March 8: "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow," International Women's Day, Laughter

Caution:  Emily Dickinson allusion ahead!

Billy Collins on a Longfellow in the grass . . . 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

by:  Billy Collins

Trouble

was not

his middle name.

If you haven't noticed, I dislike people who take themselves too seriously.  Perhaps that's why Billy Collins' poems appeal to me so much.  He doesn't mind having fun.  Popping inflated egos.  Seeing the ridiculous and the sublime.  

Today was International Women's Day.  I've been around strong women my whole life.  My mother and sisters.  My beautiful wife and daughter.  Mentors and best friends.  The man sitting here tonight typing this post is a product of the women he's had the privilege to know and love.

One of the greatest lessons I've learned from these wonderful women is humor.  Women have to have senses of humor to deal with all the stupid shit men have done and do in this world.  Think about it.  The Cold War.  Healthcare.  World Hunger.  Climate change.  All the result of male ego, ignorance, and hostility.  

If women had been in charge, the Cuban Missile Crisis could have been solved over a couple Bloody Marys.  Universal health care in the United States?  No problem for a government run by Mother Teresa.  Put Greta Thunberg in charge of combatting climate change.  Julia Child could have ended world hunger decades ago.  And my mom could have stopped all of the insurrectionists on January 6 by just standing on the steps of the Capital with one of her wooden spoons.  

The world would be a much happier place if women were in charge.  There would be a lot more laughter and compassion, and a lot less name-calling and stick throwing. I believe this to the marrow of my bones.  (Of course, there are some exceptions--Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert come to mind.  And, let's be honest, Lindsey Graham.)  

So, for all the joy and love and support that the women in his life have given him, Saint Marty salutes you.

March 8: International Women's Day, Brenda Shaughnessy, "Postfeminism"

And a poem from Saint Marty on International Women's Day for all the strong women in his life . . .

Postfeminism

by:  Brenda Shaughnessy

There are two kinds of people, soldiers and women,
as Virginia Woolf said.  Both for decoration only.

Now that is too kind.  It's technical:  virgins and wolves.
We have choices now.  Two little girls walk into a bar,

one orders a shirley temple.  Shirley Temple's pimp
comes over and says you won't be sorry.  She's a fine

piece of work but she don't come cheap.  Myself, I'm
in less fear of predators than of walking around

in my mother's body.  That's sneaky, that's more
than naked.  Let's even it up:  you go on fuming in your

gray room.  I am voracious alone.  Blank and loose,
metallic lingerie.  And rare black-tipped cigarettes

in a handmade basket case.  Which of us weaves
the world together with a quicker blur of armed

seduction:  your-war-on-thugs, my body stockings.
Ascetic and carnivore.  Men will crack your glaze

even if you leave them before morning.  Pigs
ride the sirens in packs.  Ah, flesh, technoflesh,

there are two kinds of people.  Hot with mixed
light, drunk on insult.  You and me.

March 8: Women in My Life, Natasha Trethewey, "History Lesson"

I think of all the women who've made a huge difference in my life.  My mother, who always pushed me to do my best in everything.  My sisters, who have always looked out for me, even when I've stumbled a little.  My wife, who teaches me every day how to be a better man.  My daughter, who forces me every day to be a better father.  My best friends, who are all women and tell me that I'm their "best girlfriend."

On International Women's Day, Saint Marty shares a little history lesson from Natasha Trethewey, the 19th Poet Laureate of the United States.

History Lesson

by:  Natasha Trethewey

I am four in this photograph, standing   

on a wide strip of Mississippi beach,   

my hands on the flowered hips

of a bright bikini. My toes dig in,   

curl around wet sand. The sun cuts   

the rippling Gulf in flashes with each   

tidal rush. Minnows dart at my feet

glinting like switchblades. I am alone

except for my grandmother, other side   

of the camera, telling me how to pose.   

It is 1970, two years after they opened   

the rest of this beach to us,   

forty years since the photograph   

where she stood on a narrow plot   

of sand marked colored, smiling,

her hands on the flowered hips   

of a cotton meal-sack dress.

March 8: Drove One, International Women's Day, My Sister

"Blood brother," said a message written in pink paint on the side of a shattered grocery store.

There was a tap on Billy's car window.  A black man was out there.  He wanted to talk about something.  The light had changed.  Billy did the simplest thing.  He drove on.

Billy Pilgrim, in the middle of a ghetto days after a race riot, is confronted by a black man at a stoplight.  The man isn't being angry or violent.  He isn't trying to drag Billy from his car to pelt him with bricks.  The man simply taps on Billy's window.

Now, Billy could roll down his window to see what the man wants.  Certainly, there is the possibility that the man could spit on Billy or throw dog shit in his face.  He could scream at Billy, call him a racist or fascist or Republican asshole.  Or the man may just ask Billy for directions to the nearest gas station.  Billy isn't willing to take any chances, though.  As Vonnegut writes, Billy does the "simplest thing."  When the light turns green, Billy puts his foot on the accelerator and drives on.

That's the story of most injustices in the world.  The people who could actually make a difference--those is power--choose to look the other way.  Ignore.  Drive in the opposite direction.  They choose not to roll down their car windows and listen.

Today is International Women's Day.  The theme for 2017 is "Be Bold for Change."  March 8 has been set aside to honor and draw attention to working women (and women, in general) all over the world.  Being a white working male, I lack firsthand knowledge of gender discrimination.  But I do know that, when my sister obtained her Master Plumber's license, she was one of only three women in the state of Michigan to hold that title.  My 16-year-old daughter is frequently confronted at school and called names for speaking up in support of Planned Parenthood and women's rights.

My sister, Sally, was one of the smartest and most accomplished persons I've ever known.  She single-handedly oversaw the planning, construction, licensing, and running of an outpatient surgery center.  She could read manuals for computers and medical equipment just ONCE and have those manuals memorized.  She treated all of her employees with respect and understanding.  My best friend, who worked as a surgical nurse for my sister, tells me all the time, "She was the best boss I will ever have."

I don't think my sister ever thought of herself as anything special.  She just did her job, worked long hours, and loved the people in her life.  But Sally would never look the other way if she saw some injustice in the world. 

Tonight, on International Women's Day, Saint Marty gives thanks for his big sister.