Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts

Saturday, March 30, 2019

So You Bought Yourself A Band, Redux

To recap from our last episode:

Nemesis, the cold light of truth, awaits you, in every seat, in every concert hall.

Entertain me. Make me smile.

Nemesis is waiting to see and hear what you will deliver.

//

So, time has passed. 

“Back in the Family,” you said, “where it belongs.” And that’s where you began your bait-and-switch, at venues that had been advertising other performers for nearly a year. You donned the requisite striped shirts and made your move. (We note that stills of the old lineup continue to show up in venue promotions, even today…)

But it was soon evident that cracks were forming.

The ham-fisted, litigious takeover immediately turned off longtime fans that might have continued to be your primary audience. You got into brawls on the internet with people. Lawsuits surely won’t build a new fan base, and trademark licensing doesn’t entitle the licensee to threaten tribute bands covering “your” songs… 

You discovered, to your chagrin, that the summer camp you thought came with your purchase deal was actually owned and operated by someone else. (You didn’t do your homework.) You tried to create a new camp, but no one signed up. Quelle surprise! The fans you’d turned your back on were the very ones who had the means to devote to such pastimes; who did you think you were going to attract? Being that you can’t sing or play all that well means it is extremely doubtful you could teach, so what were you planning to offer? It couldn’t have ever been more than a schmooze-and-booze punctuated by posing and boasting, nothing more than a one-night stand.

Swiftly must have come the realization that one set wasn’t enough for a whole show. You discovered you couldn’t sing some songs in the keys they’d been performed in. Three-part harmonies flat-lined into unison. Instrument tuning was, shall we say, problematical. Lame is the patter, and y’all ain’t got rhythm. Adding songs that had never been part of the repertoire, one can only wonder about that. But not taking requests and leaving out some signature tunes audiences have come to expect actually does have an impact in terms of branding, marketing and sales, or so it has been just generally opined in the pages of both the Wall Street Journal and the Hollywood Reporter.

Nemesis has seen the videos, and she has heard the whispering on the wind. 

Interestingly, somewhere along the line the DNA baby got thrown out with the bath water; lo and behold, the thing isn’t really in the family anymore. At this point, the only legacy member is actually the sideman, a non-member.

Then, a fight broke out over the website. For a while, no one who might have wanted to see shows could find out anything about them. The old URL points to some other group; and while there is a new URL for The Group, no one can find it. The investors must be a bit concerned; if they aren’t, they should be.

Spies have informed Nemesis that phone calls had been made to former members, trying to sound out availability to “fill in” or “replace” well before the apparent coup d'état. Most of these parties politely demurred, as involvement could be construed as legitimizing something or someone. People who did step in struggled to perform with you, as the arrangements had been dumbed-down or put into different keys, and signature licks had been ditched. Ultimately, poaching someone from another group can only make it sound better, so that’s one plus for you... 

Email alerts come in from the four corners; there is abundant ticket availability! People who work the venues report arrogance and mistreatment back stage. Believe me, presenters will think twice, if they haven't already done so. Investors must be a bit concerned; if they aren’t, they should be. When any tribute band can play and sing circles around you, who will pay top dollar to hear less than the very best that can be done, to hear you “learn on the job”? 

And this has entertained Nemesis the most: There has been absolutely no need for her to intervene!

Your reputation precedes you. While you can fool some of the people some of the time, you cannot fool them all. What you can do is fool yourselves, as long as ever you want – at a price.

It is said that revenge is a meal best served cold. The sideboard is laid. The wine is chilled and the glasses are filled. It is all just a matter of time. 

Let us raise the parting glass!

Raspberries, strawberries, let us toast with fine wine:
Here's to the songs that we used to love, dying on your vine.

Addendum: The show at Yoshi's in Oakland CA on 5/15/19 was less than 1/3 sold...

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

"Seul est mien" by Marc Chagall - a translation


It is mine alone,
the land found within my soul;
I enter it without a passport,
as if into my house,
which sees my sadness
and my loneliness.
It puts me to sleep,
blanketing me like a fragrant tombstone.

Within me, gardens bloom
with all my invented flowers;
the streets belong to me,
but there are no houses;
they were all destroyed during childhood
–their inhabitants float like apparitions
in search of a home;
they live in my soul.

That’s why I smile
when my sun barely shines
or I cry
like a soft rain
in the night.

There was a time when I was of two minds;
There was a time when these two aspects
were veiled with a lovely dew
that faded like the fragrance of a rose.

Now, it seems to me
that even as I retreat,
I move forward,
up towards a high portal
with extended walls beyond which
extinguished thunder
and broken lightning sleep.

