POETRY IS THE RICH CONSERVE
Ultimately the voice in the whirlwind says
I am this love
which drips like honey through earthly caverns
…to the high altar…
poetry is the rich conserve--
the talisman for transit
through all comings and goings
moment to moment
aeon to aeon
music from the great organ
always othering to itself
but yet comes home.
--Barbara Smith Stoff
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
ON THE DEATH OF OSAMA BIN LADEN
ON THE DEATH OF OSAMA BIN LADEN
PAUL SONIN’S PHOTO OF PENTAGON 911 MEMORIAL BENCHES – I CALL THEM ICARUS WINGS
May 2, 2011
Watching the news this morning about the death of Osama Bin Laden, I remember these memorial benches and the very first blog piece I was moved to write as I watched the memorial services on September 11, 2008 (see below). Bruegel and his Icarus, and the poems that painting has inspired in ensuing years, have been coming to mind a lot lately as I become more aware of the turbulence of our times. Osama Bin Laden was most certainly not Icarus…and the world is watching closely…as James Joyce said “…in the smithy of the soul.”
As millions offer prayers from the heart, the world awkwardly strives toward a live birth for a new age of peace and the most benevolent outcome for all. Let it be so. –bss
Thursday, September 11, 2008
ICARUS REMEMBERED
By Barbara Smith Stoff
Today, as I watched the news with the extended coverage of the 9-11 memorial services, I saw many views of the memorial park with the benches, each one cantilevered over water. To me, those benches look like the wings of Icarus downed—ever so many wings reminding us of earthly flights suddenly cut short in the splintered morning of what started out as just another ordinary day.
I am reminded of Brueghel’s painting, “Landscape with the fall of Icarus” where only the white clad legs of Icarus can be seen sticking up from the water, if one looks closely. Those wings, crafted from imagination, inspiration and courage, have not served.
Auden’s poem “Musee Des Beaux Arts,” describes that painting…pointing out how the world turns away from disaster and private suffering and moves on. In another poem about that same painting, this one by Charles F. Madden, “The Fall of Icarus,” we read “none has seen the silent fall of Icarus/ through the riotous wind and the shadows of the coming evening light/nor do they hear his sigh, both of pity and delight/of his remembered waxed and winged flight.”
As I gaze now across the landscape of benches, it is comforting to see those ethereal feathers of hope made concrete, anchored in earth, yet hovering as if in flight over the waters…the soul flies on, but leaves a reminder for us.
And we have not turned away. We remember in public the private sufferings. With these wings we remember and we may pray, as individuals, for our collective humanity to continue. We may pray as with James Joyce, as he stands on the shore contemplating his own flight over the waters toward maturity:
“Amen. So be it. Welcome, O Life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race…..Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.”
Each of us privately forges some contribution to all life. Perhaps in those concrete wings, something of the essence of each departed soul has been distilled and offers back, for all to see, a symbol of hope for humankind–a more benevolent evolution.
–bss (And please click below on “The Sunday Times Museum of Fine Art” for poems and image of Brueghel’s painting)
THE SUNDAY TIMES MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS
Posted in Uncategorized by barbarasmithstoff on April 21, 2011 Edit This
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, now seen as a good early copy of Bruegel’s original
THE SUNDAY TIMES MUSEUM OF FINE ART
I see too,
remembering Auden’s Icarus,
that when it comes to suffering
they are seldom wrong
these reporters and their cameras,
the way they catch tragedy on the human face,
and yet sometimes they fix for us
in their instants and afterimages
…something achingly beautiful, incandescent…
so human, so human rising up.
Take this picture of Redgrave for example.
I have kept it here on my desk,
for weeks now, have studied her expression…
hand gesturing for some ideal, tender,
perhaps clear only to her.
I have met those eyes, the lips
pursed to appeal from her side.
I know little of sides and battles,
but I know that face.
–Barbara Smith Stoff
Here is the poem which inspired me and my students:
MUSEE DES BEAUX ARTS
By W.H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
Copyright © 1976 by Edward Mendelson, William Meredith and Monroe K. Spears,
Executors of the Estate of W. H. Auden.
Pasted from
Here is another poem…this one from DOORS INTO POETRY, by Chad Walsh (Prentice-Hall, Inc. 1962)…
THE FALL OF ICARUS (From Brueghel’s painting)
by Charles F. Madden
The bulging sails by a riotous wind caught
pull the ships and their rigging nets toward shore
to be emptied. The sailors quickly will calm their floors
and their houses in the evening light will melt into the mountains.
And on the hill with one foot planted in the earth
his plowing almost done; his eyes cast down and fully shielded
from the sun which now is growing shadow, the farmer
turns in soil and toil the final circles of the day.
Below him a quiet pastoral: on lichen bearing rocks
the feeding sheep, the quiet watching dog, the silent shepherd
so stalking with his eyes the homing flights of birds
that neither he nor the intent fisherman closer to the shore,
none has seen the silent fall of Icarus
through the riotous wind and the shadows of the coming evening light,
nor do they hear his sigh, both of pity and delight
of his remembrd waxed and winged flight.
