A Break in the Guest Blogging

Sy Regan reads his work at the inaugural
Stoneboat release reading, 11/2010.

Hey, Stoneboaters.  Signe here.  We're taking a break in our guest blogging series to bring you an update on the spring issue. My co-editors and I are getting really excited about the work we chose, and production is well underway.  The first round of copyediting is complete, the text is on its way into InDesign, and the cover is coming into focus. We've still got a lot of work to do, but Lisa -- the bubbly, social member of our little quartet -- has turned her attention to our issue release reading while Jim works on the layout.  (We won't take our proverbial red pens to the text again until we've got something that looks like a journal.)

Here's the essential info about the reading:
May 11th, 2013
2:00-4:00 p.m.
Paradigm Coffee & Music
1202 N. 8th Street, Sheboygan WI

Those of you who have been following Stoneboat for a while already know the routine. We produce a slick journal, we celebrate by having a reading of work from the issue, we sell the new issue (and back issues and T-shirts!), and everybody is happy.

For those of you who are new to Stoneboat, though, let me explain in a little more depth.  We're a small journal in East Central Wisconsin.  A handful of our contributors in each issue are some of the best poets and writers in our state.  They live in places like Green Bay and Milwaukee and Door County, and many of them graciously make the trip to our corner of the state to read their work at our release.  Most of our contributors, though, send work from far-flung places.  (The winners, so far, are England, Scandinavia, and China.)  Once, a contributor hopped on a plane from Tucson to read at our issue release.  That was pretty cool.  A few contributors have also read via Skype in the past.  Generally speaking, though, our "long distance" contributors aren't able to be present.

And that's were the Friends of Stoneboat come in. These are local writers, college students, and community members who step in to "ghost read" for the Alaskans and Ohioans and Europeans who can't make it.  They read a poem or prose excerpt from the new issue and, if they choose, a piece of their own work as well.  This eclectic mix of people always brings the issue to life.  Something unexpected always happens, too -- last time, for instance, Leighanne Metter-Jensen brought a piñata full of words that we burst to make poetry.  You just never know what the day will bring.

If you're in the Sheboygan area, or will be here on May 11th, and if ghost reading is something you'd be interested in doing, please let us know -- we'd love to add some new faces to our roster of ghosts.  You can email us (stoneboat.journal AT gmail.com), message us on Twitter (@StoneboatWI), or get in touch on Facebook (search for the Stoneboat group). Join us!

Guest Blogger, Erik Richardson: Computers As Poets: Could We Build a Better Byron?

Today, Erik Richardson gives us more food for thought as we continue to examine whether poetry can be governed--or created--by rules. What do you think? Right now, I am so wishing I understood the rules of HTML. I am sorry that I cannot for the life of me make this post look more uniform in terms of line spacing and such. I am not a designer. I am a poet. The two are not always mutually exclusive, but in my case, they are...

We used to say computers could never beat a human at chess. Then we thought they could never beat us at Jeopardy. Those ideas turned out to be wrong. Naturally enough, the generalization from there leads me to wonder: will computers ever be able to beat us at writing poetry? The answer is no, because there is a core human quality which cannot be captured by any rule set, and that is the ability to rebel—to step outside the assumptions and boundaries of any given set of conceptual rules.

Following closely upon that, I think we would agree that some of our most human endeavors, like art and poetry, express that quality and insofar as they do, they also can’t be captured by any set of rules. This is something Chuck Rybak touched on last week.  The computers that win at Jeopardy or beat human chess players are able to dig through thousands upon thousands of games and possible moves to come up with the best solution. This process merely represents the operation of a finite set of programmed rules operating on a large data set, but progress in poetry can no more rely on cutting and pasting ideas and phrases that already exist as parts of other poems any more than it can on recycling a given set of rules.

