Poetry Hatred and Love

I hated poetry in middle school.

Just couldn’t understand the attraction. Whereas the plotline of short stories like Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game was immediately suspenseful, the meandering prose of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 65 befuddled me.

What’s worse: I had to memorize the sonnet!

But, as with so many things when one ages from boy/girl to man/woman, my tastes in literature evolved.

Today, I seek out poetry in my weekly visits to the library. Not necessarily over other categories of literature, but on equal footing with a good memoir or classics novel.

I don’t remember the precise turning point. It could have been in my early 20s, when I stumbled across a book of poetry by one of my childhood author-heroes, Ray Bradbury.

I think I was stunned that the same man who could write The Illustrated Man and Dandelion Wine would also take pains (in my view) to write poetry.

After the initial shock, I bought the book. Not the greatest of poets, I thought. But, the impact had been felt. So, I went back and picked up my old college textbook of poetry and flipped through it, selectively reading where the pages landed.

I was intrigued. Still, reading poetry wasn’t part of my regular literature diet.

Until one memorable SXSW Interactive closing rant by Bruce Sterling. I think it was shortly after he had published Tomorrow Now.

I don’t know what it was going on in his personal or professional life, what he had just been witness to in recent days, or simply what particular moment of empathy had triggered a well of emotion. But, as he closed with a reading from Carl Sandburg’s monumental work The People, Yes he his voice began choking as he read.

Yet, rather than pause, take a deep breath, and carry on with his normal, ironic, acerbic sing-song, he plowed forward for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only 4-5 minutes.

Nearly at tears, nearly unable to speak, his near-wail of Sandburg’s powerful words was beyond moving. I was near the front of the room that was absolutely standing-room-only, packed to the gills.

And, as he finished the final words, the room rose up nearly simultaneously on-cue with a wave of riotous, appreciative applause – one of the most incredible standing ovations I’ve ever seen or been a part of.  I’ll never forget it.

The final turning point was during my travels to China.

While seeking some connection back to familiar roots one afternoon while on one of my early weeks-long extended solo trips to Shanghai, I was browsing through the available videos in iTunesU.

While browsing, I stumbled across a selection of videos from NPR’s Poetry Everywhere series, recorded at the Geraldine R. Dodge bi-annual poetry festival. What a treasure!

I watched then (and have watched dozens of time since), many of the readings by the various featured poets, with their short intros by Garrison Keillor.

But, if I could only watch one, it would be For What Binds Us, by Jane Hirshfield.

Here is the full text, if you want to linger over the words, as I have.

For What Binds Us

There are names for what binds us
Strong forces
Weak forces
Look around, you can see them

The skin that forms in a half-empty cup
Nails, rusting into the places they join
Joints, dovetailed on their own weight

The way things stay so solidly
Wherever they’ve been set down

And gravity, scientists say, is weak

And see
How the flesh grows back
Across a wound
With a great vehemence
More strong than the simple, untested surface before

There’s a name for it on horses
When it comes back
Darker and raised

Proud flesh

As all flesh is proud of its wounds
Wears them as honors, given out after battle
Small triumphs, pinned to the chest

And when two people
Have loved each other
See, how it
Is like a scar
Between their bodies’

Stronger, darker, and proud

How the black cord
Makes of them
A single fabric
That nothing can tear, or mend.

As a great poem should, it speaks to me on multiple levels – physically, emotionally, intellectually.

So, whether or not you hated poetry as a kid like I did, if it has been awhile since you found a good poem, I urge you to insert it on your to-do list.

Like the milk commercial says, “it does a body good.”

Shoot… it’s even a little fun, with the nifty Poetry Foundation mobile app!

Goodbye China – Final Musings

1 – I’ve picked up a parasite since traveling to China.

I told my wife that we would solve the world’s future energy problems if we could just decode the biological process of this bug. Because it basically turns everything I eat into gas and liquid.

Just think if you could do this with coal. Rather than burning it and unleashing noxious clouds of CO2, you could just burn the gas and use the liquid for hydro or cooling the gas burners or, heck, for watering your lawn.

