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01
Feb
2020
On Writing 5-7-5 Haiku

On Writing 5-7-5 Haiku

at Three Deer Junction:
Mama sniffs, perks ears, a step –
We stand still, eyes locked.

Dunkirk NY – And so begins National Haiku Writing Month. Along with the above haiku, I am going to be so bold as to expand my thoughts a little more on why we should not fear, but rather embrace, 5-7-5 haiku. You can see my original post here on Medium.

As a preamble, let me state that I am not writing against anything, nor am I writing to express the superiority of one form over another. Free form haiku, with its emphasis on minimal syllables, is a fine form of haiku writing, and without doubt many beautiful haiku result from its use. I merely wish to argue for a better view and acceptance of the 5-7-5 form, and to put a fresh slant on such haiku by claiming the form as a specifically English language form of haiku, without reference to its Japanese origins. I certainly wouldn’t stop anyone from writing free form haiku, and my hope is that haiku writers will perhaps embrace the challenges that 5-7-5 presents and raise it to another level.

The crux of my argument lies primarily in moving away from comparing the two languages – English and Japanese – and focusing on English itself as a language rich in poetic potential for haiku or any other form of poetry. It is unfortunate in some ways that the discussion has centered on comparing on to syllables. This has been a huge distraction, and I think takes away from really seeing English for the language it is. Secondarily, I think the 5-7-5 form provides just that – a form – and I believe that adding the element of form and technique offers an additional challenge to the writing of haiku.

I’ve spent my adult life working with the works of William Shakespeare. He is recognized as one of the world’s great poets and playwrights, and the consensus is that he’s the greatest poet/playwright of the English language. He contributed enormously to the language itself, giving it many new words and phrases, and in his time revolutionized the art of playwriting, raising it to a level not seen before or since. I use his sense of style and language as a jumping-off point for how I look at 5-7-5 haiku. His most important contribution to the world of playwriting and poetry was his extensive use of blank verse, otherwise know as iambic pentameter. His lines of verse in his plays and poems, for the most part, consisted of 10 syllables in the form of unstress/STRESS (an iamb). Five feet – or instances – of iambs equaled one line of poetry; hence iambic pentameter. Shakespeare also was not concerned about rhymes, and so unrhymed iambic pentameter became known as “blank verse.”

What’s important to understand about blank verse is that it is the form of poetic construction that most mimics the natural rhythms of conversational speech in English. Quite often, when people have normal conversations, a good percentage of their conversation comes out in iambic form. “I need to get a dozen eggs and milk” is a line of iambic pentameter. As a language, English seems to flow best in this form. Every language has such a natural flow or rhythm to it, and one only has to listen to the spoken language long enough to get that flow, even if they cannot understand the actual words. From Japanese to Latin, the rhythmic flow of the language is usually what best constitutes its sense of poetry. For English, the iamb, with its unstress/STRESS format, seems to work most naturally. Am I arguing that haiku should be written in iambic pentameter? Of course not. But what I am arguing is that, by understanding the flow of iambic rhythms, you can write 5-7-5 haiku with some attention to this flow. You don’t have to have an exact pattern of constant iambs, but paying attention to the rhythm and flow of how the iambs within the haiku are working can give it a more poetic feel. It may be a reason why you might pick one word over another, and that is another gift of the English language to haiku – its expansive and magnificent vocabulary.

But why stick to the 17 syllables split as 5-7-5? Primarily because that amount of syllables, combined with a visual form on the page, offers an ideal opportunity to feel that rhythm and flow. Free form haiku is generally, in my experience, a little too short to feel that sense of linguistic musicality that 17 syllables can offer. It certainly has the ability to encapsulate a moment, but perhaps not a sense of linguistic joy. I find that, when reading or experiencing poetry, having the opportunity to see how the poet has used rhythms within the poem is part of the overall experience. Free form haiku tends, on the whole, to be more concerned with capturing the “haiku moment” and less with expressing that moment in a linguistic, rhythmic style. This is all well and good, to be sure, but I think there is something more to be gained by encapsulating these moments in a form. Even a river running free is contained in the form that its banks create, and its music is shaped by the stones and dirt its bed contains.

What is even more interesting is that the 5-7-5 format is all odd numbered. Iambs really ask for even numbers of syllables, and even in Shakespeare, lines that have 9 or 11 or even 5 syllables ask for an explanation (there are explanations, but no need to go into them here). So a writer of haiku in English using the 5-7-5 format is really faced with a double challenge: paying attention to the flow of the iambs, while at the same time using odd lines to create the form. While this does not rise to the level of paradox, it does offer a paradoxical challenge, and it is one that can add a sense of mystery and suspense to the haiku. Following the flow and then having it cut off can be compared to the kiregi in Japanese haiku, where a sense of cutting off the stream of thought can come into play and lend emotional flavor to the haiku.

