Wednesday, December 17, 2014

On another poet's passing, Mark Strand







 December 17, 2014
My first wife, Kathy Fagan, and I were both graduate students at the University of Utah in the early-mid 1980s, and Mark, besides being an exciting and inspiring teacher, was very generous to us. A couple of times we house-sat for him in his big brick house up in the Avenues, not too far from the "Continental College of Beauty, a beauty college about whom he wrote a very lovely, wise, and funny poem. Mark even gave us his hand-me-down car, an old rusty Fiat whose front passenger light was held together with bailing wire. Mark had bought the car from Artist, William Bailey, so it had quite a pedigree, that old Fiat.


Mark was married to Jules then, a big, brassy, filled-with-laughter personality, and he had two of his three children during those years, Tom and Fritha, who were both lovely babies. His other child, Jessica, who was more our ages, also visited him, and we hung out with her a bit, too.


Mark, with his Ferragamo loafers, his exquisite wines, and his Cashmere scarves, jackets, and sweaters, was one of the more fashionable people whom I've had the pleasure to know (He used to joke that Joseph Brodsky told him once, "I have a genius for poetry, Mark, but you, you have a genius for life"), and I'll always remember his generosity (he helped a number of us young poets get published and get our first jobs), as well as his acute intelligence, and his sharp, ironic sense of humor;  however, what I think I'll remember most was a cold late November evening in class when he kept us all spellbound well beyond our ending time as he talked about poems, poets he had known, and poetry. There seemed an almost palpable glow around him then. I saw remnants of that glow at other times, mostly when he read poems or prose -- he published his book of short stories, Mr. and Mrs. Baby during that time, and he was writing for Vogue Magazine then, in what he called his "high style" of prose -- but, for me, the glow was most fiercely bright on that cold late November evening. I feel blessed to have witness it.


The years when I was a graduate student at the University of Utah were filled with poets and writers who went on to make publish books and establish reputations, such as Kathy Fagan, Liza Wieland, Scott Carins, Gail Wronsky, Chuck Rosenthal, and Kevin Cantwell. With the exception of Chuck, who wrote fiction, we were all Mark’s students.  After we graduated and moved on, I didn't see Mark until years later, in the mid--late ought 2000s, at a conference, MLA or AWP, I think. I had grown old and hoary by then, and Mark didn't recognize me when I came up to him. He had to look twice at my name tag, as he exclaimed in surprise at how much the ravages of time changed me. But Mark still looked the same, over twenty years later, just a little craggier around the face is all. And just as brilliant. And that glow was still there. I feel privileged to have known him.

Thursday, October 30, 2014

On Hearing About Galway Kinnell's Passing


October 30, 2014


I just read an e-mail written by an ex-student of mine, in which he announced that the poet Galway Kinnell had just died. Here's what I wrote him back:

Thanks, Tim.

Yeah, I heard about Galway's passing this morning. Sad news, but he had a long life's worth of many beautiful and moving poems. Some of my memories of him:

I remember reading his great book-length poem, The Book of Nightmares, when I was a teenager. I was sitting at my dad's old desk, where he would make his insurance salesman calls. I remember reading parts over and over again, like the end of the poem's first part, "Under the Maud Moon," and then staring awestruck at my dad's lead cards afterward. I'm not sure I had ever encountered language that powerful before.

Part of my undergraduate senior thesis at Reed College was on Galway's work, and he was kind enough to send me a card thanking me when I sent it the finished copy. I still have it somewhere. He wrote that my reading of his work was more erudite than that of many "adult," much more professional critics. I think now that it was his way he was making fun of them.

I also saw Galway read from his work a few times, and he was always a pretty powerful one. Once, when a phone rang in an adjoining room, he revised his poem mid-reading to include a ringing phone. Another time, in Portland, someone fainted in the back of the room while he was reading. He waited patiently, not moving, not saying a word, as the poor fellow was carried away. Then he asked if should start his interrupted poem from the beginning again. I think it was at that reading, when he read the last section of The Book of Nightmares, about the birth of his son, he came to the section about first holding him after he was born:

 

When he came wholly forth

I took him up in my hands and bent

over and smelled

the black, glistening fur

of his head, as empty space

must have bent

over the newborn planet

and smelled the grasslands and the ferns.

 

 It seemed to me that the whole audience rose to our feet as one when we heard that simile.

 

Later on, when I heard Galway read at Columbia in the 1980's when I was a graduate student there, he seemed a bit needy at the time. I remember him looking at me, sitting in the front row off to the side, as if for approval, and then smiling when I nodded my head at him.