–Charles F. Madden
PAUL SONIN’S PHOTO OF PENTAGON 911 MEMORIAL BENCHES – I CALL THEM ICARUS WINGS
May 2, 2011
Watching the news this morning about the death of Osama Bin Laden, I remember these memorial benches and the very first blog piece I was moved to write as I watched the memorial services on September 11, 2008 (see below). Bruegel and his Icarus, and the poems that painting has inspired in ensuing years, have been coming to mind a lot lately as I become more aware of the turbulence of our times. Osama Bin Laden was most certainly not Icarus…and the world is watching closely…as James Joyce said “…in the smithy of the soul.”
As millions offer prayers from the heart, the world awkwardly strives toward a live birth for a new age of peace and the most benevolent outcome for all. Let it be so. –bss
Thursday, September 11, 2008
ICARUS REMEMBERED
By Barbara Smith Stoff
Today, as I watched the news with the extended coverage of the 9-11 memorial services, I saw many views of the memorial park with the benches, each one cantilevered over water. To me, those benches look like the wings of Icarus downed—ever so many wings reminding us of earthly flights suddenly cut short in the splintered morning of what started out as just another ordinary day.
I am reminded of Brueghel’s painting, “Landscape with the fall of Icarus” where only the white clad legs of Icarus can be seen sticking up from the water, if one looks closely. Those wings, crafted from imagination, inspiration and courage, have not served.
Auden’s poem “Musee Des Beaux Arts,” describes that painting…pointing out how the world turns away from disaster and private suffering and moves on. In another poem about that same painting, this one by Charles F. Madden, “The Fall of Icarus,” we read “none has seen the silent fall of Icarus/ through the riotous wind and the shadows of the coming evening light/nor do they hear his sigh, both of pity and delight/of his remembered waxed and winged flight.”
As I gaze now across the landscape of benches, it is comforting to see those ethereal feathers of hope made concrete, anchored in earth, yet hovering as if in flight over the waters…the soul flies on, but leaves a reminder for us.
And we have not turned away. We remember in public the private sufferings. With these wings we remember and we may pray, as individuals, for our collective humanity to continue. We may pray as with James Joyce, as he stands on the shore contemplating his own flight over the waters toward maturity:
“Amen. So be it. Welcome, O Life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race…..Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.”
Each of us privately forges some contribution to all life. Perhaps in those concrete wings, something of the essence of each departed soul has been distilled and offers back, for all to see, a symbol of hope for humankind–a more benevolent evolution.
–bss (And please click below on “The Sunday Times Museum of Fine Art” for poems and image of Brueghel’s painting)
THE SUNDAY TIMES MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS
Posted in Uncategorized by barbarasmithstoff on April 21, 2011 Edit This
Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, now seen as a good early copy of Bruegel’s original
THE SUNDAY TIMES MUSEUM OF FINE ART
I see too,
remembering Auden’s Icarus,
that when it comes to suffering
they are seldom wrong
these reporters and their cameras,
the way they catch tragedy on the human face,
and yet sometimes they fix for us
in their instants and afterimages
…something achingly beautiful, incandescent…
so human, so human rising up.
Take this picture of Redgrave for example.
I have kept it here on my desk,
for weeks now, have studied her expression…
hand gesturing for some ideal, tender,
perhaps clear only to her.
I have met those eyes, the lips
pursed to appeal from her side.
I know little of sides and battles,
but I know that face.
–Barbara Smith Stoff
Here is the poem which inspired me and my students:
MUSEE DES BEAUX ARTS
By W.H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
Copyright © 1976 by Edward Mendelson, William Meredith and Monroe K. Spears,
Executors of the Estate of W. H. Auden.
Pasted from
Here is another poem…this one from DOORS INTO POETRY, by Chad Walsh (Prentice-Hall, Inc. 1962)…
THE FALL OF ICARUS (From Brueghel’s painting)
by Charles F. Madden
The bulging sails by a riotous wind caught
pull the ships and their rigging nets toward shore
to be emptied. The sailors quickly will calm their floors
and their houses in the evening light will melt into the mountains.
And on the hill with one foot planted in the earth
his plowing almost done; his eyes cast down and fully shielded
from the sun which now is growing shadow, the farmer
turns in soil and toil the final circles of the day.
Below him a quiet pastoral: on lichen bearing rocks
the feeding sheep, the quiet watching dog, the silent shepherd
so stalking with his eyes the homing flights of birds
that neither he nor the intent fisherman closer to the shore,
none has seen the silent fall of Icarus
through the riotous wind and the shadows of the coming evening light,
nor do they hear his sigh, both of pity and delight
of his remembrd waxed and winged flight.