To illustrate this, let us reflect on the fact that Watson can be unbeatable at Jeopardy, but it cannot ever step back and decide that it has wasted its life by spending so much time playing Jeopardy and wants, instead, to spend more of its time watching sunsets, nor can it disagree with the wishes of its current programmers by deciding to use its Jeopardy winnings to fire them and hire new programmers in their place. Nor, in the specific sphere of poetry, could a computer programmed with volumes of poetic works come to realize that it detests some of the poets that have been given to it as exemplars. Byron, as a great example, showed meaningful dislike of towering figures like Coleridge and Wordsworth, and that was the cornerstone of his particular greatness. The great poet has an experience which pushes her out of the normal rules for thinking about some part of the world around her. She then twists and stretches language past its normal rules for saying something so that the reader is, in turn, pushed out of his normal set of rules for thinking about the world around him. In a move that would make great logicians like Gödel and Cantor proud, we can see that given any set of rules we might create for poetry or for robots 100 or 1000 years hence, humans will have the capacity to step outside of that rule set to contradict them, to create new rules, etc.

The computer advocate can interject here:  If poetry can be taught, it can be programmed. Is that not exactly what happens with textbooks and poetry classes? Are we not creating a set of instructions that will allow someone to write good poetry? Consider, for instance, that however poetry has changed in our imagined future, the new textbooks, or e-texts, or whatever, will give students the new rule sets they need to be good at that evolved version of poetry. Couldn’t a good programmer translate that textbook to computer code and feed it into the robots?

Certainly that’s a logical train of thought, but as anyone who has ever tried to teach poetry knows, we can’t even ‘program’ every bright student how to be a great poet. Certainly by interacting with other poets over time, some of the students can become great, but that interaction is significantly different from something that could be captured by a set of rules—even a whole stack of poetry textbooks. The fact that we can only do this with some of the students proves that there are necessary ingredients beyond what is contained in the textbooks and the professor’s scribbled menagerie of class notes and marginalia.

What is more, in the process of coming to understand minds and computers enough to have built such a robot, we—the race of robot-makers—will have changed in meaningful ways from where we are now, and that creation threshold cannot be breached. It is questionable that we will ever be able to create machines faster than we can change our thinking to dream them up.

Erik Richardson lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with his family and assorted pets. The whole group is a tangle of dandelions in the middle of the suburban lawnscape (and takes pride in that). In addition to teaching math and computers, he mentors a high school robotics team and runs a small business with his wife fueling sci-fi/fantasy fandom.

Guest Blogger, Chuck Rybak: The Beatings Will Continue Until Poetry Improves

(With a Bonus Choose-Your-Own Adventure)

Poet, professor, and Stoneboat friend Chuck Rybak, offers some thoughts today on the concept of rules as applied to poetry. You can even test yourself at the end and see what you are made of. Did I just dangle a participle? I sure hope so.

I don’t care for rules, especially the rules of poetry. I write this on the 100^th anniversary of Ezra Pound’s “A Few Don’ts by an Imagiste,” originally published by Poetry magazine in March, 1913. That Pound wrote and published such a piece is ironic, as his life’s work is a five-alarm blaze of rule breaking, on the page and off. But like I said, I don’t like poetic rules, especially because those rules have birthed innumerable manifestoes and lectures, all designed to help non-famous schleps like you and me write poems more in the style of the beautiful people.

Rules, when handed down from poetry mountain, are not meant to help you as a writer. They are meant to put you in your place. This applies to most rule-driven systems. If that’s not complicated enough, there are rules to go with the rules, the first being that you must sit politely and nod your head while the rules are delivered by poetry’s rule-making class. (What should we call them? The Yessiragarchy? Something else?) And we already know these rules, don’t we? Do not write about yourself. Poems are not journals. Show, don’t tell. Don’t make one of your rhyming words “purple” or else you’re screwed.  A line should weigh ¼ of a pound and smell like cherries. As a creative writing teacher in an institution of higher learning, I spend a good deal of time delivering such rules (“no poems about vampires,” “your soul is not literally on fire”), followed by an equal amount of time trying to teach away the damage those rules may have caused. But whether or not we acknowledge it, those rules are meant to draw authoritative lines: they are the students; I am the teacher, and with that sorted out, do what I say.

