CONTEMPLATING THE NEXT MOVE IN MY JOB HUNT

1. Education X

2. Teaching Credential X

3. Killer Resume X

4. Apply for every opening I find X

5. ?

A NEW ANTHOLOGY, A NEW FRIEND

I found a new collection of poetry, which has me captivated. It is kind of like meeting your neighbor over the back fence, and starting to get to know her.


The depth of the relationship depends on the amount of effort you are willing to put into it, and this one is well worth the effort.


The whole world "knows" what these women think, need, and should be about. So it is both refreshing and imperative to hear from their own voices.


The Poetry of Arab Women

"Although the poems vary in style and scope, there is nevertheless the feeling that this volume begins to give voice to Arab women poets, an often-unheard group."
Handal, Nathalie, ed. The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary Anthology (2001).

It was not easy to find information on many of these gifted poets, a situation I hope changes soon. One example:

Naomi Shihab Nye

Nye gives voice to her experience as an Arab-American through poems about heritage and peace that overflow with a humanitarian spirit. About her work, the poet William Stafford has said, "her poems combine transcendent liveliness and sparkle along with warmth and human insight. She is a champion of the literature of encouragement and heart. Reading her work enhances life."

The Poetic World of Naomi Shihab Nye
Naomi Shihab Nye: A Bill Moyers Interview
Naomi Shihab Nye, Children's books
Interview with Naomi Shihab Nye
Books by Naomi Shihab Nye
Naomi Shihab Nye: Award-winning Poet, Writer, Anthologist, and Educator

Letter from Naomi Shihab Nye, Arab-American Poet:
To Any Would-Be Terrorists

Truth Serum
- Naomi Shihab Nye

We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.

Pinched a scent of night jasmine billowing off the fence,

popped it right in.

That frog song wanting nothing but echo?

We used that.

Stirred it widely. Noticed the clouds while stirring.

Called upon our ancient great aunts and their long slow eyes

of summer. Dropped in their names.

Added a mint leaf now and then

to hearten the broth. Added a note of cheer and worry.

Orange butterfly between the claps of thunder?

Perfect. And once we had it,

had smelled and tasted the fragrant syrup,

placing the pan on a back burner for keeping,

the sorrow lifted in small ways.

We boiled down the lies in another pan till they disappeared.

We washed that pan.

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Truth Serum” from You and Yours. Copyright © 2005 by Naomi Shihab Nye. Reprinted with the permission of BOA Editions Ltd., www.boaeditions.org.

Source: You & Yours (2005)

I'M THINKING OF TAKING A ROAD TRIP

. . . you with me?

Carpe Diem

It Is Said That Dead Poet's Society's John Keating Was The Kind Of Teacher Robin Williams Wished He'd Had In School.

O Captain, My Captain
- by Walt Whitman

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

RAIN BEFORE DAWN

©2006 Colin King

RAIN BEFORE DAWN
F. Scott Fitzgerald

The dull, faint patter in the drooping hours
Drifts in upon my sleep and fills my hair
With damp; the burden of the heavy air
Is strewn upon me where my tired soul cowers,
Shrinking like some lone queen in empty towers
Dying. Blind with unrest I grow aware:
The pounding of broad wings drifts down the stair
And sates me like the heavy scent of flowers.

I lie upon my heart. My eyes like hands
Grip at the soggy pillow. Now the dawn
Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse
Of night; lead-eyed and moist she straggles o'er the lawn,
Between the curtains brooding stares and stands
Like some drenched swimmer -- Death's within the house!

Yes, Another Discovery

I discovered something wonderful.

On sleepless nights, when my mind races and I have to get out of bed so my poor husband can sleep, I can put together hundreds of blog posts and schedule them for when I can't lift a finger to blog. Well, maybe not hundreds, but you get my drift.

And the real point is that when ever I get an idea I can work on it, and if I get a slew of them, none need be lost. What a tragedy that would be.

And yes, I am addicted to Lolcats. They're actually quite adept bloggers and web surfers. I could learn a lot from them.

THERE JUST ISN'T ENOUGH POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT THESE DAYS

'FOOD' FOR THOUGHT

There are some credible arguments on opposite sides:
Science News
Renewable Fuels association
Scientific American
Earth Policy Institute