5-7-5 haiku writing also offers us the sense of form, and form usually offers with it a sense of discipline. Most art forms have their specific techniques which must be mastered in order to produce the artwork. In Japanese, one speaks of kata, which is the form a particular practice takes. In martial arts, practitioners always have one or perhaps several forms that they practice and repeat so as to master their craft and discipline their bodies. In my own craft of acting, one follows certain techniques and forms that can aid in creating believable characters on stage. Fine artists develop techniques with brush strokes or potter’s wheels to achieve their artistic visions. The 5-7-5 format offers a form within which one can master a sense of style, rhythm and meaning, and perhaps even find their own personality within the form.

I have to emphasize that the point of studying and mastering form is ultimately to have “no form.” Many people believe that, by discarding and not worrying about form, they are free from restrictions and so can be more free to write better verse. I would argue the opposite; that mastering form is really the ultimate key to artistic freedom. The technique of any form of art should be so thoroughly mastered that someone experiencing the artistic product has no sense of the form at all – they only experience the artistic result. A person reading or hearing a 5-7-5 haiku should not sense the 5-7-5 format, but rather the rhythm, flow, narrative, and experience of the moment the haiku attempts to capture. The phrase “don’t let them see you sweat” makes the point well. One has to go beyond the mechanical employment of the form to write a good 5-7-5 haiku.

Lastly, I enjoy haiku because the 17 syllables offer the opportunity for more expansive narrative. Free form shorter haiku are quite capable of capturing a moment, but less capable of capturing a story (although I admit the very best ones really shine at capturing story and moment as a single experience). Human beings are by nature storytellers, and they are intrinsic to our sense of what life is about. We are constantly shaping our lives into story form, whether individually or as a community. In my experience, 17 syllables strikes that balance between capturing a moment and capturing a story about that moment quite well. I’ve compared this to drinking tea. A thimble of tea is too small for any real enjoyment; a shot glass of tea offers more flavor but can leave the body unsatisfied; a cup of tea offers the opportunity to savor the tea with more than one sip (perhaps two or three), and a mug of tea might be too much, as one might tire of the taste. A 17-syllable 5-7-5 haiku, well-written, can be a very rewarding cup of poetic tea, in that it can offer poetic rhythm, flow, an experienced moment, and a short narrative on that moment.

I enjoy writing both kinds of haiku. Sometimes a moment requires a free form haiku for me. Other times the 5-7-5 format works well. Bad haiku can be written in both forms, and one is not superior to another. I don’t think people should be discouraged from writing 5-7-5 haiku, and it is a shame that the NaHaiWriMo website appears to do so. Rather, we should be engaged in trying to help people write better 5-7-5 haiku, with more of an awareness of its possibilities. It is, in my opinion, an opportunity to create English language haiku that can stand on its own without being compared to Japanese language haiku. I am going to try to write as many 5-7-5 haiku as I can during February. Hopefully a few of the will turn out to be good examples of what I am talking about. -twl

Edit 2/5/20 – I’ve designed a new graphic to use with my 5-7-5 haiku, which appears at the top of the post. Please feel free to copy and use for yourself.

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, Essays, Haiku
31
Jan
2020

On the Houston Ass-tros

Dunkirk NY – The fallout from the Houston Asstros sign-stealing debacle has been extensive. As spring training approaches, it will be interesting to see up close the fan reaction to the whole mess. So far we haven’t seen that, and won’t see it until we see the various signs that will appear in stadiums across the country as the season begins. The Asstros have hired Dusty Baker as their damage-control expert (can’t really call him a manager, since Houston is managed by analytics) to protect their players and re-build the team’s reputation. As of now they haven’t hired a GM.

I’m in the camp that believes the Asstros have been punished enough. There are a ton of “unwritten rules” in baseball, and this particular caper violated a whole lot of them. There will be things going on behind the scenes that the average fan will never see. Endorsements may be lost. A lot of the swagger may be lost. Anyone who ever pitched against the Asstros might be doing a little headhunting. All of this may possibly take its toll, and that is punishment enough in this game. We shall see.

I wish I knew what drives already talented and elite athletes to cheat. What is it about the makeup of a competitive pro athlete that makes winning so critical to their personality that they feel they have to cheat to get there? Why is the fun of the game, the love of the game, not sufficient? Why are the multi-million dollar salaries not enough reason to play the game fairly? I mean, essentially these are young men making shit-tons of money playing a sport, a game. Could it be that the values they learned while learning the game have warped them so badly that they feel no personal self-worth unless they win it all?

