Good Reads: Lit by Mary Karr

So, I've been marginally more preoccupied since classes began on Monday, but I haven't forgotten my love for good literature.  Which is why I'm about to begin a new recurring theme here at Rare View Me.  I am an avid reader and occasionally I stumble across a book that I consider to be a gem.  So, I'll tell you about it here.

The first book is Lit, by Mary Karr.  Some of you may recognize the name.  Liar's Club, her first memoir, is number 4 on Entertainment Weekly's Top 100 books of the last 25 years.  Interestingly enough, I remember wanting to read that book when it came out, but couldn't remember who wrote it.  Fast forward over 15 years later, and I've been introduced to Mary Karr.

(photo via Mrs. Blandings)

Writers will love the poetic prose that Karr often writes in, defining some of her life's most trying moments with words that seem to perfectly fit.  Born poor in Texas, to tragic parents, this is the story of her finally escaping, only to fall into the depths of alcoholism.  I have only read about a fourth of this latest memoir, but I am already rooted in the story and the author.  I feel connected to her in a way that is rare to create, simply through page.  

I decided not to spoil any of this great book for you, by including a lengthy excerpt here.  I will offer up this opening line, which sets the mind in motion for a remarkable journey.

Anyway I tell this story is a lie, so I ask you to disconnect the device in your head that repeats at intervals how ancient and addled I am.

I have also included one of Karr's poems, as she is a highly acclaimed poet and essayist, considering herself a poet, first and foremost.

Who the Meek Are Not

           Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent
under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep
           in the rice paddy muck,
nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles
           make the wheat fall in waves
they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan
           nun says we misread
that word meek in the Bible verse that blesses them.
           To understand the meek
(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop
           in a meadow, who —
at his master's voice — seizes up to a stunned
           but instant halt.
So with the strain of holding that great power
           in check, the muscles
along the arched neck keep eddying,
           and only the velvet ears
prick forward, awaiting the next order.


                       --- Mary Karr, from Sinners Welcome


Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Thoughts and Tremors

It's been a while since I posted.  I've been busy with school, busy with writing, and busy with trying to carve a life out of this existence.  Okay, maybe that's a bit too esoteric, but granted, I have been busy.  But a few days ago, the ground shook.  I mean, it literally moved.

This is a scene, via CNN, of people evacuating after Tuesday's quake.

I don't live in California.  I've never even visited any place remotely close.  If that's what living there means having to get used to, I will never make that move.

The earthquake that hit the East Coast on Tuesday caused little damage to the area where I live in southern Maryland.  It did however, scare a lot of people.

I remember thinking that someone upstairs was running.  And then the running got stronger.  When the entire room began shaking, I jumped to my feet and tried not to panic.  At first, I thought I should hide in the closet. But the front door seemed more appealing.  By the time I got outside, from my second floor apartment, I was surrounded by equally alarmed neighbors, and most of the shaking was over.

But my heart kept beating.  I kept trying to figure out if what I'd just felt was real.  The entire world moved.  That's a scary thought and one that made me think:  what if it had been worse?

Earthquake readiness wasn't anywhere on my mind three days ago.  I figured a meteor would hit long before I'd be trying to forget what 5.9 on the Richter scale feels like.  But Tuesday showed me that you have to be prepared for anything.  Even the once-in-a-lifetime East Coast earthquake.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

The Occasional Crazy Rare Quote # 13

You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. "Floods" is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory -- what the nerves and skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination is our “flooding.”

                                                                       --- Toni Morrison 




The wisdom floods from her words!!


Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

For Those Who Long to Fly

Created, using some lines from the novel I've been working on.  It felt so poetic when I was reading it, that I decided to make it into a poem.  Enjoy!

Lepidoptera

Someone should tell the caterpillar.

Explain that these days won’t always be

shuffle and hide.

Explain that there are still better ones ahead.

Instead of scraping at the leaf.

Or chewing at the bits.

Eventually, they will have their fill.

No more countless hours,

trudging through ugly.

Combing through the hairs of this awkwardness.

Eventually, beauty will sprout from within them.

One day, they will get their wings.

We take to this life like

uninformed caterpillars,

desperately wishing we could fly.

But someone should tell the caterpillar.

