When she comes, she is so fragile and pale,
Egg-shell thin, and the whites of her eyes so
Viscous you can see through her. Should you trust her?
Is she an angel or some tricky old ghost?
She kisses your face with the sweetest breath,
And so you dissolve into her and trust in dewdrops,
Tulips, and the crocuses that sit crouched between tracks
Like little bandits ready to jump your train and plunder your heart.
When the rain does come, the long cold days you feared so much,
You feel a wilting, a flagging of your hope. So it wasn't real.
Yes, she's a tricky ghost after all. But don't give her up.
It wasn't the last Spring your heart will ever feel. She'll be back again.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Kate Brown Dies, Aged 45
At approximately 7:40 p.m. tomorrow evening
A strong feeling will come over Kate Brown
And choke her to death. It will be one of those
That sneak up on you even though its been
Lumping in your chest for over a month.
The sob will escape the thorax and hit her brain,
A heartbreak the shape of an aneurism.
It's not as if she didn't feel it coming,
While watering roses or setting the kettle to boil,
But she was drowning in a sea of domesticity
And not a single bystander saw the signs
After they set her afloat in a wooden box
In a sea of lilies to meet what dreams
May come, Michael will button up his blazer,
And return to the office and the solace of his assistant.
The children will set off to conquer the world,
And I will write this poem, to which my professor will reply:
"But where is the situational irony to give it context?"
A strong feeling will come over Kate Brown
And choke her to death. It will be one of those
That sneak up on you even though its been
Lumping in your chest for over a month.
The sob will escape the thorax and hit her brain,
A heartbreak the shape of an aneurism.
It's not as if she didn't feel it coming,
While watering roses or setting the kettle to boil,
But she was drowning in a sea of domesticity
And not a single bystander saw the signs
After they set her afloat in a wooden box
In a sea of lilies to meet what dreams
May come, Michael will button up his blazer,
And return to the office and the solace of his assistant.
The children will set off to conquer the world,
And I will write this poem, to which my professor will reply:
"But where is the situational irony to give it context?"
Monday, March 8, 2010
The "Mycaa" Funding Mess
(WARNING: This is a rant. )
In January I registered for a class through UMUC on post here in Heidelberg. I had been lured by a flyer that said the federal government was granting $6,000.00 to any military spouse who applied for it. Undergraduate or graduate work in any field was fair game. My upstairs neighbor had already applied and been promised the money to complete a grad degree. I thought it was a perfect opportunity to finish up my Bachelor's in English which I have worked on sporadically for years now. The recruiter on post assured me I would be awarded the money, though the website where one enrolls was currently bogged down from so much traffic. This should have been my first clue. Lots of spouses wanted this money. And who wouldn't? Why does the federal government not realize how many people want educational grants? Anyway, about a month into my class, when it came time to pay the bill, and several attempts to enroll in the program had failed, I found out the ugly truth: there was no more money. The mycaa fund had virtually collapsed, and those who were already enrolled in the program were having trouble getting their share of the pie. I had enrolled in my class on false premises and now would have to eat the cost myself.
I'm pissed, people. Google this on the internet and you will find a lot of very angry military wives. I've read threads where wives vent thoughts I've had on many occasions...they go a little like this: Why the hell did I give up my life and my goals for the military? One woman advised other women not to marry into the military until they had accomplished their educational and career goals, because once in, there would be no more opportunities for those things. Another woman responded to her saying this was not fair, she also was disappointed at not being able to pursue her goals, but thankful for the opportunity to stay home and raise her kids while they were young. I see the merits of both these rants. The U.S. military has set up a system of PCS'ing every 2-3 years that allows very little flexibility for service members' families. So far, we have never been stationed in a location that had a university offering a Master's in English. This has been a major source of frustration for me, but I've worked around it by pursuing a Bachelor's as a stepping stone. The mycaa grant felt like a vindication, a pat on the back from the government, an "atta-girl, go for that degree." The disappearance of the grant felt like a slap in the face, like once again I am only a portable part of my military husband's household, and will have to fight an uphill battle to pursue my goals. This is, of course, an emotional response, and anger is one of the most impotent emotions we experience.