I do think our sports subculture (and by extension our American culture) of winning it all is probably at the root of this scandal, as no doubt it was during the steroid era. Getting an edge by any means possible simply seems to be the prevailing thought process. Morality and a sense of ethics does not appear to have any meaning at all in the 21st century. A generation of ballplayers (and again, by extension, American youth) has been raised, not with the notion of “do your best fair and square”, but rather “win at any cost, with any edge you can get.” This particular scandal is another one of those road markers that has as much to say about where we are heading as a society as it does about the game of baseball and sports in general. At this point in time, I think anyone who watches any sport at all has to assume that someone, somewhere, somehow, is cheating. It’s the new normal.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, The Joy of Baseball
28
Jan
2020
National Haiku Writing Month

National Haiku Writing Month

Dunkirk NY – Recently I made the decision to join the Haiku Society of America. I was hesitant to do so for two reasons. One is that I am not much of a joiner. The second is that, when I join organizations, I have the unfortunate tendency to be someone who finds faults within the group. I think this tendency comes from being a lifelong teacher. When you teach, you spend an inordinate amount of time finding and correcting faults and flaws. I always liked to offer positive feedback, and made a point of doing so when warranted. But on the whole, my job consisted of trying to weed out flaws and bad habits in young actors and replace them with more useful and positive techniques.

I already know what makes me hesitant about joining HSA. Its members, from what I can gather from photos and pictures and writings, tends to consist almost exclusively of older, white, well-educated people. There appears to be little diversity within the organization. And, to be as blunt and fair as possible, this description of the overall membership demographic fits me to a “T”, with the only exception being my Puerto Rican heritage. I do not wish to make this appear to be a judgement against the organization, just an observation. I could very well be wrong. But there is little external evidence to the contrary.

It is my misfortune to have come to a place in my life where my sense of my personal spirituality has intersected with the “mindfulness” and “minimalist” movements in modern culture. Since my 20s I have been drawn to eastern thought and philosophy, heavily influenced by my reading of the works of the Catholic Trappist monk Thomas Merton. Merton stands at the apex of the synergy between Catholic mystic tradition and eastern Zen Buddhism tradition. My interest in haiku is, at least in my opinion, a natural outgrowth of this aspect of my life. It’s something I have carried with me for more than 40 years now, not something that has sprung up from the current fads.

This is why I am so hesitant to join and share my haiku with others. I fear that a lifelong interest in eastern/western spirituality will be mistaken for having jumped on recent trends. I’ve actually little doubt that other haiku writers are good people – they are probably fine and wonderful human beings, and not trend followers. It’s also clear that many of them have been writing haiku for much longer than I have, so they are committed to the form and the “lifestyle” (for want of a better word). And haiku writing is not exactly a popularized method even of writing poetry. I’ve read a few anthologies, and there are a few names out there that are considered prominent in this arena. I’ve also read much of the Japanese masters such as Basho and Issa to this point. I’ve even read a small anthology of baseball haiku. So, despite my misgivings, I feel I have to take the jump.

What is most interesting to me is the current state of haiku form. Adapting the Japanese form of haiku to English has apparently been fraught with cultural baggage when it comes to form. There has been much discussion on this point. Essentially speaking, form comes down to a question of the amount of sound in a haiku, whether that sound is called on (in Japanese style) or syllable (English style). As I read about the discussions surrounding this point, it seems to me that the question at this point should be moot. I think what should be discussed more is not how English haiku compares to Japanese haiku, but rather how traditional forms of English poetic style can inform English haiku and work to make it independent of Japanese haiku. In this regard, I think the early sense of English haiku taking on a 5-7-5 format of syllables has more promise than people may think.

In my reading and research, I read this article by Michael Dylan Welch, who appears to be a pretty well-known haiku poet. I wrote this article on Medium in defense of the 5-7-5 format, which I happen to like. Mr. Welch is apparently the one who designated February as National Haiku Writing Month (“because it’s the shortest month”), and he discourages people from writing 5-7-5 haiku. If I participate in NaHaiWriMo, I think I’m going to write a lot of 5-7-5 haiku just to be difficult and different. It’s in my contrarian blood. I’m also going to write a post here at some point detailing a bit more why I think English haiku writing should lean more on English poetic traditions rather than lean on trying to imitate Japanese language style with English. If I am going to join up here, I might as well start on the “wrong” foot.

