This month has been filled with new things, and I added one more last Saturday night: the Cincinnati May Festival Chorus. The chorus was founded in 1873, and today it is comprised of 140 singers--and internationally known guest singers, too. They perform for two weekends every May, and they're pretty darned fabulous. My friend, Wanda, asked me to go, and when I saw what they'd be performing on Saturday night, I said yes.
War Requiem, Opus 66 by Benjamin Britten, was composed in 1961 for the consecration of a British cathedral damaged by the blitz in WWII. The piece combines elements of the Latin requiem mass with the poetry of British war poet, Wilfred Owen. Owen fought in WWI, and in his poetry you see his growing sense of the horror of war and a growing sense of pacifism. Owen died in battle at 25. He made it very nearly to the end of the war, but he was shot and killed in France in late 1918. On Armistice Day, as the church bells were ringing out in his home town, marking the signing of the treaty that ended the war, his parents learned that Owen had died.
Owen's life story and his poetry have always moved me, ever since I led my first study abroad trip in 2005. The theme was WWI, and my students studied the war poets as we wandered through the France and Belgium, stopping at the Somme and Passchendaele Battlefields. On Saturday night, as I listened to the May Festival sing Britten's powerful War Requiem, I was transported back to the graveyards, trenches, and battlefields I visited in 2005. I didn't recognize many of the lines from Owen that the chorus sang, but they reminded me of my favorite Owen poem. Here it is:
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I'm glad Wanda invited me to the chorus last weekend. It was incredibly powerful!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Help Wanted
I've been holding back on writing about a big new thing in my life because it didn't feel real yet. Thanks to some help and several emails yesterday, I think I'm ready to put it in writing. I'm the new chair of the Department of English and Communication at my college!
My new job came out of nowhere to some degree. I knew the chair of my department would be retiring next year, and I knew I was interested in the job, but it seemed a long way off, so it wasn't really on my radar. Then, in March, the email came. My chair wrote the department to announce that he'd decided to retire early. His last day would be a June 30, 2013. The next few weeks were a whirlwind. I wrote and sent to my department my statement of interest in the position, and so did two other colleagues. We answered questions in a department forum, we answered more questions by email, and then the department voted electronically. A week later, the results were announced, and, well, I won.
Since then, I've been in Chairs School. That's what I'm calling the frequent emails, phone sessions, and face-to-face meetings that I've had with my very generous chair. He's been great about giving me as much information as he can about the job, and about letting me start to do things that give me a feel for what I'm getting into. Yesterday, I played with the fall schedule. I cancelled several classes, added others, emailed people to reassign them, filled sections with adjuncts, spoke to HR, and got a real feel for how the schedule works. I suspect I'll read this post next year and see these little actions as meaningless in the big picture of the job I've taken on, but right now, they feel significant--not so much for what I did, but because I did them. For a few minutes, I felt like the chair, and it was okay!
Just before Easter, I submitted my statement of interest to my department colleagues by email, and then I jumped in the car and drove to Erie. I had mixed emotions about the job that weekend. At moments, I felt confident that I wanted it and that I could do the job well. At other moments, I thought I was insane for wanting to take on such a big job. Every once in a while, I worried I'd get it and be terrible at it and that one of my terrific colleagues should get it. Easter Sunday, I went to the cemetery to visit my parents' grave. As I walked through the graveyard, I came to a massive headstone that made me laugh out loud because it so perfectly captured the span of emotions I was feeling about the job of chair. Would I kill the department with poor leadership? Would the job kill me? Would I do my best and burn out? Would I be great at it in a way that would make it define my life? Anything seemed possible. When I look at the photo now, I laugh again. I'm calmer about the job now and really happy to be taking on a new challenge. Still, it's a good reminder to be vigilant and ethical and attentive to the needs of my colleagues and our students. Life comes out of nowhere sometimes: things begin and end without warning. The best we can do sometimes is to remember the big picture and have a sense of humor. Right?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
My new job came out of nowhere to some degree. I knew the chair of my department would be retiring next year, and I knew I was interested in the job, but it seemed a long way off, so it wasn't really on my radar. Then, in March, the email came. My chair wrote the department to announce that he'd decided to retire early. His last day would be a June 30, 2013. The next few weeks were a whirlwind. I wrote and sent to my department my statement of interest in the position, and so did two other colleagues. We answered questions in a department forum, we answered more questions by email, and then the department voted electronically. A week later, the results were announced, and, well, I won.
