Movies & Poets

Just enjoyed a lovely visit from my absolutely better half's younger brother & his significant other. Relaxed & laid back, everyone just needed down time so DVDs were the best entertainment. I hauled out our films about poets + one policeman: From Hell, the story of the search for Jack the Ripper. A lot of research behind the story but the conclusion was just one of many possibles. Very convincing though. We didn't have time for The Raven but it's a big favorite of mine. Nobody knows how Edgar Allan Poe died & the movie's solution is not the least bit convincing, but suspenseful good fun. Somewhere in the literary oversoul Poe is high-fiving all those minor writers who will never be portrayed by John Cusack.

   We saw Finding Neverland too, where J.M. Barrie, who wrote Peter Pan, takes the beauteous form of Johnny Depp. (A bit of a switch for Depp from the psychic cop in From Hell.) Both Edgar Allan Poe & J.M. Barrie were - by our standards - little squirts. Johnny Depp is middle sized, John Cusack very tall dark & handsome. (Off the subject - Michelangelo was an even littler squirt & I have never forgiven 20th Century Fox - Hollywood at its worst - for casting that  big dumb moose Charlton Heston to play him in The Agony & the Ecstasy in 1965.) Depp & Cusack are terrific as Barrie & Poe. So is Ben Whishaw as John Keats in Bright Star. He actually looks a bit like  Keats & is properly small, pale & delicate. Who else could you cast in that role? He reads the poetry beautifully too. Made me want to read it all again. I haven't seen Howl, but more of same - James Franco as the young Allen Ginsberg. Maybe Ginsberg was handsome when young, but I remember him as fat & hairy; gross-looking, no matter what you thought of his poetry. James Franco looks yummier than spaghetti carbonara & soulful as well.

You know, I really love it that poets & writers get movies made about them with gorgeous intelligent hunks leading the cast. High five, Edgar; 2 thumbs up, J.M.; ooooh John; what a hoot, Allen! There are all sorts of heroes & now even movie studios have figured it out. Who's next? I suggest Eric Bana as James Joyce in The Dubliner. What a cool mix of dialects. I can hardly wait.

Help the men!

     My center recently scored 2 fair-sized bags of money to fund programs for women. One is just for a weekend trip (to a Boy Scout cabin) for women & children - Danish & immigrants - who cannot afford a summer holiday. We have done this 3 times before & it's a big success.

The other is more serious: a 2-year program called Woman, Your Life is in Denmark. The goal of this program is to bring immigrant women out of their isolation & into activity, a network of new friends & new skills - like just taking the city bus alone. Too many immigrant women, especially from small immigrant groups from Asia & the Middle East, have such a strong wish to get back to where they came from that they are in denial. Almost total denial. The 2 most common ideas are

1. just a few years, then husband will earn enough money to move back home & buy a new house or

2. just a few years & the political situation will change so we can go home to the house we left ...

away from rain rain rain, cold dark winters, a difficult language & people whose idea of humor is giving each other a hard time. They usually end up in a Danish nursing home many years later with their non-existent Danish & sorrow because their children are busy westernized adults with no wish to install old mum in the extra room.

    Most of us working on this program are well-integrated immigrant women + the odd token Dane. How I hope we succeed & reach a large group. Ours is one of many programs for immigrant women all around - you might have heard of one or 10. I sure have, but I know of exactly one (1) program for men in the same group. Some years ago I taught Danish to immigrants as a semester substitute because their teacher - male - had a workshop class where the language teaching was part of a practical course with carpentry & general do-it-yourself skills in focus.

      We need more like that. A lot more.

      It's easy to feel sympathy & want to help women from macho societies, lack of education & skills, low status & often tyrannical husbands. Just as easy to despise the husbands, the bullies, big jerks, big jokes in the eyes of westerners. Why can't they see our way is a lot better since they all want to charge right up here & make a buck? If they can't figure it out why don't they get their sorry asses back where they came from? Not even their children can respect them when they grow up.

        Right - & neither can I. But ... I can see why they don't have a clue, feel terrified of losing all their status & respect - like the Burmese refugee who was told hitting children is illegal here.

       "How will I keep discipline?" he asked. A smack was the only method he'd ever heard of. Big jerk, big joke ...

      Many refugee women who come alone with or without children beg for a women's only asylum center. I'll say I can understand their wish, but also why it will never happen. Then the men would be even more of a problem, say the authorities. Help ...?

      The problem will never be solved until both sides get our attention. Anybody can figure that out, not? It's just so much easier to concentrate on the women, the repressed ones, the ones who don't make a fuss & admit they need help. Easier, yes, but I think their men need it more now. The ones with jobs do have that status & work is a terrific way to promote integration. Sports likewise, & school, but immigrant girls do a lot better than boys in school so there's one more area of insecurity & loss of status for many men.

      Don't know what to call a helpful program. Man, Get Your Head Out & Stop Acting like a Jerk would be tempting, but don't think many would sign up. Uh ... Man, Guide to Success in (fill in the blank) Society. That might work. Something has to, or else. Male teachers, coaches & pedagogues GOOD IDEAS PLEASE!