I should make clear, though, that I may not have time to write a haiku every day. A lot depends on how caring for Mom eventually turns out in February. So if I don’t get a haiku in every day, no big deal. I’ll do what I can, and perhaps here and there post something I’ve written in the past as a substitute for the day. Since I don’t have Facebook, I can’t post to the NaHaiWriMo FB site, but that’s of no matter to me. One does what one can with the moments presented. -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, Haiku, North of Sixty
27
Jan
2020

A Break in the Action

Dunkirk NY – Due to dental and doctor appointments I have a small break from taking care of my mother. One of the major things we did get accomplished was getting overnight help for her. This should take off a lot of stress from everyone, as having someone in the house from 10pm-6am will allow people to get a decent amount of sleep. This was really the major issue apart from the stroke-like symptoms. So now she has assisted coverage on an ongoing basis. This could mean that I might be on more of an on-call basis for afternoons and evenings. It might also mean that I’d be living in my parents’ condo in Amherst, which is about a 40-minute drive from my brother in W. Brookfield. That would allow for all of us to have some space instead of being crowded into his house. We are going to give this a try, and perhaps in March I might even be able to come back home for extended spells. The situation is very fluid at the moment, so everyone is sort of playing the hand as it’s dealt. The night aid starts a week from today.

It is somewhat difficult to put into words what it takes to do this kind of work. I find that the physical aspects of it are not so terribly difficult. What does wear on you is the emotional side of it all. While my routine is not all that changed (I still have to find things to do during the day, just in a different location), there is always that Sword of Damacles hanging over your head, in that any minute she might ring her assistance bell, and you have to drop everything and attend to her. Getting good solid sleep is also an issue; you’re always slightly tired. Everything in the house sort of revolves around her needs. Her needs are not that much: a change of undergarment, from bed to chair, from chair to bed, feeding, assistance to the bathroom. Her world is small and getting smaller, but even in that small world she needs help. Her sleep patterns are erratic. All of this impacts your own daily routine. Whatever you’re doing, in the back of your mind there is always the thought that the bell will ring any minute.

I have so many thoughts about the process of aging that my mind is having trouble sorting it all through. I’ve developed a sense of urgency about trying to make sure all my affairs are in order and that my planning for my own aging is as complete as I can make it. And yet, I still know that all the planning in the world can’t account for everything. But I feel I have to have all the backstops in place to handle all the inevitable losses before I can even begin to think about enjoying any gains. As always, the best approach is to take the day you have and do with it whatever needs to be done. Somehow, though, it gets more challenging to stay in the present when you can see the future ahead and even begin to make out the details.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
11
Jan
2020

The Seventh Age

W. Brookfield MA – My life has taken a new turn. My mother’s health has been a concern for the past year or so, and to this date my brother here in MA has been the one seeing to her care. However, it’s now to the point where having just one available caretaker is no longer sustainable. So my wife and I have made the decision to shut down our own house and move in with my brother to offer him some assistance. It is not going to be easy; a week has gone by and already her need for constant attention has taken its toll on sleep.

I don’t intend to offer a blow-by-blow narrative of what she’s up against. Right now the two greatest challenges are her dementia and some mini-strokes she’s been having. Her sense of day and night is almost non-existent, and she has no set discernible schedule. All she wants to do is sleep, and it is hard to get her to do much of any activity. She has clearly slipped into Shakespeare’s seventh and last age – “second childhood and mere oblivion; sans teeth, sans taste, sans eyes, sans everything.”

I suspect I will be a different person at the other end of this. Where the other end is, is impossible to tell at the moment. My mantra has become the Zen mantra of a statement that, every time it’s spoken, it’s true – “This, too, shall pass.”  -twl

 

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
01
Jan
2020

Not So New Year

Dunkirk NY – I tend to feel the spirit of a new year more when the spring comes rather than in the dead of winter. Nothing really feels like it can renew itself in winter. We celebrate a calendar changeover with the naming of a new year, but then we plunge back into the depth of the cold. Winter continues unabated, and January and February in fact turn out to be the two coldest months of the year. It’s a little depressing to spend an evening celebrating and then wake up the next morning to realize you’ll still be freezing your ass off for the next couple of months.

There is some logic attached to celebrating a new year in winter, though. When connected with the solstice, the ongoing return of more light brings a bit of relief. Groundhog’s Day (Candlemas, Imbolic, mid-winter) brings a sense that the end of the dark season is near. But it’s not until I can hear more birds sing, the snow melt for the final time, and the temperatures warm to above 60° that I feel a new year has come. Around here, that’s around April.

This coming year, for me, brings with it a lot of unknowns. In a few days I’ll be heading to my brother’s house to help out with the care of my mother. I’ll be staying out there for an indefinite period of time, as long as she needs assistance. My brother and I intend to get more professional care in for her to attend to everyday needs, but she needs someone 24/7, and as I’m retired with nothing on my plate, I’ve decided it’s best to go out and take some of the burden off my brother, especially during the night. Her eventual passing is really an unknown at this time, because although she is losing strength, she has no particular condition or disease. So it’s mostly a matter of time, and while I will miss the comforts of my own home, my brother has a large house located in a very wooded area, and it’s just as easy to sit most of the day there as it is here. I suspect that life will become a day-to-day matter; no planning for the future.

In terms of how retirement is going, I believe I am discovering some things about retirement that are difficult to prepare for. One is simply this sense of having to watch over and care for people. Last year it was Jenna after her car accident; this year it’s my mother. Many other people spend their time watching grandchildren. I’m sort of realizing that all those plans you think about – wintering in Arizona, extended RV trips in the fall – are plans that life often squashes. My own parents had to spend time as caretakers for their families until into their 70s. You’re not really as free as those glossy AARP bulletins would have you think you are. I’ve only been able to execute one or two small trips so far. And I have done a few shows, which takes up time as well. And have had my knees repaired.

All of this has been more or less going with the flow, taking what’s offered, and reacting to what’s happening. My initial three-year “wait and see” period comes to an end this April, but that’s really an artificial deadline. If 2020 is to be any kind of “new year,” it should bring with it some new purpose and a more defined sense of how I spend my time. I’ll get back to you come May 2020.  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
30
Dec
2019

RIP Karen Volpe

Dunkirk NY – On the morning of Christmas Eve, while visiting my son in Oneonta for Christmas, I received word that a former student of mine, Karen Volpe, had decided to terminate treatment for her pancreatic cancer. Later that day, as the sun was setting, I was informed that she had died. I do not know her exact age, but she was probably one side or the other of 50; too young, at any rate.

Because I do not have social media accounts, I was unable to follow her fight against the cancer, but one of her classmates kept me updated via email. Since she was a performer and someone who promoted her career on social media, she documented various stages of her illness. I cannot think of anyone who was more positive, optimistic and full of life than Karen, and from what I understand, that is what you saw on the various video updates she posted.  She wanted to make sure no one felt bad for her.

Her personality was infectious. She was a master entertainer and performer. She loved music and musical theatre, and in fact when she was a student, she sort of avoided me (I think) because I had a reputation for disliking musical theatre (not so; I dislike bad musicals). We actually got to know each other better after she graduated and moved to California with Paul and they started building their careers. Their energy and output was prodigious. They started a website called The Movie Guys, which reviews movies and celebrates everything Hollywood. Karen performed at various theatres in the region doing well-known Broadway musicals, and became a self-styled country singer, producing her own work. Among other things, she created an act called the Boobé Sisters, a hilarious and sometimes quite salacious mix of 60s do-wop and crude parodies of pop songs (if you hear their version of “Downtown” you’ll never be able to hear Petula Clark’s version in the same way). This was not a woman who sat on her fanny and waited for things to happen. She made a career for herself out of the mix of vivaciousness and talent that she possessed, and with everything she created and did, there was always an infectious joy contained in it. It was impossible to be around Karen and not think the world was an incredibly joyful place.

The few times I’ve been out to LA, I always made a point of looking up Karen and Paul. They always made time for me. I was interested in their perspective on things in LA and the business. They, in return, were very interested to make sure that the theatre students I was teaching got the right information, and I brought back from them plenty of insights and tips I never would have thought of. They welcomed any Fredonia student who moved to the area. I visited their home, part of which they had converted into their own private video studio. They were delighted to take me on tours of LA and Hollywood, and brought me as close to the iconic Hollywood sign as one could get by road. The Hollywood Bowl, Grauman Chinese, Hollywood and Vine, Rodeo Drive, movie studios, celebrity mansions – I got the grand tour. We had lunch at a 50s drive-in place (the name of which escapes me at the moment, might have been a Bob’s Big Boy). At every stop Karen would wax eloquent about the features of the particular attraction. She was the proverbial kid in a candy store. She was a hard-core original Ghostbusters fan, having seen that version at least 10 times. Bill Murray was her favorite actor and comedian.

The last time I saw Karen was maybe three or four years ago, when she and Paul came to the area to visit family (Karen is from nearby Jamestown) for the holidays. Karen was into Christmas big-time, and I went down to one of the local bars to catch the Boobé Sisters Christmas show. Naturally I had a blast. Of course in one of the numbers Karen had to call me up on stage and flirt with/tease me as part of her act. The next day I was invited as a guest on a live audio podcast of The Movie Guys, and she, Paul and I talked about movies we enjoy (with a little baseball thrown in). We’ve always had a running gag among the three of us about how I don’t really enjoy the movies all that much, and that became a focal point of the show’s comedy and good-natured ribbing. Karen and I did agree that Bill Murray was a very interesting talent, but while she still preferred Ghostbusters, I went with Lost in Translation. I think we met somewhere in the middle, around Groundhogs Day and Scrooged.

Rule #1 in my classroom was “It’s Not Fair.” Usually I made that reference in terms of some aspect of the theatre, particularly the business aspect. But it was also meant as a life lesson as well. Of all the things in life that are not fair, the loss of a young and dynamic life such as Karen’s is the most unfair of all. Yet I cannot help but believe that Karen had one of the most successful and joyous lives of anyone I’ve known. She married the love of her life, she created a fantastic career out of her sense of comedy, joy, and musical talent, she never let up, she never gave in, she made many, many friends, she spread optimism, laughter and love everywhere she went. Her death may seem unfair, but her life was as fulfilling as it was because she never let unfairness get in her way, conquering it instead with her love of all life had to offer.

In John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, the character of Lenny unwittingly kills mice because, in his attraction to the soft fur of the mice, he pets them too hard. Even Death, I think, was enamored with Karen Volpe, such was her love for life. He wanted to hold and touch her just a little bit, soft and gentle, to feel what Life was about; but like Lenny, he pet her too hard. As I hung up the phone after getting the news of her death, I saw the sun setting below the hills outside the window of my son’s house. This haiku came to me:

sunset – the bright fire
that lit her life fades behind
the bare winter hills

We are left to remember how bright that fire burned. -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
21
Dec
2019
More Light: Solstice 2019

More Light: Solstice 2019

Dunkirk NY – Every year at the winter solstice I post this video. This Northern Exposure clip comes from the 4th season episode Northern Lights, which explores the theme of light during the winter solstice.

Goethe’s final words: “More light.” Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that’s been our unifying cry: “More light.” Sunlight. Torchlight. Candelight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier’s Field. Little tiny flashlights for those books we read under the covers when we’re supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet.” “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” “Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom; lead thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on!” “Arise, shine, for thy light has come.” Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light. -Chris in the Morning

This year I’ve felt a deeper understanding of the holiday season and its relation to light. As I was watching people along the road put up their holiday lighting decorations, it really struck me hard that, despite all the madness and commercialism, this is the way people now fight the darkness of the winter season, whether they are conscious of it or not. Huge Christmas light displays, the street post lights along the main roads in the city, candles in windows – all of it is a fierce attack on the surrounding darkness. I remember when I was driving for Enterprise how I noticed much more that I would leave in the darkness for work and arrive home in the darkness after work. The day is a little more than 9 hours long, with maybe 10 hours of visible light where I live. The houses lit for the Christmas holiday season have taken on a more intense message and meaning for me, one of doing the very best one can to beat back the darkness and bring back more light. I felt that this year as I hung my own modest string of lights around the front doorway and decorated the house for the holidays. Light is pretty critical to me in terms of dealing with seasonal depression, but this year I found myself not so focused on my own need for light, but on everyone’s need for light. The natural need for more light extends even more in a metaphorical sense, as I consider how much more light is needed within all humanity at a time when so many dark forces look to crush humanity out of existence.

By historical standards these are becoming dark times. Anger, cruelty, authoritarianism, and oppression are everywhere you look. The assault on the poor and helpless is unabated. Nature is beginning to fight back and have its say, as the climate reacts to our abuse of its abundance. This will not be corrected any time soon, and the resulting chaos will last for some time to come. The hardest thing to come to grips with is that, as with so much in the natural world, this process is both normal and natural. When a forest fire rages, we all fear the destruction and death it brings. And yet nature lets us know it does this only to clear the land for the new life it intends to bring. Living with and through the scarred landscape is never easy; we have to look with purpose to find the seedlings that will fashion the new life to come long after we have gone.

Hope lies only in the amount of light we can bring to these dark time: the light of knowledge, wisdom, humility, compassion, and understanding. Let’s hope that the coming decade is one where we can bring more light to shine on the dark places we are creating so as to root out the darkness for future generations. -twl

the day’s dying light
the year’s dying breath – one wink
closer to the grave

 

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
18
Dec
2019
Disengagement

Disengagement

Dunkirk NY – The chief stumbling block in my retirement journey so far has been my inability to find some kind of activity to keep me engaged. I took a job for awhile driving cars for Enterprise, but I quit that because I was unable to get the schedule or time off I wanted to do Shakespeare in Delaware Park in 2018 (I didn’t want to be working two jobs for the duration). I’ve thought about finding another job, but it seems lately that life keeps getting happening while I consider other jobs. Four unexpected months on the west coast, another summer in the park, and an opera combined to make 2019 a bit busy. But all of those activities are temporary gigs, and none of them really provided the spark I have been looking for. On top of all this, I always have in the back of my mind the reality that at some point in time I will need to dedicate my time to assisting my mother, as her health is fading, and my brother is beginning to strain under the task. As of the end of this week I have no commitments or formal obligations to attend to, and the artistic 2020 is only in rudimentary form – nothing signed.