It is mine alone,
the land found in my soul.

rendered in English by Elisabeth T. Eliassen © 2017

//

Marc Chagall, one of my favorite artists, wrote this poem, perhaps during his years in France; I don’t know. What an extraordinary life he led, and what a testament to life he bequeathed to the world in his art in an evolving style and color sense that boldly strode through the length of the modern period from impressionism, cubism, fauvism, suprematism and symbolist through surrealism and beyond. How difficult it must have been to write this poem, a love letter, as it seems to be, to his interior life.

I have seen many translations of this poem over the years, and felt a need to add my own sense and touch to it. So many of the versions I've seen are too literal, as if the translator knew nothing about Chagall’s life and could not see that there are references embedded in the statement.

I don’t claim to know more than anyone else, but certain choices presented themselves to me, and I take the opportunity to present them.

The soul is the one aspect of life each individual owns completely and utterly. I think this is a very stark and very true, very transparent declaration; less an allusion than a truism. Two bits that were very difficult for me to incorporate in a holistic presentation reside in the expressions, “d'une pierre parfumée,” and “Il fut un temps où j'avais deux têtes / Il fut un temps où ces deux visages.”

In the case of the phrase including d'une pierre parfumée,” I took a leap, as I am unaware of any idiom that would impart a more specific meaning. (Perhaps someone can enlighten me!) If the artist’s soul is his house, within which an entire world stretches forward, populated by nature and people, but not other structures, because they have been destroyed by war, then the soul that houses that world must be protected by something very strong. The soul can only be known, explored and owned by the individual, and when the individual dies, the world of that soul also dies. While the soul is alive, however, it needs rest and safety. This is what dictated my choices in those lines.

To some extent, Chagall never left the Liozna shtetl near Vitebsk, but he became an international figure. In 1944, a New York newspaper printed Chagall’s open letter to Vitebsk, in which he said, “I did not live with you, but I did not have one single painting that did not breathe your spirit and reflection.” It is on this point that I chose to express “j'avais deux têtes” as “was of two minds” and “ces deux visages” as “these two aspects.” A case could also be made that “j'avais deux têtes” is a reference to his first wife Bella… that is for someone else to explore.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

So You Bought Yourself A Band…

“Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer.”      ~ Patrick Rothfuss



So, you bought yourself a band.

The “consummate businessman” gamboled himself along the garden path into a financial hole, and you were there at the fire sale, cash in hand. What a coup! How cool is that?

Oh, but things haven’t gone so great at the start, though, have they?

First, there was the pesky little detail of the guys who were already the band members; you had to get rid of them. But you couldn’t, like, write them a letter or call them on the phone or speak to them in person sometime during the three or more years in which you’ve been incubating your plan toward hatching point. You had to sue people, some of whom didn’t know anything about the sale of the band, because it was never announced! So, now you are paying a whole bunch of money for a big wheel attorney who can pummel and gag everyone into submission. That was an expense and bother you hadn’t counted on. You made a big splash in the press, though, releasing the detailed legal suit for everyone to see, attempting to smear everyone.

Ham-fisted. Ugly.

You wish that part were over. You’re just itching to get on the big stage. You’ve been practicing and practicing. You’ve now memorized one whole album of the group’s corpus material. You’ve been offering as many gigs as possible in little coffee houses and restaurants and the like, smoothing your stage patter. Your sychoph – er, pals have been telling you how great it all is, how ready you are!

Hmm. One album’s worth of songs is, like, one set. One. Set.

Then, there is this little problem: At those venues that are already booked, they are waiting for those other guys to show up. The publicity is already out; it’s been out for months. In many cases, tickets have already been sold for some of those events. I guess your premise is that it doesn’t really matter who shows up to load in, as long as there are the requisite number of guys on stage doing the songs. When were you going to tell the presenters to expect you, instead of the other guys? Didn’t think about that as being your obligation, did you? You thought your “business partner” was supposed to do that? It’s you, now, man; it’s you! You wanted it, you got it! I mean, if you want your “partner” to do that stuff, you might have to whip out that attorney again.

I guess you’ll now start thinking twice about your business “partner” and how you do business together as time goes on; there’s a good idea.

You’ve got a computer. You’ve got a phone. You’ve had a bunch of time. It’s not just about playing the instruments and singing to audiences. The way you’ve “played” your hand thus far means you’re going to have to deal with a website and bookings and presenters, airline tickets, hotel room bookings and rental cars. Or, conversely, you might have to hire a competent staff person to do that for you, if you are too busy; another expense. But these are business decisions, right? You own those, now, too, I guess. Don’t you? (Did your contract talk about that? Did it stipulate who was responsible for these things? Did an attorney ever look at the rag before you signed it?)

