Photo by Michael Maggs, Wikimedia Commons

Today I encountered a new poem. It was shared with me by someone who has helped me greatly in the past several months. The poem resonates with me, and I wanted to share it in case it resonates with someone else out there.

“Wild Geese”
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
(1986)

I love many things about this poem, but if I had to pick my favorite two lines they would be:

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

And also:

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

because they feel so…accurate? Something like that. They just fit. I love the idea that despair is something that can be shared (something I’m beginning to learn how to do) rather than experienced alone…which brings me to the second quote that talks about the world being there to ease your loneliness. The idea that the world calls out “like the wild geese” makes it feel like a friendlier landscape that I often imagine it to be. Thanks to Daniel for sharing this poem with me today.

Photo courtesy of ETMCA.com

Today the LA-based artist ETMCA, also known as the Code Artist, announced the locations of some of his artwork in Venice. ETMCA has been doing a series called Discovery Art that involves placing portions of a larger art piece at undisclosed locations for people to “discover” and keep. This particular installment of his Discovery Art is part of the Venice Biennale 2013 — and ETMCA has hidden his art in two bookstores in Venice. Why am I blogging about this? (1) Because it sounds like a really interesting concept; and (2) because ETMCA used my photos for part of his clue! Somehow he stumbled upon my Bibliomania page and he decided to use the photos from my recent travels as part of his clues. Check it out here!

A friend of mine shared this with me earlier this spring, and since it’s graduation season I thought it was appropriate to post. It’s pretty cute and very fun (and short, too). Perfect for a Monday morning. Enjoy!

A friend of mine recently shared this video with me and I thought it was worth sharing with you. Jackson Katz (educator, author, filmmaker) speaks out in this video about violence as a men’s issue (typically it is talked about as a women’s issue) and charges men — especially those in positions of power — to break the silence surrounding violence, sexism, oppression, and more. He speaks to one of my own fundamental beliefs — that it is imperative to speak up when sexist, racist, or other bigoted remarks are made in order to hope to influence change and help the speakers understand that these ideas are not acceptable — and articulates his own theory of the “bystander” (which I find very interesting). It’s a relatively short video (just under 20 minutes) and is worth every minute.

There’s nothing like sitting in an airport all by yourself to get you contemplating this big world of ours (and your tiny little life in the grand scheme of things). Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all spiritual on you. It’s just that here I am, sitting in the San Francisco International Airport…and I feel very small in that we’re-all-so-very-insignificant-in-the-big-picture-of-humanity kind of way. Midnight approaches, and instead of some fairy tale magic lurking around the corner for mer, I’m awaiting a short flight back to Columbus, Ohio. In fact, it’s a red-eye so I’m really not planning on being awake for most of it. Even still, I am enjoying the music of various languages swirling around in the waiting area, thinking of how strange our little lives are in our manufactured reality. Perhaps it’s just the melancholy I usually feel upon leaving so many wonderful people behind as I depart from California once again, but there’s something fragile and beautiful about the moments before this kind of travel.

At the risk of leaving this post completely incoherent (I’m not feeling very eloquent at the moment), I’m going to go continue my literary journey through the entertaining world of Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead comic book series. Zombies…red-eye flights…there’s a joke in there somewhere.

Let me start by saying that (as anyone who knows me knows) I love the Harry Potter series. I do. I really, really do. That being said, I read the books while knowing full well that there are some flaws. Easily overlooked flaws. A friend of mine emailed me this wonderful video of slam poet Rachel Rostad performing her piece “To JK Rowling, from Cho Chang.” It’s an inspired and hard-hitting piece that makes several excellent points about portrayals of people of color in the Harry Potter series. Rostad, who is a fan of the series, offers an intelligent critique of Rowling’s popular stories and points out several problematic aspects of the Cho Chang character, drawing the audience’s attention to the fact that there are some flaws we should be aware of (even if we love the books). I will include the full text of her poem at the end of this post (taken from Rachel Rostad’s Facebook page) in case you’d like a visual.