The Tuesday Groove, Aug. 16, 2011

Today began with an epic bad morning.  I overslept and missed my bus, before finally realizing that I had the wrong information for the appointment I was trying to make.  It was at this time that I decided to go back inside and escape to the comforts of a mind numbing nap.  But suddenly, something hit me.  What for?  Even though the morning started out wrong, it didn't mean my entire day had to be ruined.  So I rose again, changed my clothes, and decided to go out and do the one thing I love to do:  Write!!!  And that led me to one of my favorite writing spots, currently enriched in a rejuvenating writing session.  But I needed to share the song that served as new fuel to my day.  It really got me grooving again.





Breathe Carolina --- Blackout

These guys are so much fun.  This song makes me want to dance.  And dancing, even awkwardly, is one of the quickest ways to get over a bad day.

when life gets you down, body bump!!!

No matter what state your life is in, try to keep on grooving.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Scars and Fever Pitch

This is something new I wrote, after listening to Adele, and thinking about the past.  *Sigh*  Enjoy.

Scars and Fever Pitch

This fire no longer burns.

It is tucked neatly in my chest, an empty hearth.

On good days, it is haunted by the licks of ghostly sparks.

On the rest, it simply collects dust.

Waiting, whispering of days

less lukewarm, days kindled,

kernels geared to explode.

I’m not sure if I took you for granted, or if I simply overestimated your

being here.

I expected to feel the inferno forever, to have insides that you

always boiled to the point of fear.

Of sweating you out. 

Of melting away.  

Of anxiously incinerating in the wake of you.

It takes guts to admit you messed up.

On my best days, I can only ever tell it to the scars.

Or glance up at a star that pulses like you, and

beg that it forgives me.

Again.

All the other days, I am urn, silent but filled with

the stories of our dying.

Alone, I recall your laughter heating mine and

am flooded by the warmth of all your old scents.

I sit here and inhale them, a wrenching chloroform, hoping I’ll wake from this

nightmare, in your arms.

Still heated to the point of fever.

Still a cinder happily caught in that flame.

Still ablaze as my tongue turns your name over.

Still eager and willing

to burn.

Some Love for the Sluts

I'm sure many of you read the title of this post and shook your heads in disgust.  Luckily, you decided to keep reading.  This is not some chauvinistic rant about enjoying promiscuous women.  Instead it is a call to join a wonderful movement that I recently learned about.

Slutwalk is coming to the D.C. area, and I am definitely excited, even though I am unable to participate in tomorrow's march.  I really want to spread the word about the message that this organization is trying to get across.  The movement began in Toronto when a representative of the police department, while addressing a group of students, stated that "women should avoid dressing like sluts to avoid being victimized."  From there, protests began and have spread worldwide.

In this country, we live in a society full of double standards.  Some of the wealthiest citizens in our nation believe that the poor are simply poor because of laziness.  People of less conventional religion and sexuality are severely scrutinized for their choices, by those who laud their personal right to a differing choice.  And women who are the victims of sexual abuse are too often looked at as instigators of the crimes they were wrongly subjected to.

But no really does mean no.

I have often heard negative opinions of women based on the way they dress or how vocal they are about their sensuality.  If a woman wears short or tight clothing, she is immediately attacked for being whorish and slutty.  If a woman announces that she enjoys being sexual, similar labels apply.  Not only are men forgiven for these things, it is often encouraged and applauded.

But no really does mean no.

Even if a woman is dressed a certain way, it doesn't given anyone the right to victimize her.  Just as males are allowed to express themselves sexually, women should be given this same freedom.  I was really impressed by some of the pictures from recent Slutwalk marches.

There are some who say that both the name of this group and the way participants dress is sending a mixed message, and I understand this premise, but feel like it shouldn't discredit the voice of this movement.  (A great article reflecting this argument appeared in the New York Times, as well as various opinions of that article)

The bottom line is that there is no excuse for rape and sexual abuse.  No one should cast shame or guilt onto the victim.

For those of you joining the Slutwalk tomorrow morning, beginning at Lafayette Park down to the National Sylvan Theater, I commend your efforts.  This is definitely a message that should be embraced.  Whether we agree with the methods, we should agree that no woman deserves to be victimized, and those who are should not be blamed for it.