2 – I was up before 4am this morning and on a plane by 6am.

It’s now midnight my body time, but I’m hanging in there with my overseas system. That system consists of staying awake as absolutely long as I possibly can.

That way, when I finally get to my Chinese destination, I can collapse in an exhausted stupor, have a good night’s sleep, and hit the ground running for a full day the next day.

The system has worked pretty well the past 2 trips; we’ll see about this one. We left about 8 hours ago which means that we still have nearly 6 hours to go. And I’ve come close to completely nodding off in mid-sentence reading, or in mid-swipe flipping through photos.

I’m listening to A Perfect Circle’s Judith hoping that some industrial metal will kick the brain awake for a bit. Maybe head back for a 3rd cup of coffee shortly, to stretch my legs as well.

3 – I caught a break on my seat assignment this trip.

I managed to snag emergency row, aisle seats on both legs – from Austin to LA, then LA to Shanghai. And, to top it off, no one in the middle seat beside me, giving me lots of elbow and stretching room.

Of course, what this means on the Shanghai leg is that I get a ‘front row seat’ for watching the parade of travelers – almost all Chinese, although no one is immune - try to figure out the bathroom doors for the lavatories.

Nearly all doors have some form of handle on them in the rest of the world, right? So, naturally, people fumble with the various features of the door that suggest some form of handle, clever and unworkable as it may be.

However, there are no handles – you simply push the door from the outside, or pull it towards you if you are inside. But, person after person ambles up and studies, probes, pokes, pulls and finally (occasionally with help) pushes the door to get it open.

The other thing they do (or actually don’t do) is shut the lavatory door, often when they exit and occasionally after they enter. For example, a little boy age 5 or 6, has left the door open and peed at least three times in front of me and anyone else who cared to be walking by then.

I’ve learned it’s a relic of history and (somewhat) rural tradition that comes from a very communal style of life, where there is a lack of any kind of privacy.

4 – Clearly, China is working a form of evil selective amnesia over me.

Last trip, I hopped on the plane forgetting every electronics adapter that I have. Thus, I ended up borrowing a multi-prong extension cord from the office for a week that allows mixed voltage devices.

This trip, no sooner did I land than I realized that I forgot my China Mobile cell phone. The sad part was that I made sure to grab the specially pronged China adapter for it, on my way out of the house.

5 – I experienced 2 earthquake aftershocks this trip.

One was in the middle of a speech I was delivering, as the closing speaker of a weekend hack-a-thon that my company sponsored with Neusoft University, called the AppJamm.

The campus was in a suburb (a village, really) north of Chengdu. Chengdu is in Western, central China, not too far from Tibet in the province called Sichuan – the root of the cooking style of the same name.

The earthquake that struck the area on April 20 that killed over 100 people had happened the day before, causing numerous cancellations and delays to flights to the area (including mine).

Everything was running smoothly through the day and we had just presented the final awards. As I was talking, all of a sudden I noticed that the PowerPoint screen behind me was rocking wildly and I heard a collective gasp from the auditorium of students.

Whereas they felt the movement because they were all sitting, I didn’t feel anything since I was standing. Nonetheless, it was a disturbing event and I asked the professors if we should evacuate the auditorium, just in case. ‘No,’ they said: ‘Just keep going!’

Afterwards, one of my colleagues remarked that it was the most earthshaking speech he’d ever attended.

Then, the next day, I was in Shenyang, which is in far north east China, more northern than Pyongyang, North Korea. We had just completed our day’s meetings and were waiting for a driver to take us to the airport.

As we were hanging out in this Mediterranean-style coffee shop, all of a sudden the big umbrella over our table started to sway and the heavy wooden door to the coffee shop went ajar.

This time, I was sitting, and my colleague and I both felt the earth’s movement, for the solid 2 seconds or so that things were mildly rocking. We immediately checked Weibo and Wechat, both of which indicated that indeed a mild aftershock had struck.