Symphony gigs. I guess there will never be another one of those. I mean, you don’t know anything about a symphony, do you? Never worked with a conductor, I’m thinking. And I’m guessing you don’t have the arrangements. First off, there is something called a “cue” that is not associated with the word “pool.”

Summer clinic. Gone. You’re into jamming and schmoozing and having fun, but you can’t teach and you can’t coach. That’s not what you’re interested in, anyway. You want to market and promote yourself, and sing on the big stage. Those old fans simply aren’t as important as the new ones you’re planning to pursue. (I wonder if you did a market study?)

Got rhythm? Not so much? Maybe lose the drum, then. Or hire a drummer. Oh, but that doesn’t fit the tradition, does it? Cuts into the bottom line, as well.

Technê (craft) and epistêmê ( knowledge). Epistasthai (knowing how) and gnôsis (understanding). Émpeiros (experienced; practiced) and artios (ready because prepared). These are old Greek words about art and artistry; do you see yourself in any of them, or is it just Greek to you?

You can buy the band, but you can’t wear it like a suit. You don’t put on a shirt and magically become the fantastic musician with the hot guitar licks and the honeyed voice. Your money can’t endow you with talent the likes of the people you’ve supplanted, in order to fulfill your fantasy. But, get this, talent is what the audiences in the big halls expect! That’s what they pay for! Can you deliver that? (Will a letter from your “partner” to the venues, saying you’re “great guys,” make it so?)

This business is bigger than you are – way, way bigger than you realize. All by yourself, you opened Pandora’s box, and you sent the word out there. The industry feeds on gossip, and you gave out a whole lot of innuendo for people to chew on. Your stunt with the media puts you in as much questionable light as the people you tried to smear, the very people you did out of decent jobs. You can gag some of the people, but not all of them. You’ve already disappointed and disgusted longtime fans with your actions. You can create a back-story, but what will people believe? (You never made a press release, introducing all these changes to the world. What were you thinking? What were you waiting for? What were you trying to hide?)

I wonder if others in the business will want to work with you, share a stage with you, stand next to you, after the stunt you pulled. They’ve earned their fame; you’ve merely “purchased the rights” to it. Don’t look to DNA for rights to respect; any actor’s kid knows you have to show four times the talent to get anyone to even look at you.

Okay. So, now that you “own” it, the big question is “Can you deliver?” And, boy, oh, boy, you’re going to have to answer that one sooner than you think. Are you ready to ride the rollercoaster of your own making? Whee!!!!

A lot of people, these days, speak of karma. “Karma’s a bitch,” they say.

Oh, but karma’s got nothing on Nemesis. Do you remember who Nemesis is? She is the Greek Goddess equalizer, the righter of wrongs; she is an aspect of Justice. She addresses the hubris of small humans and big gods in the most appropriate manner, by revealing the truth of what they are.

Nemesis, the cold light of truth, awaits you, in every seat, in every concert hall.

Entertain me. Make me smile.

Nemesis is waiting to see and hear what you will deliver.

© 2017

Friday, November 11, 2016

Bay-wise Byways: 1. Cartography

Some will laugh
when they see me
plotting the geography
of my heart.

Starting at Mount Tamalpais
and ending at Cold Mountain,
the footpath rounds the San Francisco Peaks,
and touches the Four Corners.

Terrains are inconclusive,
but lines are deeply drawn.

Truly,
there is art
in such cartography.

To map your own heart:
breathe,
open wide,
move forward on the trackless path,
follow the bird in flight,
keeping to the middle ground,
mind the gap,
and rest when the sun goes down.

Where you are now,
be fully here,
singing the song of your soul.


© 2016 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Caveat Donator; How Technology Doesn’t Work For Us

This is a tale of what perils can befall the doer of good deeds.

This may be a typical story, although I would hope it is extremely unusual.

I bring it forward only so that you will think about your presence within
the intractable web of technology.

I am a musician and a poet. I work hard to cobble together a life with my family, one that is deeply invested in my community. Everyone in my ever-widening circle of artistic colleagues is similarly struggling to serve and be blessed by art, while being responsibly invested in community.

Times have been tough, not just recently, but for a long time. We all just keep tilling our fields and hoeing our rows, painting our canvases, arching our bodies in dance, plying the singing staves, playing our instruments, because—ultimately—our art is what keeps us alive. But, keeping it all going seems to get harder and harder.