Oh, Mother-in-law(s)

Oh mother-in-law, sweet mother-in-law,

Forgive me for being so petty.

My baby son is 3 hours old

And I hate his wife already.

Author unknown; I read that in a women's magazine 100 years ago & thought it was funny, but I was young & had no experience. Thought of it just now because I've been having some fun with poetry - sublime & sappy - in my last posts. I am happy to say it is NOT the case with me & my oldest son's wife (but is she really good enough for him?) & certainly was not the case with my own mothers-in-law. Mea culpa - I've had 3. Two now deceased & I hardly ever see the first one because she lives in Tucson & we don't have a lot in common anyway.

     Mothers-in-law are very important when you move abroad & marry a native. Families-in-law generally, but especially mum. One of my friends married a single mother's only son, won the ongoing struggle after many years but it sounded exhausting. My first Danish mother-in-law was a wonder of sweetness & support, even though I often felt like Motor Mouse bursting into Bambi's quiet clearing; there was such a difference between my American decibel level & the Jutland reserve. We stayed friends long after her son & I called it quits & found better replacements. I loved my next, longest lasting mother-in-law dearly, but I was glad she wasn't my mother. (They did have a fair amount in common.) She was interesting, inspiring even, entertaining for sure, noisy, excellent company for adults. When I made the move to Denmark I also made the entirely bratty statement that now I was a suitable distance from my mother, but I wised up & got more tolerant when I became a mother myself. That does tend to happen, not? You say - if you're like me - "I'm sure not going to ........... (fill in the blank with whatever mom did that drove you right around the bend) .......... when I have kids!" Right. I didn't either - I just did other original stuff that was equally irritating. At least I said I'm sorry.

      My mother-in-law never ever said she was sorry. She DID often say outrageous things straight out, things that could really hurt, but somehow she always got away with it. Somehow it never seemed malicious; it was just the way she saw things. It was of course very funny when it was aimed at somebody else or at herself, not so much when it came straight at me or mine - especially my husband, her son, who I always defended when she criticized him because he seldom gave her any sass, conditioned as he was from childhood & a mild nature generally.

      But ... I do the very same thing & get away with it too - time & again.  There's a trick to that but I can't really say what it is because I/we aren't/weren't tricky. If we were it wouldn't work. We're not 'cute' either, but must be somehow appealing, not often negative & also appreciative of the good stuff in others. We dare say nice things straight out too. Maybe that's the secret. Older & wiser, sure, but like mother-in-law I seem doomed to be "spontaneous" until I gasp my last - silently, I hope. What if I blat out some ancient secret that's best kept secret? (Do I even have one?) A lot of people do that. It makes for interesting books & movies, but has to be major trauma for whoever hears it. Then they can't apologize because they're dead. It's important to apologize when you really step in it. I didn't apologize for the worst thing I've ever said, but wish I had. That arrow landed smack in my mother-in-law's heart. All wide-eyed & only the tiniest trace snarky, I asked her what possessed exactly her to have 6 children (with 2 men). I really was curious; couldn't figure it out at all. It's the only time I ever saw her at a loss for words. She looked everywhere but at me & then answered, "Uhhh, everyone else was having children, & it went quite all right". (Alle andre fik børn, og det gik da meget godt.)  I only realized later what a rotten thing that was to say, but she forgave me before I realized I needed forgiving. She was generous & we loved each other best. She also loved me for loving her big gangly son. Two scrappy bats joined the same belfry. And then, after she died, my husband & his sister figured out what possessed her & it was not mother love - but that's another story. 

They were also environmental back in the day ...

Lovely summer so for some reason thinking of silly poetry from my childhood & youth.

Author unknown from an anthology for kids:

I love the good old world, I do.

I sing its praise in song & sonnet.

Strange it's not a whole lot worse,

With everybody picking on it.

That about says it today, not? Then there's that classic of sappiness & inverted tree-anatomy that we all had to study in grade school: Joyce Kilmer's TREES, which starts

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; It gets even dumber because if the tree's mouth is at the bottom, that "nest of robins in its hair" must be pubic hair, since apparently the tree is standing on its head on Mother Nature's boobies. You don't think about that stuff in 4th grade, but the sappiness comes through & we all ran around making up parodies (which I have mercifully forgotten). But what can you expect from an unfortunate whose mommy named him Joyce? He is at least modest enough to admit, "Poems are made by fools like me". I do remember the brilliant poet of silliness Ogden Nash's inspired take: The Song of the Open Highway I think that I shall never see A billboard lovely as a tree. In fact, unless a billboard falls, I shall not see a tree at all. Ah yes, they were also environmental back there in the 50s when we thought it was all about progress & earning a bundle after the war. Which inspires me to compose my own poem, on the subject of the TV programming here in Denmark. Meaning no disrespect for the brave soldiers & civilian sufferers of that colossal tragedy, but: I think that I shall never see The final documentaree About horrific World War II, But think it's about time, Don't you?

Granny again

Granny again - this time it's number 5. Good number. My daughter is the mum-to-be. Even better. I thought she had decided not to have children; she thought I would not approve if she got going any earlier.