6 – This is my last blog about China.

It’s an amazing country, with people who have an incredible drive to improve their lives and that of their children. It must be remembered that less than a generation ago, this economic leviathan was literally North Korean style, slave labor state during the Cultural Revolution.

So, when people (like me) marvel at the crazy, weird, opulent, goofy, inexplicable aspects of the country, one can’t forget how far and fast the country and its people have bounced back in such a short amount of time.

The country has many natural wonders and generous, friendly people. Just listen to the traffic-free morning of bird activity one morning in Chengdu. In addition to being the home of one of Neusoft’s three campuses, it has nearby Panda preserves and is near the ancient home of the Taoist religion.

Goodbye to all of my Chinese friends and work colleagues, both natives and ex-pats like myself, whom I met. I will always remember you.

Peter Thiel and Bruce Sterling: Separated at Birth?

I saw Peter Thiel and Bruce Sterling, back-to-back, on the closing day of Southby this year.

While on the surface, if you didn’t know much about either one, you might be convinced that it would be hard to find two people more different.

Yet, while the style and composition of their remarks was very different, I found the underlying convictions that they championed to be remarkably similar.

But, first the differences:

Thiel is a billionaire, Silicon Valley investor, best known for founding Paypal and later investing on Facebook, as was so notably highlighted in The Social Network.

Sterling is a non-billionaire writer and speaker, best known for co-founding the cyberpunk movement with novels like Islands in the Net and Heavy Weather.

Thiel is a halting, deliberate, monotone speaker, who has perfected the VC speaking style of stingily, slowly revealing information as he continuously repeats phrases like, phrases like, phrases like, phrases like… you get the idea.

Sterling is a free-flowing, highly descriptive, non-repetitive speaker who exhorts and yearns, chastises and cheerleads, complains and cozies up to the audience… all the while, making it clear that, if he thinks it needs to be said (‘sickness industry,’ ‘gangster bankers,’ et al), he won’t hesitate to say it.

Thiel is a white button-down shirt, rolled-up sleeves, khaki-slacks wearing guy.

Sterling is a long-haired, laser-cut hoodie, jeans and bolo-wearing guy.

Thiel uses slides.

Sterling doesn’t.

Here’s the thing, though. In the language of Thiel’s remarks, they are both advocates of “Determinate Optimism.”

For anyone that saw Thiel’s talk, do you remember the 2×2 matrix he used, with the industries/professions that fell into each of the quadrants?

“Engineering and Art” were in the Determinate Optimism quadrant (upper left).

To somewhat unfairly label for a moment, Thiel is an engineer, while Sterling, an artist.

Here are things that (I believe) they both believe:

• Have a plan; plans matter.
• The pursuit of truth matters.
• Those who make their living on process and uncertainty do so for one reason: control. With control, they gain (or fight to retain) power. Their goal is for their orthodoxy to become ‘the religion.’
• ‘The religion,’ by its very nature, fears and resists disruption – often violently.

At least, these are some of the shared patterns that struck me, when I reflected on what they each said.

What does this mean?

My opinion: while you can make a good living being an indeterminate pessimist, you’ll rarely change the world and you’ll never make history.

If you disagree or heard it differently, I’d love to know.

An Odd, Rewarding Southby

I just finished SXSW Interactive 2013.

I’m a major fan of SXSW, or “Southby,” as it’s now known by most of the digerati.

I’ve been to many, many tech and business conferences all over the U.S. and the world.

But, never have I been to one that achieves the year-over-year improvements in logistics, programming, audience, and experience, as well as Southby. It’s the total package – one, in my opinion, that everyone needs to attend, at least once.

Yet, this Southby was a bit odd for me, from a participant standpoint, because for the first time since the very first interactive, I did it as an entirely solo experience.

I didn’t have another friend, member of my family, or work colleague that I buddied up with. I wasn’t a speaker, member of a company cohort attending/ exhibiting, or festival volunteer.