Since then, I've been in Chairs School. That's what I'm calling the frequent emails, phone sessions, and face-to-face meetings that I've had with my very generous chair. He's been great about giving me as much information as he can about the job, and about letting me start to do things that give me a feel for what I'm getting into. Yesterday, I played with the fall schedule. I cancelled several classes, added others, emailed people to reassign them, filled sections with adjuncts, spoke to HR, and got a real feel for how the schedule works. I suspect I'll read this post next year and see these little actions as meaningless in the big picture of the job I've taken on, but right now, they feel significant--not so much for what I did, but because I did them. For a few minutes, I felt like the chair, and it was okay!
Just before Easter, I submitted my statement of interest to my department colleagues by email, and then I jumped in the car and drove to Erie. I had mixed emotions about the job that weekend. At moments, I felt confident that I wanted it and that I could do the job well. At other moments, I thought I was insane for wanting to take on such a big job. Every once in a while, I worried I'd get it and be terrible at it and that one of my terrific colleagues should get it. Easter Sunday, I went to the cemetery to visit my parents' grave. As I walked through the graveyard, I came to a massive headstone that made me laugh out loud because it so perfectly captured the span of emotions I was feeling about the job of chair. Would I kill the department with poor leadership? Would the job kill me? Would I do my best and burn out? Would I be great at it in a way that would make it define my life? Anything seemed possible. When I look at the photo now, I laugh again. I'm calmer about the job now and really happy to be taking on a new challenge. Still, it's a good reminder to be vigilant and ethical and attentive to the needs of my colleagues and our students. Life comes out of nowhere sometimes: things begin and end without warning. The best we can do sometimes is to remember the big picture and have a sense of humor. Right?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Four Dead in Ohio
On May 4, 1970 members of the Ohio National Guard fired into a crowd of student demonstrators at Kent State University, killing four of them and wounding nine others. Jeffrey Miller, Allison Krause, William Schroeder, and Sandra Scheuer died that day. Forty-three years later, the slayings were remembered at the formal dedication of KSU's May 4th Visitors Center, a multi-media memorial which tells the story of the events of that terrible day in 1970.
I was 11 years old in May 1970, and I don't honestly have any memory of the event, even though it happened a mere three hour drive from my hometown. And while I don't have a memory of the day it happened, I don't honestly have a memory of a world where it didn't happen. The iconic photos of the aftermath of the shooting, the music that grew out of the events feel as much a part of my history as they do national history. Last Saturday was May 4th, and on that day, my friend Cindy and I were rolling into North Canton, Ohio for a wedding. We were listening to NPR and heard about the dedication, so the next day, we decided to drive over to KSU before heading back home.
The Visitors Center exhibition was interesting and powerful, and I'm so glad we decided to stop. Even more moving, though is the area around Taylor Hall, the building that stood at the center of the action that day (and where the Visitors Center is housed).
That day in May 1970, the student demonstration started at the victory bell on a long stretch of lawn called The Commons. National Guardsmen lined up a few hundred feet away.
The Guard ordered the demonstrators to leave, lobbed tear gas canisters into the crowd, and then drove them up and along either side of Taylor Hall.
On the other side of Taylor Hall is Prentice Hall parking lot. Members of the Guard aimed their weapons at demonstrators in the lot and in 13 seconds of gunfire, 28 of the 76 Guardsmen present that day fired 67 shots at the unarmed students. One of the four students who was killed was a demonstrator. One was walking to class. One was shot in the back.
Today, the parking lot is still a lot, but it is also a memorial. In four places in the lot, parking stalls have been turned into memorial sites; on a fifth spot sits a marker bearing the names of all the students who died that day. Three of the students were Jewish, so many of the surfaces are covered in stones, a Jewish custom in remembering the dead.