I first met him when I was an undergraduate, when he came for a reading at Reed College. He leaned over as he shook my hand, and whispered that James Merrill would like me very much. I read Galway's poem, "The Bear," to my English 2260H (Honors Intro to Poetry) students earlier this semester. Most of them stared at me afterward, looking a bit stunned and silenced by the gravity of its words and music. I don't think they had ever encountered a poem like that, or even knew if this poem, about, among other things, a bear hunter who eats bear turds in order to survive in the Arctic, was even a poem at all. I think now, many weeks later, they know.


And that's the important thing: Galway's poems still live on with us and thrive, even if the poet has passed on.

He will be missed.

Hope you're well, my friend,


Stuart

Monday, April 28, 2014

April 28, 2014


I haven’t posted on this blog for a few months because I’ve been so busy with my novel, Miss Emily Book of Spells, but I just got back from New York City, where I presented a paper to a small but enthusiastic audience at the Transitions and Transactions II Conference, and I thought it’d be a good occasion to break my silence (and I promise, dear readers, to post most often). In spite of an ending to the trip marred by institutional indifference, incompetence, negligence, and even dishonesty on the part of the MTA, which caused my wife and I to miss our flight home, the trip was very successful and very fun.

The focus of the The Transitions and Transactions conference centers on literature and creative writing pedagogies, and its audience is college professors at the community college level, or university professors like me who specialize in undergraduate instruction. My talk, which the chair of my panel, Irwin Leopando, Co-Director of the Composition Program at LaGuardia Community College, described as “beautifully written,” was entitled Later in the Early World: Positing a Changing Role of Poetry and Creative Writing in the Undergraduate Curriculum. Though updated, it’s based on the chapter that my colleague, Terry Hermsen, and I wrote for the International Handbook of Research in Arts Education, and which was published by Springer in 2007. For those in the audience who asked me where they could get a copy of this paper, and for those in the wider world who may be interested, I am pasting in my talk below. I hope you enjoy it.

All best,

Stuart

Later in the Early World: Positing a Changing Role of Poetry and Creative Writing in the Undergraduate Curriculum

Toward the end of his introductory college-level textbook, Poetry the basics, Jeffrey Wainwright notes the “growth of creative writing in all parts of the English curriculum. Its best practice,” he writes, “is always… in concert with reading, and its principal project is… to add an expressive field to study, to enable students to discover the possibilities and the difficulties of working in language, and to understand the process and nature of literary texts by means other than the ‘reverse engineering’ of analysis and criticism” (213).  
This is a good and succinct statement defending the use of creative writing, not as an end in itself so much, but as a process that can actively enable students to enter into, engage, and learn about literary texts in ways that go beyond the traditional pedagogical means that have been the standby of the English curriculum for so long.
But almost fifty years before Professor Wainwright suggested an alternative to the “‘reverse engineering’ of analysis and criticism,” a man named Elwyn Richardson, an educator at a rural school in New Zealand, was already hard at work, or should I say “hard at play,” putting into practice just this sort of alternative pedagogy. In his classic text, In the Early World (1964), Richardson, documenting his work with elementary school age students at Oruaiti School in northern New Zealand in the early 1960’s, seems to have had an intuitive awareness of how creative writing could function in this way in the classroom. He brought poetry back into the hands of his students and linked it to the whole of their study, demonstrating how creative writing can become a bridge for integrating and uniting a whole arts-based curriculum. Not an advocate of “anything-goes-just-express-yourself,” Richardson tried to develop in his students a responsive yet critical eye - for the shape of an argument, a piece of clay pottery, the line of a lithograph, or the turn of a poem that they were studying. Writing became an art and art became a way of making meaning. As such, by placing creative writing at the center of a web linking all of his students’ learning, he anticipated many of the discoveries concerning the impact of the arts on student learning that have emerged in subsequent years.
One of Richardson’s methods was to make a habit of requesting what he called “ten minutes thought writing to a set topic” (p. 108), the strategy of free-writing that scholars like Scott DeWitt have documented as being so important to the invention part of the writing process (DeWitt, 2001). “We found it useful to write about unfamiliar things that were still close enough to our experience to warrant some attention” (p.111), Richardson writes. He describes how one student chose to write about “Feeling a Pine Cone in my Hand” (p. 111), or how others described seagulls or the sounds of engines (pp. 110-111), or the “Warmth of the Kitchen” (p. 108). The same year that Richardson’s book appeared, J.R.R. Tolkien published his now famous essay, “On Fairy-Stories,” in which he explains his notion of “Recovery” (1964, p. 46), one of the “prime values,” he argues, that fairy-stories offer. We “need recovery” (p. 57), he explains. “We should look at green again and be startled anew [….] Recovery […] is a regaining – regaining of a clear view” (p. 57). Recovery is exactly what seems to have been occurring among the students in Richardson’s classroom at Oruaiti School.
Of course, using creative writing as an inherent part of the curriculum did not begin exclusively with Richardson; however he did, at that time, produce one of its most sustainable models. But there were progenitors. Several decades before Richardson, for example, Louise Rosenblatt, who taught English Education at NYU for many years, and before that at Brooklyn College, as way back as 1938 suggested a way of responding to literature that involved a “personal sense” (p. 60), “an unself-conscious, spontaneous and honest reaction” (p. 67). In a similar vein and around the same time, anticipating the metaphor revolution in the late 20th century, in which theorist after theorist, (such as Giles Fauconnier & Mark Turner, 2002; Roman Jakobson, 1971; George Lakoff & Turner, 1989) demonstrated that societies are structured around signs, symbols and embedded meanings, Robert Frost, in his more plain-spoken way, claimed in his essay, “The Figure a Poem Makes”:

Unless you are at home in the metaphor, unless you have had your proper poetical education in the metaphor, you are not safe anywhere. Because you are not at ease with figurative values: you don’t know the metaphor in its strength and its weakness. You don’t know how far you may expect to ride it and when it may break down with you. You are not safe in science; you are not safe in history […]. (p. 39)


Taken together, Rosenblatt and Frost suggest that poetry in particular and creative writing in general can be the vehicle, the medium of expression by which a personal, unself-conscious, honest reader response can be integrated into a “proper poetical education” (Frost, .p. 39),” one which enables us to delight in bodily rhythms that in their roots go back to the heartbeats we first heard in the womb; a process of knowing, and of understanding ourselves and of empathizing with others beyond ourselves; and a metaphorical, attentive way of living more completely in this world and in our experiences past and present. At some level Elwyn Richardson seems to have understood this.
     One of the most valuable aspects of Richardson's work in In the Early World is his demonstration of how the use of creative writing can lead to an appreciation and understanding of other disciplines and vice-versa. after one nature study class, for example, where students wrote short creative pieces about wasps, he concludes: 

Unless the interest had been deep, unless the subject had been followed in fullness, and unless there had been a certain amount of the thrill of achievement through making advances on the basis of certain criteria, the impression, and hence the creative expression, is unlikely to be good. Nor will the process be of interest to them. (1964, p. 168)

