Victor D. Infante's Blog, page 178
May 2, 2011
Monday Morning, Redux
And Osama bin-Laden is dead.
You've been a pacifist for 23 years, don't condone war or the death penalty. You hold this view the way an alcoholic doesn't drink: because you've seen violence up close, because you've lost people to it. Because your heart is irrevocably stained by it, and all of your life has been a struggle to find a way forward. You know in your heart that you are a violent man, who chooses not to be violent. You struggle with this daily. You talk to God every morning, and ask Him for strength. This has become your routine. But so has the morning cup of coffee, and this morning, that's out-of-kilter.
You kiss your wife before you go to work, caress her cheek. There's construction on your street, so you have to drive a different way. You stop at a corporate coffee chain for a better cup of coffee. Not your usual choice, but this morning, you're glad for its presence. You buy a couple donuts, too, even though you mostly gave up sweets after serious dental work. It just sounds comforting this morning.
And Osama bin-Laden is dead, and the rational part of your brain tells you that it means little. No matter how monstrous, he's just a man. You know that al-Qaeda is basically a corporate franchise operation, that its individual parts should, theoretically, function fine independently. You know that there are miles to go still in the war, the real war, where the conflicting ideologies in the Muslim World -- the jihadists and the totalitarian dictators, the democratic movement and the people who only want to live and work in peace -- are locked in a struggle to decide the entire region's future. Your rational brain understands that Afghanistan and Iraq and Libya, that the U.S. Wars and the Arab Spring, are all really one war, even moreso than the U.S. struggles against Germany, Japan and Italy were one war.
But you think of your friends who lost loved ones on that horrible day, how you yourself had to face the real possibility that one of your oldest friends was gone, although you got lucky that day. Lucky. The word is bitter coffee.
You find a dark joy that he's gone, fully cognizant that that joy is a violence brewing in your heart, the sort of thing you've worked hard for years to exorcise. You acknowledge it, because to do otherwise would cause it to fester.
And Osama bin-Laden is dead. And you know full-well it changes little. Or maybe it changes everything, but either way, you're glad of it, and at the same time resentful of that feeling, knowing full well what grows from that seed of hate when planted.
You drink your corporate coffee. You get back to work.
Monday Morning
More when I have more coffee in me.
April 30, 2011
Roller Coaster Week
Monday I read for the Dirty Gerund Poetry Series. Fantastic night, and one of the most fun features I've ever had, even if I was a bit wiped afterward. Here's the set list:
First set:
*"Know Your Rights, Redux" (Brand New!)
*""Why I Never Wrote From London" (only read previously at ARTSWorcester)
*"On the Outside" (I'm sure I've read this, but I have no recollection of it)
*"Sixteen Was the Year" (read a few times)
*"Atomosophobia" (only previously read at the Encyclopedia Show, and was a TOTALLY different experience with the band. Much, much awesomeness.)
*"Toxic Waltz" (read a few times)
*Letter to Louis (Ten Years Later)" (Read out previously a couple times)
The whole thing went quick. A little more than 10 minutes. That's OK, though. Some heavy stuff, but mostly a raucous, breezy upbeat set.
Second Set:
*"Unwinding the Crash"
That was it. And that nearly killed me. A short story. Eight-pages, double-spaced, about journalism and authority. And of course, never read aloud before. The band played a slow, low grinding groove beneath me for about fifteen minutes. Larry and the boys had it dead perfect. It was terrifying when the usual background noise at Ralph's faded away. The regular audience listening is one thing. The bar crowd at the back listening? That's scary. I'm not used to Ralph's being that quiet, and there was something ominous and nerve-rattling about the music the band came up with. It felt like a movie score. Like I said, they killed it. Seriously. I was blown away by the response. The whole thing was a little overwhelming. I could barely talk afterward. But I also felt clean. I had written the story a while ago, but had never really shared it. Even Lea hadn't read it. I submitted it to a journal without showing it to anyone, which isn't my usual M.O. I think I just didn't want to face the issues I was writing about, and letting them go? Cathartic, to say the least. (Doubly rewarding, a friend from the paper was there, and he was overjoyed with it. Which means a lot.)
Such a good night. THANK YOU to Alex, Nick, Greg, Yosh, Chicken, Sneaky Mister and everyone else who made the whole thing just a fantastic experience.
***
Tuesday, I headed down to Providence to see Mindy Nettifee read at GotPoetry Live. She was amazing, as always. Enjoyed her set immensely. I wasn't going to read, but Ryk cajoled me into it, so I read "To the Girl I Never Knew," from the "Don't Blame the Ugly Mug" anthology, which Mindy's also in. Afterward, we talked about the book -- she hadn't actually seen it, yet, as she's been on the road -- and the old stomping grounds. I told her how overjoyed I was to read poems in the book from old friends who don't really write much anymore, and we both agreed that we'd like to see more from them, again. They know who they are.
But I think I need to amend that thought, because while it's true I do want to see new work from these folks, it's also true that I more-or-less keep in touch with those same people, and in many of the cases, they're about as happy and healthy right now as I've ever known them. I'm not saying there needs to be a cause-and-effect relationship between those states. I can still write, and I'm also about as happy and healthy as I've ever been. But it is different for everybody. Some people write for a while and then move on. The urge leaves them, gets sublimated into other things. It happens. If, somehow, the things that are making my old friends happy are fulfilling the need that writing filled, then ... well, of course I'd rather see my friends happy. It seems a silly thing to even have to state. It's not like some of these people aren't still going to be among the first people I call when I'm in SoCal. I love them dearly, and am always glad to see them, and am always glad when I hear they're well.
But my love for those poems they wrote five, ten or more years ago hasn't diminished, and seeing them again does make me hope that, someday, I can see a little more. As long as it's coming from a good place. (:
April 25, 2011
Dirty Gerund Tonight!
Victor D. Infante w/The Sneaky Mister
The Dirty Gerund Poetry Series
Monday, April 25, 9 p.m.
Ralph's Chadwick Square Diner
148 Grove St., Worcester
Hope to see you tonight!
***
Other bits: Got my copy of Paul Suntup's new book from Write Bloody Publishing, Sunset at the Temple of Olives. Haven't had a chance to get into it, yet, but it's a lovely looking book. Can't wait to read it. Lots of activity from the old crowd, including new books looming by Daniel McGinn (on WB) and G. Murray Thomas (on Tebot Bach.) Glad to see it. Next task: I think the world needs a little more Jaimes Palacio and Charles Ardinger. Whattaya say?
On Radius, a new poem by Hugh Fox, and a new form by Benjamin Young. It doesn't happen on purpose, but I love when we can alternate between established and emerging writers, and that dichotomy couldn't be more vivid here -- one, a giant in the poetry world, whose work includes being the editor of the legendary Ghost Dance in the '60s and being one of the founding editors of the Pushcart Prize, the other being a college student in Pennsylvania. I love that we can keep switching gears with this thing. So far, it's been a blast.
Happy Easter!
**
Saw the Hugo nominees today. What I adore about the Hugos is that every year they make a valiant effort to be high-brow and serious, and yet every year something gets nominated that completely belays that impulse. This year's fun surprise: The "Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury" video. Also, lots of Doctor Who, which of course makes me happy, especially after last night's extremely engrossing season premiere. More on that soon. Gonna give it a couple days so I can write without spoiling people who are delayed a day or two. But in the meantime, consider the tonal difference between the first and second volumes of Grant Morrison's The Invisibles, the first set in the UK, the second in the United States.
***
Reading at 9 p.m. Monday at Ralph's Rock Diner in Worcester. Hope to see you there!
April 22, 2011
Sarah Jane Smith: Linking the Past and Present
But -- even as I haven't quite got around to solidifying my thoughts about either -- Sladen's death had a way of putting everything into focus. Because in a very real way, Sarah Jane Smith is one of the very, very few characters who had a way of signifying greater cultural shifts not just once, but twice. And that's something worth looking at.
Writes Charlie Jane Anders (whom I always seem to be quoting), "When her character, Sarah Jane Smith, was added to the show in 1973, she was a direct reaction against the ditzy, spacey Jo Grant, her predecessor. And at first, Sarah Jane Smith was conceived of as a sort of plucky girl reporter, like Lois Lane, who would spout lines about 'Women's Lib' every now and then. In her very first scene, Sarah Jane has a stereotypical 1970s feminist moment with the Doctor, who asks her to make herself useful by making coffee. Later, Sarah Jane gives the struggling Queen Thalira a crash course in standing up for herself. Watching those early episodes, you sense that the show is cluelessly trying too hard to make Sarah Jane a strong female character."
It's true, and when she wasn't being written as a cartoon, she was given -- to cite an old interview with Sladen which I can't quite find right now -- lines that were pretty much reduced to, "yes, Doctor." To say she was thinly written was an understatement, but it was the '70s, and much of television writing was like that. The two salient points to take away from that time is that A.) Sladen was a good enough actress to make a cardboard-cutout character real and memorable for a large number of viewers, and B.) At the very least, the show was trying.
Diversity is the sort of thing that gets handled terribly clumsily most of the time, even (perhaps even especially) by the well-intentioned. There was a sense that something was going on, but because they were immersed in their times, the very British writers and producers had little sense of how to handle it. It was done badly, but at least it was done. If one waits until one knows they can make a change like that perfectly, nothing will ever happen. So, yes, perhaps even the clumsy and cynical attempts at these sort of things deserve some credit. And it all worked out well enough. Sarah Jane Smith's return to the new Who series in 2006 was overwhelmingly successful, even garnering her her own spin-off, the Sarah Jane Adventures.
Writes Anders, "Sarah Jane Smith went from being a former companion to being a Doctor-ish figure in her own right, serving as mentor and protector to an ever-changing cast of kids and young adults, including her own adopted son Luke. At its absolute best, her spin-off show has been capable of tremendous cleverness, but the characters were always front and center. You may have wished the Doctor would sweep you away in his magical time machine, but Sarah Jane was the guide and friend that we'd all want to go visit. Even though she had a magical supercomputer and a futuristic robot dog, she was still all about nurturing the potential of the young people around her."
As Anders and others have noted, Sarah Jane went from being a pantomime of a feminist character, to being an actual one. Smart, determined, capable, and not needing to be completely alienated in her own personal life to be so (although there is little room for romance on the SJA, and what little there is, ends badly. Still, she lives her own life, leads her own career, and raises her small, ad hoc family. Her life isn't perfect, but whose is?) Sarah Jane is a hero who continually rises to protect the Earth, sacrificing much in the process, certainly, but also doing so -- like the Doctor -- largely without resorting to violence.
The Doctor's influence looms large on the show, and calling her the Doctor's Apprentice isn't far from the mark. But that influence went both ways, and in a lot of ways, it was Sarah Jane Smith that began to thaw the distance between the Doctor and his companions. She was the one that paved the way for the contemporary, more realized (if, by necessity, flawed) relationships he has now. While other companions had been enjoyed by audiences before, Sarah Jane Smith was the one that made them vital, and has gone a long way toward driving the audience's investment in the show. It's not insignificant that, at the end of "Journey's End," Sarah Jane is the one who reminds him that he has a family of people who love him, a family comprised of the people whom he's shown the stars.
But I think, to get a firm handle on Sarah Jane's role in the Who canon today, one needs to look at the new companions. Particularly the aforementioned Martha Jones, with whom she shares much in common. In the new Who, the Doctors' relationships with his companions are the central narrative. The Doctor's relationship with Rose Tyler was, from any meaningful perspective, a love story, and he's more than once referred to Donna Noble as his "best mate." But what of Martha?
In a lot of ways, Martha is the Doctor's other disciple, even if he doesn't always agree with the choices she makes. The obvious parallel is that he's THE Doctor, and she's studying to be a doctor. That's significant. And in "The Last of the Time Lords," it's Martha that spreads his Gospel, which eventually leads to his being able to save mankind (or, more precisely, his being the instrument of mankind saving itself):
I traveled across the world. From the ruins of New York, to the fusion mills of China, right across the radiation pits of Europe. And everywhere I went I saw people just like you, living as slaves! But if Martha Jones became a legend then that's wrong, because my name isn't important. There's someone else. The man who sent me out there, the man who told me to walk the Earth. And his name is The Doctor. He has saved your lives so many times and you never even knew he was there. He never stops. He never stays. He never asks to be thanked. But I've seen him, I know him... I love him... And I know what he can do. ... and later ...
I was telling a story, that's all. No weapons, just words. I did just what The Doctor said. I went across the continents, all on my own, and everywhere I went I found the people and I told them my story... I told them about the Doctor... And I told them to pass it on. To spread the word so that every one would know about the Doctor.
When the dust settles, The Doctor is the one who hastens her graduation, and who arranges for her job -- not in a hospital, but for UNIT, a place he himself once worked, and which more or less does the same work he does. Out of all of the companions he's had, Martha is the one that he chooses to do his work in his absence. Of course, he doesn't entirely agree with the course that work always takes, but he does see its necessity -- despite all his criticism of UNIT and its dependence on guns, it's his organization. It's a major piece of his history, and he entrusts his disciple to it.
And ultimately, that pays off, as Martha is the one who, in "Journey's End," stares down Davros with the threat of destroying the Earth to save many more planets. Not a far cry from the Doctor's own actions during the Time War, at that.
So no, Martha's not his lover or his friend. She's his student, and in many ways, she's the one that -- by intention or accident -- is the one that he's most shaped into his own image. And that's got to be a little painful for him to look at, sometimes.
But Martha really only encompasses about half of what the Doctor is. She, as she herself foreshadows, becomes a soldier. Sarah Jane is the flipside to that. Like Martha, she's continued on the Doctor's work, but the other side of it: exploration, investigation, a sense of wonder, pacifism. Between the two of them, you have a pretty good yin and yang of the Doctor's personality.
But they also have more in common than that. If Sarah Jane was the first attempt at having a feminist female protagonist on the show, Martha was its first attempt at a non-white companion, assuming you don't count Mickey. (Who would eventually go on to be Martha's husband.) Both attempts had their share of awkwardness, but were on the whole good things. And if it's Sarah Jane that's there to remind the Doctor of what he has, it's Martha's job to remind him of his responsibilities. After all, she's the only one who he gives a means of contacting him, for when things get bad -- which she uses in "The Sontaran Stratagem."
These two women become his touchstones to Earth in very real ways, both emotionally and physically. But whereas Martha's young, and at the beginning of her life -- new job, new husband -- Sarah Jane is older, and in a lot of ways, the one of the pair able to look at the Doctor as an equal. Perhaps its not surprising then that, after her return in "School Reunion," Sarah Jane becomes the only companion whose life the Doctor seems to regularly re-enter (a byproduct of her having her own spin-off, and unlike Jack Harkness, one kids can watch.) It shapes the narrative, yes, but over time, the Doctor's aversion to revisiting past companions seems to stop applying to her, and indeed, so far she's the only one of the past companions, excepting classic companion Jo Grant, to encounter Matt Smith's 11th Doctor, and indeed, it's Grant that points out how unusual it is that the Doctor has done anything that resembles "keeping in touch."
With most companions, the journey with the Doctor needs to be a temporary thing, or else it in some way destroys them (poor Donna) or else the Doctor subsumes their lives. At some point, the Doctor's companions need to move on, just as children need to leave the home. He's shown them the stars, and now they have to do something with it. With Sarah Jane, when we meet her again, she's older, and in a place where she can re-encounter the Doctor in such a way as to not have him take over her life. They can have an adult familial relationship in ways that's difficult with the younger companions.
What's interesting is that, if the Doctor's companions --as they've ever been -- are the audience's window into the show, then Sarah Jane is the window for the older audience, the fans of the original show. But she's also the window for the younger audience, through The Sarah Jane Adventures, and that's an odd dichotomy. On a meta level, Sarah Jane is a connection between the youngest and oldest fans of the show, even as on a story level she's a connection between classic characters such as Grant and the Brig, and the newest characters, including her young cohorts, Luke, Clyde and Rani. "Someday, that'll be us," Rani says after meeting Grant. And indeed, it probably will. Things change, and there will always be new faces, new heroes, to enact the roles in stories that the culture needs them to play, and that, perhaps more than anything else, was what was important about Sarah Jane Smith: When we met her, she was a well-intentioned cardboard cutout, and when we meet her again, she's older and wiser, a smart, competent hero. Sarah Jane Smith linked the past with the future and told us all that we don't have to be what we used to be. We can change, become better than we were, and when we do, then we can look our past directly in the eye --as she does the Doctor -- and speak to it truthfully, without malice or judgment, with love for what good its given us, without having to go back and be what we were. She told us it's OK to age, to be what we are now.
