I was born on
the 14th of March in 1962.
That makes me a Pisces and like a fish
I’ve been- swimming- upstream, against
a strong current of personal experience
for the greater part of this tired life.
And like a Salmon returning to the beds
from witch it was spawned, I'm also
returning to a place called home.
Dying where it all began.
- Cameron Dockery
Friday, March 28, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
The Genius of Twain:
Samuel Clemens /Mark Twain died 104 years ago, but his work remains and continues to sell well. When his autobiography was published in 2010, a mere one hundred years after his death, it literally flew of the shelves as bookstores were unable to keep up with demand.
The names Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn are forever edged in the collective conscience of American literature. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn have moved beyond classic, and now enjoy more of an iconic status.
Like most iconic figures Twain is not immune to criticism. His portrayal of " Jim," and use of the "N" Word continues to be divisive. In 2011 Auburn University professor Alan Gribben adapted/censored Huck Finn for New South Books. It was an effort to present the story in a more politically correct fashion.
The purpose of this post is not to argue the in's and out's of censorship, nor the politics behind such a move. It is not for me to decide what is or is not offensive to others. Nor, is it my place to champion personal morality or lack there of. Melissa Harris-Perry addresses the material well and presents a phenomenal argument. Follow the link.
The purpose of this post is to look into the WHY and explore the How of Twains success. I am sure the opinions of critics are varied and many. Some will call on his uncanny wit and ability to circumvent. Others, attribute it to his talent, while a few call it luck and say such a feat could never again be reproduced.
I beg to differ with the latter and agree with the former. I think luck had nothing to do with it and I am positive his wit and ability to circumvent played a role and his talent was beyond question. However, these all fall short. There was something else going on.
There is a reason his work still resonates with readers and sells well for the publishers. I recently down loaded a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It was in the introduction where I stumbled upon his genius to connect. I will let him tell you in his own words.
"Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they once were themselves and of how they felt and thought and talked..."
And there you have it. The genius behind Twains success and continued status is in that he wrote children's stories that adults enjoy reading. If you are an aspiring writer searching for success and readership take notice of this simple principal: Children's stories that adults like to read.
The names Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn are forever edged in the collective conscience of American literature. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn have moved beyond classic, and now enjoy more of an iconic status.
Like most iconic figures Twain is not immune to criticism. His portrayal of " Jim," and use of the "N" Word continues to be divisive. In 2011 Auburn University professor Alan Gribben adapted/censored Huck Finn for New South Books. It was an effort to present the story in a more politically correct fashion.
The purpose of this post is not to argue the in's and out's of censorship, nor the politics behind such a move. It is not for me to decide what is or is not offensive to others. Nor, is it my place to champion personal morality or lack there of. Melissa Harris-Perry addresses the material well and presents a phenomenal argument. Follow the link.
The purpose of this post is to look into the WHY and explore the How of Twains success. I am sure the opinions of critics are varied and many. Some will call on his uncanny wit and ability to circumvent. Others, attribute it to his talent, while a few call it luck and say such a feat could never again be reproduced.
I beg to differ with the latter and agree with the former. I think luck had nothing to do with it and I am positive his wit and ability to circumvent played a role and his talent was beyond question. However, these all fall short. There was something else going on.
There is a reason his work still resonates with readers and sells well for the publishers. I recently down loaded a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. It was in the introduction where I stumbled upon his genius to connect. I will let him tell you in his own words.
"Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they once were themselves and of how they felt and thought and talked..."
And there you have it. The genius behind Twains success and continued status is in that he wrote children's stories that adults enjoy reading. If you are an aspiring writer searching for success and readership take notice of this simple principal: Children's stories that adults like to read.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Mourning Spring
According to
the calendar
we’re five days into spring,
but I’m not feeling it.
we’re five days into spring,
but I’m not feeling it.
And the
earth’s waking up
to the blossoms of buttercups,
but I’m not feeling it.
And the days are getting longer
as the morning birds sing,
but I’m not feeling it.
to the blossoms of buttercups,
but I’m not feeling it.
And the days are getting longer
as the morning birds sing,
but I’m not feeling it.
And the
choir’s getting ready
for a Grand Celebration, but
I'm still not feeling it.
Like the Oak of early spring,
I have nothing left to offer,
but these empty arms-
pressed against a clear blue sky.
-Cameron Dockery
for a Grand Celebration, but
I'm still not feeling it.
Like the Oak of early spring,
I have nothing left to offer,
but these empty arms-
pressed against a clear blue sky.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Regret
I begin with a question
and become a decision
that weighs on the mind
and burdens the heart.
-Cameron Dockery
and become a decision
that weighs on the mind
and burdens the heart.
The kings and paupers of
this word know my name.
I have wrestled both and
left them in shame.
this word know my name.
I have wrestled both and
left them in shame.
I am regret.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The Lump
I stood at
your grave with a lump in my throat
hurting too much to cry, and couldn't believe
you were gone, but seven men fired twenty-
one salutes, then someone played taps.
I returned today and found new grass
breaking through the crust of an old earth.
From the blackened soil of a still fresh grave
life sprang forth as you reached up to me.
And I longed for the warmth of your embrace,
but the lump remained. I’ve learned it’s a living
thing growing like a tumor with a pulse--
beating in rhythm, with my own broken heart.
hurting too much to cry, and couldn't believe
you were gone, but seven men fired twenty-
one salutes, then someone played taps.
I returned today and found new grass
breaking through the crust of an old earth.
From the blackened soil of a still fresh grave
life sprang forth as you reached up to me.
And I longed for the warmth of your embrace,
but the lump remained. I’ve learned it’s a living
thing growing like a tumor with a pulse--
beating in rhythm, with my own broken heart.
I miss you
Dad.
-Cameron Dockery
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
How then shall we live?
Long ago and far away a carpenter from a remote village called Nazareth turned Rabbi and delivered the greatest and most thought provoking message this world had ever heard. Nothing has since or shall ever be equal to what we in the church call The Sermon on the Mount.
He covered a lot of ground in the introduction alone. We typically and traditionally call them the Beatitudes and it is there where the Rabbi said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of God.
His words leave me with many questions. The first one being: How then shall we live?
(Matt.5:3-10)
He covered a lot of ground in the introduction alone. We typically and traditionally call them the Beatitudes and it is there where the Rabbi said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of God.
His words leave me with many questions. The first one being: How then shall we live?
(Matt.5:3-10)
Monday, March 17, 2014
Monday: By Billy Collins
The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlight of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
Just think-
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.
- Billy Collins
I turned 52 last Friday and on Saturday my wife and I spent the day together in a neighboring town. It was no surprise that we landed in a bookstore browsing. When she asked me what I would like for my birthday I quickly responded, for starters, something from Billy Collins.
If Robert Frost was the poet of the twentieth century I think Collins is the poet of this century. Like Frost, he uses simple words and plan speech to convey deep meaning. He moves me.
It is Monday and I got up at 5:00 this morning and though it's still dark outside, I'm "looking out the window," waiting for the sun to rise and wondering what new hope this day may bring.
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlight of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
Just think-
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.
- Billy Collins
I turned 52 last Friday and on Saturday my wife and I spent the day together in a neighboring town. It was no surprise that we landed in a bookstore browsing. When she asked me what I would like for my birthday I quickly responded, for starters, something from Billy Collins.
If Robert Frost was the poet of the twentieth century I think Collins is the poet of this century. Like Frost, he uses simple words and plan speech to convey deep meaning. He moves me.
It is Monday and I got up at 5:00 this morning and though it's still dark outside, I'm "looking out the window," waiting for the sun to rise and wondering what new hope this day may bring.
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