Richardson suggests it's a two-way process: Using creative writing helps to enable the "deep interest" into a subjet, which allows it to be "followed in fullness," to the successful outcomes we all wish for in our lessons. Likewise, such engagement leads to greater creative expression in the writing. 
     Others have followed Richardson in the decades after In the Early World’s publication in 1964, writers and teachers who have utilized creative writing in a number of ways to ignite that “deep interest” on the part of students as they engage a particular subject. Christian McEwen and Mark Statman, for example, in their book, the alphabet of the trees: guide to nature writing (2000), provide a comprehensive follow-up to Richardson’s work in nature study. Based on the idea that writing enables the two-way process described above, McEwen and Statman claim that creative writing in the teaching of natural science is a vital activity, since “most students [….] see nature as ‘Other’” (xv). An introductory essay by Gary Snyder suggests a context for the book, an intimate interdependence between the “wild tune” (Frost, 2003, p.984) that Robert Frost claimed poetry to be, and nature: “Wildness […]”, Snyder writes, “the essential nature of nature [can best be articulated in] language [… that] does not impose order on a chaotic universe, but reflects is own wildness back” (p.1). 
Besides being a vehicle to help in the teaching of the natural sciences, another natural ally for creative writing is the teaching of the humanities, of course.  One very productive use has been in the teaching of history. For example, Kane and Rule (2005), writing in the Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, report that “there is a convincing literature base showing that teachers in a variety of content areas [are using] poetry to enrich their curricula” (p.658) and cite as an example one teacher who wrote, “I have found that poetry is a particularly useful and engaging vehicle for revealing the complexities of a historical moment” (p.659). In a similar vein, Cynthia Stokes Brown (1988), in her book, Like It Was: A Complete Guide to Writing Oral History, shows how students might write oral histories and how teachers might assess such projects. Likewise Bill Roorbach (1998), in his book, Writing Life Stories, explains how students can create detailed memory maps of their earliest neighborhoods (pp. pp. 18-34) as they work to uncover and collect material toward the writing of memoirs, and Mary Fortunato Galt (1992), in her book, The story in history (Writing your way into the American experience), uses creative writing to help students enter the lives and times of historical people and events. “When we study history at arm’s length,” she writes, “with more emphasis on facts than on individual human responses [… t]he past remains distant, not quite real, safe.  But when we invite imagination to enter our study of history, we open the door to character, emotion, irony, and the magic of metaphorical language” (p. 165).
            The visual arts are another natural ally of creative writing, and Richardson (1964, pp. 49-70) nicely documented his work in the visual arts over three years at Oruaiti school. At the end of that time he concluded, “I believe that the final success of most of this work came from the forging of a close association of the child’s thinking with some actual experience or observation” (p. 49). What his students were discovering was what Tonya Foster and Kristin Prevallet call, in their anthology of essays of the same title (2002), the “third mind”: “Listening to works of art,” they write in the introduction, “and participating in a conversation with them can produce […] [t]he ‘third mind,’ […] a state in which something new, or ‘other,’ emerges from the combination that would not have come about with a solo act” (p. xv).
An assignment that I’ve developed with Terry Hermsen, a colleague of mine at Otterbein College, called ”X Marks the Spot,” works, I think, in just this way. It’s a writing assignment that asks students to spread out in a gallery space, picking out one of the pieces of art that “hits your eye.” It then asks each student to look at their choice, or a portion of the piece of art for a set length of time, and then to follow a series of writing prompts, such as writing “three lines, 8 words long, each one beginning with the word, It’s’” (encouraging them to feel free to cut out the “it’s later on in revision). The next prompt asks students to write another two lines that begin with the phrase “What I see (or hear, or taste, or smell)…”and then, when they’ve written those lines, to feel free to cut out the “What I see is” or similar type phrase; and then to respond to the piece in terms of opposition, to write the opposite of what they experience as they observe that work of art. Then, on a signal, students are asked to move two pieces of art to the left, say, or to  “Look around and find the ‘piece’ that is most nearly ‘opposite’ the “piece” you just wrote about,” and then another set of writing prompts apply as they respond to this new work of art, and so on.
“X Marks the Spot,” is an assignment in active and engaged observing that not only works when students are collected in a gallery space, however. “Riffing,” that is to say, creatively improvising or changing up an assignment to meet altered pedagogical and rhetorical needs among students in a class, in this case riffing the writing prompts of  “X Marks the Spot,” I have successfully used this assignment not only with my college-level students, but with middle and elementary school students, as well, not only in a gallery, but walking around downtown or in a prairie, or merely sitting in class and rooting about in one of the Norton anthologies. Other colleagues have riffed on this assignment at the college level to teach subjects as diverse as biology and semiotics. It all depends on how you riff the writing prompts.
Likewise, David Morice (2002), in his book, Poetry comics: An animated anthology, also uses the visual arts to teach poetry, by taking well-known poems and resetting them within the field of play of illustrated comic strip panels. One of my colleagues at Ohio State, Nathan Wallace, has used student-created comic strip panels with great success to teach British Literature. The distillation that occurs when students have to choose which particular text and what particular picture should go with that text in a comic book panel, one of a series of such panels that they are creating, encourages, he finds, a level of close reading and engagement with primary texts (Beowulf, say, or a poem by Tennyson, or a scene in a play by Shakespeare) that he’s not easily able to duplicate through other more traditional means of teaching.
In other books (1995, 2001), Morice encourages students to physically play with the materials of language through the use of cut outs and other strategies. Similarly, Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge (1996)  encourages the use of cut-out words, what she calls “creating a wordpool” (p. 10), not only as a way of collecting or “banking” words to come back to and use, but as an aid in the revision process, since the words and phrases, collected on what she calls “word tickets” (p.14), are easy to rearrange.
Wooldridge’s book, Poemcrazy (freeing your life with words), details her experience as a teacher in the California Poets-in the-Schools Program. She finds that “writing poems can help kids shift the way they see themselves” (pp. 97-98), helping them articulate positive self identities. Mark Statman, in his book, Listener in the snow (The practice and teaching of poetry) (2000), has also demonstrated that the use of creative writing in the classroom can help students engage issues such as identity, as well as an understanding and engagement with other cultures, something that Julio Marzán, in Luna, Luna: Creative Writing Ideas from Spanish & Latino Literature (1996) and Lorenzo Thomas, in Sing the Sun Up (Creative Writing Ideas from African American Literature) (1998), have also nicely demonstrated. All of these writers and educators utilize creative writing assignments to help students along paths that lead them to that sense of Tolkienesque recovery, as they “shift the way they see themselves.”
            In his “Forward” to In The Early World, John Melser writes:
In much discussion of teaching there is an assumption that a radical difference of kind exists between work which is variously called ‘creative’, imaginative’, or ‘expressive’ – work which is about children’s feelings and sensations – and, on the other hand, work which is distinguished as ‘factual’ and which concerns the ‘real’ or ‘outside’ world [….] It seems evident from the work at Oruaiti that the distinction has little relevance to the work of children [….] Because the children were not required to make a divorce between the parts of their experience, a divorce hostile to their intuitive grasp or situations, they could bend to their work with an enthusiasm and a degree of concentration which ordinary schooling never touches. (Melser, 1964, pp. v-vi)