–Charles F. Madden
Thursday, March 10, 2011
ABOUT BULLYING
ABOUT BULLYING
Watching the news today with morning coffee, I listen to President Obama and our First Lady Obama speaking about bullying. I am reminded of my own preoccupation with that phenomenon, and of my efforts to heal those wounds by reflecting and writing about it. Is bullying becoming more prevalent now? I do not know. But since my writing efforts drew favorable comment all those years ago, and this subject is now being written and talked about more noticeably, perhaps it's time to put it up here--it's March once again:
Note: I wrote this in 2001. Now, because of recent news, I put it up here again. Bullying is not natural. We need to help our children grow up well and happy.
--Barbara Smith Stoff - March 30, 2010
Rescuing the ciphers.(Opinion) | Article from The Christian Science Monitor | HighBeam Research
RESCUING THE CIPHERS
BY BARBARA SMITH
Article from:The Christian Science Monitor Article date:March 9, 2001
Loneliness and alienation in our schools are not new. It's just that the symptoms are becoming more pronounced. President Bush called the shooting at Santana High School in California "a disgraceful act of cowardice." So much for compassion. I call the shooting a cry for help, a desperate
attempt not to be a cipher - a faceless zero.
As I watched the morning news, I studied the face of Charles Andrew Williams as he was being led away into custody. His mouth was tightly pursed and turning down at the corners, his jaw was clenched. He looked so determined even in his hopelessness. It appears that young Williams was indeed isolated, targeted, "picked on because he is scrawny," called "freak," "dork," "nerd," bullied, humiliated. As of Wednesday, it had been reported that no family members have visited him in his cell. This child
was lost long ago.
The ongoing discussion of the profile of a "school shooter" certainly accentuates the image of hopelessness. I remember studying the faces of thousands of students during my years of teaching high school English. Some of those faces, not all, reflected helplessness. I came to know in my bones their pain of blighted ideals, their passion to grow toward the
light and out from under whatever heavy thing kept them down. And sometimes I was the one who felt helpless in the face of their need.
So after the news, I just sat there, remembering. And I remembered a short and true story written sometime in the early '60s by a teacher, Jean Mizer, about a boy who was so lonely he simply fell dead in the snow on the way to school one morning. The story, "Cipher in the Snow," describes
the school personnel in their search to find out his identity, and the never-to-be-forgotten lesson his teacher learned during the course of the search - that to be a teacher means to really look at your students. Jean Mizer was given the Teacher of the Year Award for Idaho in 1964.
Surely by now we know that social alienation can at times produce violence toward oneself or toward others. I remembered another short story, this one by Joanne Greenberg about a young boy who wants so much to belong that he murders a man, just to present himself to his sinister coach as worthy of belonging. The story is called "Rite of Passage."
Joanne Greenberg knows whereof she writes. She endured teen years in a psychiatric facility. She recovered, and has now published 12 novels and four collections of short stories that show clearly her depth of understanding and compassion.
I feel helpless now in the face of all these school shootings, and I want to cry out, too. And say what? Maybe that when keepers want to train bald eagles born in captivity to fly so they can be released into the wild, they put television sets in their cages. The baby eagles love to watch TV, and they see themselves flying and soaring just as the images on the
screen are flying and soaring. And they learn to fly.
If we can use TV so creatively in the endangered-species programs, why can't we use television to encourage our children toward life? Children are endangered, too. What kind of images do we put up for our young ones
to emulate?
In 1914, George Bernard Shaw said: "The cinema tells its story to the illiterate as well as the literate; and it keeps its victim (if you like to call him so) not only awake, but fascinated as if by a serpent's eye. And that is why the cinema is going to produce effects that all the books
in the world could never produce."
Harvard professor Robert Coles has studied children closely and has written with understanding and vision about his findings. We may be surprised at his words: "Children, if we can listen to them, will tell us of a life richer in moral values than most grown-ups can comprehend.... If faced by the prospect of total annihilation, young people will try in some
way to make sense of the mystery and madness of their lives."
So then what are we doing with our powerful imagemakers in the media? How do we reconcile Robert Coles's conclusions with the messages we are getting from some (not all) of our young people today? Where, and how, and
why are we failing them? Failing them so much that they take such desperate means in their hands in order not to be just a cipher? I think one thing is certain. We do not listen to them enough - or soon enough.
Barbara Smith is a retired public school teacher, and at one time worked at Santana High School in Santee, Calif.
(c) Copyright 2001. The Christian Science Monitor
HighBeam™ Research, Inc. © Copyright 2009. All rights reserved.
Watching the news today with morning coffee, I listen to President Obama and our First Lady Obama speaking about bullying. I am reminded of my own preoccupation with that phenomenon, and of my efforts to heal those wounds by reflecting and writing about it. Is bullying becoming more prevalent now? I do not know. But since my writing efforts drew favorable comment all those years ago, and this subject is now being written and talked about more noticeably, perhaps it's time to put it up here--it's March once again:
Note: I wrote this in 2001. Now, because of recent news, I put it up here again. Bullying is not natural. We need to help our children grow up well and happy.