No really does mean no.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Starting to Feel I Can Do This

As I stated earlier, I'm going back to school again.  Today, I took the very first step, by completing my placement tests in English and Math.  Once upon a time, I loved testing.  There was little pressure and it gave me an opportunity to display things that I had learned.  Unfortunately, that was many years ago.  I haven't taken a math class since 2002.  English worries me a lot less, since I explore it on a daily basis.  But this morning, I was nervous.

I kept worrying that I had forgotten the basic principles of curriculum that I had studied so long ago.  I was probably making these tests much more difficult than necessary.  So I arrived here for my 1:00 p.m. test time.

Once I arrived, I seemed to relax immediately.  Fellow test-takers were their waiting in the lobby.  As soon as it was time to start, I wondered what I was so worried about.  I can do this.

I just needed to remind myself.  I know that it's been a long time since I was enrolled in school, but that doesn't mean this has to be a challenging experience.  I am my own biggest critic, but I am also my biggest fan.  I know my potential better than anyone, so I shouldn't ever doubt myself.

As soon as the test started, I was happy for the pep talk I'd given myself.  It was a little difficult recalling some of the algebra, a class I haven't taken since like 10th grade.  But I did it.  The English portion of the test came much naturally.  All in all, I was very pleased with my scores.

Math - 118

English - 110 and 119

The lady congratulated me on my scores, letting me know 120 is the highest score for most of the tests.  If that's the case, I am overjoyed.  And pleased to say that I placed out of all the courses I wanted to place out of.  Looking forward to August 22 even more now.

Whenever it seems like there is something you can't accomplish, remind yourself that you are capable.  You can do it.  And the first step is believing that you can.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

It Eventually Balances Out

First off, I'd like to thank Danielle LaPorte, over at White Hot Truth, for pulling this out of me.  To say her words are inspirational is an understatement, so I'll let you be the judge of that.

But, basically for about a year now, there has been this underlying current of feeling that has me thinking I am behind.  Things, in my life, simply have not manifested as quickly as I'd like them to.  I guess this is a typical case of wanting what you want, well before it is time to get what you get, or something like that.  But I still feel my life is in queue for much more.

After reading the above mentioned post, a relaxation occurred.  I didn't feel as bad about the slow procession my arrival at my life's goals seems to be taking.  I am just happy to feel like it's coming.  I think the negative or downward spiral things has taken in the past can now only mean an "up" is approaching.

Just today, out of nowhere, I received a call for a job interview.  This wasn't even a job I applied for.  But the fact that this offer has manifested itself invokes the possibility of the positive.  I am eagerly anticipating the future.  Again.  I'm laughing right now, because it seems I need several of these moments to embrace the good I see coming, in order to simply move towards them.  But I think that's okay too.

I love this quote:

"In the depths of winter, I finally learned there was in me, an invincible summer."

                                                          ----  Albert Camus

No matter how cold, or how barren, things seem, there is always a fire burning within, fueling us to do those things, which ultimately must be done.  We will not freeze in these winters.  Eventually, we will shine, as flames.

I am ready to shine.  But I am also patiently waiting.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

I Wanna Lollapalooza

Okay, so I dropped the ball on this one, since it ended yesterday.  But I am officially adding Lollapalooza to the list of things I'm going to do next year.  I mean where else can you get Arctic Monkeys, Cold War Kids, OK Go, Foster the People, Ryan Leslie, and Kid Cudi all thrown into the mix?  Add some Cold Play, Foo Fighters, Eminem, Nas, Elie Goulding, Bruno Mars, and you've got so much music to offer that you're bound to find an overwhelming supply of good tunes.

This years event kicked off on Friday at Chicago's famed Grant Park.

If you're like me and you wished you could have been at this venue, taking in all these bands, then you'll be thankful for the Chicago Tribune's daily wrap ups:  Day 1, Day 2, and Day 3.

Next year, wherever it is, I will be at Lollapalooza!!  Here are a few pics from this year's festival, courtesy Billboard and the Tribune.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Oh, Morning!!!

We wake to this.

A cacophony of similar sights and sounds, smells and scenes, that unfold before us as commonplace, such that we often take them for granted.  The chirping of birds, the rooster's crow, and the incessant sound of alarm clocks, singing.  We are ushered into action by these things.  A new day is beginning.  There are showers to take, clothes to iron, breakfasts to grab as quickly as we can.  We are world too often on the move, and there is little joy in slowing down.