Writing fifty years ago, Melser hit the nail on the head. Poetry helps heal this “divorce” between the “imaginative” and the “factual.” And when we use Creative writing exercises and assignments as part of a pedagogy of play to not only to teach students those process-level skills of reading and writing, but also to reinforce knowledge-based skills more broadly throughout the curriculum, to assist us in our goals of helping students to develop, synthesize, and organize thoughts, feelings and understandings about a subject, we are fostering the spirit of Elwyn Richardson, so that this marriage between the “imaginative” and the “factual” can prosper. At the same time, as we move ever later into the early world, we are engaging in that process of recovery, of, to paraphrase Professor Tolkien, regaining of a clearer view, that perspective of openness and receptivity so necessary for productive inquiry at all levels of teaching and learning.
Thank you.

Stuart Lishan, The Ohio State University (lishan.1@osu.edu) 

                                                            Works Cited
DeWitt, S.L. (2001). Writing inventions: Identities, technologies, pedagogies. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Fauconnier, G. & Turner, M. (2002). The way we think: Conceptual blending and the mind’s hidden complexities. New York: Basic Books. Print.
Foster, T. &, and Prevallet, K. (Eds.) (2002). Third mind (Creative writing through visual arts).  New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
Frost, R. (1966). Education By poetry. In H. Cox & E. Lathem (Eds.). The selected  prose of Robert Frost (pp. 33-46).  New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. (Original work published 1931.) Print.
Frost, R. (2003). The Figure a Poem Makes. In J. Ramazani, R. Ellmann, & R. O’Clair (Eds.), The Norton Anthology of Modern and Contemporary Poetry, Vol. 1 (pp. 984-986). New York: Norton. (Original work published in 1939.) Print.
Galt, M.F.  (1992). The story in history (Writing your way into the American experience. New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
Jakobson, R. (1971). Language in relation to other communication systems. In Selected writings, Volume II (pp.697-708). The Hague: Mouton. Print.
Kane, S., & Rule, A. (2004). Poetry connections can enhance content area learning. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 47, 658-669. Print.
Lakoff G., & Turner, M. (1989).  More than cool reason: A field guide to poetic metaphor. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Lishan, Stuart, and Terry Hermsen. “Later In The Early World: The Changing Role of Poetry and Creative Writing in the K-12 Classroom.” International Handbook of Research in Arts Education, Part 1. Ed. Liora Bresler. AA Dordrecht,
     The Netherlands: Springer, 2007. 623-637. Print.
Lishan, Stuart (2012). X-Marks the Spot, wtr. ’09. Retrieved April 18, 2014, from https://carmen.osu.edu/d2l/le/content/10796640/Home?itemIdentifier=D2L.LE.Content.ContentObject.ModuleCO-5366255.
Marzán, J. (Ed.) (1997). Luna, luna: Creative writing ideas from Spanish & Latino literature. New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
McEwen, C., & Statman, M. (Eds.). (2000). The alphabet of the trees (A guide to nature writing).  New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
Melser, J. (1964). Forward. In Richardson, E., In the early world.  New York: Random House. Print.
Morice, D. (1995). The adventures of dr. alphabet: 104 unusual ways to write poetry in the classroom & the community.  New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
Morice, D.  (2001). The dictionary of wordplay.  New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative.
Morice, D. (2002). Poetry comics: An animated anthology: New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative. Print.
Richardson. E. In the early world. New York: Random House. 1964. Print.
Roorbach, B. (1998). Writing life stories (How to make memories into memoirs, ideas into essays, and life into literature).  Cincinnati: Writers Digest Books. Print.
Rosenblatt, L. (1938/1968). Literature as exploration. New York: Noble and Noble. Print.
Statman, M. (2000). Listener in the snow (The practice and teaching of poetry). New York: Teachers & Writers Collaborative. Print.
Stokes, C.L. (1988). Like It Was: A Complete Guide to Writing Oral History. ). New York: Teachers & Writers Collaborative. Print
Thomas, L. (Ed.) (1998. Sing the sun Up (Creative writing ideas from African American literature).  New York: Teachers & Writer’s Collaborative.
Wainwright, Jeffrey. Poetry the basics (2nd Edition). New York: Routledge . 2011. Print.
Wooldridge, S. G. (1996).  Poemcrazy (freeing your life with words).  New York: Three Rivers Press. Print.


