Drew Myron's Blog, page 9
September 16, 2023
Good Watching (for Word Nerds & Other Nuts)
Photo by charity shopper via Creative Commons
I’m on a wave on good watching.
Dramas, documentaries, and comics, too!
Power to readers & writers! thinkers & feelers!
As the Writers Guild of America continues to strike, I urge you to remember why writing matters, not just in books, but in movies, television, music & more. The world turns on words. Please read, write & acknowlege writers — with compensation, attribution & appreciation.
Here are six shows worth watching * (all written and produced prior to the strike):
1.
Turn Every Page: The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb
A documentary about the 50-year relationship between two literary legends: writer Robert Caro and editor Robert Gottlieb.
Caro is the author of The Power Broker (a Pulitizer Prize-winning biography of Robert Moses, a city planner who dramatically transformed New York in the 1900s), along with numerous volumes on Lyndon B. Johnson. Gottlieb is the ever-patient editor of these massive tomes.
Now in their late 80s and 90s, the two still feud over semicolons and bicker about commas while also sharing deep respect and appreciation of the other.
This 2019 documentary is a loving celebration of book culture and a serious look at the future of books. It features a behind-the-scenes look at New York’s rare book business and the quirky, dedicated people who keep books alive.
The movie is produced by Parker Posey (a quirky actress I enjoy; even after all these years, Best in Show is my favorite comedy).
3.
Painkiller
This six-part drama series is the show you don’t want to watch but really need to see.
Focusing on the effects of the opioid crisis in America, the show examines the evil manipulations of Purdue Pharma, the pharmaceutical company (and Sackler family dynasty) that created OxyContin and strategically pushed it on the public.
The story is based on the New Yorker article by Patrick Radden Keefe, The Family That Built an Empire of Pain, as well as the book by Barry Meier, Pain Killer: An Empire of Deceit and the Origin of America's Opioid Epidemic.
4.
The Mustang
Based on a true story, this 2019 movie focuses on a prison inmate who participates in a rehabilitation program centered around the training of wild horses. Written by Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre, Mona Fastvold, and Brock Norman Brock.
5.
Living
Not much happens in this quiet movie about an ordinary man, and yet, so much transpires. , the elegant Brit with a witty reserve, carries this thoughtful drama.
The movie has quite a lineage; it is based on a screenplay by Kazuo Ishiguro, adapted from the 1952 Japanese film Ikiru, which was partly inspired by the 1886 Russian novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy.
How did I not know of this wonderfully odd comedian? Gabriel Rutledge is just what I need right now: unusual, unexpected, funny.
* I watched these programs on Netflix, Amazon Prime, and YouTube. Please note that streaming availability is always changing.
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September 8, 2023
Fast Five with Alejandro Jimenez
“I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world.”
— Alejandro Jimenez
Welcome to Fast Five, in which I ask my favorite writers five questions as a way to open the door to know more.
Alejandro Jimenez is a formerly-undocumented immigrant, poet, writer, and educator from Colima, Mexico. As a writer, his work centers on the intersection of cultural identity, race/ethnicity, immigrant narratives, masculinity, and memory. He is the 2021 Mexican National Poetry Slam Champion, and a two-time National Poetry Slam Semi-Finalist in the U.S.
His work, and personal story, are the subject of the short documentary, American Masters: In The Making, a PBS series highlighting emerging cultural icons.
Alejandro is author of Moreno Prieto Brown, a chapbook that explores growing up as an undocumented immigrant in the U.S. His first full-length poetry book, There will be days, brown boy, was published in September 2023.
Alejandro grew up working with his family in the orchards of Oregon’s Hood River Valley, then moved to Denver, Colorado where he worked with youth. He now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
1.
Why write?
I write because it helps me to process and name feelings, experiences, and injustices that I see or have experienced. I write to not forget and not be forgotten. I write to connect with myself and others. I write because I feel alone and maybe through this I can connect with someone or someone will connect with me. I believe writing, narratives, and stories can change the world. I write because I want to really, really, really believe the last sentence.