In the poetry business—meaning the world of publishers, prizes, and academies—these rules enforce just such a sorting function. Being a “rule maker” is simply another award, another privilege, a clear sign that you’ve “made it” somehow. Congratulations! You have collected enough poetry points to tell those with fewer points how to build and tidy up their aesthetic ranch-style homes. What’s the problem with these rules? The rule makers do not follow them, and are thus continually able to differentiate themselves and their work from the masses. For example, the most frequent complaint about contemporary poetry is how it’s too personal, how it amounts to journaling, how we’re all the deformed, inbred descendents of a once interesting gene pool called Confessionalism. How do we solve such problems? We need rules! Do not write about yourself, your troubles and anxieties, or anything else that amounts to navel gazing. Start reading history books and writing poems about immigrants crossing an ocean. Write from the point of view of a popsicle, as long as that popsicle isn’t you. That sounds good, until people swoon over the newly released personal poems of Mark Jarman or Sharon Olds, who just won the T.S. Eliot prize for a book about her divorce. I like both of these writers, but I also wonder why the rules don’t apply to them. One answer? People who are good writers are good enough to not need rules—they are “creative” writers after all. The rules are for the masses, while established poets congratulate themselves on writing poems so wonderful they levitate above the snares that would drag an inferior poet down.

A long time ago, in a classroom far, far away, I read Robert Pinsky’s critical work, The Situation of Poetry. (Established poets are always assessing the situation of poetry, which is another form of rule making.)  One section of this book has lodged itself in my memory, pretty much at the expense of all else: Pinsky is deeply critical of Robert Bly’s poem “Silence.” Pinsky establishes rules about images, contorting his way to the conclusion that Bly’s image (“The fall has come, clear as the eyes of chickens”) is inferior to those of Elizabeth Bishop (or maybe it was Robert Lowell), because it’s just too darn clever. That image, a narcissist, thinks too much of itself! Bly’s image is tricky and smart while Bishop’s is down-home, genuine, and tries to show readers something for the first time in a magical, gentle way. I have no idea what any of this means, but I know it’s about rule making and rule following. I know it’s about who gets to be a rule maker.

Still, I don’t want to be a cliché (another rule). I understand that rules, in all areas of life, are necessary. But I’ve also lived enough to know that good rules free and bad rules fetter. Creative writing, with the focus on “creative,” is a realm that needs fewer rules. I suggest everyone read Richard Hugo’s book on craft, The Triggering Town, to get a sense of how the rules of writing should operate—each rule Hugo details is knowingly contradicted in a different part of the book. And because I’m writing a piece about rules (and thus started this sentence with a conjunction), I would feel negligent if I didn’t hand one down, so here it is:

Do whatever you want, and do it well.

What other meaningful rule for poetry could there possibly be? It’s easy to remember, you don’t have to look it up anywhere, and I give it to you free of charge. Once more for the people!

Do whatever you want, and do it well.

Now, for a little fun. On the 100^th anniversary of the publication of Pound’s essay, Poetry has, of course, invited a few poets to write down some rules, specifically a collection of “don’ts.” Poetry included four poets in their March issue, and four more will appear in April. While such pieces should be taken lightly, I still found myself chafing at the pretentiousness that seeps into such pieces. It’s a game that never ends well. What’s a reader to do? Well, make a game of it of course! Do you have what it takes when it comes to the rules of poetry? Are you a real poet or not? Do you want to find out? Lucky for you, I have created a small (rule-driven) choose-your-own-adventure that you can play to answer all of these compelling questions. It’s free and passes judgment on you.  What could be better? Go to the provided link and give it a whirl!

http://www.sadiron.com/ChooseOwn/PoetryAdventure.html

Chuck Rybak lives in Wisconsin and is currently an Assistant Professor of English and Humanistic Studies at the University of Wisconsin—Green Bay. He is the author of two chapbooks, Nickel and Diming My Way Through and Liketown. His full-length collection, Tongue and Groove, was released in 2007 by Main Street Rag. Poems of his have appeared in The Cincinnati Review; Pebble Lake Review; War, Literature & the Arts; The Ledge; Southern Poetry Review; Stoneboat; Verse Wisconsin; and other journals. His new collection, </war>, will be released in April 2013.