But oh, morning, ceaseless reminder of the wondrous beauty at our fingertips, ripe for the plucking!
Regal, dripping, in hints of orange and red.  A canvas against our windows.
You are subtle, like the dew, announcing to us that another night has lifted, with your delicate arrival.

Even If when we do not welcome your coming, we are forced to appreciate you still.

Because you are the essence of opportunity.  The gorgeous dawning of a slate wiped clean.  With each morning comes a chance at stability, a new moment to correct errors of days passed.  With each morning comes the prospect of satisfaction, as you are the first opportunity to squeeze joy from the day.  We should bask in your sanative properties, potential juncture of rejuvenation, that we go too long without.  With you, comes an offering, anew.  It is a shame, how we fail to grab hold of it.

Oh, morning!!  Transient portion of the days that we let drag along, in their monotony.  I yearn to make you everlasting.  To keep the feelings you bring, alive.

This is my morning.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

Sometimes, It's So Funny, It Hurts...

Lint in These Pockets

a jest

I’m in a bind.

I’m overstressed, but can’t afford

no damn chain smoking.

A lack of funds has severed my fun.

It has, pretty much, left me

broke….

I know, I know, that’s not correct,

the proper word should be broken.

But I can’t afford the n

on the end of that.

I applied for a loan….so I’m hoping.

But it’s hard holding on to hope,

when having no dollars

is making no sense.

Had to spend electric bill money

just to cover the mortgage, so

now I can’t even vent.

Spending all this time

chasing a dime, when I owe a quarter

to somebody else.

Debts rising, prices rising

and money always out of reach.

It’s a damn shame, this strain being broke has me under,

where 1+1

is only 2 of the 10

that I was supposed to pay last week.

And I was good at math, but this ain’t adding up,

only working to owe, and living to pay.

I got a better chance of getting struck by lightning

than enjoying my 401k.

Hell, jobs keep disappearing and they keep

arguing over what’s going to fix the economy, instead of actually rebuilding.

That’s why I fear I’ll need to get a negative sign

before I ever get to see my first million.

But I don’t want pawn off my son’s future

just so I can afford to live today.  Digging through

lint in these pockets, just to find a dollar,

so I can pay back enough to

borrow another day.

It’s crazy, this vicious cycle of treading

debt infested waters so you don’t have to drown,

only to feel yourself sinking deeper, and knowing

the lifeguard’s nowhere to be found.

I want to take financial swimming lessons,

dive in oceans of wealth and never come up for air.

Besides, you know the houses in rich neighborhoods:

the water’s always better over there.

The grass is a bit greener and the air much cleaner.

Don’t get me wrong, they have problems that need dealing with,

but it’s not

scraping up enough to cover last month’s bills,

on top of trying to fix other shit.

So I’m in this bind.  I’m

overstressed, just

biding my time, trying my best.

I got to get to the other side.

The other side of this poverty line

If I Could Heal the World

Everyday, I remind myself of the people I wish I could save.  Family members, friends, complete strangers, all just in need of a little help.  It might be financial, or maybe just a bit of emotional stability to help them make it through the day.  I wish I could wipe away all their tears.  I wish I could make the struggle less severe.

I offer what I can.  Kind words, a smile, some kernel of hope, that I'm hoping will plant a seed inside them, so that something beautiful blooms.  I give money to those who need it when I can, and try to offer a positive outlook on life.  It might not erase the pain, but struggle is a solitary enough place without feeling bad about it.

At times, I get down on myself.  I haven't even managed to save me, and yet I have all these bold aspirations involving others.  But I remind myself of the power of will, which keeps my desire to help intact.

Currently, someone I really care about is badly in need.  It hurts that I can only offer sympathy through my words.  I wish I could do so much more.  I wish I had the power to fix the situation.  If she's reading this, I want her to know these things.  That if she needs me, I'll be there.  That distance, the past, time, nor money, hold no influence over my willingness to help her.  I hope she knows that if I could heal this world, she's at the top of the list of the people I'd save.

It is painful to watch good people suffer.  But if enough of us act, we can mend that pain.  Help somebody, even if it's only by letting them know that you are with them.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet