January 24: Jesus, the Disciples, and Hope

Finally, though, I got undressed and got in bed.  I felt like praying or something, when I was in bed, but I couldn't do it.  I can't always pray when I feel like it.  In the first place, I'm sort of an atheist.  I like Jesus and all, but I don't care too much for most of the other stuff in the Bible.  Take the Disciples, for instance.  They annoy the hell out of me, if you want to know the truth.  They were all right after Jesus was dead and all, but while He was alive, they were about as much use to Him as a hole in the head.  All they did was keep letting Him down.  I like almost anybody in the Bible better than the Disciples...

I love the fact that Holden, this scrawny teenager, is "sort of an atheist."  Yet, he seems to know a lot about Jesus and the Disciples.  As Holden keeps talking, he discusses how Jesus hand-picked the Disciples, and then he gets into a philosophical debate about whether Jesus would sent Judas to Hell.  For an atheist, Holden seems to do an awful lot of thinking about Jesus Christ.

But Holden says he can't pray, even though he wants to.  Holden is depressed.  He says so about every other page of the book.  Depression doesn't allow a person the comfort of prayer.  It doesn't allow a person the comfort of hope.  Holden can't think about Jesus or the Disciples because he's spiraling downward.  He's on his way to rock bottom.

Perhaps if Holden wasn't an atheist, if he had some kind of belief in salvation or redemption, he wouldn't be in quite so black a place.  In Biblical terms, I suppose he's like Saul, blind and bereft, on his way to becoming Paul the Apostle.  Yes, Holden wants to believe in something, wants to have some kind of faith in humankind.  What he believes in at the moment are his dead brother, Allie; his kid sister, Phoebe; and the girl from his summer in Maine, Jane.  Holden can't imagine the future because he's stuck in the past.  He wants to play checkers with Jane.  He wants watch Allie play baseball again.  He wants to take Phoebe to the movies.  He's tired of phony Disciples.  He wants Hope.

In some ways, I'm a lot like Holden.  I see phony bastards everywhere I look.  The difference between Holden and me is that I, for the most part, think the phony bastards aren't going to win.  I believe that goodness and innocence will trump the darkness of the world.  I see evidence of it every day of my life.  In my son's laugh.  In my daughter's red hair.  In the flash of sun on snow.  In a good book.  In a bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle soup.  In the warmth of my wife when I go to bed at night.

Saint Marty is surrounded by Hope.

It's always there

January 18: Jane, Allie's Baseball Mitt, Poetry

...And she never really closed it all the way, her mouth.  It was always just a little bit open, especially when she got in her golf stance, or when she was reading a book.  She was always reading, and she read very good books.  She read a lot of poetry and all.  She was the only one, outside my family, that I ever showed Allie's baseball mitt to, with all the poems written on it.  She's never met Allie or anything, because that was her first summer in Maine--before that, she went to Cape Cod--but I told her quite a lot about him.  She was interested in that kind of stuff.

Jane and Holden are interested in poetry.  In fact, Holden seems to equate poetry with being true and pure of heart.  Allie loved poetry.  Jane loves poetry.  Holden loves poetry.  And Jane.  And Allie.   

Yes, I am typing this post at almost nine o'clock at night.  I started out this morning being really productive.  I put together the materials for a church project; however, it took me over two-and-a-half hours to get it done.  After that, I really didn't get a whole lot more accomplished.  I bought a new watch, cleaned my house, and got my broken tooth fixed.  I didn't blog this morning.  I didn't get any more of 11/22/63 read.  I didn't get a poem written today, which was my biggest goal.  Perhaps I set my sights a little too high.

I really need to start working more on my poetry.  If I ever want to be hired full-time at the university, it's all about publication.  Most people have heard the saying "publish or perish."  In fact, when it comes to higher education, it's almost a cliche.  It's an accurate cliche, however.  Writers who want to be professors need to publish books.  I have one published book right now and another manuscript finished.  That's not enough.

So, what am I saying?  I'm saying I can't afford too many days that aren't productive.  I should have submitted poems to some literary journals today.  I should have researched potential publishers.  I should have written a new poem.  All those things would help my career at the university.

Yes, poetry could help me get a job.  Not too many people can say that.  Perhaps Holden would think of me as a phony or sell-out.  I can live with that.  By selling out, I can support my family doing something that I love.  The kind of job that doesn't even feel like a job.  An Oprah Winfrey kind of job.

Now if Saint Marty could land a book on Oprah's Book Club.

I do look good in berets...

January 14: First Day of Class, "Rye" Dip Monday, Poem Question

I'm sitting in my office at the university, waiting to head off to teach my first class of the semester.  It has been a very nice Christmas break, but it is time to get back into the trenches.  I feel rested, relaxed, and ready.  Having these last two weeks of vacation has really helped my frame of mind.  While I'm not looking forward to getting up at 4 a.m. tomorrow to work at the medical office, I really have a sense of calm today.  Usually, going back to school and work in January is like getting my appendix removed and a root canal on the same day.  Not this time.

Well, the trip to Green Bay was nice.  Lunch at the Olive Garden was delicious.  Shrek the Musical was delightful.  The trip back after the show was a little stressful because of snow and wind.  We arrived home around 11 p.m., just in time for me to see Daniel Day Lewis win the Golden Globe for Best Actor for Lincoln.

It is Monday, and, therefore, it is time for a Rye dip.  There's not a whole lot on my mind today.  As I said above, I'm pretty relaxed.  However, I always have some fear or worry lurking in the back of my psyche.  Everybody does.  So, my question for the great book of Salinger is:

Will I publish poems this semester in some good literary journals?

And the answer from Holden and company is:

...It's a funny thing about girls.  Every time you mention some guy that's strictly a bastard--very mean, or very conceited and all--and when you mention it to the girl, she'll tell you he has an inferiority complex.  Maybe he has, but that still doesn't keep him from being a bastard in my opinion...

That's Holden talking about the girl he loves, Jane.  Jane went out with a guy Holden considers a phony (surprise, surprise), and Jane tells him the guy has an inferiority complex.  Holden doesn't buy that explanation, of course. 


So how does that passage apply to my question?  Well, I can say that I'm usually not very confident about my poems.  I look at the poetry currently being published and think, "This is crap.  I can write better than this in my sleep."  But I usually don't follow through in sending any of my work out.  And that's my answer.  I need to get over my inferiority complex and send my poems out to get published.  I will see myself in print this year.

If phony bastards can do it, so can Saint Marty.

Good day for a Rye dip