Skip to main content

The Cold Hand of God on His Arm

 Shakespeare spoke and wrote of a time that was, "out of joint."  A time when the music of the spheres (planets) was in discord rather than concord.  Music with the wrong sound from the wrong chords.  We all know the vicissitudes of normal life,  but there are times, like right now when the entire universe seems out of synch.  

People sometimes say, "I'm snakebit" to describe the experience.  Yet when it seems like the entire universe is affected, it calls for a bigger idea.  Like the year 1968, our culture here in the U. S. of A seems to be going through this kind of reality.  As the world we knew 54 years ago, our country is incredibly divided.  We have an ever-increasing income gap and what we once knew as a generation gap and a credibility gap have been replaced by value shifts and calling out liars for what they are: liars.

    As a child of the 60s, myself, I vividly recall that feeling of pervasive fear that came with my possible future being wrapped up with the unpredictability of the Vietnam War, a nuclear war, and living in a country where one's political belief could evoke anger and violence that was easily life-threatening.  Our counter-culture was enraptured with "Peace" because the world we were living in was anything but peaceful.  

So now, as the world places its eyes on the atrocities coming out of Ukraine daily, that old familiar feeling returns.  What we have now witnessed rivals the imagery and horror of WW II.  Some would call it surreal, but is that really the correct word? Surreal gets misused all the time.  People who mean that something is unbelievable or unreal, often say surreal.  But there is an element of the bizarre in surreal that defies explanation.  If you win an Olympic gold medal and are asked how it feels (because you certainly will) and say it feels surreal, is that really what you mean?  It might feel fantastic but does it also feel macabre?  Hardly.

    War is surreal.  This week we've seen the death of Ukrainian children along with the early casualties of Putin"s land grab war.  That approaches surreal.  That has the quality of a heavy weight inhibiting your breathing.  It traps you, won't leave you alone.  It cries out that the world has lost its way. 



    I'm reminded of Kenneth Patchen's novel The Journal of Albion Moonlight.  Often described as a surrealistic novel, it is a powerful anti-war message written during WW II.  It offers no solution and details a group of people traveling across the country in a world gone mad.  Much like today, there are forces that surround us from every angle.  There are the literal explosions and those more figurative but definitely capable of destruction.  Our time out of joint features a rise in crime, gun violence, a pandemic we can't really trust be over, severe inflation, an increasing unhoused population, and the general overall feeling of malaise when it comes to our safety and security.  

I've been reading the Patchen novel for over 50 years now.  A little at a time.  It's a very different experience, believe me.  Its literary merit,  or lack thereof, depending on your taste, is best left for another time.  Suffice it to say, it is eminently quotable.  See my title here.






Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Quality of Optimism

 I've returned to The Book of Qualities, by J Ruth Gentler once again to meet the needs of one of the senior students in my little Writing From Memory class I'm currently teaching in my local community center.  This little volume personifies various concepts and personality traits.  The particular student "in need" seems to be fixated on writing about her past relationships.  Apparently, there were many.   I'm OK with that.  I only hope that she picks a few qualities that are as revealing about herself as those that might describe her Ex's.  There is much to be learned by writing about a quality.  The aforementioned book seems to have survived well over the years.  I first encountered it and its author way back in the late 1970s.  I took a journal writing workshop from her.  Then, a few years later, her book came out and I introduced these writing exercises to my students.  11th grade Juniors seemed to do the best with it. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Writing on the Wall

       The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom.  As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending.  A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably.  On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read"                     This is a Teepee to take a pee pee,                         Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom      14 year-old humor at it's best.  The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic.  Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom.  Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...