I don’t exactly remember the first Interactive I attended. I think it was 1996 or maybe 1995. All I remember is that it was the days when Bruce Sterling still invited the interactive crowd over to his house for an after party.

At Sterling’s talk this year, one of the questions Hugh Forrest, festival director (“that’s spelled with 2 r’s, as in: some are for work, I am ‘For Rest’” – nice one Hugh!) asked the audience for a show of hands for who among us recalled going to Bruce’s house for that party.

I wanted to raise my hand, but the honest-to-goodness truth was I never went, even though I could have, during a couple of those earlier years.

Back then, as it still is today, I’ve found that the after-hours scene of Southby just isn’t my thing.  I figure “why go to a Southby party when I can go to a party anywhere, anytime, and yell at (excuse me, visit with) people in Austin over loud music, over-priced drinks, and no seating?”

So, for me, the reason for Southby has always been the day programming.

That’s why it’s been such a great thrill to be both a multi-time speaker and advisory board member of Interactive.

Hugh says Southby is all about the community. I’d agree. But within that community, what I care most about is the ideas, the discourse, the unscripted Q-and-A that the community has with one its own who - for his or her moment - gets to be on stage as the center of attention.

Because of lots of professional and personal duties this year, I was only able to bookend the festival this year, going to the first and last days, Thursday and Tuesday.

During those days, though, I attended talks by Bre Pettis of Makerbot, Senator Jerry Moran of Kansas (my birth state; that’s me with the Sentor), a session on manufacturing pirates in China (lessons of the Shanzhai), Inman of The Oatmeal, Peter Thiel, and Sterling.

No parties, receptions, breakfasts, food tents, happy hours, courtesy lounges, or free lunches.

Instead of nachos and Shiner, my feasting was on ideas. And, once again, for SXSW 2013, the ‘feast’ was abundant, flavorful, and deeply satisfying.

Did I miss the experience of being part of a team or even a dynamic duo at Southby? Maybe just a little.

But as odd as returning to a fully solo participant experience was, the rewards were still there. See you in 2014!

Tracy: the Musical

I was listening to Tracy Chapman‘s first album on the way back from travels recently and the thought struck me: it is a perfectly conceived soundtrack for a modern folk musical!

The songs are about race (mainly black and white), rich and poor, the daily injustices of the powerful over the weak, unrequited love, escape to a better place… It’s got it all.

I thought: If I were to write the musical, I would name it after the lead character, simply entitled “Tracy.” But it wouldn’t be autobiographical.  It would be purely a work of fiction, but born of Chapman’s authentic, original music.

It would open with the album’s opening track: ‘Talking about a revolution.’

It would start on the edge of a tough, poor neighborhood. A lone, man would appear…

[ begin scene 1 / song 1 ]

He starts quietly singing ‘Don’t you know… Talking about a revolution… It starts… with a whisper…’

‘Don’t you know-owe… Talking about a revolution… It starts… with a whisper…’

It would be a new day dawning on the set. People would be edging into the streets to go to their jobs, schools, public assistance, free breakfast lines, or just to hang out.

The song would build to the crescendo line: ‘Don’t you know you better run-run-run-run-run-run, run… Run! Cause (fin-al-ly) the tables, are starting to turn: talking about a revolution, who-oah.’

[A chase would run across the stage...]

[ end song 1 ]

[then, dialogue explaining what just happened and set up scene 2]

[we meet the lead character Tracy]

[ begin scene 2 / song 2 ]

[ensemble sings 'Why?']

‘Why do the babies starve, when there’s enough food to feed the world?’

‘Why when there’s so many of us, there’s people still alone?’

‘Why are the missiles called peacekeepers, when there aim’s to kill?’

‘Why is a woman still not safe, when she’s in her home?’

‘Another day. War is peace. No is yes. We’re all free.’

‘But somebody’s going to have to answer. Time is coming soon.  When the blind remove their blinders. And people see the truth.’