I’ve come to believe that one of my issues is the fact that I do not feel particularly attached to the current culture. I feel like a man from a different time, and there does not appear anymore to be a place for me. When I look at the theatre scene nationally, I do not find that the American public is particularly interested in the art form beyond another form of escape. According the the NEA’s latest Survey of Public Participation in the Arts (SPPA) for 2017, only 23.8% of the American public attended one live stage play. 16.5% attended a musical, while 9.4% attended a non-musical play. 2.2% attended an opera. The data does not include attendance at elementary or high school performances, but does include community and student performances. In short, the vast majority of the American public does not attend the theatre. It’s a niche activity. I am sure the numbers were higher in earlier surveys, but not by much. In 2002, the percentage was 29.4%. I don’t believe there is any reliable data prior to the 21st century.

Culturally, I am a product of the white, male Western culture. It’s clear that the culture is moving towards a far more diverse reality. I accept this fact. The artistic and cultural milieu in which I was raised is being replaced, and that’s as it should be. I’ve no issue with that. My problem is trying to find a new home in this emerging culture, and more and more I am coming to believe that there may be no place for me here. What I know and can pass on is not of particular relevance anymore. Again, I have no problem with this; it is as it should be. In the ever-evolving world of human experience and evolution, it has always been thus.

There are only two things I can observe here. The first is that the speed at which this kind of development and evolution seems to be happening at a rate faster than at any time in human history. Things become obsolete much faster. The world I experienced in the 1960s as a teenager is simply non-existent today; no real remnants of it exist. Even the world of the 1990s seems like an eternity ago. I think that people become lost and displaced much faster than ever before. Even the world that existed prior to the election of the current administration seems like eons ago.

The second observation is that the issue is mine to deal with. The last thing I want to become is a grumpy old curmudgeon railing against every little thing. I will admit there is much in modern culture I simply do not like. Pop music is formulaic and sterile; modern theatre is less accessible and too narrow in terms of the audience it’s speaking to; movies are, on the whole, too loud, or too manipulative, or too one-dimensional; TV is apparently bursting with good writers, but they are writing about issues consistent with a younger audience who have more modern concerns (I would say neuroses, but hey) and stress points. I can’t relate, as the saying goes. I never liked Seinfeld, and I can’t for the life of me imagine how The Big Bang Theory lasted for so long. Or Friends, for that matter. I’m still stuck in the TV world of Cheers and Northern Exposure and Peter Gunn.

All this leads to the reality that I have become disengaged from modern living. While I am quite willing to accept this, I am nonetheless still coming to grips with the problem of how to keep myself busy and engaged in what I consider to be meaningful activity. While I continue to take the odd theatre gig I get, I simply don’t find them all that meaningful anymore – they just pass the time. I enjoy going to Delaware Park and being in a show simply for the fact that it’s a pleasant way to pass the time. I don’t believe anymore that the audiences I perform for get anything meaningful out of the work or the show, nor do I believe anyone is really there to create “art.” We share a pleasant evening in the park, the audience and I, and that’s about it. It wasn’t what I set out to do when I first started acting, but this is what has evolved into over the years. It’s OK, it’s pleasant, it puts a few bucks in my pocket, and it passes the time. Nothing more.

Whatever work or activity I pick up from here on in will no doubt be a solitary venture. I have joined the Haiku Society of America, but I think my haiku writing will remain a private activity for a little while longer. Writing seems to me to be the most meaningful thing I can now do, but I fear it because I’m an amateur with little experience. And because I really don’t feel I fit into the current culture, I don’t believe I have anything useful to contribute except to those who might be in the same cultural boat as I am. Solitude is OK by me, but so is a limited sharing with others. Understanding how to balance the feeling of disengagement with the need to engage seems to be the present struggle. -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, North of Sixty
14
Dec
2019
The Joy of…Cricket?

The Joy of…Cricket?

Dunkirk NY – My youngest son and I have for years bonded over baseball. He loves the sport and follows it closely. Quite often we have discussions (some might say arguments) over many aspects of the game. He is a much better sabermetrician than I am, and he’s really good at analyzing the business aspects of the game. We attended the 2017 World Baseball Classic tournament held in Petco Park in San Diego in 2017. We talk baseball quite a lot.

My oldest daughter was at one time a big baseball fan as well, rooting for the Yankees and idolizing Derek Jeter. But her attention to the sport has drifted off as she has moved to the Olympia WA area, and her partner is more into football, so now she’s a big Seahwak fan. We did enjoy an outing to T-Mobile Park to see the Mariners play while I was out there last year, though.

