Art/Literature/Poetry
Jonathan Dodson: Marriage Resources
Rain City Hymnal CD is out at Re:Sound, and on Noise Trade.
Matt Chandler on the role of men
Resurgence (Bob Thune): Is preaching killing your church plant?
Art21 is on Hulu. Episode 1: Art in the 21st Century on "Place."
I was asked a while back to speak at the Band of Bloggers event at The Gospel Coalition conference, which was this month in Chicago. I was happy to go and be one of the eight panel members discussing being "Servants and Stewards" through our blogs. Each panelist was given 7 minutes to answer a particular question on blogging. Mine was "What is the place for art and culture in Christian blogging?" Here's a general outline/recap of my talk. It always comes out differently than I write it down, but should still be helpful. You can also view the handwritten notes from my Moleskine that I used for my talk (page 1, page 2 - page 2 is really my talk outline and page 1 quotes that I referred back to).
---
*As I stood to talk I took a shot at my friend and co-panelist, Justin Taylor, who has yet to spent $9 on a domain name, but still has one of the best read Christian blogs in the universe. Justin, seriously, buy a domain name. :)
Context
1. Art - Beauty -- mention I don't have the time to explain a theology of the arts; assume the audience assumes it (later quotes should be an encouragement to look further into the arts)
2. Blogs -- mention that because we have different kinds of blogs with different purposes (pastor blogs, church blogs, personal blogs, family blogs, resource blogs, etc). I will explain what I do on my personal/pastoral networking blog and let the audience determine how to best blog on art & culture on their blogs.
3. Christians in general -- mention the need to enjoy, support, and create the arts; our blogs are a good place for us to do that
Abraham Kuyper quote, found in Art for God's Sake by Philip Ryken -- "Like God himself, we have 'the possibility both to create something beautiful, and to delight in it.'" - and I add "...on your blog"
Use the quote for a two part outline, in reverse. As we delight in and create art (and blog on it), we encourage others to do the same.
1. To Delight
Someone who delights in the arts is called an arts patron (observer, supporter, advocate). Use the questions from and Tim Keller quote in "Are you a patron?"
Questions:
Have you attended an arts event or venue in the last six months?(live music concert, museum or gallery, play, dance performance, independent film, etc.)
Do you have a favorite art form that you particularly enjoy experiencing and learning about?
Do you occasionally attend different types of arts events/venues, besides your favorite?
Do you have a favorite artist or arts organization whose work you follow closely?
Do you ever spread the word about a particular arts event or artist?
Do you sometimes look through the Arts section in newspapers or magazines?
Have you financially supported an arts organization or artist (outside of purchasing tickets) in the last year?
Do you know an artist, are you involved in his/her life, and are you actively supporting his/her career?
- The more "yes" answers = the better patron. Where there is a "no" it's good to stretch ourselves.
Quote:
"Christians cannot abdicate the arts to secular society. We must consume, study, and participate in the arts if we are to have a seat at the table. Whether it has a religious theme or strikes us as irreligious, we must be patrons if we are to have an impact on how the world interprets and responds to the arts. We cannot be wary, we cannot be afraid, we cannot be self-righteous. Christians must look, listen, read, and experience the arts if we are to lead our culture to renewal." - Tim Keller (via)
*As I mentioned I was going to quote Keller I took a second to mention my Tim Keller Resources page. Then I told the attenders that they received a Tim Keller book in their bags (each received 10 books as a part of attendance). I told them Keller's new book is very short and titled Unfashionable, which includes a lengthy epilogue by Tullian Tchividjian. As you probably know, attenders did get Tullian's book which includes a 3 page forward by Keller. People laughed. [By the way, get Tullian's book. Like it a lot so far. He graciously signed my copy after.]
How I delight in the arts at Reformissionary...
Music Monday: I use my enjoyment of music to fuel a weekly post on music, CD's, music videos, concert experiences, etc. Illustration: recently at the Brandi Carlile concert my wife, Molly, for the first time heard the background singers because she could see them. It was a learning moment for her. Patronage increased her appreciation for and delight in music. Now the CD sounds different to her. As we blog on these kinds of experiences we will encourage others to become a patron and delight as well.
National Poetry Month: Each April I blog on National Poetry Month with numerous poems, poet highlights, videos of poetry readings, etc. We can take advantage of nationally recognized arts emphases to become patrons and to encourage patronage.
2. To Create
"The characteristic common to God and man is apparently that: the desire and the ability to make things up." - Dorothy Sayers in The Mind of the Maker
"The primal artistic act was God's creation of the universe out of chaos, shaping the formless into form; and every artist since, on a lesser scale, has sought to imitate him." - Perrine's Sound and Sense
How I blog on my creation of art at Reformissionary...
Phriday is for Photos: The last few years I have taken up photography. While I've been a little too infrequent in my Friday photographs lately, it's been a staple at Reformissionary for a long time. When I've slacked I've gotten notes from friends and readers mentioning they've missed it. Because I'm creating and blogging my art, my readers have been an encouragement to me to keep creating. And through blogging my photography I hope I've encouraged my readers to create themselves. Actually I can say that I have talked to several readers who have taken up photography because (at least in part) they have enjoyed my Phriday is for Photos posts. [One Band of Bloggers attender talked to me after the event and said he just upgraded from a Nikon d50 to d90, to some degree because of my blog. I'm jealous.]
Conclusion: A quote by Luci Shaw from her chapter "Imagination, Beauty, and Creativity" in The Christian Imagination (Ed. Leland Ryken)
"We were each, in the image of our Creator, created to create, to call others back to beauty, and the truth about God's nature, to stop and cry to someone preoccupied or distracted with the superficial, 'Look!' or 'Listen!' when, in something beautiful and meaningful we hear a message from beyond us, and worship in holiness our creator who in his unlimited grace, calls us to become co-creators of beauty."
Select art/culture websites:
Select art/culture podcasts:
Measuring Cups by Andrew Bird
get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
come to the front of the class and we'll measure your brain
we'll give you a complex, and we'll give it a name
get out your measuring cups and we'll play a new game
can't have the cream when the crop and the cream are the same
liquid or gas no more than the glass will contain
when you talk about the hand of glory
a tale that's rather grim and gory
is it just another children's story that's been de-clawed?
when the tales of brothers Grimm and Gorey have been outlawed
i think they're gonna make you start over
you don't wanna start over
put your backpack on your shoulder
be the good little soldier
take your places now, cause we're all predisposed
measuring cups, play a new game
front of the class, measure your brain
give you a complex and we'll give it a name
when you talk about the hand of glory
a tale that's rather grim and gory
is it just another children's story that's been de-clawed?
when the tales of brothers Grimm and Gorey have been outlawed
so put your backpack on your shoulder
be the good little soldier
it's no different when you're older
you're predisposed
that's all for questions
now, the case is closed
A few days ago on NPR's Fresh Air Terry Gross interviewed Pulitzer Prize winning poet W.S. Merwin. I liked the poems he read. Here's one he didn't read.
For the Anniversary of My Death
by W. S. Merwin
Poets Academy also has a fine collection of short videos where different poets talk about life and poetry, including this one from Merwin...
I posted this during a previous National Poetry Month. As one of my favorite all-time poems I can't help but post it again.
Louis L'Amour was a famous writer offrontier/adventure novels. "An Ember in the Dark" is found in his book of poetry, Smoke From This Altar.
An Ember in the Dark by Louis L'Amour
Faintly, along the shadowed shores of night
I saw a wilderness of stars that flamed
And fluttered as they climbed or sank, and shamed
The crouching dark with shyly twinkling light;
I saw them there, odd fragments quaintly bright,
And wondered at their presence there unclaimed,
Then thought, perhaps, that they were dreams unnamed,
That faded slow, like hope's arrested flight.Or vanished suddenly, like futile fears--
And some were old and worn like precious things
That youth preserves against encroaching years--
Some disappeared like songs that no man sings,
But one remained--an ember in the dark--
I crouched alone, and blew upon the spark
Robert Frost was a wonderful poet. With famous poems like "Fire and Ice" and "The Road Not Taken," we can see why. One of the places I first heard Frost was from the mouth of Ponyboy in the movie The Outsiders. Here's the poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay."
Nothing Gold Can Stay
The poem, "This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams is interesting in itself. It's an apology, sorta. More, it's an explanation of why it's easier (and at times advantageous) to ask forgiveness than permission. It's meant to be playful.
What makes it more fun is how people are responding by writing their own "This is Just to Say" poems. Some of these are highlighted in the recent This American Life radio episode "Mistakes Were Made" which I recommend you check out. The author of the Somewhere in the Suburbs blog has also asked readers to write their own version of the poem.
First, the original poem by William Carlos Williams. Second, my poem, followed by others from elsewhere.
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
My attempt...
I left
an insulting comment
on your
blog
when you
heartily
recommended the new
U2 album
Forgive me
I was already
logged in
and have functioning ears
Two from Kenneth Koch, poet (via)
Last evening we went dancing and I broke your leg.
Forgive me. I was clumsy and
I wanted you here in the wards, where I am the doctor!
(And...)
I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next summer.
I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do
and its wooden beams were so inviting.
Carol (Somewhere...commenter)
I called
your new husband
by the name
of your old boyfriend.
The one
We thought
Would
Marry you.
Forgive me.
He was familiar
So jolly
And easy talk to.
This is also a Music Monday addendum, but whatever. My introduction to Gregory Alan Isakov was last Thursday as he opened for Brandi Carlile. More people need to hear about this guy. I've been listening to him since Thursday and I like his songwriting a lot. Here's good music-based poetry for your Monday night during this National Poetry Month. I found some lyrics for the song with mistakes. Some I could correct, others still may not be perfect. I did my best. Enjoy!
Well, it's 3AM again, like it always seems to be
Driving northbound, driving homeward, driving wind is driving me.
It just seems so funny how I always end up here
Walking outside in a storm while looking way up past the treeline
It's been some time
Give me darkness when I'm dreaming, give me moonlight when I'm leaving,
Give me shoes that weren't made for standing.
Give me treeline, give me big sky, give me snowbound,
Give me rainclouds, give me bedtime just sometimes
Now you're talking in my room, there ain't nobody here
Cause I've been driving like a trucker, I've been wearing through the gears
I've been training like a soldier, I've been burning through this sorrow
The only talking lately is a background radio
You are my friend and I was a saint
And riding that hope was like catching some train
Now I just walk, but I don't mind the rain
Singing so much softer than I did back then
Well the night I think is darker, we can really say,
God's been living in that ocean, sending us all the big waves
And I wish I was a sailor so I could know just how to trust
Maybe I could bring some grace back home to dry land for each of us
Say what you see, you say it so well
Just say you will wait like snow on the rail
Combing that train yard for some kind of saint
Even my own self, it just don't seem mine
Give me darkness when I'm dreaming, give me moonlight when I'm leaving
Give me mustang horse and muscle, oh, I won't be going gentle
Give me slandered looks when I'm lying, give me fingers when I'm crying
I ain't out there to cheat you, see I killed that damn coyote in me
What scholars call an early Christian hymn or poem, Colossians 1:15-20 is a beautiful statement of the lordship and supremacy of Jesus Christ.
I have a wonderful old Baptist Hymnal from the American Baptist Publication Society, printed in 1883. There is a "Certificate" section at the beginning with printed signatures by those who compiled the hymns. It includes several names including John A. Broadus, Basil Manly, and T.T. Eaton. There are over 700 hymns and chants, without music. For Easter weekend I have two hymns for you themed for the weekend: death and resurrection. I do love our great hymn-writing poets of the past and present.
Death
Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?
And did my Sovereign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?
Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! Grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!
Well might the sun in darkness hide,
And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker, died,
For man, the creature's sin.
Thus might I hide my blushing face
While his dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt mine eyes to tears.
But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away,
'Tis all that I can do.
(Isaac Watts, 1707)
Resurrection
The strife is o'er, the battle done;
The victory of life is won;
Oh, let the song of praise be sung.
Alleluia.
The powers of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions hath dispersed
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.
Alleluia.
He closed the yawning gates of hell;
The bars from heaven's high portals fell;
Let hymns of praise his triumphs tell.
Alleluia.
Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee,
From death's dread sting thy servants free,
That we may live and sing to thee.
Alleluia.
(Francis Pott, 1860)
The Writer's Almanac is a daily podcast and NPR radio spot hosted by Garrison Keillor. It's just over 5 minutes a pop with some interesting stuff about writers and the world (birthdays, historical events, etc) explained with writers in mind. Never just a list of facts, Keillor does an excellent job including things worth thinking about. He always finishes with at least one poem. Think of The Writer's Almanac as a kind of 5 minute devotional for writers. If you are a writer or aspire to write one day, I encourage you to follow along with this great podcast.
One fact mentioned in yesterday's podcast is the birthday of author Barbara Kingsolver. I loved the Kingsolver quote Keillor reads about how to improve at writing.
Carl Sandburg's (1916) Chicago Poems is a well known collection of free verse from the Pulitzer Prize winning poet and author. I just picked it up tonight after looking through it a dozen times since moving back to the Chicago area. I'm glad I did. Wonderful stuff.
Here are a few selections (via)...