< repeat / etc. >

[ end scene 2 / song 2 ]

There’s more:

• Tracy sings a solo at her job of ‘Mountains O’ Things’ – kind of a contemporary turn on Tevye’s ‘If I were a rich man’ in the classic Fiddler on the Roof
• ‘For My Lover’ – sung by Tracy’s former live-in boyfriend, who has been jailed out-of-state but obsesses about her and about getting loose
• ‘For You’ – a heart-breakingly tender, beautiful love song.  I would start it as a solo by Tracy of her love for a boy who knows her as a friend, but not a girlfriend.  Then, the boy would sing the second verse to his girlfriend.  Finally, Tracy and the boy would sing the final verse as a duet, but to their respective loves, all the way to fade to the end…

…plus six more songs.

In my mind’s eye, the concept is like a cross between West Side Story and Les Miserables, with a 1980s, African-American urban backdrop.

Maybe, some day, I’ll get around to the rest of the script.

The Golden Era of Law & Order

For a couple of holiday seasons now, the one Christmas gift I’ve been wishing someone in my extended household would get me (but hasn’t yet) is the complete DVD compilation of Law & Order, the original franchise series.

Besides tying Gunsmoke for the record, longest-running TV series of all time, I think it is noteworthy because it was the perfectly-crafted, INTJ-targeted television show.

But, if I couldn’t have the whole series on DVD, then I’d have to pick the sequence of years when Jerry Orbach (detective Lennie Briscoe) was paired, first with Benjamin Bratt (det. Ray Curtis) and then with Jesse L. Martin (det. Ed Green).

I consider those the “Golden Years” of Law & Order.

Orbach, who was an accomplished theater performer and movie actor before he had a second career with Law & Order on TV, is the image of a committed-but-caring, wise-cracking-but-serious-about-getting-the-bad-guys, New York City detective – even if his portrayal bordered on farcical at times.

But, it is just that farce that helps make the show so weirdly enjoyable, for me.

Let me give you three brief scenes.

Nearly every show started with the initial crime, breaking for commercial just after the detectives briefly arrive on scene.  Invariably, Lennie would crack a wise one.

First scene, case in point:

Lennie’s partner, referring to a dead woman found in a hospital clinic: “She comes in for a biopsy and manages to get killed.”

Lennie: “I guess that’s why they call it managed care.”

Second scene:

A frequent foil for Lennie and his partners was the medical examiner Elizabeth Rodgers (wickedly, expertly played by Leslie Hendrix).  Here’s one of their exchanges.

They are talking in the medical examiner’s lab, nearby a victim on which the ME has been performing an autopsy.  The wall phone rings and the ME answers it and listens.  Then:

Med examiner: “Phone for you, detective.”

Detective, as he reaches for the phone and then suddenly pulls his hand back: “Is that brains?”

ME, pausing as she looks at her hand and then the phone that she’s still holding: “Egg salad, I think…”

Detective: “I’ll use the other phone.”

Finally, third scene – one of my all-time classics, with the dialog speed of a 30 Rock scene, again in the ME’s lab:

Lennie: “When can we get the final report, doc?”

ME: “Look, I’m busy. I got a body in the next room waiting to have a javelin removed from the chest.”

Lennie, dryly: “So… what made a nice girl like you get into this line of work?”

ME: “Free javelins.”

I know, I know – you probably saw that one coming.

In fact, I have no doubt that the appeal of the show was that most viewers thrived on that “I see it coming” element of the Law & Order plots.  A formula show, yes – the ultimate one, given its longevity and the fact that it still lives on, with differently titles variants, like Criminal Intent and Special Victims Unit.

There’s always next Christmas.

The 12 Months of Qin-mas

The Qin dynasty (not to be confused with Qing, seriously!) was the first imperial dynasty of China and, thus, is the namesake of modern China.  (Qin = Chin, in pronunciation.)

It is with tongue-in-cheek but also great respect for the warmth and industry of my many new Chinese friends, that I reflect on a charmingly odd 12 months living in China with this riff on the 12 Days of Christmas.

I give you The 12 Months of Qin-mas.