Cindy and I spent a lot of time wandering around the campus, and we were both incredibly moved by the May 4th Memorial. Next time you find yourself near Kent, you should visit. It's worth remembering.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I was 11 years old in May 1970, and I don't honestly have any memory of the event, even though it happened a mere three hour drive from my hometown. And while I don't have a memory of the day it happened, I don't honestly have a memory of a world where it didn't happen. The iconic photos of the aftermath of the shooting, the music that grew out of the events feel as much a part of my history as they do national history. Last Saturday was May 4th, and on that day, my friend Cindy and I were rolling into North Canton, Ohio for a wedding. We were listening to NPR and heard about the dedication, so the next day, we decided to drive over to KSU before heading back home.
The Visitors Center exhibition was interesting and powerful, and I'm so glad we decided to stop. Even more moving, though is the area around Taylor Hall, the building that stood at the center of the action that day (and where the Visitors Center is housed).
That day in May 1970, the student demonstration started at the victory bell on a long stretch of lawn called The Commons. National Guardsmen lined up a few hundred feet away.
The Guard ordered the demonstrators to leave, lobbed tear gas canisters into the crowd, and then drove them up and along either side of Taylor Hall.
On the other side of Taylor Hall is Prentice Hall parking lot. Members of the Guard aimed their weapons at demonstrators in the lot and in 13 seconds of gunfire, 28 of the 76 Guardsmen present that day fired 67 shots at the unarmed students. One of the four students who was killed was a demonstrator. One was walking to class. One was shot in the back.
Today, the parking lot is still a lot, but it is also a memorial. In four places in the lot, parking stalls have been turned into memorial sites; on a fifth spot sits a marker bearing the names of all the students who died that day. Three of the students were Jewish, so many of the surfaces are covered in stones, a Jewish custom in remembering the dead.
Cindy and I spent a lot of time wandering around the campus, and we were both incredibly moved by the May 4th Memorial. Next time you find yourself near Kent, you should visit. It's worth remembering.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Wedding Crasher
Last weekend, my friend, Cindy, asked me to go with her to a wedding in North Canton, Ohio. Her partner, Dwight, wasn't able to go, and she wanted company on the long drive up, so off we went. There's something really satisfying about going to a stranger's wedding. It's pure spectacle when you have no emotional connection to the main characters. And this was good theater. The wedding was outdoors in a pagoda on a stretch of lawn so green from spring rains that it reminded me of England. The bride and groom were so happy and good humored, laughing along with their guests when the balloons they released as a symbolic remembrance of their dearly departed rose eight or so feet and then lodged themselves in a big oak. As an outsider, I have to say it was a good ceremony.
The reception was great: a nice meal, lots of wine, a DJ, and dancing. Cindy and I sat at a table of young women who were funny and talkative, and who, later in the evening, taught me a couple of line dances. A wedding full of strangers liberates my inner dancer. The one person I knew at the wedding was Cindy, and if she was judging my moves on the dance floor, she kindly kept that to herself. As you can see in the photo below, there is a distinct difference between 20- and 30-something dance moves and Sue-moves. Alas, when you go to a wedding dressed like a college professor, you dance like a college professor.
I loosened up later when we hit the photo booth, a standard at weddings these days, complete with costume pieces like feather boas and glittery hats. And mustaches. Cindy tells me I look like the guy from Parks and Recreation. You can decide which one.
I had a great time at the strangers weddings. Right now, I couldn't tell you their names, but I can tell you that they put on a great show. This was a wedding I was happy to crash.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
The reception was great: a nice meal, lots of wine, a DJ, and dancing. Cindy and I sat at a table of young women who were funny and talkative, and who, later in the evening, taught me a couple of line dances. A wedding full of strangers liberates my inner dancer. The one person I knew at the wedding was Cindy, and if she was judging my moves on the dance floor, she kindly kept that to herself. As you can see in the photo below, there is a distinct difference between 20- and 30-something dance moves and Sue-moves. Alas, when you go to a wedding dressed like a college professor, you dance like a college professor.
I loosened up later when we hit the photo booth, a standard at weddings these days, complete with costume pieces like feather boas and glittery hats. And mustaches. Cindy tells me I look like the guy from Parks and Recreation. You can decide which one.
I had a great time at the strangers weddings. Right now, I couldn't tell you their names, but I can tell you that they put on a great show. This was a wedding I was happy to crash.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)