Guest Post by Christine Deitte, our Stoneboat Intern

Christine Deitte is a senior art major at Lakeland College with a graphic design emphasis. She is serving as Stoneboat's intern during the Spring 2013 semester, and she previously held an internship with Lakeland College's Career Development office. Christine chose to intern with Stoneboat to strengthen her writing skills, and she felt that it was a particularly good fit when she learned that the journal publishes creative nonfiction, which is an interest of hers. We've loved having Christine on board as a member of the Stoneboat team and are grateful for all the work she has done in the last few months.  


When I think about writing, it reminds me of past experiences when I wrote inspirational poems for fun in my spare time. I wrote a poem for the Phi Delta Omega Sorority that I belong to, and I was inspired to continue writing. My Career Development supervisor, Jess Lambrecht, thought my writing skills were good, and she said I should consider writing. I was not sure if my writing skills were good enough, and it took her encouragement to realize my writing skills were better than I thought.

I decided to take creative non-fiction course because I thought the class would be a fun and interesting. I had always enjoyed writing poetry because I think it helps me to express my feelings and what I am thinking about. I figured creative non-fiction would also help me to explain past experiences in my life.

I was sitting in Old Main 2 on the first day of the semester, wondering who was going to be in my creative non-fiction class. All I saw was bright grey tables that are next to each other. Green curtains were rolled up and I saw the bright sun shining into the classroom. Straight ahead was a blackboard that had the previous professor's notes written on it in chalk. As the other students walked in, I realized my classmates were all writing majors. I knew these girls from other classes, and each one had her own personality. When I realized I was surrounded by all writing majors, I was terrified because I thought my writing skills were not good enough for the class.

As the semester went on, we did an assignment about childhood memories. We had to think about our past and how it relates to our life today. I thought this was going to be a fun assignment to write about. Looking back to my childhood memories, I realized I had the same interests today as I did back then. I always enjoyed art when I was younger, and would always have a drawing pad. In my art classes at school I was able to learn about the basic fundamentals about art. Today I am majoring in Graphic Design and have enjoyed taking a variety of classes that help express who I am. I enjoyed taking creative nonfiction for the same reason, and I know my experiences in that class will help me develop my writing skills as I continue with my Stoneboat internship.

Writing has changed who I am as a person and helps to express my true emotions in any piece that I write. I love poetry and creative nonfiction because I feel they give me a way to leave an inspirational message. I feel completely different when I write down what I am feeling every day. No matter what I write about, I love writing stories and inspirational poetry. I want my readers to get a sense of my writing style and visualize my past experiences.

Writing is not the only way I tend to express myself -- I also do it through my art.  There's a definite connection between writing and art.  For example, my art can include writing when I design posters. In most instances, there trends to be a graphic in the background with writing as the focus to show the most important information. When choosing a writing style for my art, I tend to look at the graphic first and choose a style that correlates with the graphic. It becomes extremely important to remember that the writing cannot take over the graphic, though.

My experiences with art taught me many ways that I can express myself. I experienced my first art class during second semester of my freshman year. I decided to take an Adobe Photoshop class to get a better idea of what graphic design was all about. Walking into Verhulst Hall for the first time, I did not know what the classroom would be like or if I was going to know anyone in class. As I approached the room, I saw a lot of Mac computers side by side. It was very bare with white cement walls all around. I felt like I was in an enclosed building where there was no way to escape. Signs were everywhere about rules of the lab and what I was responsible for while I was in the Mac lab. It almost felt I was in middle school and being told the rules of the class room.

When class started, I did not know too many people. I was the shy one who did not speak to anyone and was excited to learn what I would be doing for the semester. I found this class to be very interesting because I was learning about the different effects tools and the way they could help me to manipulate an image. I personally enjoyed working with the black and white tool because I enjoyed the contrast. This class helped me realize that I needed to continue pursuing a major, and a career, in graphic design.

