Showing posts with label Gone With the Wind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gone With the Wind. Show all posts

Friday, March 10, 2017

March 10: Isms and Phobias, Natasha Trethewey, "South"

America has a lot of problems right now.  Racism.  Sexism.  Homophobia.  Xenophobia.  Islamophobia.  There are so many -isms and -phobias running rampant in my country that it depresses me, but we can't get around it.

Of course, the United States was built on the land and backs of oppressed people.  Native Americans.  African Americans.  Chinese Americans.  Mexican Americans.  That's a part of our history.  Can't get around that, either.

Saint Marty isn't a big fan of Gone With the Wind, either.

South

by:  Natasha Trethewey

          Homo sapiens is the only species          to suffer psychological exile.
                  —E. O. Wilson
I returned to a stand of pines,
                            bone-thin phalanx
 
flanking the roadside, tangle
                            of understory—a dialectic of dark
 
and light—and magnolias blossoming
                            like afterthought: each flower
 
a surrender, white flags draped
                            among the branches. I returned
 
to land’s end, the swath of coast
                            clear cut and buried in sand:
 
mangrove, live oak, gulfweed
                            razed and replaced by thin palms—
 
palmettos—symbols of victory
                            or defiance, over and over
 
marking this vanquished land. I returned
                            to a field of cotton, hallowed ground—
 
as slave legend goes—each boll
                            holding the ghosts of generations:
 
those who measured their days
                            by the heft of sacks and lengths
 
of rows, whose sweat flecked the cotton plants
                            still sewn into our clothes.
 
I returned to a country battlefield
                            where colored troops fought and died—
 
Port Hudson where their bodies swelled
                            and blackened beneath the sun—unburied
 
until earth’s green sheet pulled over them,
                            unmarked by any headstones.
 
Where the roads, buildings, and monuments
                            are named to honor the Confederacy,
 
where that old flag still hangs, I return
                            to Mississippi, state that made a crime
 
of me—mulatto, half-breed—native
                            in my native land, this place they’ll bury me.


Wednesday, February 18, 2015

February 18: Most Reliable Companions, Ash Wednesday, God's Love Number One

Gradually, [Annie Ives] found that her most reliable companions were books, and decided that her best friends were people who loved them as much as she did.  Among the gifts that came to their apartment in the outpouring of public sympathy [for their son's death] were four copies of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind, which, along with other novels, she donated to the library or gave to Carmen, whom she always helped with her English, and to her son, Pablo.  One of the joys of her life was to take walks with Caroline and Pablo down Broadway to browse in the college bookstores.  Nothing pleased her more than to search for mysterious and new authors from different parts of the world, to find a cart filled with exoticisms recommended in Columbia literature classes...

Annie has to reclaim her happiness after the death of her son.  For a while, she is caught up in the business of grief.  Answering condolence cards and letters sent from relatives, friends, and strangers.  Listening to her son's jazz records over and over.  But then she realizes she needs to rejoin life, and she does it through little joys, like shopping for books with her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend.  That's how she finds herself again.

Today is Ash Wednesday.  I will not be attending a church service this evening.  I have to teach.  However, like Annie, I have to regain a little equilibrium in my life.  For far too long, I have been focusing on the challenges of my life.  Tonight, I am going to take a step in the other direction.  I'm going to talk about a time today that I felt God's love.

I think Annie Ives feels God's love when she's with Caroline and Pablo, browsing through stacks of books.  Today, I felt God's love when I went to start my car this morning in fifteen below zero windchills, and the engine just fired right up.  I am so lucky to have a reliable car and a warm house.  Tonight, after I'm done teaching my film class at the university, I will go out to my car, and it will fire right up again.  I will drive home, put on my pajamas, and enjoy the comfort of my bed.

That is God's love for Saint Marty today.  A running car in my driveway.


Monday, January 27, 2014

January 27: Nothing to Say, Bert Lahr, "Gone With the Wind"

My daughter is waiting impatiently for me to finish typing this post.  She wants to do something called Minecraft on my laptop.  She's been stomping and whining for about an hour.  Thank God she's quieted down a little.  She's watching Minecraft videos on my iPad, I think.

I don't really have anything left to say today.  I just saw a guy on Antiques Roadshow (who happens to be the great grandson of actor Bert Lahr--the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz) have the Oz script used by his great grandfather appraised at $150,000.  I nearly crapped myself.

None of my stuff is that important or valuable.  I have a few signed additions of books, but nothing of real importance.

Saint Marty wishes his great grandfather was Clark Gable.  Then Saint Marty would have a Gone With the Wind script that could get his kids college educations.

This guy can send his kids to college because of his great grandfather's script