I was describing the situation to a wise friend and she said, "When we have a good plan, we expect the world to rally around us in support, but often it doesn't. So now what are you going to do about it?" Let's stop the mully-grubbing, Ladies (or "spouses" of whatever gender). Let's do something about it. Write your congressmen. Fill out the mycaa survey on Facebook. Petition for the grant to be renewed in the new fiscal year (beginning October 2010). Continue to pursue your goals, because nobody else gives a damn, but you do.
As for me, I haven't yet decided if I will take any more undergraduate courses. I've grown a bit tired of intellectual bullying, which is what I tend to do in my little pond. Maybe it's time to be the little fish in the Graduate school pond :) Maybe that won't happen for a couple more years, but at least my mind won't sit fallow. I will continue reading, writing, working and volunteering. Most of all, I won't "say Victim."
In January I registered for a class through UMUC on post here in Heidelberg. I had been lured by a flyer that said the federal government was granting $6,000.00 to any military spouse who applied for it. Undergraduate or graduate work in any field was fair game. My upstairs neighbor had already applied and been promised the money to complete a grad degree. I thought it was a perfect opportunity to finish up my Bachelor's in English which I have worked on sporadically for years now. The recruiter on post assured me I would be awarded the money, though the website where one enrolls was currently bogged down from so much traffic. This should have been my first clue. Lots of spouses wanted this money. And who wouldn't? Why does the federal government not realize how many people want educational grants? Anyway, about a month into my class, when it came time to pay the bill, and several attempts to enroll in the program had failed, I found out the ugly truth: there was no more money. The mycaa fund had virtually collapsed, and those who were already enrolled in the program were having trouble getting their share of the pie. I had enrolled in my class on false premises and now would have to eat the cost myself.
I'm pissed, people. Google this on the internet and you will find a lot of very angry military wives. I've read threads where wives vent thoughts I've had on many occasions...they go a little like this: Why the hell did I give up my life and my goals for the military? One woman advised other women not to marry into the military until they had accomplished their educational and career goals, because once in, there would be no more opportunities for those things. Another woman responded to her saying this was not fair, she also was disappointed at not being able to pursue her goals, but thankful for the opportunity to stay home and raise her kids while they were young. I see the merits of both these rants. The U.S. military has set up a system of PCS'ing every 2-3 years that allows very little flexibility for service members' families. So far, we have never been stationed in a location that had a university offering a Master's in English. This has been a major source of frustration for me, but I've worked around it by pursuing a Bachelor's as a stepping stone. The mycaa grant felt like a vindication, a pat on the back from the government, an "atta-girl, go for that degree." The disappearance of the grant felt like a slap in the face, like once again I am only a portable part of my military husband's household, and will have to fight an uphill battle to pursue my goals. This is, of course, an emotional response, and anger is one of the most impotent emotions we experience.
I was describing the situation to a wise friend and she said, "When we have a good plan, we expect the world to rally around us in support, but often it doesn't. So now what are you going to do about it?" Let's stop the mully-grubbing, Ladies (or "spouses" of whatever gender). Let's do something about it. Write your congressmen. Fill out the mycaa survey on Facebook. Petition for the grant to be renewed in the new fiscal year (beginning October 2010). Continue to pursue your goals, because nobody else gives a damn, but you do.
As for me, I haven't yet decided if I will take any more undergraduate courses. I've grown a bit tired of intellectual bullying, which is what I tend to do in my little pond. Maybe it's time to be the little fish in the Graduate school pond :) Maybe that won't happen for a couple more years, but at least my mind won't sit fallow. I will continue reading, writing, working and volunteering. Most of all, I won't "say Victim."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Whale "Tilikum," age 30
You jump through their hoops
and follow their cues,
You do whatever is asked of you.
Whatever else is a whale to do?
You take a different route through the pool
today, vary the tedium, vary the view.