Additionally, Rostad posted a very thoughtful and thorough video clarification/response today which is also very worthwhile. Here it is:

Hats off to Rachel Rostad for her excellent performance and for having the guts to critique a series that is beloved by many (including her)! It’s a hard thing to do, but this woman has something to say and she says it well.

As promised, here’s the full text of the poem:

“To JK Rowling, from Cho Chang” by Rachel Rostad

When you put me in your books, millions of Asian girls across America rejoiced! Finally, a potential Halloween costume that wasn’t a geisha or Mulan! What’s not to love about me? I’m everyone’s favorite character! I totally get to fight tons of Death Eaters and have a great sense of humor and am full of complex emotions!

Oh wait. That’s the version of Harry Potter where I’m not fucking worthless.

First of all, you put me in Ravenclaw. Of course the only Asian at Hogwarts would be in the nerdy house. Too bad there wasn’t a house that specialized in computers and math and karate, huh?

I know, you thought you were being tolerant.
Between me, Dean, and the Indian twins, Hogwarts has like…five brown people? It doesn’t matter we’re all minor characters. Nah, you’re not racist!
Just like how you’re not homophobic, because Dumbledore’s totally gay!
Of course it’s never said in the books, but man. Hasn’t society come so far?
Now gays don’t just have to be closeted in real life—they can even be closeted fictionally!

Ms. Rowling. Let’s talk about my name. Cho. Chang.
Cho and Chang are both last names. They are both Korean last names.
I am supposed to be Chinese.
Me being named “Cho Chang” is like a Frenchman being named “Garcia Sanchez.”

So thank you. Thank you for giving me no heritage. Thank you for giving me a name as generic as a ninja costume. As chopstick hair ornaments.
Ms. Rowling, I know you’re just the latest participant in a long tradition of turning Asian women into a tragic fetish.
Madame Butterfly. Japanese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself.
Miss Saigon. Vietnamese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself.
Memoirs Of A Geisha. Lucy Liu in leather. Schoolgirl porn.
So let me cry over boys more than I speak.
Let me fulfill your diversity quota.
Just one more brown girl mourning her white hero.

No wonder Harry Potter’s got yellow fever.
We giggle behind small hands and “no speak Engrish.”
What else could a man see in me?
What else could I be but what you made me?
Subordinate. Submissive. Subplot.

Go ahead. Tell me I’m overreacting.
Ignore the fact that your books have sold 400 million copies worldwide.
I am plastered across movie screens,
a bestselling caricature.

Last summer,
I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows. -
He had his father’s blue eyes.
He’d press his wrist against mine and say he was too pale.
That my skin was so much more beautiful.
To him, I was Pacific sunset,
almond milk, a porcelain cup.
When he left me, I told myself I should have seen it coming.
I wasn’t sure I was sad but I cried anyway.
Girls who look like me are supposed to cry over boys who look like him.
I’d seen all the movies and read all the books.
We were just following the plot.

photo courtesy of La Petit Gigi

I was catching up with one of my favorite poets, Li-Young Lee, and came across his poem “Persimmons” on the Poetry Foundation’s website. There’s one delightful line where he refers to persimmons as “Chinese apples,” which I think is just great. It’s hard to explain how beautiful the poem is — the way it flows from one memory to the next, from one set of misunderstandings to a new way of making meaning, from one lovely image to another — but it truly is beautiful. So I thought I’d share one of my favorite parts of the poem (although I really just want you to read the poem itself, because it makes my soul smile). So here’s a little nibble for you:

My mother said every persimmon has a sun

inside, something golden, glowing,

warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper,

forgotten and not yet ripe.

I took them and set both on my bedroom windowsill,

where each morning a cardinal

sang, The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding

he was going blind,

my father sat up all one night

waiting for a song, a ghost.

I gave him the persimmons,

swelled, heavy as sadness,

and sweet as love.

I know it’s half a week after Valentine’s Day, but I encountered these candy hearts in the English Department’s graduate student lounge at OSU and couldn’t resist. Is there anything quite like candy hearts to bring a smile to your face? They’re just so cute and tasty! I had to share my find.