Graphic design made me appreciate art in many different media. It was interesting to learn about art history. I found it fun to learn about other artists during different time periods, and the way the artists used light and shadow to capture the important features. I personally enjoyed learning different techniques to show off important features in my own pieces. Art can inspire creativity to put our own interpretations and emotions into each project. I found myself coming up with ideas that can create different interpretations depending on how you look at it.

When I think about the future, I see myself working with children and helping them to show off their creativity through art or writing rather than by putting to negative use through violence on the streets. I would love to teach them how to express themselves through different media. People all have their own way to show how they feel about a situation, and I want them to be comfortable using whatever artistic or writing technique is best for them. If I can make a difference on someone else’s life, I will do whatever it takes to get these children on the right path without getting into trouble in the streets.

Guest Blogger, Ed Werstein: Scaling War and Peace

In the weeks ahead, Stoneboat will continue its new endeavor of giving this forum over to various guest bloggers. Today, we are pleased to welcome poet Ed Werstein as he attempts to make his way through one very long tome:

For the third time, I am attempting to read War and Peace.

I am employing three bookmarks like pitons to anchor me on my quest to scale the 1273 pages. One in the front of the book marks a page of Principal Characters to help me keep everybody straight. Another sits in the back of the book helping me to follow the extensive historical notes. There are 53 entries comprising four pages of fine print enhancing the first 100 pages of the story alone. Forty-eight pages of fine print in all.

The third marker, of course, flags the ascent itself. Currently this toehold is hammered into page 117.

In addition to the historical notes in the back, there are footnotes on each page. Tolstoy wrote a significant amount of the nobility’s dialogue in French. This, as I read in the editor’s preface, was an accurate reflection of historical fact. The translators have chosen to authenticate the reader’s experience by translating only the Russian into English, leaving the French as written. They then footnote a translation of the French on the bottom of each page.

This causes me two problems. First, it is fucking tedious. I can’t imagine 1273 pages of this back and forth attention. The second, just as annoying, is that “je connais un peu de francais,”*  but not enough to facilitate reading without referencing the footnotes. Just enough so that I delay a bit each time trying to figure out on my own what was said.  I wonder, couldn’t they have accomplished as much by just marking the translation of the French with italicized text? Would the reader lose something? I know I’d gain a great deal of time.

As I struggle into triple digit pages, the doubts and questions from two previous failed attempts set in again. A hundred seventeen pages down, but over 1100 to go. How much do I really care about the lives of the Russian nobility two centuries ago? What makes this tome of cannons and tranquility such an important part of the literary canon? Is there value in meeting the challenge itself? Could I just learn to admit, matter-of-factly, that I haven’t read War and Peace? Might I have better luck at scaling a different peak? Ulysses perhaps?

Yes, Ulysses! It was almost written in English in the first place. And this attempt (my second) only after a significant training period. My training will begin immediately. I head down the street for a couple of pints at Callahan’s Pub.

* I know a little French

Ed Werstein of Milwaukee, WI, spent 22 years in manufacturing and union activity before his muse awoke and dragged herself out of bed. His sympathies lie with poor and working people. He advocates for peace and against corporate power. His poetry has appeared in Verse Wisconsin, Blue Collar Review, Stoneboat, Mobius: the Journal of Social Change, and some other publications. Rumor has it that War and Peace will not accompany him on his upcoming trip to Chile.

Guest Blogger, Sarah Busse: A Was an Apple Pie

Take some time this morning to ponder with poet and Verse Wisconsin co-editor, Sarah Busse, the value of the gift, of giving. Then, today, make it a point to give something to someone. It is all about moving the gift, readers. Try it, you'll like it.

A was an apple pie.

1.

Homemade, given to me by a small group of Fort Atkinson residents who meet once a month to discuss the poems of Lorine Niedecker. They invited me to come lead a conversation around Niedecker’s newly discovered (and as yet uncollected) variant poem, “marriage,” (http://versewisconsin.org/backprint/vw103July2010.pdf). At the end, as I was stacking my papers getting ready to leave, the pie was their way of thanking me for two hours of my time on a sunny February afternoon.

