Noah Hutton and Patricia Smith Symposium Reflection: Blog #8

I went to the Symposium on Wildness and I attended Hutton’s documentary on oil drilling in North Dakota and Smith’s poetry reading. I honestly picked Hutton’s documentary because it was right before Smith’s reading and fit with my schedule. I had no previous knowledge of oil drilling, no interest, and no real desire to go to that particular event other than for class. And being completely honest, I love it. I found his documentary extremely engaging. I appreciated his style so much. I don’t think I’ve seen a documentary that was more honest or objective. The way he just filmed people and what they had to say was so honest. I didn’t feel like there was a specific argument that he was trying to sway his audience towards, and I really liked that. As for Smith’s reading, it was good. I thought it was great. Her poetry is really meant to be an oral art. I thought it was great how she read her poem that had the greatest impact on me, 34. I hadn’t realized that it was the first poem she had written for this book. I wouldn’t even say that I liked that poem, but it definitely was the one that I remember clearest and it was really special to hear her read it.

Patricia Smith Imitation Poem: I Knew This Place

I know this place.

The houses, the searing pavement, the orange sky.
This is home, the one I left for a while, but no less my home.

I pass two neighbor children playing, laughing, running
in between the houses.

The car propels us forward and turns the last right
Home.

Tragedy.

The house next to my own is a shell,
a nasty, screaming, bleeding shell.

The now jagged spires of roof,
black as a smoker’s teeth against the dying sky.

A pile of rubble where a home so similar to mine had been.

So similar.

“What happened”
“Oh, the neighbor’s house burnt down. We almost lost our roof,
but for a neighbor walking her dog in the early morning”

Almost lost.
I didn’t know. They didn’t tell me.
Not a word.

The rage I feel was the flames that licked the side of the bricks,
devouring the roof and supports.

The children I saw running were my brother, my sister,
fleeing for their lives.

The house on fire is mine, and it is burning,
burning alive.

Help them.
The sky is on fire.

Blood Dazzler: Part Two Smith Blog #7

The second part of blood dazzler was hard to read. In fact, I had to stop several times. I found a couple poems unbearable and actually got a little emotional. Especially, Tankas, superdome, dream lover, buried, and 34. I straight out cried while reading 34. I love how Smith’s writing is downright ugly. The beauty of her writing is not in pretty words. It is in making you feel a certain way. I am, however, curious as to her personal connection to Katrina. I am looking forward to hearing her speak this weekend.

Prologue, Blood Dazzler by Patricia Smith Blog #5

The prologue to blood dazzler was not something I could just read once. It took me a couple different sittings on a few different days to make any sense of it. And eventually I … came up with nothing. I believe that on the surface this poem is about an affair. There is a lot of evidence of this in the last page when she talks about being addicted and your mind being blind to your wife and children. I think that there is some connection to the Hurricane, but it isn’t one that I can see. It could be that she is meaning to say how the people of New Orleans are addicted and intoxicated by the city itself, kind of personifying it as their lover. Whatever it means, I find that this poem proved you can write something beautiful while using dirty words.

150 Word Hut Scenario

Eden
Night settles among the pine trees, coats the lake of glass, and hugs the cabin in a blanketing silence except for the tin roof cracking and popping after basking in the sun. The landscape outside becomes a memory as the fire dances within the confines of its stone hearth, kicking light to the corners of the cabin. I stroll to the fireplace, feeling the heat kiss my face. I glance at the pictures coating the mantle. Fakes. Copies. My eyes are drawn to the picture of my grandfather. It is as though he is here, sitting in the armchair behind me. He tells me one of his famous stories of growing up on an Iowa farm in the 1930’s. “The trick when dealing with baby piglets is to get them out of the pen before their mother knows what happened.” He would say, his eyes like stars visible through the clouds of memory. “You just pick ‘um up by their back leg so they don’t squeal.” Whether they applied to my life or not, it was more about hearing the stories. The memory fades as I prepare to take his place in the armchair. I gather Jane Eyre from the bookcase and coffee from the pot. I settle in for my nightly ritual of reading by the fire. I revel in my Eden.