    WATCH WHAT YOU SAY TO YOUR KIDS - you never know how your words will be taken. But ultimately the kids do what they want & that is just as it should be.

    Now the words have been said & the baby is on the way. My first thought was, "Yikes - I'm going to be an old granny," my second was pure elation & that's still IT.

    We live in the best & the worst of times. Our poor old earth groans under the weight of us all; we're changing the climate, chopping down the forests & overfishing the oceans. And we know it. So we are also recycling paper, metal & general garbage, replanting the forests & imposing some stiff environmental standards on shipping & fishing. Young people can't be bothered to remember anything by heart because they go around wired to their smartphones & computers, but Avaaz can collect a million signatures to let politicians & law enforcement - most recently India's new prime minister, who is not too concerned about gang rapes - know they can't hide anymore & just-plain-people power can unseat tyrants too. Not every time, for sure - check out Syria - but before everybody got connected it was almost never.

    It's the best & worst world our grandchildren take over, but they know more than ever before & when they have wonderful parents they will be empowered & ready. (The ones with rotten parents will be part of the problem, as always, but there is more effort to help now.) That's how I see it - even though I'm a granny who tends to worry. On the other hand, is there any other kind? There is still no finer word than "grandparent".

Shop second hand - 2: Garden Aid

Little feathered swine. Since our cat passed on around 2008 we have a lot more birds in the yard & we love that. We enjoy watching them & we feed them all year. I tell them "howdy" when I come out in the mornings & they don't even seem frightened. Why then, must the blackbirds ravage my new planted seeds & sprouts? Okay - because that's their nature, of course, & it looks like a lot more fun to freak out birdbrain style & toss the dirt all around than to politely peck at what's in the feeding bottle or on the ground. Talk about down & dirty - they almost burrow into the boxes & patches, even pull up my baby spinach. Spinach! Blackbirds! I never knew they had those appetites.

The long & short of it is, the seedlings need shelter. I always shop second hand, so off I went. Had to go 3 places before I found a great big lace curtain for 30 Dkr. or about $5. I am sure that's a lot cheaper than anything they would sell off a roll in a garden center or hardware store. I cut off big strips & covered 2 beds plus 2 flowerboxes. There is still plenty left. It looks appealingly tacky - big lace flowers among the real flowers - & it does the job.

So there it is again. SHOP SECOND HAND  & do our earth a favor. It saves money & I suspect I am the only gardener on my street with a lace curtain doing bird duty. Silly - absolutely - but it IS kind of fun to be the one with the good ideas, not? Especially at this age. Creativity counts, besides which, I have never grown my own spinach before. No blackbird is going to spoil that!

Poetry for May

Here's a little poetry to celebrate the arrival of May; 2 poems by 2 poets I go back to again & again, but it was not always thus.

        I fell for Robert Browning as a teenager in high school & Pippa's Song was most likely the poem that did it. Moving on, I wrote my university thesis on his dramatic monologues, the ones where the speakers are Italian renaissance artists - Fra Lippo Lippi & Andrea del Sarto. Checked out their lives & paintings too, so the title was something like Browning as Art Critic. He was an astute critic as well as brilliant poet with an understanding of & affection for humanity & its little ways. I appreciated his own love story, the way he spirited his true love away from her domestic prison & off to Italy where they lived, thrived, reproduced & wrote, but ...

       Elizabeth Barret Browning's poetry did not move me. Her poems seemed either self-consciously pathetic or plain sappy. The sonnet below headed the second category. I would never slip it into my own true love's valentine; it was too much, too sentimental, too quasi-religious, too - sappy. I said that to my teenage sweetheart's darling mother, who was an older lady & a teacher.

        "Honey," she protested, "That girl was in love!"

        Well, that much was obvious & did not change sappy.

Here they are, his & hers, wonderful. As for Pippa's Song, yes, I still believe God's in his heaven but would hardly claim All's right with the world. It isn't. It can look that way on a lovely breezy day in May in a country where most people are quite all right, thank you, or at any rate can choose their own direction to a very great degree. That is not the way most of the world is.

       Sonnet XLIII (From the Portuguese) expresses a love as passionate as childhood faith that yet might have been lost with childhood's lost saints. Wow! That moves me now. I had to reach a certain age & also, of course, a long running relationship - otherwise it was just another love poem. Wouldn't it be nice to maintain our childhood faith unquestioned? It would, but don't know anyone who has; I sure haven't. Some saints got lost, though God's in his heaven (doing what, forcryingoutloud?). Some saints stay to call on when all is not right with the world (but they can't change it). Both things must be accepted, thought through, wrestled with even. Wouldn't it be nice if love had only ups & no (crashing) downs? We think so, but maybe that would just be boring. It can last - that's the thing - & now I can love Elizabeth as much as I do her husband.

           Enjoy the poetry. It doesn't get better than this:

 Song from Pippa Passes - Robert Browning

The year's at the spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearl'd;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in his heaven;

All's right with the world.

Sonnets from the Portuguese, XLIII  - Elizabeth Barret Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.