April 21, 2011
Poetry, in Fast-Forward
*Had a lovely time on Writers on Writing. Barbara knows exactly how to wind me up and get me off on a tangent. In a good way. (: Great conversation that went way too quickly. If you missed it, there will be a podcast soon. Will post when it's out. Probably about two weeks, give or take.
*Just got my copy of Don't Blame the Ugly Mug: 10 Years of 2 Idiots Peddling Poetry. Big, gorgeous book. I know what I'm reading on the way to NYC tomorrow! (No, I'm not driving. How could you think that?)
*And, hey! I'm reading in NYC tomorrow! Grand release party for the other gorgeous anthology I'm in right now, Knocking at the Door: Poems For Approaching the Other. Reading with a whole host of great people -- including Corrina Bain, Jenith Charpentier, Sam Cha, Dawn Gabriel and Dorinda Wegener -- at 8 p.m.. at the Bowery Poetry Club, hosted by editors Lea Deschenes and Lisa Sisler. It's going to be a party. If you're in the New York area, you should be there.
*Monday I read for the Dirty Gerund Poetry Series at 9 p.m. at Ralph's Chadwick Square Diner here in beautiful Worcester. as previously mentioned, two sets: the first will be poems from my series, Toxic Waltz, reflections on punk rock; and the second will be the debit of Unwinding the Crash, a short story/prose poem about journalism and authority. And of course, there will be the open mic, the ever-amazing house band and special musical guest, The Sneaky Mister. When doing full features in Worcester, I make it a habit to only put together sets that scare me to perform. This one terrifies me. Come see the impending nervous breakdown!
*In Radius, we have an excerpt from Eric John Priestley's forthcoming semi-autobiographical novel, The Poison Tree, and G. Murray Thomas unlocks "The Next ... Files," as we revisit vintage reviews from the seminal SoCal poetry newsmag. This time around, we look back at the Iguana with Murray and Ellyn Maybe.
April 20, 2011
Victor on the Radio Today!
I'll be reading poems, and talking about Radius, City of Insomnia and. almost inevitably, National Poetry Month. Also, if my past track record on this show is any indication, I'll probably make a catty comment about a writer who is much, much bigger than I am. (I don't plan for these. They just slip out of my mouth. Evidently, with some degree of regularity ...)
Tune in Weds. morning at 9 a.m. PT at KUCI-FM 88.9 or listen online at KUCI.org or at iTunes, News/talk radio.The Perpetual Weirdness of Death
And that's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Loss. This knowledge that someone who had some significance to you is gone forever. That the actress you adore won't be back for another fantastic performance; that you won't have a chance to get to better know the guy you probably should have known all along. Until it runs out, life seems to be an endless cascade of possibilities. There's always something to do. There's always more time to do everything you should. And then, suddenly, those probabilities run out, and the sudden stop is jarring. In a lot of ways, we prepare ourselves for the big losses, but the small ones, the ones my poetry mentor, Ted Walker, referred to as "a nameless season of small mourning"? Those blindside us, every time. Well, they do me, anyway. They cascade across my heart like glass shards from a shattering chandelier. If only there had been more time ...
In these moments, the missed opportunities appear in stark relief. The possibilities flare in the dark before vanishing completely, and we get a glimpse of what could have been, if the dice had come up differently. One moment, and we realize that something is missing, and our hearts beat out of time. We mourn what we mourn. It's as simple as that.
Rest in peace, Gabriel. I wish I had known you better. And thank you, Elisabeth, for bringing a fiction to life that I truly cherished.
***
I was already sad about Elisabeth Sladen's death, but this bloody broke my heart:
April 19, 2011
Goodbye, Sarah Jane
More later, I'm certain. Probably tomorrow. Except to say that, while it may very well be true that your first Doctor is always, in your heart, the real Doctor, that that's probably also true of his companions. For me, it's The Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith.