Times have been toughest for our small non-profit art organizations. The National Endowment of the Arts does not serve the small arts organization. It cannot possibly. If you thought of the human body as a mass analogous to the national budget, the amount of money the Federal Government funds the NEA might be represented by a single hair follicle, if that.

Aside from the annual fundraising efforts that have gone on for years, there have been emergency appeals, as well. Please… if you can give anything, it will help us offer our next show.

Investment. It is all about where we live, what we believe and who we are.

I have little, but I try to give, nevertheless. So, when in January a dire straights appeal came out from several groups at once, I responded in the only way I could at the time. I selected one really, really small group that I have worked with and responded, first with the word: YES. How could I help? Well, we had a car to donate; and donate it, we did.

The umbrella organization that handles car donations for non-profit groups is very well organized and efficient. You sign on the dotted lines the pick-up driver points to on his clipboard, you are given a receipt in exchange for your signed off pink slip, and the vehicle is towed away. Our donated vehicle left our driveway in the first week of February.

This week, in the mid-October of the year, we received a lien notice from a tow yard in Stockton. I had no idea what it was about, but examining it closely, I saw that it had to do with the car we had donated. Hmmm. I fished out my donation receipt, made a copy, and sent it, in the enclosed pre-printed envelope, to the Department of Motor Vehicles, and went on with my life.

Two days later, my out-of-town-on-business husband received a cell call from our auto insurance company, requesting information about the accident. What accident?! My husband called me to ask about the accident that occurred, apparently, the day after he left on his business trip. I told him that on the day in question, I didn’t drive the car until that evening, when I had to drive out of town to a rehearsal. That drive was uneventful. I told him I would examine our car to see if there was damage, but I already knew there was not.

Meanwhile, a bell went off in my head. Could this be related to the lien notice we had just received in the mail, the day prior?

I called my husband back and told him about the notice, and that I suspected the accident was with the car no longer in our possession. He called the agent back and talked to him, then both the agent and my husband called to speak with me afterward.

In all these communications, there were missing bits of information. The agent had neglected to mention that the auto that had been in the accident was the one we had taken off our policy, earlier in the year. While we had all been playing phone tag, he had been able to look up in the databases he has access to and find that a release of liability form had been submitted for the vehicle. I told the agent about the lien notice and he was puzzled by it and the situation. What apparently happened is the car we donated was auctioned off to a person who did not subsequently register the vehicle. Unspoken, but probably true, the new car owner didn’t insure the car. The car owner got into an accident, and the car was towed to the tow yard, from which the lien notice had been issued. Once we wrangled with the spotty details we had before us, the insurance company took my statement and that was the end of it. We had done everything that was required, and it was obvious that we were not involved or in any way at fault. I asked the agent what I should do about the lien notice. He told me to call the tow yard and tell them that I had no interest in the car, having donated it in February, and they could sell it if they wish.

Getting off the phone with the agent, I called the tow yard. I explained to the woman who answered that the car that had been involved in the accident last week was not my car, and if they wanted to sell it they could. I told the woman I could fax her the donation receipt, so they would have it on record that we are not responsible—

I was cut off.

“That’s not what we need,” the voice was full of venom.

“Excuse me?”

“We need a DMV notice.”

“I’m not sure you understand, you see, the donation receipt clearly states—“

“Are you gonna go on, or are you gonna let ME TELL YOU?!”

Well, that did silence me. I was amazed that the entire tone of the exchange was so horrid. I thought I was calling to do the tow yard people a favor, and it turned out I was being mistaken as a bad guy.

“We need a DMV notice. If you don’t give us one, you will have to pay us for storing your wreck.”

“All the forms were turned in, all I have is a donation receipt—“

“Look, if you didn’t do what you were supposed to, it’s not my fault.”

“— that clearly states I am no longer responsible for the car. Can I have your fax number, so I can send it to you?”

“Here’s the fax number, but we’ll just throw it away. And then we’ll bill you.” She hung up.

When I launched into the tackling this misunderstanding, I thought it would take no more than an hour to clear it up, but so far I was into hour number four. My client’s work sat, waiting for my attention. But, here I was, in the middle of a nearly comical case of “no good deed goes unpunished.”

I thought about it for a minute, then decided to call the Department of Motor Vehicles and ask what I needed to do to obtain whatever form was needed to provide that would officially certify the fact that I no longer was responsible for the car.