--Barbara Smith Stoff - March 30, 2010
Rescuing the ciphers.(Opinion) | Article from The Christian Science Monitor | HighBeam Research
RESCUING THE CIPHERS
BY BARBARA SMITH
Article from:The Christian Science Monitor Article date:March 9, 2001
Loneliness and alienation in our schools are not new. It's just that the symptoms are becoming more pronounced. President Bush called the shooting at Santana High School in California "a disgraceful act of cowardice." So much for compassion. I call the shooting a cry for help, a desperate
attempt not to be a cipher - a faceless zero.
As I watched the morning news, I studied the face of Charles Andrew Williams as he was being led away into custody. His mouth was tightly pursed and turning down at the corners, his jaw was clenched. He looked so determined even in his hopelessness. It appears that young Williams was indeed isolated, targeted, "picked on because he is scrawny," called "freak," "dork," "nerd," bullied, humiliated. As of Wednesday, it had been reported that no family members have visited him in his cell. This child
was lost long ago.
The ongoing discussion of the profile of a "school shooter" certainly accentuates the image of hopelessness. I remember studying the faces of thousands of students during my years of teaching high school English. Some of those faces, not all, reflected helplessness. I came to know in my bones their pain of blighted ideals, their passion to grow toward the
light and out from under whatever heavy thing kept them down. And sometimes I was the one who felt helpless in the face of their need.
So after the news, I just sat there, remembering. And I remembered a short and true story written sometime in the early '60s by a teacher, Jean Mizer, about a boy who was so lonely he simply fell dead in the snow on the way to school one morning. The story, "Cipher in the Snow," describes
the school personnel in their search to find out his identity, and the never-to-be-forgotten lesson his teacher learned during the course of the search - that to be a teacher means to really look at your students. Jean Mizer was given the Teacher of the Year Award for Idaho in 1964.
Surely by now we know that social alienation can at times produce violence toward oneself or toward others. I remembered another short story, this one by Joanne Greenberg about a young boy who wants so much to belong that he murders a man, just to present himself to his sinister coach as worthy of belonging. The story is called "Rite of Passage."
Joanne Greenberg knows whereof she writes. She endured teen years in a psychiatric facility. She recovered, and has now published 12 novels and four collections of short stories that show clearly her depth of understanding and compassion.
I feel helpless now in the face of all these school shootings, and I want to cry out, too. And say what? Maybe that when keepers want to train bald eagles born in captivity to fly so they can be released into the wild, they put television sets in their cages. The baby eagles love to watch TV, and they see themselves flying and soaring just as the images on the
screen are flying and soaring. And they learn to fly.
If we can use TV so creatively in the endangered-species programs, why can't we use television to encourage our children toward life? Children are endangered, too. What kind of images do we put up for our young ones
to emulate?
In 1914, George Bernard Shaw said: "The cinema tells its story to the illiterate as well as the literate; and it keeps its victim (if you like to call him so) not only awake, but fascinated as if by a serpent's eye. And that is why the cinema is going to produce effects that all the books
in the world could never produce."
Harvard professor Robert Coles has studied children closely and has written with understanding and vision about his findings. We may be surprised at his words: "Children, if we can listen to them, will tell us of a life richer in moral values than most grown-ups can comprehend.... If faced by the prospect of total annihilation, young people will try in some
way to make sense of the mystery and madness of their lives."
So then what are we doing with our powerful imagemakers in the media? How do we reconcile Robert Coles's conclusions with the messages we are getting from some (not all) of our young people today? Where, and how, and
why are we failing them? Failing them so much that they take such desperate means in their hands in order not to be just a cipher? I think one thing is certain. We do not listen to them enough - or soon enough.
Barbara Smith is a retired public school teacher, and at one time worked at Santana High School in Santee, Calif.
(c) Copyright 2001. The Christian Science Monitor
HighBeam™ Research, Inc. © Copyright 2009. All rights reserved.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A ROSE IS A ROSE
As I read about the standoff in Arizona and, in general, the wild discussions regarding immigration, I have been thinking a lot about this memory:
A CHRISTMAS ROSE (from my journal, December 1980)
Tonight after dinner we walked, and what I saw seems etched into my bones. The “Zona Rosa” is the fashionable place for night revels. With the holiday season and all, the streets are crowded with tourists, obviously, but also many young Mexicans, looking handsome and well-heeled, out for a night on the town. There is a definite air of high celebration. It’s a “nice place.” The people seem happy, kind, polite, and beautiful. There are the old women begging too—a tug at the heart—but at least, I remind myself, they are wrapped up warmly.
Mexico City...It was there amid the sidewalk cafes, the shops, the fashionable restaurants and discoteques that we saw something which I shall never forget. I think I saw the exposed heart of a city of over 14 million people, and it was a touching reminder that there is spontaneous love and caring in the human heart.
