Showing posts with label Toni Morrison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Toni Morrison. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Extended Meditation on Fathers and Missing Fathers and The Orchardist, by Amanda Coplin / Update with additional relevant photos added / And now an update when a relevant quote appeared
































1.  My father during World War II.  There was something about my father that was missing, although he was present.

2.  My father's father in the early 1900s.  First child in the family to be born in the United States, his two older brothers having been born in Norway.  Two of his younger siblings died during a smallpox epidemic when my grandfather was a young boy.  The family had a farm on what had recently been Dakota land in Western Minnesota.

3.   My father's mother's father and grandfather (first on the left in the top row and on the far right).  My great grandfather was born in the United States.  My great great grandfather was born in Norway.  They had a farm on what had recently been Dakota land south and east of Minneapolis. 

My great grandmother is the second person from the right in the top row.  Her mother came with her family from Norway when she was a young woman.  A few years after their arrival in Iowa, she became pregnant while working as a domestic servant for a family in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin.  There is a record of the birth and christening of my great grandmother and the name of her father who disappeared from her life.  He was said to be German.  My research shows that his mother was either English, Irish, Welsh or Scottish (I have recently found a distant cousin on Ancestry.com who looks very much like me and my first cousins on my father's side).  My great grandmother's mother died when she was 6 years old.  She was raised by her grandparents and then her mother's brother and his wife.  She went to college and became a teacher.  She met my great grandfather at St. Olaf College in Minnesota.

4.  My fatherless great grandmother, a few years after her mother died.

5.   I have no photo of the younger sister of the great great grandfather who settled on Dakota land south and east of Minneapolis and have often wondered about her life.  That sister remained in Norway and, at age 30, gave birth to a daughter whom she raised alone, working as a laborer on a farm near where she was born. 

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1.  My mother during the years her father was serving as a doctor in the U.S. Army in World War I in France.  She was two years old when he left for war and 3 years old when he returned.

2.   My mother's father as a boy soon after his father disappeared in the 1870s.  He had a younger sibling who died as an infant in a cholera epidemic in Boston some years before my grandfather was born there.  My grandfather's parents were both young people from Germany -- his mother from the Achern in the Black Forest and his father from Stadtlengsfeld.

3.  My mother's father in his Army uniform in 1918.

4.   My mother's father arriving home from war in 1919.   Before returning to the United States, he had spent a short time in England and Ireland. My grandmother brought my uncle and my mother to Boston to meet him.  I just noticed how my mother is holding my grandfather's finger and how lost my uncle looks.  I wonder who took the photo.  Could it be my mother's grandfather, seen in the following photo?

5.   My mother's mother's father who had roots in London in the 1700s, with the family leaving England for Canada and then leaving Canada for Boston.  At one time my great grandfather was the president of the Theosophical Society in Boston.

Boston was built on what had been the land of the Massachusett tribe.

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When I visited a friend last week, she had three books that she was giving away.  She said that The Orchardist was the best of the three and so I took it home with me.  Something prompted me to begin reading it immediately.  It wasn't long before I wondered if I should keep reading.  The story was becoming disturbing to me on a deep level, but then I remembered how many times I started reading Beloved before I was able to read beyond about the same place in that book.  I kept reading The Orchardist and, at times, felt that there was much about the story that reminded me of Beloved.  There was also something of the beauty and melancholy of Richard Brautigan's writing and that of his daughter Ianthe, something universal, archetypal, unsettling and yet filled with an odd clarity about missing fathers, shattered families, hard-won healing in later generations, and strong families that can be formed by people unrelated by blood.

It turns out the young woman who wrote The Orchardist was strongly influenced by Beloved.  

One of the main characters in The Orchardist, Clee, is Nez Perce and a childhood and lifelong friend of Talmadge who, along with a woman friend of his, steps forward in the role of parent to two young girls who are alone in the world.  The fruit orchard he tends so lovingly is on Wenatchi land, about 300 miles from where the Nez Perce live today.  The story begins with the death of Talmadge's father.  His mother brings him and his younger sister to live and work in an apple orchard near the Columbia River in Eastern Washington State.

