books

Book Break: Flowers of a Moment

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

I like Zen poetry. I don’t really know what that phrase means for sure—Zen poetry—but I totally dig haiku, and have thoroughly enjoyed Korean Zen poet Ko Un‘s Flowers of a Moment in fits and starts since I found it on the Bargain Books rack at the U bookstore.

My rhythmic rhyming friend Jinglebob would not call this poetry. It’s form is formlessness, I suppose. Spacing, punctuation, subject matter—unpredictable. The poet finds unexpected hints of universal truths and shared emotion in mundane occurrences and natural surroundings. Beauty in simplicity—a sentence or turn of phrase set apart from its surroundings to make you see in a new way.

Gibberish you say? My “review” or this “poetry”?

I wonder what makes Ko Un a poet. Is anything lost in the translation from Korean to English? Or is it like a photographer acquaintance of mine, who, when I asked why he was considered a pro when both of us shoot dozens of photos to get one perfect shot, said something like, “The difference is, I know when I’ve got it.”

Whereas I generally had to wait until the prints came back to know if the film contained anything worthwhile…

Perhaps that’s the difference: perhaps the poet knows before he shares his poetry which words, which images will resonate, and throws the rest away. Whereas I’m just guessing.

Book Break: Here Is Where We Meet

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

A colleague of mine stopped me a while back to loan me a book I hadn’t asked for. “It’s kind of hard to explain,” she said. “It starts with this old man meeting his dead mother seated on a park bench. It’s kind of a novel, kind of a memoir. I don’t know why, but I thought you might like to read it.”

The book was Here Is Where We Meet: a fiction by John Berger. That’s what she said, or something very like it. And I can’t characterize it much better. I can say that I’m glad I read it. It’s relatively short, beautifully written, intriguing start to finish, with amazing detail about history, anthropology, art, music, and food. I hesitate to recommend it, because I can’t even describe it, but I’d give it 3.5 to 4 stars (out of 5), with the caveat that I’m almost certain it’s going to stick with me and grow on me over time.

It is not a book for young readers, but not because it’s “adult” in the popular sense (although it has a few moments). It’s a mature book. I’m sure if I were to read it again in a decade or two (or had I grown up and come of age during the two World Wars) I would take different things from it. Perhaps I’ll read it again one day.

A few lines struck me as particularly thought-provoking or beautiful. I’m sharing primarily to not lose them when I return the book:

  • Describing 15,000-year-old cave paintings in France, and the arise of both need and ability of our Cro-Magnon ancestors to create them: “Art, it would seem, is born like a foal who can walk straight away. The talent to make art accompanies the need for that art; they arrive together.”
  • Describing the skill of a charcoal drawing of an ibex in the same cave: “Each line is as tense as a well-thrown rope…”
  • Wise words from a deceased mother: “You can either be fearless, or you can be free, you can’t be both.”

Finally, here is a review that captures my impressions fairly well.

Homer, or Three Things to Love About The Odyssey

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Two long summers (and two even longer winters) ago, I agreed to my friend Jacqui’s challenge to read 15 Classics in 15 Weeks. I’ve wandered far and been adrift much longer than 15 weeks, but I have persisted — a bit like Greek hero Odysseus.

As darkness fell, the ancient tale well-told, he
Closed the book and to his chambers retired.
Beneath a warming mantle he pondered long
In his mind how best to share his far-flung
Thoughts with his godly companions who would
Soon join him online, until at last the bright-eyed
Goddess shed sweet slumber upon his sacred brow.
And there he slept throughout the ambrosial night.

And when the early-born, rosy-finger dawn smiled
Sweetly upon him, warming him awake with golden
Light, he rose and girded himself in cotton trousers,
Blue and well-riveted, and a shirt, tee in form, all
One bright green. Upon his contrary-minded legs
He made his way, duck-like, to the cold-floored
Hall in which great feasts were held. No servants
Found therein, he shed a well-hid tear at cruel
Misfortune, then with skilled fingers fumbled not
The filters nor the beans, but sought to brew
Strong coffee, and he did. The bitter black elixir
Fast consumed, he brightened, and his newly-wakened
Mind sent wingéd words from fingertip to keyboard.
The much-distracted Thorp, so slow to read, thought
Well, and quickly wrote and shared these words:

With no further ado, Three Things to Love About The Odyssey:

  • Manly Men Showing Emotion. These ancient Greek heroes were a heart-on-their-sleeves (or togas) lot, weeping, kissing, raging, and pleading with the gods. Bloody, violent, aggressive; romantic, generous, gentle. What’s not to love?
  • Oft-Hyphenated Modifiers and Superlatives. Godly Odysseus, whose father was like a god to the people, and whose own son was in form like the immortals, rises each day at the first appearance of the early-born, rosy-fingered dawn, straps fine sandals to his shining feet, grabs his double-edged sword of pitiless bronze, and … well, you get the idea.
  • Well Versed in Verse. The particular translation I picked up at the used book store is The Odyssey of Homer: A New Verse Translation by Albert Cook (W.W. Norton and Company, Inc., New York, 1967). I was looking for a verse translation, which seem to be difficult to come by. A bookstore clerk once asked why. I said because it was written as poetry. (Might as well have said, “It’s the ancient Geek in me.”) Anyway, what caught my eye was not only the fact that this was a verse translation, but the notes on the back say, “[Cook’s translation] is distinguished by its adherence to one simple principle: to reflect faithfully what Homer’s Greek says. To achieve this end, Mr. Cook has produced a translation that follows the original line for line — even to the preservation of important key phrases at the beginnings of the lines.” It’s true there is much repetition of phrases and descriptions, but it they almost read as sight words in the end; the reading moves swiftly and calls to mind that this was an oral work first and foremost. Well done.

Next up? Joyce’s Ulysses was on tap, but now I’m not sure. I’ll surprise you — hopefully in less than 11 months.

The Man Who Fed the World

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Norman who? How is that an American wins the Nobel Peace Prize, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and the Congressional Gold Medal (a feat only accomplished by four other people in history: Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, Elie Wiesel, and Nelson Mandela) and throws a National Medal of Science in to boot, and most people don’t know who he is?

How is it that an Iowa farm boy and wrestler comes to the University of Minnesota, almost isn’t admitted, and accomplishes these things? How is it that this man is credited with saving as many as a billion lives and is a household name in certain developing countries, and people here are talking about Brett Favre?

I wouldn’t know him either, except that I work at the University and wrote about him once, so I read his biography. Check out this story, then this great commentary from a few years back, then consider picking up the book, The Man Who Fed the World.

Borlaug not only worked to develop strains of food crops that would grow in areas of the world facing famine, but he taught the people to raise those crops and to continue his scientific work on their own. Not only did he bring new technologies and fertilizers to these areas to boost production, but he advocated for laws and public policies that helped farmers and the hungry.

And when people criticized him for advocating inorganic methods of increasing yields, his response was to invite them to join him in working among the world’s hungry, and then talk. He didn’t oppose organic farming; he simply knew these regions couldn’t grow enough food quickly enough that way to feed those who needed it and was unwilling to choose who would starve.

He didn’t give fish; he taught fishing. He may be the most remarkable man you’ve never heard of.

Birds of a Feather Like Two of a Kind

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Some of you know of my friend Jacqui from Jacqui’s Room. She has a new book called Two of a Kind. It came out today, and if it’s anything like her first book, The New Girl … and Me, it’s perfect. Jacqui has conveniently left step-by-step instructions for acquiring what is sure to be the must-have book of 2009, so don’t hesitate: congratulate her and celebrate by buying a copy and reading it to your wee ones!