Nobody asks if it's all the same to you.
Whatever else is a whale to do?
When the hunger struck you deep
to do a different thing, it was a scream
coming from the deepest part of your belly,
It thrashed inside you and you had to feed.
Now they will shake their heads
And wonder why, and if they should exterminate
so massive a beast, or if he should be led
to deep ocean waters and set free.
But you are not that whale,
the one who swims free. You are older now,
and the product of captivity. It has changed you,
You know it well. And yet,
The taste of her blood on your teeth
made you wonder,
Whatever else is a whale to do?
Copyright March 2010
and follow their cues,
You do whatever is asked of you.
Whatever else is a whale to do?
You take a different route through the pool
today, vary the tedium, vary the view.
Nobody asks if it's all the same to you.
Whatever else is a whale to do?
When the hunger struck you deep
to do a different thing, it was a scream
coming from the deepest part of your belly,
It thrashed inside you and you had to feed.
Now they will shake their heads
And wonder why, and if they should exterminate
so massive a beast, or if he should be led
to deep ocean waters and set free.
But you are not that whale,
the one who swims free. You are older now,
and the product of captivity. It has changed you,
You know it well. And yet,
The taste of her blood on your teeth
made you wonder,
Whatever else is a whale to do?
Copyright March 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
My German Life: Karneval in Köln
.
It's the fifth season in Germany: the time for revelry, the time when we shake off our winter's sleep and comfort each other with a kiss, a promise, that Spring will come again and this snow on our hearts won't last forever.
Americans have very little familiarity with carneval, unless they've read about it in The Count of Monte Cristo or visited New Orleans for Mardi Gras. I grew up very near New Orleans but we always avoided visiting during Mardi Gras due to its reputation for wildness. When we planned to go to Cologne (Köln is the German spelling) for Carneval, or "Fasching" as it is called here in Baden-Württemburg, we worried this would not be a kid-friendly celebration. We weren't too keen on the idea of our children being exposed to breast-flashing or all-out mob debauchery. I am happy to say we were pleasantly surprised; Cologne's pre-Lenten celebration is exactly what it should be: a colorful light-hearted salute to culture and tradition. Carneval is similar here to the festivals in Italy, where revelers wear costumes and party hard before the fasting season of Lent arrives. Not being Catholic, I enjoyed the partying without having to worry about the fasting! Cologne was filled with fresh brew on tap, the local specialty being Kölsch, which is one of the best beers I've tasted in Europe. Street vendors sold us hot kartoffel salat (potato salad) and bratwurst and pommes frites, typical German food that hits the spot. Everyone, and I do mean, EVERYONE, was in costume. If you weren't, you looked like a tourist who accidentally got off the train at the wrong place. We bought some random wigs, hats, face-paint and accoutrements from street vendors and joined in the fun. Fasching begins a week before Ash Wednesday, so by the time we arrived on Sunday, festivities were in full swing. The main event in Cologne is the parade on Rosenmontag (Rose Monday), though we stumbled upon a smaller parade replete with candy and flower-throwing on Sunday when we arrived by train. Sunday night the pubs were wonderfully jolly, filled with revelers singing German songs and dancing when the mood struck. We loved the happy atmosphere which was surprisingly free of any sort of violence or indecency; these were merely very happy drunken Germans. We never feared for our kids at the amazingly LONG parade on Monday, the locals allowed our kids to push to the front of the line and enjoy an unimpeded view of the floats and bands. They would help our kids catch candy and then stuff it into the hoods, pockets and fronts of our kids coats! (Mental note: always bring a bag to hold all the candy, toys and flowers thrown to the crowd) After a while, the kids tired of the craziness and biting cold and we were forced to retreat to a cafe for cappucinos and gelato. Large amounts of alcohol are a necessity to sustain persons when standing outside in zero degree (Celsius) weather; our kids were definitely feeling the cold of the inches of snow piled up everywhere. The revelers wore a lot of clothing or very little, it mattered not, they were happy, they were scaring away the Schaiachperchten, or evil winter spirits, and saying goodbye to the Rauhnächte (rough winter nights).