My middle son has never been into sports all that much. He always enjoyed the atmosphere and the food in a ballpark, but never became a true fan of the game. He knows more about the game than he admits, but I believe he’s always been a little envious of how much my youngest son and I talk and bond over baseball.

Well, we seem to have found a solution to that situation. He has become a fan of cricket, and during a phone conversation he mentioned I could fill a lot of my retirement time with watching cricket, since it’s so close to baseball. I had been looking for a sport to fill up the off-season. I started with soccer but was unable to keep that up. I’ve grown terrifically disenchanted with American football and no longer am truly interested, although I will watch a game here and there. Cricket, however, has begun to fill that space. I find myself more and more watching cricket matches, and I am becoming a fan of the sport. The pace of the game is very much like baseball (leisurely, pastoral), and the sense of throwing and striking a ball is a rhythm I can easily fall into. My son has been teaching me a lot about the game, and we’ve really begun to form a bond over it. It’s added a whole new dimension to our relationship, and I’m pretty happy about that.

Cricket is a game full of tradition and history much like baseball, and there are many fascinating aspects to the game. I really can’t go too much into cricket laws here, since they are involved and complicated, but here are the basic similarities which attract me to the game:

  • There is a bowler (pitcher) and a batter (hitter). The bowler throws the ball to the batter from 60′ away, and they are allowed to bounce the ball.
  • The objective of the bowling side is to get 10 wickets (outs) for the least amount of runs allowed. The objective of the batting side is to score as many runs as possible before 10 wickets are recorded.
  • Singles, doubles, triples and “home runs” (boundaries) exist. Boundaries can be for either four runs, or six runs when the ball clears the boundary on the fly.
  • There are always two batters on the pitch (field) at any time, and they score runs by running safely between the wickets. There is a defined “safe ground” much like a base.
  • Once a batter is dismissed, they are out for good. You only go through a lineup once. There are 11 players to a side, but you need only 10 wickets (outs) to end an innings (a team’s batting session is called an innings, and it’s always plural).
  • Batters are dismissed (out) if a struck ball is caught on the fly, if they are run out, bowled out, or stumped. The latter three involve breaking the wicket before a batter has reached their ground (gotten on base).
  • There is no “strike zone.” A batter may choose to strike the ball or not. If they hit the ball, they may choose to run or not. The batter’s most important goal is to defend the wicket from being struck by the bowler. If that happens, the batter is “bowled out,” and dismissed (“He’s/She’s got to go!”).
  • Bowlers throw 6 deliveries, and once they’ve done that, another bowler can come in (and usually does) for another 6 deliveries. Each delivery of 6 balls is called an “over.”
  • Bowlers generally are categorized in two types: fast bowlers, and spinners. Fast bowlers are known for speed, while spinners throw breaking balls. The top speed of the best fast bowlers is around 90 MPH/145 KPH for men.
  • The entire field is shaped like an oval, and there is no foul territory. The batter is free to strike the ball in any direction at any time.
  • Only the wicket keeper (catcher) is allowed to wear gloves. All other fielders play barehanded. The cricket ball is somewhat similar in makeup to a baseball. Imagine catching a fly ball in baseball with your bare hands.
  • There is no clock in cricket. A test match, the longest form of the game, can take 5 days to play.
  • There are three basic forms of the game: test, T20, and ODI.
    • Test cricket is the oldest form of the game, the longest form, and most traditional
    • Twenty20 (T20) consists of twenty overs per side, with each team getting one “at bat.” This is a popular league format for professional players, and lasts about as long as an average baseball game.
    • ODI (One Day Invitational) consists of 50 overs per side, with each side getting one “at bat.” It generally takes a full day to play.
  • There are professional leagues for women in cricket, and they are quite popular. Women also do play-by-play and analysis, called commentary.

I could go on, but I think I’ll stop there. It’s really not my purpose to explain the game here, but rather to express my growing affection for the game, and for the new relationship it has engendered with my middle son. Right now I am watching a test match between Australia and New Zealand via an app called Willow. The difference in time zone means I watch a delayed replay of the match, so I can watch almost any time I like. As I watch, my son and I exchange information, comments, and I ask questions when I don’t understand something. It’s actually quite a simple game once you get the hang of it, but learning all the terminology can be daunting. I keep a cheat sheet next to me as I watch.

I recommend the sport. It’s added a new dimension to my baseball off-season, as well as a new dimension between me and my son. I now have one son for baseball, and one for cricket. It’s a nice set-up to carry me forward in retirement. Howzat?  -twl

Posted by poorplayer in All Posts, The Joy of Baseball