“They paid me with a pie,” I told my husband when I got home. Later, I shared the story with friends, always to the same reaction: surprise, then laughter. Not of derision, but delight, that such a thing could happen in 2013.

Really “paid” is the wrong verb. The pie was a gift. I know that.

And maybe it wouldn’t have resonated quite so deeply if I hadn’t just arrived back from a week-long solitary artist’s retreat, itself a gift of the Council for Wisconsin Writers (http://www.wiswriters.org/) and Shake Rag Alley (http://www.shakeragalley.com/) in Mineral Point. And if I hadn’t, during that quiet week, read a “contemplative biography” of Julian of Norwich, by Amy Frykholm, where I came across this passage, among others:

While large gifts did not come, small ones came every day. Women brought baskets of plums or picked up an extra loaf of bread for her….They brought her nuts and fruit from their trees or dropped pennies in her alms box. During canning time, they brought jam. The women of the church knew that it was their duty to care for her, and her duty to pray for them, so they were careful to provide her with what she needed. It was a relationship, not exactly of obligation, but of intricate mutual support. They believed that Julian’s prayer provided a blanket for them as solid, as necessary, as tangible as their own woolen weavings that hung on her walls to keep her warm.

What I provided that day in Fort Atkinson: attention, thought, experience, enthusiasm, must have been in some way tangible to those sitting in that neighborly living room.

2.

Here is my list of the work I have to do today:

writing time

laundry

read submissions for Verse Wisconsin, the (small) magazine I edit and publish

email my children’s teachers regarding various subjects

help organize a school bake sale

start bread for tomorrow’s supper

clean the kitchen

go through the stacks of paper on the homework table

make supper

help with homework

take son to choir rehearsal and pick up

buy pants for orchestra concert

Not all of these tasks will get done. For one thing, starting this essay will take more of the day than I anticipated—a flexibility a writer must allow for, to the sometimes detriment of her house and other relationships. But the point: none of these tasks will earn me any pay. At 40 years old, every aspect of my life exists outside of the economy. What I do with my life, with my days, has no monetary worth or value, as evidenced by all those zeroes running across the page in my Social Security statement. This is not an easy truth to come to peace with.

But, that apple pie has me reconsidering.

3.

A was an apple pie.

The apple pie was a gift in exchange for the gift I made of my time, which in turn was my gift to them, in response both to the appreciation I have for any group of townsfolk who gather to discuss poetry (a poet is heartened to find such a group anywhere), and also I acted out of gratitude for Lorine Niedecker’s poetry. The poetry group meets because they too feel they have been gifted by Lorine and her poetry. In turn, I drove my pie home, shared it with my appreciative family, and now I share it in a new way here with you, by turning it into this essay. In a gift economy, gifts multiply and there is a sense of plenty, rather than scarcity.

A is the first letter of the alphabet, first step on a writer’s journey. What if I asked you to bring a gift to my next presentation or reading, as exchange, as appreciation? Would it be a homemade blanket, a seashell found on the beach, a bag of rice...what would you bring? And what would your gift tell us about you? What if we became a little vulnerable again to each other?

What if wealth was determined, not by what you could buy or how much you owned, but by what you gave away? By how freely gifts flowed into and out of your life, by your own largesse?

My ideas around these issues are in their earliest stages, but surely this is as good a moment as any for us to begin to restore this idea of gifting each other, as opposed to paying some amount printed across a “money owed” receipt? Now, when we have reduced every resource of the natural world and the human to a bottom line, when we see even water being treated as something one can buy the “rights” to, perhaps this is the right time to look for ways large and (especially) small to restore that sense of “intricate mutual support.” We’re all in this together. What if we woke up each morning and remembered each day is a gift? And what if we listened to Lewis Hyde’s instruction, “the gift must always move.” Meaning, if you receive a gift, you must find a way to pass it, or something comparable, on.

What have you been gifted with today? Which of your gifts will you share?

4.

A was an apple pie, and was delicious. I ate the last piece for breakfast, straight out of the aluminum pie plate, making sure at the end to get every last flake of the pastry with my fork.