We highly recommend carneval to all, unless you are offended by public drunkenness or anxious in large crowds! We were glad we went, though going sans children would be ideal. Thankfully, our friend, "Uncle" Larry was along for the ride and he helped us navigate the craziness and not lose any kiddos or bags!
Traveling back to Heidelberg by train, I stared out at sleepy snow covered fields and marveled at the beauty. Travel by train is such a romantic experience. Maybe I feel this way because I grew up watching films like Murder on the Orient Express and Night Train to Kathmandu, or as an adult, seeing Trans-Siberian. Scary things happen on trains, but magical things happen too, and I encourage everyone to travel by train some, for it gives you a perspective of the countryside that is hard to get any other way. Our train snaked along the Rhine for many miles, giving us stunning views of snow capped castles perched above the famous river. I felt transported; literally and figuratively :) The Rauhnächte was becoming lovely to me, finding its way into my heart, and I didn't wish to be anywhere else, Spring could come when it pleased.
It's the fifth season in Germany: the time for revelry, the time when we shake off our winter's sleep and comfort each other with a kiss, a promise, that Spring will come again and this snow on our hearts won't last forever.
Americans have very little familiarity with carneval, unless they've read about it in The Count of Monte Cristo or visited New Orleans for Mardi Gras. I grew up very near New Orleans but we always avoided visiting during Mardi Gras due to its reputation for wildness. When we planned to go to Cologne (Köln is the German spelling) for Carneval, or "Fasching" as it is called here in Baden-Württemburg, we worried this would not be a kid-friendly celebration. We weren't too keen on the idea of our children being exposed to breast-flashing or all-out mob debauchery. I am happy to say we were pleasantly surprised; Cologne's pre-Lenten celebration is exactly what it should be: a colorful light-hearted salute to culture and tradition. Carneval is similar here to the festivals in Italy, where revelers wear costumes and party hard before the fasting season of Lent arrives. Not being Catholic, I enjoyed the partying without having to worry about the fasting! Cologne was filled with fresh brew on tap, the local specialty being Kölsch, which is one of the best beers I've tasted in Europe. Street vendors sold us hot kartoffel salat (potato salad) and bratwurst and pommes frites, typical German food that hits the spot. Everyone, and I do mean, EVERYONE, was in costume. If you weren't, you looked like a tourist who accidentally got off the train at the wrong place. We bought some random wigs, hats, face-paint and accoutrements from street vendors and joined in the fun. Fasching begins a week before Ash Wednesday, so by the time we arrived on Sunday, festivities were in full swing. The main event in Cologne is the parade on Rosenmontag (Rose Monday), though we stumbled upon a smaller parade replete with candy and flower-throwing on Sunday when we arrived by train. Sunday night the pubs were wonderfully jolly, filled with revelers singing German songs and dancing when the mood struck. We loved the happy atmosphere which was surprisingly free of any sort of violence or indecency; these were merely very happy drunken Germans. We never feared for our kids at the amazingly LONG parade on Monday, the locals allowed our kids to push to the front of the line and enjoy an unimpeded view of the floats and bands. They would help our kids catch candy and then stuff it into the hoods, pockets and fronts of our kids coats! (Mental note: always bring a bag to hold all the candy, toys and flowers thrown to the crowd) After a while, the kids tired of the craziness and biting cold and we were forced to retreat to a cafe for cappucinos and gelato. Large amounts of alcohol are a necessity to sustain persons when standing outside in zero degree (Celsius) weather; our kids were definitely feeling the cold of the inches of snow piled up everywhere. The revelers wore a lot of clothing or very little, it mattered not, they were happy, they were scaring away the Schaiachperchten, or evil winter spirits, and saying goodbye to the Rauhnächte (rough winter nights).
We highly recommend carneval to all, unless you are offended by public drunkenness or anxious in large crowds! We were glad we went, though going sans children would be ideal. Thankfully, our friend, "Uncle" Larry was along for the ride and he helped us navigate the craziness and not lose any kiddos or bags!
