Knowing: A Poem

Knowing

by Joel E. Jacobson

A boy walks down to the lake,
leaving the others, the talkers,
back in the echo of a dusty chapel. He
makes his way to the far side
where the embankment rises
several feet and sits down.
He fingers a small, rough rock,
comes to know its sharp edges
and gently flips it, counting the skips.

A man died this morning.
Not his dad, not the strong, gentle giant,
but a weak man, a sick man,
a shadow of a man
who refused to acknowledge
that he was dying, dead.
The dead man’s son was there
in the chapel when he got word
and drove home without really saying
goodbye. The rest of them sang songs, and
took communion, not really understanding God
on the morning a father died.

Another rock. Four, five, six…
A small trout flips from the water,
nips a bug, and dives back into
the shallow depths of the little camp lake.

There are only two types of fathers:
living and dead. Sure, there’s the drunkards,
the absent, the violent, the fill in the blank
but they’re a hollow existence in the eyes
of their children. It seems the good ones
die first, but find a way not to.

The dining hall bell rattles birds
from the trees, sharpness from morning’s chill.
The boy can hear the girls squawking–
small wonder the fish ever leapt at all.
He climbs to his feet, the dirt clinging
to his jeans, to his canvas shoes.
A small trail of pebbles plop
into the water. The boy
takes his time walking back
knowing a little more
than he understands.

___

This poem is part three of the Storytellers project. (Part 1, 2)

Hired Man and His Boss: A Poem

Hired Man and His Boss

by Joel E. Jacobson

Work is inevitable
the inspired and the sloth
must punch the clock
on the docks fishing
in the vineyards picking
or simply sticking around
the town square waiting
for work to fall
like crumbs from a table.
✡
I’m the best you have–
the first in, last out,
most integral asset
for your business.
Yet, I’m nothing
more than a voodoo doll,
a pricked puppet
thrown away at the end
of every cursed day.
Can’t you see
what I’ve done for you?
Wash the scales
from your eyes
and reward me
with what I deserve–
not him, not him
who came in
at the last minute,
picked the dead and rotten
off the ground
and handed it to you
as if worthy.
✡
That light rising
on the horizon,
the light that within
weeks fades
the papers framed
in cheap plastic or wood
that light is the sound of
those you never had time for,
those who gleaned a poem
with smashed grapes
and the waning minutes
of day.

___

This is part two of the Storytellers project. See part one here.

God’s Silence by Franz Wright

I picked up God’s Silence from a big-box brick and mortar store last fall. God is an interesting subject in the literary world. Additionally, the cover of the book says “Winner of the Pulitzer Prize”. Wow,  prize-winning book about God. What is it Wright says about God? Is God God or is the book some sort of metaphor? Is it a piece of atheistic work? (I read a quote somewhere that said an atheist at the window is closer to God than a superficial, legalistic church-goer.) I have to check this out. Come to find out, Wright won the Pulitzer for his work Walking to Martha’s Vineyard (tricky cover designers). My interest was piqued even more when I read that Image had awarded him for his work in regards to faith. That takes care of the atheism question. I finally got a chance to read Wright’s work once summer break got under way. And now it’s at or near the top of the best poetry collections I’ve read.

The collection begins with a feeling of loneliness, solitude, darkness, and winter. It is pretty obvious very early that Wright is contemplating salvation, eternity, and the juxtaposition of a loving and wrathful God. There is a motif of God, salvation, and light throughout. In the acknowledgment section of the book Wright thanks somebody for introducing him to the writing of Abraham Joshua Heschel and Thich Nhat Hanh. I wasn’t familiar with either of these names but it turns out that they are a Jewish scholar/poet and a Buddhist exile respectively. In the poem “D., 1959-2004”, Wright describes the deceased as “resting/on Christ’s breast . . . [and] comfortably seated/at the Buddha’s feet”. Obviously, Wright is allowing his faith to be informed (not defined) by the thoughts of other spiritual beliefs. It seems to me that Wright takes the Buddhist idea of light and uses that tangible something to help him understand heaven, hell and the afterlife. I’m saddened that some “Christian” readers may be offended and accuse Wright of universalism (all paths lead to God, salvation, and or eternal life). I’m not sure Wright is necessarily a universalist because (in this collection) because he wrestles time and again with the idea that God chooses who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. What I like about Wright’s stance in these poems is he reveals he doesn’t understand why it seems like God chooses some and not others, that he may very well spend eternity separated from people he loves here on earth. He isn’t condemning anyone, isn’t pretending or claiming to have all the answers–instead, Wright seems to be exploring how to come to grips with his faith, his salvation, and his God.

Wright doesn’t only explore his faith, though–he also writes some pretty fantastic poetry. Stylistically, he excels at the imaginal and synthesizing antithesis. I’ve written frequently on the imaginal, and will write more in the near future as I will blog about Williams’ Spring and All. In a nut shell, the imaginal establishes the imagination as a necessary component of art, humanity, and reality. Dream poems are great examples of the imaginal because dreams often bring to the surface something going on in our subconscious.  Many of these poems are dream poems that seem to force Wright to further face his faith. “The Two” is one such example:

The Two by Franz Wright

They were standing there
above me when I woke
Franz I heard them say
in unison though neither’s lips moved

and there was no sound
no interruption
of the silence I heard
the word in my mind

as if I had imagined it
or spoken aloud
myself
but the voice was not mine

the voices I should say
then like sunlight
when a cloud obscures the sun suddenly
they were gone.

This poem provides the uncertainty of the details and truths of the dream. The dream itself seems not to matter as much as the potency of the dream demanding the writer’s attention. Other dream poems are flat-out weird (like being wrapped in plastic wrap, condemned to mop floors for eternity). It seems as thought Wright has come face to face with the divine in his dreams (if they are dreams…they could be strictly imagination which makes them that much more extraordinary) as he tries to come to some sort of understanding.

Finally, Wright does a superb job presenting opposites through images and line endings. One great example is “The Knowers”:

The Knowers by Franz Wright

Little bird bones come back
as a bird, as a bird
loudly singing
again
in the dead leaves
come back as green
leaves: only
we
don’t return.

In this poem, life and death coexist, similarities show between birds and trees, both in opposition to the journey of the human after death. Is there joy or disappointment in being separated from the circle of life as we know it?

Wright concludes the entire collection with the line “Proved faithless, still I wait.” The irony of this lines sums up the entire collective work. If not having all the answers or not being able to make complete sense of everything means that he is faithless, then sure, he is faithless. But the journey of the collection proves otherwise, as Wright seems to be rejecting the self and pride instead of the character of God, which (I think) shows a deep, passionate faith.

God’s Silence is a fantastic collection of poems because the poet confronts his own heart and writes poems that are powerful as individual poems and as contributors to a larger work.

Read the Pictures

Reading with my son this evening, he stopped me on a page with a guitar (it’s a stage, I’m sure, but he loves guitars. Everything’s a guitar–old cell phones, hockey sticks, cribbage boards, books, hats, dowels, plastic shovels, plastic screwdrivers, the list and the song go on). After telling me all about that guitar, he said, “Read me this picture, Daddy.”

Such a wonderful, simple request. I pointed to the words and explained that I was reading the words, and the words were about the picture. How could I explain to him that reading the picture was the best way to read? How could I use words that he would understand, words that would encouraged him to always find the pictures, always read them, study them, remember them? Because over time the pictures vanish from books, the pace of life blurs the rest of the pictures, and before you know it you don’t know what you’re looking at or what you’re looking for. “Read the picture, Daddy.” You too, little guy. Let’s read them together.

A Samaritan Woman Sitting at Jacob’s Well: A Poem

[EDITED: revised on 6/10]

A Samaritan Woman Sitting at Jacob’s Well

by Joel E. Jacobson

A puddle of water
looks like a muddy mess
until the breeze feathers
the surface
and, like a light touch
on a water glass,
leaves a  .

Speaking in metaphors,
bringing to light her secret
story of man after man after–

We too
often don’t know
the voice of God
until he has
passed us by, us
hiding in the dry
well of our own selves:

Eventually he says,
“I am he” but mostly
we see smudged prints
on the glasses
stacked in the sink
waiting to be washed.

There is water.
Look up from the dishes
and see the fields,
the thirsty hearts.

____

Our church is currently doing a sermon series titled Storytellers, which explores both the stories Jesus told and the stories that he lived. I’ve decided to write a response poem to each sermon, so below is a draft in response to the first sermon (direct link to mp3) which explores the story of the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4:1-42). I will compile these poems into a chapbook at the end of the summer. Of course, this is a draft so I welcome any comments and feedback. As always, thanks for your time!

Willy Loman: A Catalog Poem

Over at Tweetspeakpoetry.com the discussion surrounds a technique called cataloging. Here’s my attempt with a little inspiration from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. Enjoy and share your thoughts if you have time.

Willy Loman

by Joel E. Jacobson

I went on a date with America
and she slipped a pill into my beer.
As I faded like a bad TV show,
she told me that success was in the pudding,
that I would be a man if I had millions,
and millions would admire me
for being the embodiment of her dream.
My boys would respect me
and my wife would be interesting
and I would see me and know me and be me,
standing above the rabblement.
I awoke to find her picking up
shredded economic forecasts,
stock reports, and quarterly earnings,
weaving them into a noose.

Can I be Radical?

My first book of the 2011 summer break is Radical by David Platt. This book has been on my radar for just over a year.  My wife checked it out from the library and I quickly absconded it–she had two other library books to choose from, so I wasn’t being that bad of a guy. I’ve heard that Radical is an eye-opening, convicting book. I have to admit that sometimes I’m skeptical of “live the radical lives Christ intended you to live” books because many of them (Chasing Daylight by Erwin McManus being one) take the stance that if you aren’t going to the jungle, or starting a church, or running an organization then you aren’t effectively living out your Christian faith. It seems as if many of these authors would criticize me for teaching at a low-risk, rich-white-kid school.

It didn’t take long to notice that Platt’s stance was similar, but much different. Of everything I’ve read, Platt does the best job of explaining why we as Christians need to reach into every corner of the earth, build relationships, and share the life-changing gospel of Christ. He deals with the question, “How could God send someone to hell if they’ve never been told about Christ, or had an opportunity to accept it or reject it?” As part of his argument, Platt explains that, under the premise of this question, salvation could come from simply ignoring the gospel, from running every time you heard the name of Jesus. Platt challenges the church to go abroad, out of our comfort zone and build relationships in outside of our context. What I appreciate about Platt is he doesn’t lose sight of the local for the sake of the global. Platt asserts that all are important, and that we should try to spend 2% of our time trying to go somewhere outside of our regular context. Platt acknowledges the importance of loving our neighbors, but also communicates urgency in bringing the gospel in places that have never heard it (an estimated 4.5 billion people!!). 2% of our time comes out to one week. 7 days a year. Platt challenges us to start small and see what passions God lays on our hearts.

Where does a husband, father of two young boys, and a teacher-poet fit into this gospel-sharing paradigm? How can I take my passions and interests into my city, my state, my country, my world? I don’t know. Our church sends regularly sends people to a tribe in the amazon. There also may be some opportunities through our church to go to China. I have a dream of helping/teaching artists what it means to be a Christian artist, someone I’m still trying to figure out how to be. (Platt suggests the best way to learn something is to teach it. Duh. I should know this. I’ve learned more about literature since becoming an English teacher than I ever did in school.) I dream of being able to use my writing to encourage, teach, train, and challenge those who read it. Platt talks about using our lives to show people the glory of God. Where do I start? Maybe I already have (though it doesn’t feel like it), so where do I continue? What small things can I be doing now to put myself in a position to face more challenges?

Platt has helped me realize that as husband, father, teacher, writer, etc. I can do nothing on my own to change the world. But the power of Christ can change the world through me. That’s a big deal. Every time I submit a poem for publication, I pray that God allows himself to be revealed through my work, that someone somewhere will be moved/challenged by it. Over the past year I’ve had a handful of poems published. I have no idea who has read my work, or who even reads this blog. But that’s the first step. Writing. Submitting. Praying. Publishing. Where will all this lead? I have no idea. But I’m excited to see where it leads.

I know a lot of people who are critical of the Christian church in America. I’ve been critical of the Church and my fellow Christians. I’m guilty of being a consumer instead of a producer. Platt offers some great advice actually be more like Jesus instead of the American Dream driven consumerism found in many churches across the United States. Platt challenges us to focus less on the American Dream, and more on sharing our lives with those around us. He challenges us to spend less money on ourselves and more on those who are scraping by on less then a dollar a day.

What kind of world can we have if we spend less time legalistically pointing fingers, less time worrying about retirement, less time worrying about our house being up to par with the standards of our neighbors? I’m not quite sure, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out.

And On and On

I last blogged several months ago when I had my head above water with school work. Well, school’s out so I can now return to the blogosphere in full force. I have lots to write about, and am reading William Carlos Williams’ Spring & All. I’ll post thoughts as the summer progresses.

I will leave you with an anecdote about people invalidating the importance and usefulness of poetry–and I do seem to be surrounded by them lately, from family members to coworkers, to students.

I was bemoaning the absence of poetry from the senior curriculum to my seniors a month ago. I suggested we hurry through our last work so that we can squeeze in a poetry unit. The groans were deafening (not surprised by that actually). One student, a baseball player, blurted out that poetry was boring (really? That’s all you have? Boring? Good to see a senior in high school using such a well-developed vocabulary). I laughed and said that many people would say the same about baseball. He responded by saying that he played baseball, which was way more fun than watching it. Jackpot. I told him that writing poetry can be more fulfilling (and exciting) than reading it. (I know, I know. Everyone’s a poet but nobody’s a reader. I get it. But I think we can better appreciate an art form when we’ve tried it out for ourselves. Writing is only step 1).

The student sat there silently with a stupid grin on his face. And then, “Nope. I don’t know what I’d write about.” So there we have it. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Oh well. I’m still pretty confident that the most one of the most ancient forms of writing can’t be snuffed out by laziness and entitlement. Kind of confident. Okay, maybe just plain hopeful. Here’s to doing my part.

Waiting for Superman

I had the opportunity to finally watch Waiting for Superman, the documentary about the quality of public schools in America. What a great movie! A few things that caught my eye/ear/mind:

• When describing a significant fall-off in achievement between 5th and 7th grade, one principal said that there were two possibilities: either the kids are getting stupider or there’s a problem with the system. While there are numerous issues with our public education system, I find it interesting that at this moment in the film (or any moment) the role of the family is not mentioned. Three types of family involvement in education have proven to be problematic: the family where the adults are too busy/annoyed to be a part of their child’s education; the family that has to work multiple jobs to pay the bills, thus leaving the kid on his own for much of the time; the meddling parents that are overly involved and ruin life for everyone, including their own child.
• On average, 1 in 15 doctors lose their license. 1 in 27 lawyers lose theirs. Teachers? 1 in 2500.
• The movie concludes that public education is failing because it isn’t about the kids. It’s all about the adults. Teacher unions have shut down the majority of education reform because it encroaches on people’s “rights” to teach. The two national teaching unions have paid over 55 million dollars to political campaigns. How can a union have education in mind when that money is leaving education and going into the pockets of those creating bad education policy? I understand why unions formed, but if a teacher is doing what he/she is supposed to be doing, and doing it really well, is there a need for a union? I don’t have the right to be a teacher, I have the responsibility of being a teacher, of making sure every student that comes through my room as the opportunity and expectation to grow in leaps and bounds. My most successful moments as a teacher are when I get over myself and put my students first. (Another reason to not join our local union: the union pres. is my former high school math analysis teacher–my only C in high school. Oh and I went on to get an A in calculus the following semester in college. Oh and my mom is a calculus teacher so I had all the support in the world…except in the actual classroom. Go figure. Stay classy JCEA)
• Recent legislation suggests that it’s entirely up to teachers to solve all the educational problems, because if a student isn’t learning, whose fault is it but the teacher’s?
• The movie never identifies who or what the education Superman is. Maybe they are hinting that there isn’t an easy superhero rescue scene with this one, and no amount of legislation/bureaucratic muck-duck will fix the problems. But it’s a good start to look at the heart of those teaching in classrooms everyday. Is it possible for each individual teacher, each principle, each student, each family, each school–is it possible for us to be Superman, or are we already weakened by the kryptonite of self-esteem over content, testing over learning, unions over children?

Ambiguity, Universalism, and the Character of God

Last week (or was it two weeks ago?) I wrote about ambiguity and poetry. I’ve been thinking about it again with all of the flap over Rob Bell’s latest book. A few points before I get to my own. The book hasn’t even been released yet, so nobody has read the whole thing, making the backlash premature. As people, we like to lash out about/against something without knowing the whole story. I don’t know anything specific about the book, and my comments will be on the video found in the link above. I’m not a huge fan of Rob Bell, as I find the theology in some of his videos a little questionable, and his books simply don’t hold my attention. However, he says something in the promo video (again, linked above) that has me thinking (a loose paraphrase):

God promises to send us to hell, and Jesus came to save us from God. If God was really a loving God, why would he have to save us from himself, and how could he choose to send anyone to hell to burn for eternity?

I disagree with the way Bell says a couple of these things, and I’m not sure if it’s an issue of semantics or deeper theological issues. In Genesis, God gave Adam and Eve a choice and a verdict–eat from any tree except the tree of knowledge of good and evil. If you eat from the tree, you will die. Some people don’t like or accept a God who would make such an ultimatum, but it’s a fact of life that we have to make decisions every moment of the day and each decision has a consequence. Death means separation from God, which leads to suffering and torment, thus hell.  So is it God choosing to send people to hell or is God allowing people to make their own choices, and thus deal with the appropriate consequences. (I know, the argument is much more complicated, right and wrong must be explored, morality must be evaluated, etc. I’m just trying to lay a little groundwork.)

I have personally gone round and round about the character of God, love, and hell. I often ask the question of whether or not a loving God would send somebody to hell, but I’m learning that maybe that’s a backwards way of looking it. As Timothy Keller discusses in his book Reason for God,  is God “sending” somebody who is completely set on rejecting God to hell, or is that person just continuing on the path of the self?

Either way, God’s Biblical character seems to embody ambiguity. God gets angry in the Old Testament and wipes out everybody but Noah. He gets disgusted and destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. Moses seems to change God’s mind when God is ready to wipe out the Israelites. God establishes the old testament law and then honors people like David and Solomon–two guys that lived very “worldly” at various points in their lives. There are stories in the Bible of wrath and love. How do those coexist?

I know many people who don’t care for such “contradictions”,  and conclude that a contradictory God cannot/should not exist or does not deserve praise. Why is it that we (humans? Americans?) refuse to believe in something (or attack outright) we don’t fully understand? Are we so focused on science that equal opposites just cancel each other out, resulting in nothing? Can ambiguity in poetry be a microcosm for an ambiguous God? Is it the ambiguity of God or the hypocrisy of “the religious” that drives people away?