A young man, well-dressed and perhaps either going to or coming from a party, apparently drunk, suddenly fell backwards on the red brick sidewalk and gave himself what looked like a severe head laceration. I felt frightened and anxious as I took in the unexpected sight of the blood along with the pots of flowers and bright yellow café chairs. I had a feeling of helplessness in the face of tragedy. And then I became absorbed in observing a behavior which the jaundiced eyes of American city dwellers might do well to remark upon.
A small crowd gathered around him and I listened to the concern, expressed in Spanish, among people who seemed neither to know one another nor the man on the sidewalk. It was suggested and concluded among them that he was most likely “borracho.” One young man kept trying to convince the others that someone should bring some sugar and rub it on the man’s wrists and throat—that it would bring him around if he were in fact just drunk. Some of the people stayed with him, kneeling beside him, bending over him with expressions of concern until the police ambulance came, promptly and without sirens. He was lifted quietly and gently, still unconscious into the vehicle which drove away again in silence—no sirens to deepen the trauma—leaving what seemed to me to be a sobered, saddened crowd on the corner.
As I stood there, I realized that I felt a feeling of warmth, almost of joy, welling up and displacing the shock and horror, because I knew that I had also seen something beautiful, a showing forth of human caring. A Christmas Rose? Years and years hence, my vision will come back to this tableau, when I am in need of it.
--Barbara Smith Stoff
A CHRISTMAS ROSE (from my journal, December 1980)
Tonight after dinner we walked, and what I saw seems etched into my bones. The “Zona Rosa” is the fashionable place for night revels. With the holiday season and all, the streets are crowded with tourists, obviously, but also many young Mexicans, looking handsome and well-heeled, out for a night on the town. There is a definite air of high celebration. It’s a “nice place.” The people seem happy, kind, polite, and beautiful. There are the old women begging too—a tug at the heart—but at least, I remind myself, they are wrapped up warmly.
Mexico City...It was there amid the sidewalk cafes, the shops, the fashionable restaurants and discoteques that we saw something which I shall never forget. I think I saw the exposed heart of a city of over 14 million people, and it was a touching reminder that there is spontaneous love and caring in the human heart.
A young man, well-dressed and perhaps either going to or coming from a party, apparently drunk, suddenly fell backwards on the red brick sidewalk and gave himself what looked like a severe head laceration. I felt frightened and anxious as I took in the unexpected sight of the blood along with the pots of flowers and bright yellow café chairs. I had a feeling of helplessness in the face of tragedy. And then I became absorbed in observing a behavior which the jaundiced eyes of American city dwellers might do well to remark upon.
A small crowd gathered around him and I listened to the concern, expressed in Spanish, among people who seemed neither to know one another nor the man on the sidewalk. It was suggested and concluded among them that he was most likely “borracho.” One young man kept trying to convince the others that someone should bring some sugar and rub it on the man’s wrists and throat—that it would bring him around if he were in fact just drunk. Some of the people stayed with him, kneeling beside him, bending over him with expressions of concern until the police ambulance came, promptly and without sirens. He was lifted quietly and gently, still unconscious into the vehicle which drove away again in silence—no sirens to deepen the trauma—leaving what seemed to me to be a sobered, saddened crowd on the corner.
As I stood there, I realized that I felt a feeling of warmth, almost of joy, welling up and displacing the shock and horror, because I knew that I had also seen something beautiful, a showing forth of human caring. A Christmas Rose? Years and years hence, my vision will come back to this tableau, when I am in need of it.
--Barbara Smith Stoff
Monday, March 22, 2010
ISRAEL WOULD DO WELL TO TAKE A LESSON FROM THE REDWOODS
ISRAEL WOULD DO WELL TO TAKE A LESSON FROM THE REDWOODS
By Barbara Smith Stoff and Sheldon Stoff
Here in the deep shade of the California Redwoods, I think about them. These Redwoods last for centuries and they grow incredibly tall and strong. Interestingly, I am told that they do not put down a taproot, but rather they develop a root system which connects and interlaces each tree with its neighbor. The Jews are like that, and because of their ever ongoing transnational history, they are, or should be, more capable than most of seeing the whole forest.
We humans are all trees in the One forest. Like it or not…our roots are forever entangled. As in the film “Avatar” those who learn to cooperate are the ones who survive.
Israeli religious right cites historical biblical bequests from God in order to establish a claim to Jerusalem as temporal and exclusive capital. Is that not a facet of ever-threatening modern fundamentalism? Religious fundamentalism, whatever the brand, offers up distortion, racism and bigotry. So! Jerusalem is no longer the mystical soul of Israel…but merely real estate?
Ariel Sharon was once quoted by William Safire in the New York Times as saying, “Through 4000 years of continuity in our ancestral homeland, Israel’s people have undergone hardship, persecution, Holocaust, terrible adversity. But the nation is stronger than others have estimated. We have overcome all our challenges. The Jewish people are indestructible.”
Historically, one can easily see such a pattern in the interconnectedness of the Jewish people. Even when they are widely dispersed throughout time and geography, they hang together. They support each other. They play the game of life with real passion. And when the game of life itself is threatened, they begin to play the game to preserve the game.