Books quoted:

Julian: A Contemplative Biography, by Amy Frykholm

The Gift: Imagination and the Erotic Life of Property, by Lewis Hyde

Sarah Busse is one of two Poets Laureate of Madison, Wisconsin (2012-2016). She co-edits Verse Wisconsin and her first full-length collection, Somewhere Piano, was published in fall 2012 by Mayapple Press (Woodstock, NY). She has been awarded an Edenfred Day Fellow Arts Residency, the WFOP Chapbook Award, the Council for Wisconsin Writers’ Lorine Niedecker Prize and a Pushcart Prize. She teaches at the University of Iowa Summer Writing Festival. While Sarah does not keep a blog (yet), you can see the fruits of her many labors at www.versewisconsin.org

Guest Blogger, Margaret Swedish: Writing at the End of the World

Today, we hear from Stoneboat guest blogger, Margaret Swedish, sharing thoughts on what it means to come to the end of a world.

Some things can only be said adequately in metaphor, in stories or verses that indicate, disrupt the rational mind, switch on a light as the sun sets at the end of day…

            

I write out of a sense of crisis. When I was born, 2.5 billion people lived on the planet. In six decades we have surpassed 7.1 billion, headed to 10 billion by mid-century. Anyone who thinks we can do this, and do it at the level of consumption to which we have accommodated ourselves, is, well, wrong. Something fundamental is occurring. An age of industrial expansion, mastery over nature, and economic growth is coming rapidly to an end.

            

Every day in the work I do I confront this truth. And every day in my writing, I find myself of necessity writing with that in mind, my context, my material, my font. I don’t know how to write anymore without that as my reference point, or at the very least its background noise.

            

I have written stories from my human rights work of the past and my spirituality and ecology work of the present. I write stories of real people; I write descriptions and accounts of real environmental disaster and danger. But often the metaphor or the image is what bursts through to communicate what it is we are all a part of, what we are experiencing right now in our lives and our relationships, the stresses and anxieties of living in such a time, when everything is ferment and change, when old understandings are breaking down.

            

Memoir is its major form now as I trace the multi-generational roots of the Myth of the [Unsustainable] American Dream through the stories of my ancestors and their descendants. I took up poetry recently as a way to hone the writing craft, and then discovered poetry to be a powerful tool for bringing about impasse, that break with the rational mind that feels so necessary now.

            

I felt it after Newtown. I felt it in Oak Creek last August, or in seeing Lower Manhattan under water--what it will be like as things fall apart. And my question: how will we do?

         
Writers need to address these things openly and honestly. Cultural workers have something crucial to offer to the transition time coming, something that could help soften the harsh edges of these difficult times. What we need, I think, is the work that stops the flow of our habitual western mind, the stories, the verses, that bring us back to ourselves, that help us see the way the wind makes a tree bend just so, or how the thick waves under the surface of the lake as they press against the ice floes make them creak and sway (or undulate, one of my favorite words), or the impacts of mining tar sands for oil, or of opening an open pit mine in the north woods. We need culture workers to help us see this future from the vantage point of the little ones who cuddle in our arms and look to us for trust and reassurance that being alive is a good thing.

         
Telling stories, sharing poems and songs, has been part of the human journey since before a word was ever written down. Cultural work taken on in the context of community, and imbued with a commitment to truth, beauty, and hope, will be essential to how we live through and beyond the end of this world, and for indicating just how it is that a new one is emerging.

Margaret Swedish is a writer/speaker currently working on a project called Spirituality and Ecological Hope. She has written two books, Like Grains of Wheat: A Spirituality of Solidarity, about the impact of the Central American solidarity movement on U.S. people of faith, and Living Beyond the ‘End of the World:’ A Spirituality of Hope, which describes the ecological crises unfolding in our times. She is currently working on a multi-generational memoir connecting her deep ancestral/immigrant roots in Wisconsin to the myth of the unsustainable American Dream. Relatively new to poetry, her first published poems appeared in Verse Wisconsin, Vol 110, October 2012. She also blogs about writing at “Swedish in Milwaukee: My Life as a Writer,” (http://milwaukeereflections.blogspot.com/).