2.
What books, movies, songs, or people have influenced your writing life — and how?
Eduardo Galeano and how he tackles memory and historical amnesia is a huge influence of mine!
The movie, Ya No Estoy Aqui, cracked me open and made me feel so validated in how I experience and feel about Mexico and the US.
Layli Long Soldier is amazing! Her readings should be a bucket list item for all of us!
3.
What’s the best writing advice you’ve received?
I cannot remember who said this but, I try to be okay with not writing. The amount of writing one produces does not determine our worth as writers. For example, answering these questions is the most I have written in a while! Do not feel guilty for taking extensive breaks from writing!
4.
I'm a word collector — what are your favorite words?
Here are some of my favorites, all in Spanish: acurrucar, apapachar, moler, murmullar, suspirar, parparear, flujo, and encender.
5.
What question do you wish I would ask?
Why didn't you ask me about my favorite corrido, Drew?! My favorite corrido, currently, is Catarino y Los Rurales. It is fun to sing and dance to it and the actual story behind the song is equally as amazing about a campesino who fought against greed, capitalism, state sanctioned violence against poor people, and really set the stage for the Mexican Revolution of the early 1900s.
There will be days, brown boy by Alejandro Jimenez is available now. Buy the book here.
In his debut full-length poetry collection, Alejandro Jimenez takes readers on a journey of self-discovery and introspection as he grapples with the profound concept of home.
Hanif Abdurraqib [ another of my favorite writers ] calls the book “a collection of enveloping tenderness.”
* * *
The world turns on words, please read & write.
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August 31, 2023
Where are you?
First river, then field, now sky — by drew myron
Mapped
To be given a map or compass would prevent my getting lost — what, for me, the making of poems requires from the start; the act of writing is a way of finding a way forward into the next clearing.
A poem is a gesture toward home.
1.
Somewhere is anywhere is everywhere is nowhere is here.
2.
You are silent. The current is coming.
A breeze breaks through / pushes us on.
Time moves between us, expands and breathes.
First river, then field, now sky.
3.
Inside your skeleton freedom passes / then glances back.
Years ago you locked away but always left the key.
Now there is something new to see: everything waiting.
4.
Go among change.
Get lost, get hurt, get old.
Let go. Fray.
5.
Remember what once softened the world?
Lift your eyes to amber light, soft shoulders, a slow knowing.
Now turn around.
I’m still here.
* * *
The world turns on words, please read & write.
If you like this blog, please subscribe here
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p.s. — I enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.
August 10, 2023
Thankful Thursday: Chance & Order
Is the world on fire?
Portugal, Italy, Greece, Canada, California, Hawaii, and more. I can’t type fast enough to keep up with the latest blaze.
Some days the world is just too much. The mind has its own capacity for disaster. Against the weight, we look for an exit. We watch a mindless movie, read a romance, sneak a nap, or wander the garden to harvest goodness. The mind seeks relief.
When my head is heavy and I lack mental space to read a novel, I reach for a magazine instead. And when I need less data and more dream, I make a cut-up poem. I like the messy chance of found phrases, combined with the orderly assignment of rearrangement. In a single session, I make something of the muddle.
It’s silly and simple, and a light balm for the weary mind. As with much of my writing practice, the results matter less than the act of making.
This piece is comprised of headlines culled from a handful of magazines. Remember those relics? Yes, print still lives, though barely. I find magazines at the library — plentiful and free!
The incredible disappearing doomsday boldly grows
How to stop worrying?
Feed your muse.
Eat more pasta.
Savor summer.
Seriously. Be yourself.
Find juicy savings in
a scrappy surprise.
It's Thankful Thursday. Because attention attracts gratitude and gratitude expands joy, it's time to slice through the ugly and get to the good. Today I am thankful for magazines, libraries & cut-up poems.
What are you thankful for today?
I always enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.