It’s easy to see that they carry social codes which can move the whole human race forward toward harmonious evolution. Possessing superb transnational skills, the Jews have seeded human society with tools of survival and growth. They have made outstanding and benevolent contributions to humanitarian advancement—across the entire disciplinary spread. At the same time, they have done proportionately less harm to humankind.
So what is it with the Israeli government? It seems obvious to me that, even in 1948, the newly formed state of Israel did not reach out with their root system to help the Palestinian people prosper. That fact also seems understandable to me if I look at their circumstances of immediate escape from annihilation, and given the circumstances of the Palestinian protest and war against their rebirth as a state presence.
The new Israel did rise to a noble response though, in the face of Palestinian opposition, in affording them legal rights, universities, and re-integration from refugee camps. No such integration was offered by surrounding states. Even now, Jordan is beginning to deny them refuge. Even now, a Marshall Plan, led by Israel and other interested states, would do a great deal to bring a spirit of peace into the region.
But recent history shows us that the Palestinians were proud, and they allowed their wounds to grow and fester in poverty, and without adequate leadership. While Israel moved forward in social accomplishment and wealth, the Palestinians began to feel more and more like second-class citizens, until their level of suffering simmered to just the right temperature for use as the petri dish for regrowing cast off spores of old hatreds within the ancient cultures of the Middle East. Some say that we create ourselves according to the ideas we hold about ourselves. Consider those old spores…Isaac was the chosen one…Ishmael was sent out. And on and on it goes.
And now the whole world is threatened. If Israel’s democracy is extinguished, that light goes out from the rest of the world too. Civilization cannot afford that loss. It’s time for Jewish Israel to recognize and honor its responsibility to the rest of the world…to recognize the importance of its democracy in the overall configuration of that area of the world. And it’s time for the other nations to reach out their roots to join with the roots of the Jews. The world is in an extremely complicated situation right now—politically, economically, morally. We know. We know. But, it’s time we all learn to sing a new tune.
And, it’s time for the Jews to sing a new tune, to let go of their internalized feeling of victimhood and own their true genius, their strength, their vision. It’s time for the Jews of the world to recognize the Palestinians. It’s time for the non-Jews in the world to let go of Anti-Semitic fears and hatreds and join them in that recognition. It’s time to recognize that we are all trees in the one forest. It’s a good time to begin. It’s a good time to create a new song, to tell a new story.
Note: Barbara Smith Stoff, poet and artist, is an Emmy Award Winner in Educational Television. Sheldon Stoff, now Professor Emeritus at Adelphi University, received his doctorate at Cornell University, is author of Universal Kabbalah: Dawn of a New Consciousness, and the recently released The Western Book of Crossing Over: Conversations with the Other Side. They are co-authors of the forthcoming Partnership Society: The Marriage of Intuition and Intellect. They live in California, specialize in Transpersonal Studies, and are currently writing a comprehensive study of the concept of the Akashic Field.
By Barbara Smith Stoff and Sheldon Stoff
Here in the deep shade of the California Redwoods, I think about them. These Redwoods last for centuries and they grow incredibly tall and strong. Interestingly, I am told that they do not put down a taproot, but rather they develop a root system which connects and interlaces each tree with its neighbor. The Jews are like that, and because of their ever ongoing transnational history, they are, or should be, more capable than most of seeing the whole forest.
We humans are all trees in the One forest. Like it or not…our roots are forever entangled. As in the film “Avatar” those who learn to cooperate are the ones who survive.
Israeli religious right cites historical biblical bequests from God in order to establish a claim to Jerusalem as temporal and exclusive capital. Is that not a facet of ever-threatening modern fundamentalism? Religious fundamentalism, whatever the brand, offers up distortion, racism and bigotry. So! Jerusalem is no longer the mystical soul of Israel…but merely real estate?
Ariel Sharon was once quoted by William Safire in the New York Times as saying, “Through 4000 years of continuity in our ancestral homeland, Israel’s people have undergone hardship, persecution, Holocaust, terrible adversity. But the nation is stronger than others have estimated. We have overcome all our challenges. The Jewish people are indestructible.”
Historically, one can easily see such a pattern in the interconnectedness of the Jewish people. Even when they are widely dispersed throughout time and geography, they hang together. They support each other. They play the game of life with real passion. And when the game of life itself is threatened, they begin to play the game to preserve the game.
It’s easy to see that they carry social codes which can move the whole human race forward toward harmonious evolution. Possessing superb transnational skills, the Jews have seeded human society with tools of survival and growth. They have made outstanding and benevolent contributions to humanitarian advancement—across the entire disciplinary spread. At the same time, they have done proportionately less harm to humankind.
So what is it with the Israeli government? It seems obvious to me that, even in 1948, the newly formed state of Israel did not reach out with their root system to help the Palestinian people prosper. That fact also seems understandable to me if I look at their circumstances of immediate escape from annihilation, and given the circumstances of the Palestinian protest and war against their rebirth as a state presence.