I had no idea what DMV form they would need. The woman had been so intent on being malignantly self-righteous with me, she failed to be specific with a form name or number. Sighing, I looked up the Department of Motor Vehicles. I looked for a phone number to call for information. There is a phone number. There is no information. The phone number plays an outgoing message detailing which branch offices are closed. Searching on the website offered no clues as to what I needed to do. Finally, I resigned myself to making an appointment. Fortunately, there was an available appointment within the hour.

Nearly getting killed in an intersection by a driver who ran a red light (not only to my shock and amazement, but also the other drivers who were observing the red light), I shook off the adrenaline rush and drove for twenty minutes to the DMV office, located in the next city, where I parked my duly and legally registered, smogged and insured vehicle in the lot. I queued in the line designated for those with appointments. I waited in this line for twenty minutes. When I was finally called, the clerk asked me what I needed. I said I wasn’t quite sure, but some sort of form that was proof I had released liability on my donated car.

“Oh, we can’t do that here,” he said.

I looked around the vast office, filled with clerks and computers and forms and pencils. I saw posted signs telling the public that it was a crime to attack DMV workers. I heard people behind me muttering with thinly veiled anger.

“Huh?”

He thrust a form with multiple pages in my hands. “We don’t handle that at branch offices. You have to fill out this form and send it into the main office with a fee.”

“Uh, okay. How long does that take?”

“Four to six weeks. Oh, and don’t separate any of those pages, or they can’t help you. NEXT!”

As I drove home, I considered the state of modern technology and compared it to my experience. There was a vast disconnect. It would have been helpful to speak in advance with a person who could have told me what form I needed and how I could obtain one. It might even have been possible to find the form online, although if I printed it out, it would have had multiple parts, as opposed to the one I was given.

Surely, in an office full of computers, all one would need to do is pay a fee and have a clerk print out a verification notice of some sort. WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY TO DO THIS.

On my return, the pile of work from my client glared at me, but I turned my weary gaze at the form. There were multiple options on the form, but none of them seemed to match clearly with what I thought I must need, and the instructions were a bit on the inscrutable side, once you got past name, address and license or VIN number. I began to wonder if I had been given the wrong form. I finally chose the option that, naturally, had the largest fee; I would get a complete record of the car’s history for this year, a car I owned and operated for one month.

Sighing heavily, I signed the form, wrote the check, placed them in an envelope and proceeded to the nearest post office. When I got there, a hand written note taped to the glass door stated: CLOSED. BACK AT 2:25.

Pondering at the oddness of the stated re-opening time, I drove to the farther away post office and waited for twenty minutes there. Only two clerks were on duty in an office that can be worked by six clerks, and every customer had a package to mail. When I was finally called, I asked to send the item with delivery confirmation, but was told I could only send this piece as a Registered Letter, because it was not the right size to receive delivery confirmation as First Class. Not wanting to spend even more time filling out the form and getting back into line, I threw caution to the wind and let it go with just First Class postage and returned home.

When I got home, I realized it was now nearly three o’clock, and I hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch.

I had spent all day on something I should not have needed to do. I had spent all day trying to be a good and responsible citizen. I had spent all day being thwarted, abused and turned away, punished for doing the right thing.

I took up the Donation Receipt. This is the printed statement, on which I had pinned my entire day’s activity:

Notice of Donor’s Liability: Your liability for your vehicle/vessel extended until the vehicle was picked up. All agents involved in the donation are not responsible for any theft, damage, vandalism, parking violations, moving violations, registration fees, late charges, impounds, storage charges, liens, etc., prior to the time the donated time was picked up. If your State Vehicle Registration Department has a form to notify them of the transfer of ownership, such as a Release of Liability, Release of Interest, or Seller’s Report of Sale, we recommend that you mail that form.

You are not responsible for your donated vehicle/vessel after the date it was picked up! It is possible you may receive a notice for ticket’s, impound, lien sale, vehicle registration or other charges relating to your donated vehicle/vessel. Send the issuing agency a copy of this receipt. If you have any questions or need assistance in resolving a problem, call 1 (800) nnn-nnnn or email help@*****.info.

I had done as directed, to know avail. However, I had not read the notice carefully enough to see that I could get help from the donation center.

I called the number on the form. A person answered the phone! I was so elated by that, I nearly burst into tears! The receptionist who answered listened to the mini-version of my tale and, said, “Oh, Sherry handles that. Here, let me connect you.”

Sherry, was on the line already, and I had to leave a message. But Sherry returned my call almost instantly, not a minute after I hung up from leaving the message. I told Sherry the longer version of my tale of my woe, and she looked up the information on the donation. In a friendly tone, she told me she would send a couple of copies of the release of liability I had signed when the car was picked up, no problem.