“On the ______ month of Qin-mas, my true love gave to me…”

TWELVE middle-aged ladies: they were out by the Xintiandi subway stop, most every night, country & western line dancing to Alan Jackson on a boom box

…An ELEVEN a.m. bon vivant: but what was extra-special about this middle-aged gent was that he had a hair comb-over so long that he had literally shaped it into the style of a golf cap, complete with brim

…TEN well-dressed dogs: little dogs are the norm in Shanghai: poodles, terrier, pugs, etc. But, what distinguishes them are their outfits: shoes, pants, coats and hats – most dogs are much better dressed than many people you see

…A NINE amp power drill: being wielded by a guy in the pouring rain squatting in a puddle of water, plugged into an exposed electricity outlet, with everyone else walking in the puddles & rain too – me included!

…EIGHT little kids squatting: in fact, pretty much every little kid under the age of two has a slit in the rear of their pants so they can “do their business” directly where they stand or squat… a visual tribute to the pragmatism of the Chinese parent

…SEVEN-foot tall Yao Ming: former Houston Rockets basketball superstar was a neighbor in my apartment complex – you can’t miss him, as he is probably the tallest person you will ever see in a Starbucks, anywhere – and told me during a brief chat that he really liked Austin because it was a “such a quaint small town”

…SIX legs, no pants: the legs being attached to any three women, who are often linked arm-in-arm (although a pair of women is more common) in the winter, basically only wearing black leggings below the waist, with their derrieres barely – not always – covered by a warm sweater, top, or coat. You’ll have to give it to Chinese women: a majority of them have the figures to get away with the style; a combination of their fruit & vegetable diets and genes, no doubt

…A FIVE second stun: when a well-dressed young woman strolled up and swatted me with a rolled up newspaper, as I was sitting with my wife on the outside deck at a coffee shop, one lovely Sunday afternoon.  About the only thing we could think of that had caused her moment of huff was when I had given her an odd stare, searching what I thought was her perplexed face, after she stood aimlessly behind my chair for a few seconds. All I can say is Rebecca nearly fell out of her seat, laughing so hard, as the woman strolled off and I was left speechless.

…FOUR-foot tall trash bag: this was the dark-gray, heavy-duty variety of trash bag, which in itself is nothing unusual, until you see (by all appearances) a normal-looking guy walking down the street wearing it for wardrobe, shaped like a pair of Cossack pants – and looked pretty stylish, in fact. No, it wasn’t raining.

…A THREE story tall tower of cardboard: …and Styrofoam, stacked & tied down, being peddled by an elderly gent at least in his sixties on a bicycle cart for delivery to the recycling center. Seriously, it was taller than the average house; those pictures you may have seen about amazing Chinese feats of transportation ingenuity aren’t Photoshop’d – they’re real!

…TWO ladies walking: they were strolling in opposite directions, but directly towards each other, neither ever swerving until the point when they literally stopped in front of one another, nose to nose – just like in the Dr. Seuss book – before they each sidestepped to go around the other

…And a partly-carved hole in my ceiling. Shortly after returning from a trip to the US in August, we noticed after a heavy rain one afternoon that there appeared to be a wet wood around the doorframe of our apartment’s hallway bathroom.

We lived on the twelfth floor of a thirteen floor building. So, we naturally assumed that a leak had sprung in our above-stairs neighbor. We called the property manager, who sent a few different repairmen to inspect.  They said there wasn’t a problem on the 13th floor and, thus, they needed to inspect further, so they cut a big hole in our hallway ceiling.

From that point forward, about every other week on average, they sent a few people over to stand on a chair, stick their phone-illuminated flashlights (they never seemed to have a real one) up into the dark recess of our ceiling space, argue for one to ten minutes and then say to Rebecca and me “call us when it rains.”

It rained, we called, repeat cycle. Through monsoons (literally!), fall/winter freezing rain, and… well, you get the idea. As of our final moment of departure, the hole was still there, four and a half months after we first reported the leak.