The new Israel did rise to a noble response though, in the face of Palestinian opposition, in affording them legal rights, universities, and re-integration from refugee camps. No such integration was offered by surrounding states. Even now, Jordan is beginning to deny them refuge. Even now, a Marshall Plan, led by Israel and other interested states, would do a great deal to bring a spirit of peace into the region.
But recent history shows us that the Palestinians were proud, and they allowed their wounds to grow and fester in poverty, and without adequate leadership. While Israel moved forward in social accomplishment and wealth, the Palestinians began to feel more and more like second-class citizens, until their level of suffering simmered to just the right temperature for use as the petri dish for regrowing cast off spores of old hatreds within the ancient cultures of the Middle East. Some say that we create ourselves according to the ideas we hold about ourselves. Consider those old spores…Isaac was the chosen one…Ishmael was sent out. And on and on it goes.
And now the whole world is threatened. If Israel’s democracy is extinguished, that light goes out from the rest of the world too. Civilization cannot afford that loss. It’s time for Jewish Israel to recognize and honor its responsibility to the rest of the world…to recognize the importance of its democracy in the overall configuration of that area of the world. And it’s time for the other nations to reach out their roots to join with the roots of the Jews. The world is in an extremely complicated situation right now—politically, economically, morally. We know. We know. But, it’s time we all learn to sing a new tune.
And, it’s time for the Jews to sing a new tune, to let go of their internalized feeling of victimhood and own their true genius, their strength, their vision. It’s time for the Jews of the world to recognize the Palestinians. It’s time for the non-Jews in the world to let go of Anti-Semitic fears and hatreds and join them in that recognition. It’s time to recognize that we are all trees in the one forest. It’s a good time to begin. It’s a good time to create a new song, to tell a new story.
Note: Barbara Smith Stoff, poet and artist, is an Emmy Award Winner in Educational Television. Sheldon Stoff, now Professor Emeritus at Adelphi University, received his doctorate at Cornell University, is author of Universal Kabbalah: Dawn of a New Consciousness, and the recently released The Western Book of Crossing Over: Conversations with the Other Side. They are co-authors of the forthcoming Partnership Society: The Marriage of Intuition and Intellect. They live in California, specialize in Transpersonal Studies, and are currently writing a comprehensive study of the concept of the Akashic Field.
Friday, November 20, 2009
IT'S IMPORTANT TO HAVE A LIBRARY
IT’S IMPORTANT TO HAVE A LIBRARY
I am a techie. Being retired from teaching, my morning schedule almost always involves joyfully checking my email, logging on to Facebook, reading various online newspapers from around the world, as well as the all-important reading of poetry and book reviews. I deeply value our digitized world wide web…as it continues weaving the evermore interlocking strands of our consciousness.
However, I do not want to lose our libraries—those evermore important houses for our cultural memorabilia.
Before his death in 2004, Wink Franklin, as president of The Institute of Noetic Sciences in Petaluma, had asked my opinion on the development of a library there at the institute—whether he should go digital or paper...I answered, "OH BOTH!!!!" (I had been participating for several weeks in a New York Times forum discussion of Chris Hedges' book about war. (War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, which had won an award from Amnesty International.) ..and because of Wink's question to me, I asked Mr. Hedges a specific question about the value of the library experience in regard to what I like to call benevolent evolution.
Hedges' response is below. He writes eloquently of the healing effect upon him of his time at the Smyth library...after the horrors of his experience as war correspondent.
Wink said back to me that he wanted to talk to me more about it...then things changed rapidly. Wink said the matter would have to wait. He did not tell me at that moment (the board gathering with consideration of James O'Dea as the new president) that he was in fact very ill. So I never really had the opportunity again to bring up the subject.
I am still thinking about libraries as I begin the task, once again, of unpacking and arranging books here in Loomis. War correspondent Chris Hedges wrote eloquently about the value of being surrounded by books and their particular 'aromas'.
From a New York Times forum, here are his words in response to a question from me about his experience within the actual walls of the Smyth Classical Library. I am struck by the role the sensual experience with actual books, and their environment, plays in his healing reintegration of self.
My question within the forum: “I wonder if Mr. Hedges could/would elaborate on his feelings for Smyth Classical Library, and its contribution to his ongoing development.”
Chris Hedges: I loved Smyth. It was my refuge from a world of violence and madness and grief. I was surrounded by volumes, many left to the university by professors long departed, which were by great thinkers and poets and historians who in another time, in another age, struggled with the issues I battled with intellectually and morally.
I loved the worn leather chairs and noisy radiators and the creaking floor boards and the smell of the books. I loved the oak tables, where I could spread out my books and think and read and write. I loved the windows where in the winter I could watch the snow fall gently on Harvard Yard. In Smyth I was freed from the cant of modernity.
In Smyth I reflected not so much on other times, but my own time. The study and understanding of classics, the long continuum of human civilization, is essential if we are going to grasp where we came from, who we are and where we are going. Without an understanding of the interconnectedness of our culture, our art, our history and our philosophy with the past we are doomed to a dangerous and frightening provincialism.