“Have a good one,” Sherry said, as she ended the call, “Call again, if we can do anything else.”

<><><><><><><> 

Obviously, this day was wasted needlessly.

This story points to many social themes that need to be addressed. People are desperate for money. Bureaucracy is entrenched, inefficient and maintained like an armed fortress, with little accountability and stingy access. People are angry. Some of the people that are angry are irresponsible, but many more are frustrated because they are trying to do the right thing. Those people who try to be responsible suffer due to the actions of both those who are irresponsible and those who are corrupt and play the system.

The theme that this experience highlighted for me was that technology, touted as the savior of the world, does not work for us when we need it to; technology can, however, be used by others to work against us, at will.

Access to Information. There is no reason why I should not be able to obtain a copy of a form I signed from the DMV the day I go in for an appointment. These forms are not stored in hardcopy, but are digitized, and should be maintained in an electronic database that can be accessed, as needed, by various agencies, and members of the public entitled to the information. I should be able to pay a fee to get copy of a form, if one is required. Four or more weeks of turn around on a minor clerical requests is simply inadequate, particularly since I know for a fact that people working at certain agencies can see proof of my claim, proof that I cannot obtain without paying a fee. My insurance company could see the trail of everything that proved I was no longer responsible for the car, but they could not provide me with a document that I could use or talk to another agency on my behalf with any authority.

Public versus Private Information. If you have not searched for your own name on Google, do it now. You will be shocked at the array of information about you that is available to anyone. You can pay a fee to the online CARFAX service get a complete history of a vehicle, including the name of former owners. Google the owner’s name, and voila, you can find out where they live, maybe even a phone number. You can call up the former owner of the car and harass that person. I’ve heard it happens! In my case, the tow company ran a CARFAX on my former car and thought to make some money off of me, since the deadbeat new owner was clearly not going to pay for towing and storing the wreck. If you can intimidate people with a lien writ and a receptionist who acts like a bulldog, maybe you can squeeze someone for some money.

Non-Enforcement of the Law. What is the point of making laws, if they will not be enforced? This might seem to be a rhetorical question, but I assure you that it is a practical one that requires real answers. It is against the law to purchase a car without registering it and purchasing accident insurance. I reiterate my refrain: WE HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY. If you purchase a car, you should register it and purchase insurance at the same time. All of these agencies are hand-in-glove in that they all share the same interests and information. A person should not be able to purchase a car if they do not register it and insure it, but the only way to make sure all of those things happen is to have it happen at the time of purchase, in the case of vehicles sold off the lot. A transfer system needs to be set up for person-to-person sales. Well, guess what, there is an agency currently existing that could and should handle this: it is called The Department of Motor Vehicles.

The irony of this story is that the man who bought and wrecked the car will not be answerable for the things he did and did not do. He won’t have to pay any money, he won’t be yelled at on the phone or turned away from the DMV. The worst for him is that he no longer has a car. The other party involved in the auto accident will have to foot the bill for what happened there, that party’s insurance company will have to cover the damages.

I will end by saying that no one mentioned in this story was physically injured, for which I am grateful. That doesn’t mean this story had a happy ending. After going through this, I can still say that I am glad I was able to make the donation, and I would do so again. I am hopeful that my experience was an exception to the rule, in these cases. It is my belief that we should strive to do good deeds, even if it is difficult.

It should be a goal of society to enable people to do good.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

This Business of Poetry, Part 10: Concluding Remarks and Welcome to National Poetry Month!

Ten installments of a free on-line poetry course is probably enough. Now that we have entered the month of April, it is National Poetry Month, and time to get back to the writing practice!

I would like to make some concluding remarks, as I bid you adieu, to continue on your journey with words.

This is my first observation: no one can really teach you how to write poetry. Yes, there are many forms and there are lots of mechanics to the many forms, but these can be learned by reading poetry and by studying poetry manuals. (Whenever you see photographs of poets and writers, these images are almost always captured in a room filled with books and papers—they must be reading a lot!) Most poets have an internal music and rhythm that either conforms or defies predefined styles; either way, no one can tell you what you are doing is wrong. Refining and reorganization can be suggested, and I highly recommend you do this with all your work.

Next, the enjoyment of poetry is so extremely subjective that you should never consider you are writing for others—the most authentic work is that which you write for yourself, rather than to try appealing to a public that may never materialize. My personal notion is that poetry evolves from an individual’s deep interaction with the world of experience.