Traveling back to Heidelberg by train, I stared out at sleepy snow covered fields and marveled at the beauty. Travel by train is such a romantic experience. Maybe I feel this way because I grew up watching films like Murder on the Orient Express and Night Train to Kathmandu, or as an adult, seeing Trans-Siberian. Scary things happen on trains, but magical things happen too, and I encourage everyone to travel by train some, for it gives you a perspective of the countryside that is hard to get any other way. Our train snaked along the Rhine for many miles, giving us stunning views of snow capped castles perched above the famous river. I felt transported; literally and figuratively :) The Rauhnächte was becoming lovely to me, finding its way into my heart, and I didn't wish to be anywhere else, Spring could come when it pleased.
To Virginia
You want to be more than the sum of your parts,
For your pain to be art and your thoughts, revelations,
O but Virginia, you are not! You are not!
You want to rise above the dunes and the common colors
And see what others do not see, translate it to poetry
Yet every word is the product of you: queer, depressive,
Bitter and guarded. It's not that you didn't fly away
From your pain for some hours, some few.
Dedalus-like you gave your vision shape, but like him
The migration was seasonal, doomed for a fall,
For a river and rocks, for a slow bubbling dress
And the note for Leonard. God save him! He was good to you.
It wasn't enough, no one can say why.
As your body disentangled itself from your will,
swam for the surface and your thoughts were suddenly
still, I wonder: was there a God waiting to receive you?
Would that relieve you?
For your pain to be art and your thoughts, revelations,
O but Virginia, you are not! You are not!
You want to rise above the dunes and the common colors
And see what others do not see, translate it to poetry
Yet every word is the product of you: queer, depressive,
Bitter and guarded. It's not that you didn't fly away
From your pain for some hours, some few.
Dedalus-like you gave your vision shape, but like him
The migration was seasonal, doomed for a fall,
For a river and rocks, for a slow bubbling dress
And the note for Leonard. God save him! He was good to you.
It wasn't enough, no one can say why.
As your body disentangled itself from your will,
swam for the surface and your thoughts were suddenly
still, I wonder: was there a God waiting to receive you?
Would that relieve you?
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Unbearable Lightness
Friend, you are asking me if what you've done is all right:
To hold her and love her flesh as if it is life's last air
But to have her heart wrapped around you only for one night?
And I'm stumbling to an answer in my own heart
I'm hem-hawing between the see-saw of wrong and right.
Meanwhile, I've got a kitchen to clean and boys to feed,
And my son's blankie to launder before the dark night.
When I hand him the warm rag he clasps it tight and thanks me.
He doesn't know it's my heart wrapped in that clean lovey.
Some day, when he's a man, I hope we can talk. Honestly.
I hope when he holds a woman that he'll know he can ask me
About the things he can't distinguish in her eyes.
I hope he will understand when I tell him the truth about one night.
She might taste like the last drop, she might take you out of yourself
And fly you out of your desert place for clean air, for forever.
She might be your one and only taste of heaven.
O Friend, you are asking me, but I don't think you want the answer.
To hold her and love her flesh as if it is life's last air
But to have her heart wrapped around you only for one night?
And I'm stumbling to an answer in my own heart
I'm hem-hawing between the see-saw of wrong and right.
Meanwhile, I've got a kitchen to clean and boys to feed,
And my son's blankie to launder before the dark night.
When I hand him the warm rag he clasps it tight and thanks me.
He doesn't know it's my heart wrapped in that clean lovey.
Some day, when he's a man, I hope we can talk. Honestly.
I hope when he holds a woman that he'll know he can ask me
About the things he can't distinguish in her eyes.
I hope he will understand when I tell him the truth about one night.
She might taste like the last drop, she might take you out of yourself
And fly you out of your desert place for clean air, for forever.
She might be your one and only taste of heaven.
O Friend, you are asking me, but I don't think you want the answer.
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