July 29, 2023
Sing Your Praises
1.
After years of writing alone, I’m reminded what a brave act it is to write with others. I’ve joined a writing group that meets weekly, writes quickly, shares eagerly. Every word is fresh from the pen, each of us offering ourselves on the page, like a date, a gift.
A voice shakes, a hand trembles. Huddled together in hope, we lean in, eyes open to the words, to the room’s reverent hush.
When done, the reader will often fix eyes on the page in a pause before praise arrives. A smile of gratitude appears, a bit of disbelief, a rush of relief.
Later, I won’t remember the poem or even a passage. It's the cracked voice I know, the tremor, the space between the last word and the first ahhhh.
Almost always, the act of gathering together is a victory. Each of us trusting the vulnerability that expression creates.
2.
The man is ill, weak and worn with life.
He’s just out of the hospital and wants to go back. That’s where he felt good, he says. Not here, in his small dark apartment where he lacks strength to leave the couch. Not here, where a volunteer delivers a meal that will help keep him alive.
Some days I pray, he says, stopping himself. Some days I pray to God. I pray to God that . . .
He looks away, letting the unsaid words hang in the air.
It’s heartbreaking — no, heartstretching — to have nothing to offer but a wan reach for conversation that tries to convey that I recognize his plea for relief.
I won’t offer empty encouragement, advice, or false cheer. We chat instead about the meal, the weather.
Some days it’s hard, I finally say. Hard to find the small reason to keep going. But I’m glad you’re here.
He nods. I nod, too.
3.
Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy fallen world; it's all we have, and it's never enough, writes Barbara Crooker in one of my favorite poems.
4.
In my work as a writer for local magazines, my favorite part is the interview. You’ve heard everybody has a story, and it’s true. My stories feature ordinary people — your neighbor, family or friend — who are farmers, ranchers, bakers, candlestick makers . . .
I spend a lot of time on research and interviews. To deepen the story, I’ll interview the subject’s neighbors, customers or clients. To get to those people, I wrap up the first interview with a simple question: Who will sing your praises?
Most people hesitate. Ummm . . . they’ll say, squirming as they imagine their friends, family or colleagues forced into offering false praise.
But that’s not how it goes. People want to sing praises! They are eager to share opinions. They’ll prattle on, happy to raise up the good people in their lives.
Seeing this positive response so many times, I believe it’s time to extend the praise beyond a journalist’s request and into our daily lives.
The challenge is that we don’t know how to give spontaneous praise. Most of us welcome the opportunity to applaud another, but we lack the push that will drive us from thought to expression. Spontaneous praise can sometimes feel forced, cheesy, or suspect (as in, why are they being so nice? what do they want from me?).
Maybe we all need someone who can inquire on our behalf:
Hi, I’m gathering information on Jane Smith. Will you please tell me what you love about her?
Or, maybe the first step starts with offering your own unsolicited praise of another. Without prompting, tell someone in your life what you appreciate about them. What makes you smile. How they brighten your life.
Write a letter. Send a text. Make a phone call. Get specific. Go wild!
In the practice of praise, all parties benefit. The praise-giver feels bolstered to share an opinion of appreciation, and the one accepting praise feels valued and seen. Go on, sing your praises today!
Sing your praises
Not the natter of mourning dove
or the bluebird's barbed call
not the frenetic beat of wings
or the honking of geese
When asked to sing your praises
there is a sweet sigh
like a space before a violin swells
a gathering of gratitudes
Silence, too, is a sound
full and satisfied
But oh! to hear the choir —
aligned in song
each note holy as
a hush, tuned
to a deeper hum
— Drew Myron
* * *
The world turns on words, please read & write.
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July 20, 2023
Thankful Thursday: Noticing
Driving to Dufur: A Study in Calm — photo by Drew Myron
Driving to Dufur
Some days
the mind spins
with wheels along
an easy road,
steady.
Some days
the beauty is
too much to
believe and
the distance is
a calm kind of
lull you want
to hold.