Tuesday, January 7, 2014

January 7, 2014

For my current novel project, Miss Emily's Book of Spells, a novel based on the premise that there are magical spells embedded in Emily Dickinson's poems, I've been checking out magic spell websites like www.spellsofmagic.com. This is a cool website for the Wiccan types among us and it has tons of cool spells, like this one that you'd use when you want to conjure and chant up a storm (http://www.spellsofmagic.com/spells/weather_spells/rain_storm_spells/13723/page.html). The instructions ask you to gather in a circle with three of your friends. Specifically, you're supposed to "gather in a circle and visualize what it is that you are trying to accomplish. Keep the image in your mind's eye and say the spell":

We call Emena, Mother of all created.
We call the Wind, Son of our Mother.
We call the Earth, Sister of the wind,
We call the Father, Fire and Soul mate.

Hear us Spirits of the world,
Hear us cry your names.
Let wind and earth meat,
Let a storm spring forth.
We call Wind and Water (repeat this seven times)
Let us meet in perfect harmony,
An it harm none
So mote it be.


The note below the spell mentions that the "name of the Goddess depends on who you see as the Mother Goddess. It was written by a close friend of mine and she preferred the Goddess Emena. I substitute if for Isis."

So that's a pretty cool spell. Only thing, with all due respect to that "close friend" who wrote the spell above, I don't feel or find much magic on those words. Now I fully accept that this could be a failing of my part, magic-challenged as I may be,, but when I compare the magic in the spell above  to the magic that I find in the words of  Emily Dickinson, it's not even close.

For example, here's a storm spell I sculpted  out of Emily Dickinson's poem # 224:

Awful Tempest mash the air -                                                           
Clouds be gaunt, and few -
Black – as of a spectre’s cloak
Hide Heaven and Earth from View!

Creatures chuckle on the Roofs -
Whistle in the air!
Shake your fists -
And gnash your teeth -
Swing your frenzied hair!


Ah, I find much more magic in those strong, active verbs like "mash," "Shake," "gnash," and "Swing," and in those metaphorical "gaunt" clouds, and in that figurative language, "as of a spectre's cloak." For me that's where the magical power in the language lies.

But that's just one spell, you might say. Okay, let's try another. Now that we've conjured up the storm, let's stop it. Here are the full instructions on the spellsofmagic website for stopping a rain storm (http://www.spellsofmagic.com/spells/weather_spells/rain_storm_spells/10418/page.html):
When it is getting dark, Chant this with faith and concentration:

"Gods of power, Gods of might,
I bid you now, stop this plight,
Stop the rain, we need no more,
Let it fall, nevermore."

Put a lot of feeling in stopping rain from falling from the clouds and it will not fall, it will simply move to an area away from where you are and then fall
.

But again, I have to say, with all due respect, compared to the magic I find in Miss Emily's words, this spell for me falls piteously short. Check out this stop-the-rain spell that I sculpted out of Dickinson's poem # 1703:

Wind, draw off                                                                          
Like hungry dogs
Defeated of a bone
Through fissures in
Volcanic cloud --
Yellow lightning shine!


Again, we have that brilliant figurative language, this time of the wind being like "hungry dogs/defeated of a bone." Great! For me there's no contest. When it's magic I need, give me the words of Miss Emily every time!

Wishing you all a wonderful, joyful, healthy, magical, and spell-bindingly beautiful new year!


S.D. Lishan