Crimson
CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold,
Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire.
(A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his
coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows
and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)Fog
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.Chicago
HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight
Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Dana Gioia (a dude) has a wonderful and important essay that I like to point to on National Poetry Month: "Can Poetry Matter?" (found in his book Can Poetry Matter?). I've shortened Gioia's concluding points below, but I wanted to give you a taste here.
...I would wishthat poetry could again become a part of American public culture. I don't think this is impossible. All it would require is that poets and poetry teachers take more responsibility for bringing their art to the public. I will close with six modest proposals for how this dream might come true.
1. When poets give public readings, they should spend part of every program reciting other people's work
2. When arts administrators plan public readings, they should avoid the standard subculture format of poetry only. Mix poetry with the other arts, especially music.
3. Poets need to write prose about poetry more often, more candidly, and more effectively.
4. Poets who compile anthologies—or even reading lists—should be scrupulously honest in including only poems they genuinely admire.
5. Poetry teachers especially at the high school and undergraduate levels, should spend less time on analysis and more on performance. Poetry needs to be liberated from literary criticism. Poems should be memorized, recited, and performed. The sheer joy of the art must be emphasized.
6. Finally poets and arts administrators should use radio to expand the art's audience. Poetry is an aural medium, and thus ideally suited to radio.
It is time to experiment, time to leave the well-ordered but stuffy classroom, time to restore a vulgar vitality to poetry and unleash the energy now trapped in the subculture. There is nothing to lose. Society has already told us that poetry is dead. Let's build a funeral pyre out of the desiccated conventions piled around us and watch the ancient, spangle-feathered, unkillable phoenix rise from the ashes.
Read the rest of Gioia's "Can Poetry Matter?" as well as some of his poetry, at DanaGioia.net. Here's his poem "Insomnia" from Daily Horoscope...
Now you hear what the house has to say.
Pipes clanking, water running in the dark,
the mortgaged walls shifting in discomfort,
and voices mounting in an endless drone
of small complaints like the sounds of a family
that year by year you've learned how to ignore.
But now you must listen to the things you own,
all that you've worked for these past years,
the murmur of property, of things in disrepair,
the moving parts about to come undone,
and twisting in the sheets remember all
the faces you could not bring yourself to love.
How many voices have escaped you until now,
the venting furnace, the floorboards underfoot,
the steady accusations of the clock
numbering the minutes no one will mark.
The terrible clarity this moment brings,
the useless insight, the unbroken dark.
Shel Silverstein's poetry is a lot of fun. Our kids love it, and so do we. We just read tonight through the first fourth of his book Where the Sidewalk Ends because the kids kept asking for another poem, then another, then another. We obliged. We plan on finishing the book all the way through soon and then maybe check out another. Here's the title poem from the book...
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein (online location)
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
He thought to keep himself from Hell
by knowing and by loving well.
His work and vision, his desire
Would keep him climbing up the stair.
At limit now of flesh and bone,
He cannot climb for holding on.
"I fear the drop, I feel the blaze --
Lord, grant thy mercy and thy grace."
Wendell Berry from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997, p108.
It's now a rule. Every year I need to re-post one of my favorite poems, "The Lanyard" by Billy Collins, on the anniversary of my mom's death. That's today. She died in 2007 from cancer at the age of 59. It's not really meant to be a sad poem, though it is now that for me. It's supposed to be sorta funny and insightful, as the video shows.
So here's to your Mom and mine. Video is of Collins reading and the text of the poem is below that.
The Lanyard by Billy Collins
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
Writers on Writing is a favorite podcast of mine in which Barbara DeMarco-Barrett interviews authors, poets, and literary agents on the art and business of writing. Last night I listened to her interview of the American poet Marvin Bell. I really enjoyed it, especially his reading of "To Dorothy," a poem about his wife. Today, as I think about it, it's also a poem about my wife. I love you, sootie.
To Dorothy
Here's a video of Marvin Bell talking about poetry. It's short...
"Goodnight" by David Ferry (via, from the book Of No Country I Know)
Billy Collins is one of my very favorite living poets. His poetry has a beauty and realism to it that seems unpretentious and able to be enjoyed and understood by anyone and everyone. There's too little of that today. He also regularly injects humor, which I find refreshing. I've posted stuff from Collins several times the last few years and I'm sure his name will come up a few times this month.
To start National Poetry Month 2009 I give you a video of the wonderful Billy Collins reading "Litany." You can find this poem in his book Nine Horses and you can read it online at Poetry Foundation...