— Drew Myron
It's Thankful Thursday.
Because joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude, I work hard to find the good. Yes, it sounds cheesy. Yes, it can be a chore.
But stick with me. I’m not looking for Hallmark happiness, all rainbows and kittens. Or a daily to-do, like washing the dishes.
Consider, instead, gratitude as an act of attention. As writers, our job is to be awake to the world. Gratitude, then, is a natural next step of noticing.
(Not surprisingly, one of my favorite weekly reads is The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker)
Please join me: What did you notice today? A person, a place, a poem? A story, a song, a sky? What are you thankful for today?
p.s. — I always enjoy hearing from you. Send light here.
* * *
The world turns on words, please read & write.
If you like this blog, please subscribe here
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July 13, 2023
Good Books Lately
Ahh, those languid days of long light. Is there anything better than summer reading?
Okay, yes, winter is made cozy with good books, too. But summer is my favorite season. And I’m happy to share these good books I’ve recently enjoyed:
FICTION
The Index of Self-Destructive Acts by Christopher Beha
Don’t judge a book by its cover — judge the title instead. Index is a wonderfully well-written, completely-absorbing sprawl of a novel. Published in 2020, I don’t know how I missed this gem. Though I was initially daunted by its heft — 500 pages! — this complex family tale enthralled me. I zipped through this novel in 24 short hours, and still wanted more.
A fast and fevered story-within-a-story about writing and the publishing industry. Wrapped in questions of racism and theft, this novel reads like a thriller and for word-nerds (like me) it’s an irresistible combo. Published in May 2023, Yellowface is creating waves among readers and writers with a sharp divide between lovers and loathers.
I like the insider-y vibe these kind of novels provide, and it turns out the writers-stealing-writing is a whole genre. Some of my favorites in this theme are: The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz and Who is Maud Dixon by Alexandra Andrews (Fun Fact: Andrews is married to Christopher Beha, whose book is featured above).
POETRY
This book has been on my to-read list for 10 years. Yes, that long! Long ago suggested by a friend, I never got around to reading it and when I was ready the book was out of print. Thanks to ThriftBooks, I recently snagged a used copy. These poems are funny, sharp, conversational — and totally worth the wait!
[Yes, these poems induce a desire for exclamation!]
Released in 2013, the collection was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. The poems wander across a terrain of crushed hearts and failed love with generous amounts of wry humor and cutting delight.
The Lord and the General Din of the World by Jane Mead
From the first poem, I’m hooked. Every page of this powerful book offers an aching I don’t understand and yet completely comprehend. This 1995 collection is a complicated treasure, and the first of Mead’s five books.
“This collection is not a joyous book — very few contemporary poetry collections are — but it is not a cause for despair,” Philip Levine writes in the introduction. “It is because in these poems we suffer a world of madness, addiction, and death that the moments of redemption are so charged and significant.”
Concerning That Prayer I Cannot Make
Jesus, I am cruelly lonely
and I do not know what I have done
nor do I suspect that you will answer me.
And what is more, I have spent
these bare months bargaining
with my soul as if I could make her
promise to love me when now it seems
that what I mean when I said “soul”
was that the river reflects the railway bridge just as the sky
says it should — it speaks that language.
I do not know who you are.
I come here every day
to be beneath this bridge,
to sit beside this river,
so I must have seen the way
the clouds just slide
under the rusty arch—
without snagging on the bolts,
how they are borne along on the dark water—
I must have noticed their fluent speed
and also how that tattered blue T-shirt
remains snagged on the crown
of the mostly sunk dead tree
despite the current’s constant pulling.
Yes, somewhere in my mind there must
be the image of a sky blue T-shirt, caught,
and the white islands of ice flying by
and the light clouds flying slowly
under the bridge, though today the river’s
fully melted. I must have seen.
But I did not see.
I am not equal to my longing.
