence of one of his novels, which will here remain nameless, and which I don't recommend, for personal moral reasons) and are here in a sort of organization:  Down the left hand side are the books I've read and in rough order of best (Creature Tech, which I've mentioned here before) at the top to the least, yet-still-totally awesome (Flink) at the near bottom, followed by three titles I haven't gotten to yet (lack of personal funds are a particular obstacle when the local libraries don't bother carrying this man's stuff, which, by the way, is hilarious, adventurous, beautifully drawn, witty in language and plot, absolutely ridiculous, absurd, and often drawing in theme from everything from Christian mythology and American History to popular current movies and other books), which I eagerly anticipate.  The big one on the right, Ghostopolis (which is in preparatory phases for film adaptation by Hugh Jackman, Disney, and others--crazy cool, if it actually happens), I just read today while "team teaching" (which fairly amounts to nothing save sitting in the back of another teacher's classroom while that teacher obstinately ignores you) for an English teacher, and I enjoyed it thoroughly--the book, not the "team teaching."  Always a fast read, a rushing escape, and, well, I'll say it again, laden with beautiful and surprisingly kinetic illustrations.

DICTIONARIES and QUESTIONING AUTHORITY

Some people are naturally trusting; some people are naturally suspicious.  Most commonly, these congenital characteristics are most pronounced (at least so I've concluded as based upon my ten years' observations as a teacher) when confronted with authority.  I, myself, happen to be of the trusting disposition.  Despite this what-some-may-cruelly-call weakness, however, I have trained myself over time to harbor suspicion against one authority in particular: dictionaries.

Say it with me: DICTIONARIES

Naturally, dictionaries are uncommonly authoritative.  Just their presence intimidates.  Opening and searching their pages are in and of themselves acts of submission.  We, as a species, blindly assume that Dictionary (intentionally applied omission of either definite or indefinite articles) is always right, and that those who contradict it are idiots, unworthy of our consideration.  Well, only if the one who hasn't submitted to Dictionary isn't us and only if we have actually already submitted ourselves to Dictionary's overwhelming greatness and committed ourselves to its mastery.

Baloney (...or bologna.) --and just forget it if two dictionaries contradict each other, which is, of course, the whole point

some of my dictionaries

Despite my suspicions and disillusionment, I am an avowed Dictionary lover (for the sake of specificity, I will now shift away from my use of Dictionary to the more accurate, and appropriately less fawning, dictionaries; I have a lot of them, after all, and their differences are their greatest strengths!), so what I'm about to write may shock you, and all the more so if you happen to be one who doesn't own a dictionary or happens only to own one dictionary (which tome is likely dusty, neglected, and sadly uncracked), or you only use--heaven forbid! --the internet (hypocrisy admitted) for your references--and worst still if you only ever use just one site (and if any of this sentence applies to you, then squint your eyes and defensively shrug your shoulders):

DICTIONARIES ARE NOT ALWAYS RIGHT.

Need me to say it again?

DICTIONARIES ARE NOT ALWAYS RIGHT!

It's a lot like when I was in 7th grade and my teacher, for the first time in his existence-known-to-us, was late, and when he finally arrived he leaned casually in the door and waited until he had everyone's attention--even made eye contact with every single student in the room, one by one--and then, calmly, yet with clearly ill-suppressed glee, said the single word, and in all caps: "SEX."  Mind you, this was 1989 in a little conservative town in Ohio, and I think half the students in the room fainted--seriously: just fell right "out they chairs"; and the other half spent the next several minutes catching their collective breath.  None dared speak or utter question!  The shock of it!!  (Sex??)

Well, the above statement--centered and reddened--may be a little like the doorway dictum of my 7th grade pre-algebra teacher: verily, dictionaries are not always right; in fact, they are often wrong.  Why else do you think there are so many of them out there?  Every publisher thinks he can create a better assemblage of the English lexicon than all the others.

Unfortunately, woe betide me, I don't have a mountain of examples of such errors or shortcomings.  Though I stumble upon them regularly, I've never kept track.  That changes TODAY!  (It's like the years I worked for BYU Information, giving out phone numbers and information for staff, students, and departments and connecting calls, etcetera and I came across SO MANY crazy names, but I never kept track!  How sad!  Now, despite the dozens and dozens of quirky names I ever encountered, all I remember is the listing for one unfortunate student: Mr. GAMBLE LYNN MONNEY.  Yes.  Two Ns.)

What drew my attention to this, my lack of gathering and amassing, was one of today's posts at The Language Log.  Read it HERE.  Webster's dictionaries, which I've found are the ones most likely to disappoint (but don't get me wrong: they has their uses, and some more than that of kindling; and, yes, I even own one -- ultimately it's all about using the right dictionary for the right job, or better, using several dictionaries in tandem (and if you're curious what a dictionary's actual job is, look it up!; and if you've got lots of time, read The Professor and the Madman, which I've recommended before), is taken to task here for its inadequate definition of "passive," as it relates to English grammar and syntax.  Mark Liberman, who wrote the essay, takes the time to repair the misconceptions, about which I--yes, the English teacher--have had my own questions and failures.  His instruction is welcome, concise, and entertaining.  I recommend it (not to mention the entire "log"), and all the more so because the post makes it quite clear that teachers and professors are a lot like dictionaries.  (Yes, again: this from a teacher.)

They're often wrong.

Raise your hands if you've ever found penciled or, worse, red-penned on your hard-done paper recently returned from Professor So-and-So or Mr./Ms./Miss/Mrs. So-and-So the words "PASSIVE SENTENCE -- PLEASE FIX."  All of you?  (Okay, if you've never written a passive sentence, then you don't count; stop reading ... well, unless you're willing to repent and change your ways.)  Guess what: most likely they're wrong!  And best of all, they don't know they're wrong and would likely never admit they're wrong.

How do I know?

Teacher.

And why would you tell them, when you can relish in your rightness, their wrongness?  Trust me: don't explain it to them.  Ninety percent of them wouldn't get it anyway :: Websterians all!

Again, how do I know?  How can I be so sure?  Yes, I am a teacher.  Worse, I have been that very teacher who accuses and demands correction without fully understanding the issue.  I'm sorry.  And the dictionaries didn't help me.  Trust me; I looked.

If I'd only used more than one together....

Sorry.

So just like using the right dictionary and better and again, multiple dictionaries, really knowing your active/passive "voice" gives you a one up on your teacher--a reason to feel superior to those around you, most importantly of whom may very well be your teachers/professors, and which superiority SHOULD NEVER BE DISCLOSED.  Remember, only another in-the-know like you will understand and not disbelieve everything you say.  And let's face it, if they get it too, well, what's the point in showing off?

Read Liberman's article, buy a few extra dictionaries, and live.