The story takes place in the years that my fatherless great grandmother was growing up on her grandparent's farm in Iowa, where Winnebago, Sauk, Fox, and Oneota people had once lived and brings into focus so many family histories of settlers and indigenous people.  So many missing fathers, along with men who step forward to father the children of other men.  

The Orchard, like Beloved, is a book I will read again.  Not immediately but eventually.  I first read Beloved in the 1980s and then again in this past year.  I don't have time to wait that long to re-read The Orchardist.












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Synchronicity?  Just now I was given more to meditate on via Beth at Alive On All Channels:

Sometimes when you are devastated you want not a reprieve but a mirror of your condition or a reminder that you are not alone in it. Other times it is not the propaganda or the political art that helps you face a crisis but whatever gives you respite from it.

Recollections of My Nonexistence :: by Rebecca Solnit

Thursday, November 18, 2021

High Water Everywhere / Beloved / Freedom



"... Things are breakin' up out there
High water everywhere ..." (Bob Dylan, lyrics from 2001)

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Just began re-reading Beloved, by Toni Morrison.  Thanks to Elizabeth for writing about that book recently.















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The function of freedom is to free someone else.

(Toni Morrison)

Thursday, September 12, 2019

James Baldwin and Ocean Vuong / Leah Siegel covering Buckley covering Buckley / Learning Spanish / NAMI class



Ocean Vuong's book On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous was brought to my attention in the last month or so, and I put a hold on a copy at our public library.  I found the book to be extraordinary as well as difficult and worth the difficulty.  Ocean Vuong, like Toni Morrison, took me to places I've never been before (but not as "a tour guide to pre-made worlds" but as a "world maker," to use Ocean Vuong's words from the interview) and changed the way I see the world.  Before finishing the book, I took a 50-minute break to listen to Ocean Vuong and Jacqueline Woodson.  Previously, while reading the book, I had listened to several other interviews with Ocean Vuong in which he reminded me of a young Bob Dylan.  In the above Strand Bookstore interview, Ocean Vuong lights a James Baldwin votive candle before the interview begins, in honor of James Baldwin's illuminating presence.  In that moment, I realized that what I was perceiving as a similarity to Bob Dylan was actually a similarity to James Baldwin.  Bob Dylan's work and way of being in the world were strongly influenced by James Baldwin.  That is what I was seeing in Ocean Vuong.  James Baldwin lives on through his literary descendants.  Ocean Vuong is one of the most recent in that literary family tree.






































Some quotes from Ocean Vuong:

"... the merciful light in the midst of all this darkness ..." (from the interview)

"Let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence--but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it." (p. 231, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous)

This morning, I discovered this version of "Once I Was A Soldier" by Leah Siegel and wanted to share it.  I've never heard a woman sing that song before.



Beginning on September 4, I made a commitment to learn to speak Spanish, building on two years of Spanish in high school (escuela secundaria) 52 years ago.  There is a Spanish Conversation group that meets weekly at our local Senior Center around a table in a small meeting room and is facilitated by an engaging woman in her 60s from Mexico.  It is immersion in Spanish rather than a formal class.  I speak like a baby and that's okay!

In addition, I signed up for a evening class offered by our local branch of NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).  The class is for families and friends of people who suffer from mental illness and meets two nights a week for six weeks.  My hope is to learn how to take care of myself in the numerous encounters I have regularly with people who suffer from mental illnesses and to learn how I can be supportive of those who suffer from mental illnesses.  Once again, there are no easy answers, and I am open to learning what I can.

The next six weeks will be full, with not much time for posting.  I will be reading your blogs, sending love as always.

Here's a volunteer Mimulus that appeared on my porch:




Sunday, August 18, 2019

Further thoughts this morning / "Somebody, after all, had to make a start ..." (Sophie Scholl in 1943)




















In the words of Sophie Scholl, "Somebody, after all, had to make a start.  What we wrote and said is also believed by many others.  They just don't dare express themselves as we have."