--Chris Hedges. New York Times Forum, May, 2003.
I am excited about the role our electronic media can play in preventing that “dangerous and frightening provincialism”…and for the in-depth communication opportunities afforded through such media, yet I plead that we take good care of our books too. A cherished memory is that of my grandchild, curled on the couch, under the lamp, book on pillow across the lap…reading. What can compare with the feel and aroma of an old book? Techie or not, I am a book lover too.
--Barbara Smith Stoff
I am a techie. Being retired from teaching, my morning schedule almost always involves joyfully checking my email, logging on to Facebook, reading various online newspapers from around the world, as well as the all-important reading of poetry and book reviews. I deeply value our digitized world wide web…as it continues weaving the evermore interlocking strands of our consciousness.
However, I do not want to lose our libraries—those evermore important houses for our cultural memorabilia.
Before his death in 2004, Wink Franklin, as president of The Institute of Noetic Sciences in Petaluma, had asked my opinion on the development of a library there at the institute—whether he should go digital or paper...I answered, "OH BOTH!!!!" (I had been participating for several weeks in a New York Times forum discussion of Chris Hedges' book about war. (War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, which had won an award from Amnesty International.) ..and because of Wink's question to me, I asked Mr. Hedges a specific question about the value of the library experience in regard to what I like to call benevolent evolution.
Hedges' response is below. He writes eloquently of the healing effect upon him of his time at the Smyth library...after the horrors of his experience as war correspondent.
Wink said back to me that he wanted to talk to me more about it...then things changed rapidly. Wink said the matter would have to wait. He did not tell me at that moment (the board gathering with consideration of James O'Dea as the new president) that he was in fact very ill. So I never really had the opportunity again to bring up the subject.
I am still thinking about libraries as I begin the task, once again, of unpacking and arranging books here in Loomis. War correspondent Chris Hedges wrote eloquently about the value of being surrounded by books and their particular 'aromas'.
From a New York Times forum, here are his words in response to a question from me about his experience within the actual walls of the Smyth Classical Library. I am struck by the role the sensual experience with actual books, and their environment, plays in his healing reintegration of self.
My question within the forum: “I wonder if Mr. Hedges could/would elaborate on his feelings for Smyth Classical Library, and its contribution to his ongoing development.”
Chris Hedges: I loved Smyth. It was my refuge from a world of violence and madness and grief. I was surrounded by volumes, many left to the university by professors long departed, which were by great thinkers and poets and historians who in another time, in another age, struggled with the issues I battled with intellectually and morally.
I loved the worn leather chairs and noisy radiators and the creaking floor boards and the smell of the books. I loved the oak tables, where I could spread out my books and think and read and write. I loved the windows where in the winter I could watch the snow fall gently on Harvard Yard. In Smyth I was freed from the cant of modernity.
In Smyth I reflected not so much on other times, but my own time. The study and understanding of classics, the long continuum of human civilization, is essential if we are going to grasp where we came from, who we are and where we are going. Without an understanding of the interconnectedness of our culture, our art, our history and our philosophy with the past we are doomed to a dangerous and frightening provincialism.
--Chris Hedges. New York Times Forum, May, 2003.
I am excited about the role our electronic media can play in preventing that “dangerous and frightening provincialism”…and for the in-depth communication opportunities afforded through such media, yet I plead that we take good care of our books too. A cherished memory is that of my grandchild, curled on the couch, under the lamp, book on pillow across the lap…reading. What can compare with the feel and aroma of an old book? Techie or not, I am a book lover too.
--Barbara Smith Stoff
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
LOOKING UP 'ROGUE' IN THE DICTIONARY
LOOKING UP 'ROGUE' IN THE DICTIONARY
Looking up “rogue” in The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, I find: ROGUE: a dishonest, knavish person; scoundrel; a playfully mischievous person; scamp; a tramp or vagabond; a rogue elephant or other animal of similar disposition; a usually inferior organism; a plant varying markedly from the normal; to cheat; to uproot or destroy; begging vagabond; villain; trickster; swindler; cheat; quack.
It might be interesting to google fairly recent political commentary on “rogue nations” …even John Bolton at the U.N….and it might be interesting to ask why is “rogue” suddenly so much in favor as a description (even a self-description) of Sarah Palin.
Looking up “rogue” in The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, I find: ROGUE: a dishonest, knavish person; scoundrel; a playfully mischievous person; scamp; a tramp or vagabond; a rogue elephant or other animal of similar disposition; a usually inferior organism; a plant varying markedly from the normal; to cheat; to uproot or destroy; begging vagabond; villain; trickster; swindler; cheat; quack.
It might be interesting to google fairly recent political commentary on “rogue nations” …even John Bolton at the U.N….and it might be interesting to ask why is “rogue” suddenly so much in favor as a description (even a self-description) of Sarah Palin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