Somewhere there should be a place
the exact shape of my emptiness—
there should be a place
responsible for taking one back.
The river, of course, has no mercy—
it just lifts the dead fish
toward the sea.
Of course, of course.
What I meant when I said “soul”
was that there should be a place.
On the far bank the warehouse lights
blink red, then green, and all the yellow
machines with their rusted scoops and lifts
sits under a thin layer of sunny frost.
And look—
my own palm—
there, slowly rocking.
It is my pale palm—
palm where a black pebble is turning.
Listen—
all you bare trees
burrs
brambles
piles of twigs
red and green lights flashing
muddy bottle shards
shoe half buried—listen
listen, I am holy.
— Jane Mead
Your Turn: What are you reading?
I’m always looking for a good book.
Please share your gems!
July 6, 2023
You are looking for words
the color of ash — erasure poem by drew myron
[ tunnel five fire ]
the forest is
the color of ash
fire blackened
the breeze
on a sweltering
july day, the air
might explode
The wildfire rages on. Wind quickens and smoke thickens. Despite five helicopters, four tankers, and hundreds of firefighters, the blaze sweeps through days.
Still, summer continues. The cool river fills with frolic. Workers toil. Tourists stroll. Vacation rolls on. How could it not? How could it still?
This is the era of disassociation. We look away and beyond. Our survival skills are now so honed we can distance every discomfort that is not our own. In this age of both fortune and futility, how do we balance head, heart and happenings?
I turn to the old answers: reading, writing, scratching. You are looking for words to sustain you, writes Joy Harjo, to counter despair.
Indeed.
July 2, 2023
Hot, Dry, Overwrought
Quietly Hoped, a visual poem by Drew Myron
they greeted me,
the canopy of cedars —
and quietly hoped.
The first forest fire of the season has ignited the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area — where I live.
As water jets fly overhead and smoke fills the hot box of July, we sit and stew and watch, wait, pray.
This is not new. In Oregon, and the western U.S., every summer is fraught.
In 2017, the Eagle Creek Fire destroyed 50,000 acres, threatened homes, closed major roadways for miles, and smoldered for three months. The fire was started by a teenager lighting firecrakers in the forest.
In 2018, multiple fires raced to the east of us, in Wasco and Sherman counties, burning hot and fast with a force that consumed wheat crops, homes, and took the life of a farmer as he tried to save his neighbor’s land. Over two months, the fires burned nearly 250,000 acres.
Hot weather, driving wind, and dry land is a potent combination, and increasingly common. Grim is the new normal.
But you know this. You’ve seen the news. Maybe you’ve driven past a matchstick forest with scorched understory. Or you’ve lived through an evacuation, rushing to pack your history and your fear. Or maybe you’ve been safe from danger but your neighbhorhood filled with smoke, as you secured every window and door to keep your family safe.
The world is hot, dry, overwrought.
I don’t know what to do. Powerless, I pace the house watching the smoke grow. I refresh my web browser for the latest news. I hear the planes jet back and forth, carting water to quell the fire. Restless, I try to read but cannot settle.
We are safe, we are not in the line of fire, and I am grateful.
Still, a fire rattles. By instinct, I reach for pen and paper. I erase words to find meaning in the quiet calm of making.
Note: Erasure poem and images were salvaged from “Saving Forests" which appeared in the May 2022 edition of National Geographic.
* * *
The world turns on words, please read & write.
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June 30, 2023
Thankful Thursday (on Friday)
Revelation
If a matter of how
falls upon your rocky life,
sigh
Your sleep is arrested.
Your body swirls in tight circles across
a floodplain once parched.
Even so, take this day in a
two-hand grip and repeat after me:
ripples, wild, lovely mine
— Drew Myron
* * *
It's Thankful Thursday, on Friday. Let’s wrap up the week on a high note.
Joy expands and contracts in direct relation to our sense of gratitude. What are you thankful for today? A person, a place, a thing? A story, a song, a poem?
What makes your heart expand?