After posting on my blog earlier this morning about what Never Again Action experienced in Rhode Island and remaining unsettled, an image came to me of a small group of German people gathering at the entrance to Buchenwald one summer evening in 1943 to nonviolently protest what they could not ignore, with the goal of blocking any employees who attempted to enter.  I see the Nazis who ran the camp mobilize immediately to threaten the lives of the people at the gate.  I see a man in a truck attempt to intimidate the nonviolent protestors by driving forward in an aggressive move that could result in serious injury to them.  When they don't disperse, the Nazis in the towers kill them.  The momentum of the Nazi mentality continues to build until World War II ends in 1945, and it never completely dies.

I became aware of Sophie Scholl and the White Rose only recently.  To my mind, she and her young friends did the equivalent of protesting at the gates of Buchenwald.  She and her brother Hans and and another student, Christoph Probst, were beheaded by the Nazis for "treason."

On the day that the three young protestors died, Else Gebel, Sophie's cell mate, has stated that Sophie said, "It is such a splendid sunny day, and I have to go.  But how many have to die on the battlefield in these days, how many young, promising lives.  What does my death matter if by our act thousands are warned and alerted.  Among the student body there will certainly be a revolt."

When I look at the photo of Sophie Scholl, I am reminded of this photo of Greta Thunberg.













"All the goodness and the heroisms will rise up again, then be cut down again and rise up.  It isn't that the evil things wins -- it never will -- but that it doesn't die." (John Steinbeck)

There is no action any one of us can take that is too small to matter.  There is no action that is too small to matter when we join together.

I am reminded of the words of Toni Morrison,

“This is the time for every artist in every genre to do what he or she does loudly and consistently. It doesn't matter to me what your position is. You've got to keep asserting the complexity and the originality of life, and the multiplicity of it, and the facets of it. This is about being a complex human being in the world, not about finding a villain. This is no time for anything else than the best that you've got.”

Thursday, August 15, 2019

"These are hard won lessons spoken by people who have been there and are not crushed."



(Because I didn't have time to sit down and listen in one sitting, I listened over several days.)

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

The voice of a 92 year old and the voice of a Vietnam War combat veteran who became a Zen Buddhist and the voice of a Nobel Prize winner and the voice of a commencement speaker



Abe Markman

As a white man living in a black family for the last fifty-eight years, and having served people of color as a social worker in inner cities, I can attest to having prejudice toward blacks and learning how to act without it. The key, I think, is to fully acknowledge it. Malcolm Gladwell discusses this phenomenon in his 2005 book, Blink: The Power of Thinking without Thinking. He quotes a psychologist, Keith Payne, who writes that, “When we make a split-second decision, we are really vulnerable to being guided by our stereotypes and prejudices, even ones we may not necessarily endorse or believe.” Gladwell goes on to write that when one of our own hidden biases flashes before us, “we need to wait a beat before identifying the object in an unbiased way… the giant computer in our unconscious needs a moment to do its work.” (from an article in The Humanist)

In the following talks, Claude AnShin Thomas addresses what I perceive as the same process of learning not to act out of previous conditioning, of learning to act in ways that don't promote endless suffering.





Claude AnShin Thomas

Again and again, I find myself asking, "How much violence are we willing to tolerate so that we don't have to feel uncomfortable?"  And, "How much violence are we willing to tolerate so that we don't have to alter our lifestyle?" These are questions that echo in my mind as I move from place to place.  They apply not only to the obvious fighting taking place in Iraq and Afghanistan; they address the roots of violence that exist within me and within each one of us.  (from At Hell's Gate, p. 162)














Toni Morrison -- 1993 Nobel Lecture 

... She is convinced that when language dies, out of carelessness, disuse, indifference and absence of esteem, or killed by fiat, not only she herself, but all users and makers are accountable for its demise. In her country children have bitten their tongues off and use bullets instead to iterate the voice of speechlessness, of disabled and disabling language, of language adults have abandoned altogether as a device for grappling with meaning, providing guidance, or expressing love. But she knows tongue-suicide is not only the choice of children. It is common among the infantile heads of state and power merchants whose evacuated language leaves them with no access to what is left of their human instincts for they speak only to those who obey, or in order to force obedience ...

... It's quiet again when the children finish speaking, until the woman breaks into the silence. 

"Finally", she says, "I trust you now. I trust you with the bird that is not in your hands because you have truly caught it. Look. How lovely it is, this thing we have done - together."

