Friday Wisdom – Medical

I had two scheduled medical appointments this week, one with my doctor and one with the dentist. I now know so much medical stuff that I can share the following with you:

Health is slowest rate at which you can die.

Nurses walk quietly near the medicine cabinets so they don’t wake the sleeping pills.

My doctor said the worst time to have a heart attack is while playing a game of charades.

I told the doctor that I was loosing my sense of humor. She said it sounded like a case of irony deficiency.

I found this website the other day: conjunctivitis.med — it’s a site for sore eyes.

I told the dentist that I started to suffer from memory loss. He made me pay in advance.

Can an apple a day keep the doctor away? Well, yes, if you have good aim.

I took a banana to the doctor because it wasn’t peeling well.

I called the doctor to tell her I had a sick lemon. She said to give it lemon-aid.

Roverdose: a condition from owning too many dogs.

I had to call the paramedics the other day. I told them that I’d broken my leg in two places. They said to stop going to those places.

My doctor gave me a new kind of cough medicine – I have no idea what to expectorate.

Advice: never tell a lie to an x-ray technician – they can see right through you.

I tried writing a joke about amnesia, but forgot how it goes.

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Ekphrastic Poetry Class

So in addition to demolishing a shed, I’ve been taking an ekphrastic poetry class.  Each week we would view a still life picture and write a poem about it.  We were also asked to take a photo recreating the original art.  I’m not much of a visual artist and a poor photographer, but I managed to use objects around the house to recreate my version of the original art.

Turns out to be somewhat time consuming, but I managed to get all the work done.  During the weekly class sessions we’d show our photos, read our poems and then have a “workshop” on each poem where we’d offer what we liked and suggestions for improvement.  In the end I ended up with eight poems with photos.

Some of the poems I actually like.

I’m one of my worst critics – I rarely really like anything I write and the stuff I do like … well other people don’t seem to.  Maybe that’s too harsh, but I have to say that editing your own work is difficult at best.

There is only one thing harder that editing your work is actually starting writing in the first place and avoiding that “writer’s block” thing.  I hear about it all the time and often find it hard to get started on a piece or even decide what I want to write about.  Deciding on what to write is likely one of my biggest problems in writing.

Heck, it’s likely one of the biggest problems in my life.  In my younger days I would often say, “If I knew what I wanted, I’d be dangerous.”

Now in my older years I’m likely not as dangerous, but could be writing more if I could just focus better on what I wanted to say.

That indecisive part of me is what draws me to ekphrastic poetry.  It’s poetry that is a response to viewing a picture or other visual art.  What to write about is in the picture and then becomes the starting point for writing.  The writing about the art work includes:

  1. Details of the original art
  2. Understanding the audience.  The poem and the poet must remember that the reader is viewing the art as well as reading the poem.
  3. Interpretation of the art.  What is the art and what is it’s effect on us.
  4. Focus on the art.  If the picture is about a bird, the poet should use imagines and metaphors related to birds or the actions of a bird. At the least the poem shouldn’t wander off the subject of the art.
  5. The artist should be considered.

The general process I followed in creating an ekphrastic poem was to:

  1. View the original art for a few minutes.
  2. Free write about it for 20 minutes.  This is just to get the mind focusing on my first impressions and most would not be used later.  However, there was almost always one or two good lines of this that would become the foundation for the final poem.
  3. Research the art and artist.  What I would look for here is clues to the artist’s intention with the art and how others might have interrupted it.  Sometimes simple things, like how the art was created gives me clues into responding to the work.
  4. Create a photo of my interpretation of the work.  I would collect a bunch of objects, stage them and with my iPhone, take a photo.  With a few of the photos, I’d edit them slightly, cropping, adjusting light levels and such.
  5. Write the poem.
  6. Share the poem with my classmates, note their suggestions.
  7. Edit, edit, edit.

When I look at a picture, I tend to see a story.  While the art is a picture frozen in time, my mind creates a story of either how we got to this point or what happens after this point in time.

Think about Van Gogh’s painting, Starry Night and start asking questions about it.  Under the night sky are some hills and little village.  What is the viewer looking at? What is happening in the village? Why are the stars drawn that way? Who is looking at the scene? Who lives in the village? Why is the viewer out at night viewing this scene?

The answer to these questions form the basis of the poem.

It is simple, yet complex.  One poet will see a traveler arriving in the village, while another might see a traveler leaving.  You might see a connection between the painting and Van Gogh’s life.  You might see a connection between this picture and a Shakespeare play or you might hear Don McLean’s song.

Whatever you as the poet find, becomes the dialog in your poetry about the Starry Night and what you try to communicate to your reader.  The great thing about the class is that I had three other interpretations of the same pice of art to listen to – which only deepens your understanding of what the artist, Van Gogh in this case, was trying to show in the art.

Simple, yet complex.

I know that you’d like to read one of my poems and see one of my pictures, but that will have to wait for another time as this post is already too long.

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Friday Wisdom – Working to a Deadline

Well, remember that shed I demolished and said I was getting a new one? Well the shed company disappointed me and called to delay delivery by two weeks so now I have an empty spot in the yard and stacks of lumber I can’t move until they finally deliver the new shed, so naturally I’m thinking about work and deadlines:

I love deadlines – especially the whooshing noise they make as they fly past.

College students and the government share one thing when it comes to deadlines: both wait till the last minute and then get an extension.

I got a book on deadlines. I was supposed to finish it last week.

Did you hear the chef missed the deadline? He said he ran out of thyme.

I was out with a group of enthusiastic weavers having a great time, but they all had to leave early to meet a looming deadline.

Doctor said I had three months to live, I said that I’ve never meet a deadline in my life.

If it was worth doing, it would have been done by now.

I believe that tomorrow holds possibilities for new technologies and discoveries that will make all my current projects obsolete.

If at first you don’t succeed – well there’s always next year.

Remember that the probability of a miracle, although very small, is not zero.

A good excuse is as good as a finished job.

Team work is always important – it helps to have someone else to blame.

The best way to ruin a Friday is to remember that it’s Tuesday.

If at first you don’t succeed – redefine success.

I was working on some deadline jokes, but I ran out of time before I had to post this.

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Memorial Day

This is a poem I wrote many years ago after a visit to Arlington National Cemetery. It’s one I like to post on Memorial Day. Let us all take a moment to remember the fallen.


The tour bus rumbles past
the quiet monuments to the fallen.
Shutters click as the tour guide
speaks the litany of the shrine,
that once was the Lee estate.
Now it is that hallowed ground
where solders come for that long rest.
 
The Quick rumble past the carved stones
of the Dead, that once placed
boots of war on their feet.
Their soles now silent.
Now day-trippers take aim and fire.
Cameras, not rifles.
Pictures, not prisoners taken.
 
The bus stops. The microphone is silent.
To the left a horse pulls a caisson carrying a flag-draped box
That contains a name who once walked.
The warrior sent at our command.
The sightseer sees and falls silent
And hears the echo of guns.
Three volleys and then the mournful notes.
 
Boys became men
And men became names
And names became graves
Gone is the sun,
Day is done.
God is Nigh.

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