Photo: Hut Sheet

As you enter the cabin through the wooden door, you’re bombarded by an onslaught of smell and warmth. Faint tendrils of smoke are blanketed by the smell soup simmering on the stove. A fire crackles and laughs in the hearth and pictures of faraway places and family coat its mantle. The sitting room holds a couch and has bookshelves lining the walls, adding a smell of old books and paper to the mix. Large windows display a panorama of water and sky. Loons sing faintly in the coming dusk and the light dims. A bed of down beckons in the adjoining bedroom. Quiet envelops the cabin, but for the creaking of the pines and the call of the loons off the lake.

The Ninemile Wolves by Rick Bass Blog #4

This essay was a very interesting one. It was difficult at first for me to see where it was going, if it was going to tell a story or just inform. I did see the point by the end of it however. I think it has a lot more of the author’s opinion and voice in it than some of the other things we’ve read so far as well. I liked that. Once again, I could see that adding evidence in the form of quoted books or numbers is really useful. I think it adds greatly to your argument or story. I thought it was almost hostile how Bass refers to how the government exterminated the Buffalo, then the Native Americans, and then turned to the wolves. Their reasoning being they were killing and eating the cattle, though the government had forced them to do that. It was a good analogy that helped bring in some background to the whole issue. He described his viewpoint well without too much obvious effort.

Refuge Epilogue by Terry Tempest Williams Blog #3

I enjoyed this essay by Terry Tempest Williams more than the other essay we had previously read. It was so sad to hear about her family. I like how she used that to her advantage to prove her point. Especially when she is describing their sickness, what they went through, and what she had to do for them. She left you feeling a bit angry at the government for the treatment of these people. I also liked how she incorporated a kind of dream sequence into the end of the essay. She then continues with saying that some of it isn’t a dream and they did really trespass and go into mercury. She is obviously a very brave and opinionated woman, especially to go against her religion that holds authority so highly. However, she does make a good argument that going again authority was very necessary here.

Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams: Journal Entry #2

I really enjoyed how this piece of writing flowed. It starts off talking about the Great Salt Lake flooding. Sure, that gives us a place and event, but I was wondering where she was going with this. And then, she mentions the owls and ties it all together. I love how she relates everything back to that one place, the refuge. It flowed really nicely for being a bunch of separate stories: the Great Salt Lake, her love for the wilderness and sharing it with her immediate family, and her family history. Her writing is also very eloquent without much perceived effort.

Home Place Excercise

This is a picture of the St. Paul, Minnesota skyline. I am from Mendota Heights, which is just across the river from St. Paul. This picture is significant to me because it the view that I get at night when I look out my window. I think the city lights are spectacular. I think the most emblematic part of St. Paul is the fact that it is a fairly large city right on the Mississippi river. I have recently found that I prefer small towns to big cities, but somehow my hometown has never been counted as a big city in my mind. It is a really clean city with parks and bike trails right on the water. It has a ton of historical significance and the people are kind and helpful. I am proud to call it home.

Photo: Slumbering City
Jagged metal buildings pierce upwards against the quiet black of a newborn night sky. The building’s lights blaze along their length, creating an orb of light. Below, a boulevard strolls along the edge of a mighty river, seemingly docile for the moment. The lights and billowing spires of steam reflect brilliantly in the calm of the slowly streaming river. A bridge straddles the width of the river on the right like a string of white Christmas lights. A city park runs along the other bank of the river, appearing deserted. The city slumbers quietly while the lights flicker and the steam from the power plant streams upward into the endless black of the night.

Everyting is a Human Being by Alice Walker: Journal Entry #1

Ms. Walker's essay entitled "Everything is a human being" is beautifully written. She portrays her passionate relationship with the earth well by personifying trees, snakes, and the earth itself. She brings in outside opinions to strengthen her own. I am particularly moved by how she gives the earth a voice. It speaks to and rejects her as part of the Wasichu that have poisoned its body and children. She makes a point of relating the Wasichu to the Native Americans. I believe at one point she uses such powerful language as the Native people 'made love' to the land where the Wasichu 'raped it'. No matter her opinion, or mine, she certainly has an eloquent and powerful way of presenting her argument that doesn't leave much room for debate.