(quotes from the Nobel Lecture)

(Transcript from the Nobel Lecture)



Louise Erdrich

"Do your best for this beautiful world." (from the 2009 commencement speech)

This all took some time to listen to.  It was worth the time.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

".... I want our hearts to be open. I mean it." (from The Empathy Exams, Leslie Jamison)

















He said, "I am in your life to destroy the little trust you have in men."

A few years before saying that, he gave me a carved painted wooden fish napkin holder as a gift.  He also gave me a rusted tool associated with a Model-A Ford (1927-1931).  He had found the tool in the detached garage of his family's home which had been built in the late 1800s or early 1900s.  I collected rusted tools at the time, inspired by R who also collected rusted old tools and made mobiles out of them.  At one time, I had an old rusted cultivator on my porch.  Before that unhappy man abruptly walked out of my life several months later (and yet reappeared at odd times for several unsettling years), I made these two paintings, thinking about him as well as the Vietnam veteran I loved who later died of complications of alcoholism, and vaguely of my father who was a painful source of bewilderment to me, at first unconsciously and then consciously.

Those two paintings are from my Calendar Series from the late 1980s:

44th Month:  Imaginary Brother With Fish With Open Heart.
46th Month:  Land Fish With Open Hearts Confronting Stranded Tool

Early this morning, I finished reading a series of essays on empathy that has given me everything good writing can give.  Much gratitude to Sabine for drawing my attention to The Empathy Exams, by Leslie Jamison.  It goes hand in hand with The Man Who Loved Dogs, by Leonardo Padura and All The Light We Cannot See and Why We Took The Car.  Not easy reading.  With each book, there was a moment where I thought that I could not continue reading, and I stopped.  And then thought twice.  Toni Morrison's Beloved falls in that category of books.  I couldn't bear to read it until I could.

I am here today to say that the man who perceived himself as a powerful destroyer failed.  When I heard his words, I thought, "You are no longer in my life."  Since he disappeared with his closed heart, I have met many men with open hearts.  They are like brothers to me.  I trust them.  I want all our hearts to be open, including the man who gave me the carved fish and the rusted tool and the cryptic message that freed me.  I mean it.

Friday, November 9, 2007

ALLIGATOR SEEN FROM A SMALL BRIDGE AT GULF COAST NATIONAL SEASHORE IN OCEAN SPRINGS, MISSISSIPPI

















When I was a child I was quite frightened by the crocodile that had swallowed a ticking clock and stalked Captain Hook in the Walt Disney version of PETER PAN. As a young woman, I saw drugged-appearing crocodiles who never seemed to move at all in their habitat in the Steinhart aquarium in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Along with seeing my first cardinal, I saw my first alligator last week. I remember my father, while visiting me when he was in his 70s, having his picture taken next to a buffalo. He said he had never seen a live buffalo before.

While preparing for my trip to visit my sister in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, I went to a bookstore to find a book to read during the long plane trip I would be taking. I almost bought a new copy of MOBY DICK, a book I read during the late 70s or early 80s and still consider one of my favorite books. Instead, I bought LESSONS IN BECOMING MYSELF, by Ellen Burstyn. I found out later that Ellen Burstyn tells a story in her book where she takes her son, at his request, on a sports fishing boat off the coast of California, a trip in which she brought along a copy of MOBY DICK. As she was reading, the fishing boat came close to a whale who then spouted. The spray of water landed on her and her book. She looked down at the wet page and read the following words, "Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? . . ."

I like her book. It was just the book I needed during my time on the airplane and in Mississippi. When I finish it, I'll go back to the bookstore and buy MOBY DICK.

Although I've never seen THE EXORCIST and have no plans to see it, I have seen and appreciated Ellen Burstyn in:

ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
RESURRECTION
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN
REQUIEM FOR A DREAM
DIVINE SECRETS OF THE YA-YA SISTERHOOD
THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN

Toni Morrison, author of BELOVED, wrote for the back cover of the book: "I deeply admire Ellen Burstyn's scrupulous honesty and the urgency with which she pursues enlightenment. An extremely moving story of a fully lived life."

What I have found particularly interesting is Ellen Burstyn's affinity with Sufis and Carl Jung. Here is an interview with her.