Throughout history, poetry was a pursuit rather than a profession. Poets sent their poems to friends in letters or self-published small collections that would be given as gifts. A few people were able to establish a readership, but the work of most was not available to “the public” until long after the author’s death.

Today, many people have the idea that if they write poetry, they will be able to make a bunch of money or garner attention for themselves. This seldom happens, but if it does, the point of poetry is completely lost, because it is no longer a poet’s conversation with the experiential self.

MFA writing programs have created academic enclaves that tend to be ever so slightly elite or cultish. When you consider that the greatest poets of most ages never took a degree in the art of creative writing, it all looks a little silly and seems to have evolved for the sole purpose of keeping “professional” poets gainfully employed. The writing that results from the academic approach can seem, though it is not always the case,… well, academic, if not sterile or contrived—in order to appeal either to a general public (that may wonder, not knowing any better, if it need appreciate such work, particularly if it does not resonate with a truth that the average reader can sense) or to writers within the enclave.

The other end of the spectrum from the MFA program is the Poetry Slam; this is a live entertainment contest, held at a performance venue. Winners are chosen based on the judges' tastes, audience reactions, and the poets' "performances". These can be raucous affairs, far removed from the demeanor of a more traditional poetry reading. My father attended one recently; he was absolutely appalled. One woman read a poem my father thought was well crafted and beautiful, but she was shouted off the stage. The victor in this slam presented work that had popular appeal, but the work was rough and somewhat crude.

Perhaps there is a lesson in all this. I would say that poetry does not belong in any kind of ghetto. This is not to say that a writer might not become part of a movement, but the movement should never define the work or diminish the individual poet’s accomplishment.

If all you ever do is create a journal of your work, you have achieved something great. You are, after all, writing primarily to please yourself.

Should you decide to enter contests, you might get your work placed in publications, perhaps even win a small honorarium from time to time. Don’t make this, however, the object of your writing. Don’t be afraid to self-publish; this is the time-honored way for poets to expand their readership beyond family and friends. Here again, this should never be the object of your writing, and do not expect to really make any money.

Your poetry should be valuable to you because it is a testimony to your engagement with and observations of the world. (Off the top of your head, can you think of a person whose old personal journals have become published and recognized to be of value in modern times? I can: Leonardo da Vinci; a poet, a painter, a sculptor, an inventor and theorista renaissance man for all times!) Think of your writing as a gift that you give to yourself before all others, although you will share it more and more, as time goes on. Beyond this, who knows what can happen?

Your work amounts to the care you have lavished in conversation with yourself on your life’s journey. For that reason alone, it is priceless.

For now, best of everything to you, and WRITE ON!

Friday, March 23, 2012

What Nyx Told The Philosopher

AWAKE, mortal! By wild horses drawn in teams,
you have come here on the waves of your dreams;
you to me my daughters duly have conveyed
and will return thee after what I have said.

KNOW that what can be observed is and must be,
whether or not you can think it or see
it shining brightly in the glinting sun,
have felt it or some other experience done.

But know also that what you have not seen,
felt or heard is, being beyond your mean
and feeble awareness and thought,
apart from the observable and the taught,

Any such is just as true and as real
as that by which you set your seal;
Reality is not as small as your mind,
but large enough to fit all and every kind.

Even both reason and opinion cannot, alone,
conjecture truth so complete and prone
to be fully fathomed by the human eye,
but, alas, these are the tools you have to ply.

Nature, unaltered pool of Being, is One;
from it all things rise and fall, ever redone,
as need and season call, or wit and wile
contrive through vision, putting craft to trial.

What seems static moves slowly to your eye,
but nevertheless has life, and then will die
to be reborn in a different form, visible,
or even, wonder of wonders, wholly invisible.

As much as you crave a truth absolute,
justice is found when the pure of repute,
mitigate the starkly formulaic with art,
arriving at an equity whose best part

Satisfies all sides to a harmonious end,
beyond which none further shall contend,
for all affected, touched and involved
shall truly believe the matter resolved.

So vital art is to nature, I converse
with you in this clear yet simple verse,
that you may completely comprehend,
remember, then impart to all and any friend.

And now, Parmenides, my speech being done,
I return you to the arms of Day, having won
knowledge of nature so noble and rare
that you must carry it forward and share.

And then, Nyx turned aside, with a sigh
and a smile, soft and kindly, yet wry,
while the hapless Parmenides was flung
into the chariot by which he was brung,
whereupon the daughters of the moon
whipped her mares over the cloudy dune,
finally dropping their guest in his cot,
violently waking him to think on his lot
and on all that Nyx had spoken
by way of her unusual token.




© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen




Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Bamboo Days

By the stream,
you stand quietly,
rising to the sky.

Toward the sun
by day, and
toward the moon
by night,
in steady strides
no wind can deter,
you ascend
on the Way.

The bubbling waters
sing their praises,
while breezes
assist your
modest bow.

The mountains
and the waters
smile on you
as you meditate.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

I had a lesson in brush painting at the SF Asian Art Museum today.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Message in a Bottle

        for Nina Shuman

A Love-O-Gram,

to put in the pram
of your thoughts
            as they billow thither,
full sail on the yacht

Unbound.

A Love-O-Gram
from where I am
to wherever you may be,
            and to where you see all
that sun and moon trace:
the revolution that is each day.

O, Love-O-Gram,
come only as I am
to your thoughts,
            speak only as I can speak,
with fullest of heart,
to toast the beauty of your art
and you.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Free the Arts

A few weekends ago, Cal Performances offered a Sunday "Free For All" of music, dance and performance art, at venues all over the UC Berkeley campus. It was a beautifully warm afternoon, and I was one of the many people scheduled to perform that day.

My husband drove the family to the campus, dropping me off near the venue, so that I could make the call time before the concert. He then parked and took the kids to wander about, seeing and hearing other performances before getting in line to see my concert. They got in line 20 minutes before concert time. When concert time came, they were among the more than 200 people who were turned away.

This was not an isolated incident. Hundreds of people were turned away from many performances. There were thousands of people milling through the campus on that warm summer day. All of them wanting to hear music, see dance, people watch, picnic or any number of other possible activities.

What does this say?

Living, as we do, in the wake of free-market free fall, perhaps the only affordable art experience for the average person is the free experience.

But, here is the rub: art has its costs. Being a singer and a writer, I know this all too well. Everyone involved in art personally invests so much more time (and even money), than any professional person with a 9-5 job could ever understand, to the art. Seasoned professionals are expected to continue "paying their dues" by donating their time to give free performances or showings all the time. The cliche argument is: "for the love of your art." The people who use that cliche don't really know what that actually means for the person who participates in a life of art, what is truly sacrificed. And, no, that kind of thing really isn't useful on your resume.

Once we realize we (and what we do) are commodities in a world that only understands buying and selling and value judgement, the love of our art shifts in imperceptible ways. The public desires an endless stream of entertainment to dull the blunt horrors of wage slavery. And so, there it is, an endless, even mindless, stream of entertainment sent out to meet the endless needs of the public. Some of this entertainment does entertain; much of it does not. Think about the hundreds of television channels that deliver 24 hours of dubious content, when the technology is capable of delivering on-demand content, tailored to the taste of the client. This endless stream of noise is very difficult to compete with, and who wants to?

What am I trying to say? There is a lot of money being spent to produce a lot of crap content, forcing "art" to be all about buying and selling products, most of which are not necessary for living a good life, many of which will be soon added to the pile of junk that, in many ways, looms over the future health of our planet.

But the minute a musician, actor, dancer, artist wants to receive professional recognition in the form of a decent paycheck and benefits, the buck stops. I find this interesting, psychologically and philosophically. To some extent, I find this to be evidence of a sick society.

People really cannot do without art in their lives. Art is what keeps us sane in a world crusted by layers and layers of political illogic and common denominator frustration, from which no reasonable sense of order can be derived. So many people are not or , at least, do not believe themselves capable of opening themselves up to creating their own artistic experience; this is why artistic individuals are so special and so necessary. The creative thought behind art has done as much to develop industry and technology as mathematics and science.

Singers, dancers, instrumentalists, thespians invest their bodies and psyches in the stream of artistic continuity in a way that no other set of professionals can. Fine artists and writers often sacrifice a social existence in order to have the time and solitude required to develop their art. Yes, time spent in this way is personally rewarding and edifying, but it comes at great personal cost, that even a steady paycheck can never truly repay. The personal angst (and even attendant therapy) that frequently informs an artist's work provides someone else a therapeutic experience. "Poetic Justice" would allow this exchange to have full circle closure back to the artist(s) in the form of remunerative therapy.

This leads me to my radical thought for today: The only way to truly Free the Arts is for society to earnestly invest in them. If a fraction of the money spent on crap commercial product junk were invested in arts organizations to the extent that artists could earn a decent living wage, we might be able to deliver more of what we love to do to a public that is obviously starving for it, as well as open the artistic frontier to explore and evolve beyond the mainstream of public consciousness.

Obviously, there is so much more to say. Discussion, anyone?