Tag Archives: words

QOTD – October 23 – What Makes it NOT a Blog?

by Christopher Margolin

I will not question the fact that The Poetry Question is a blog. We keep trying to convince ourselves otherwise, but the fact is, we are writing words on a WordPress page, and we are hoping that a lot of people read it so that we can continue to maintain the wonderful readership we’ve gained over the last 8 months.

The original plan was to create a webspace where people could gather, write about poetry, fiction, or whatever else crept into their minds, respond to daily prompts and questions, and get inspired. We hope that we have done that for you, and if you’re a returning reader, we must have done something to get you to come back. We appreciate it. Please, pass us along to your friends.

All that being said, where is the line in the sand between “blog” and “online magazine.” Is there a difference? What makes Deadspin an online magazine, and The Poetry Question simply a blog?

Question of the Day:

What is the difference between a blog and an online magazine?

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QOTD – Past or Fiction?

by J. Gabriel Allan

true

The older I get the better I was.

…the next time you tell that story it will be TEN…

I’m sure you’ve experienced it. You may be the perpetrator or just a witness, but we’ve all done it or seen it.

I’m talking about fictionalizing the past. Sensationalizing real life.

I can’t count how many stories I’ve heard that include me as a major or supporting character that include events, details, or motivations that I don’t seem to recall from the real-life historical event. Interestingly, somehow, these details tend to make the story more interesting- funnier or more entertaining, significant, or serendipitous.

I admit I’ve been the storyteller in a fair share of these instances. Usually it happens when I start a story with a ton of gusto before realizing it lacks an actual point, yet, for some reason, my audience is engaged and expectant. At this point, my right brain takes over and tells a story instead of the recollection of facts or events that had been taking place.

Then there are the people who do this so often I wonder what the world is like where they live. A land of pure fiction where truth is less significant than feeling. Is this what politics and media careers are like?

I once had a neighbor who told me a great story about how he bargained with the pet store to get a $350 discount on a dog he and his wife had just purchased. The only dissatisfying detail of the story was that I had actually already met his dog the day before when his wife had purchased him as a surprise for her husband.

Harmless, right?

Sure. Maybe. This time.

As a blog about writing and about the power of words, I feel it is time we discuss the importance of the accuracy of our words. When is storytelling about the facts rather than the story?

If it is okay to fictionalize our own past? What about the history of the world?

Do you change the details to fit your own purpose when story telling in company? Is this an okay habit or a microcosm of a dangerous path? Or is it in our nature?

QOTD – September 24 – Do You Write Happy Words?

by Christopher Margolin

Yesterday I was asked if I ever write happy words – if my songs, or poems, or stories, are ever actually glass-half-full type pieces. The answer is simple: No.

It has nothing to do with a want to be “emo,” or “dark,” whatever. It’s simply the fact that I do not feel as if my best material contains a happy ending. I think it is genuinely difficult for an author to write an honestly happy piece of work. We are typically at our most pensive, and analytically driven when we’ve been through something that leaves its rough emotional mark, and I don’t feel as if it should be wasted by some need to only write down happy words.

Now, let me clarify this a bit. I’m sure that over time I’ve written a few happy pieces. I mean, I think it would be silly to assume that everything I’ve written has been done with dark overtones. I just think there is a place an time for everything, and when I’m on top of my game its because my sardonic sense of humor is pouring from each and every pore of my body.

So, with that, your Question of the Day:

Do you write happy words?

QOTD – September 16 – What Are You Reading?

by Christopher Margolin

For the last several years I’ve been using Mondays as a Reading Day in my classroom. Not only is it a nice reprieve from the weekend, but it allows me to see what my students are interested in reading, and whether or not they can follow the simple instruction of “bring reading material to class on Monday.” It’s a very easy 10-point day for them – if they bring a book, and read that book, they receive 10 points for the day; if they don’t bring a book, they get fewer points, depending on how they spend their day.

I’ve never understood why it is so difficult for students to follow through with something like Reading Day. I don’t have a strict “you can only read this type of material” guideline. In fact, students are allowed to bring in absolutely anything that will interest them, and keep them reading for 50 minutes. Realistically, 50 minutes, for many of them, is the longest amount of time they have read consistently in the last few years – if not their entire lives.

Some of my students bring in technical manuals, or how-to-guides, or comic books, or newspapers. I’m fine with it all. Not everyone is going to sit down to read a novel. No one should be forced to read something that truly doesn’t interest them.

This leads me to today’s QOTD:

What are you currently reading?

Who Are You When You Lose Your Name Tag?

by Hector Lopez

It’s a rainy day in Bikini Bottom, and Spongebob is seated at a restaurant booth. His head is slouched while his mind is stuck in limbo, and his brain is doing somersaults in space. This is the episode where Spongebob supposedly “lost his identity.” He claims his name tag was lost. It strikes me as odd, because he deems himself unrecognizable without a tiny piece of plastic that reveals his name. Spongebob then goes mad and starts to retrace his steps. This name tag, this cherished hunk of plastic that he idolizes is nothing more than a label. I’ve come to realize that we’re all hiding under these false statements, and paying too much attention to these shrouds that engulf us as people. We forget to give credit to our actual selves. There’s nothing more pointless than a label.

First and foremost, I’m gonna touch upon a sensitive subject. As a believer in God, I always get asked “what’s your religion?”, and I can’t stress on that enough, because each religion basically sums up your love for God – your full-out plain and simple relationship with God. Now why should I fall under the category of “christian,” if all I do is love God in the end. The word “religion” is just a misrepresentation of a deeper calling. And atheists and Satanists alike probably feel the same. No matter the “religion,” it’s simply just beliefs.

I like to think of society as a black smith. It’s busy welding and forming new labels to attach onto the bodies of us young adults. Kids with intricate, colored clothing, the free spirit, free love kids, are called hippies. And the ones that wear skin-tight jeans, cardigans, and buy overpriced coffee, are your famous hipsters. And every other look, ranging from the goths to punk kids, it’s all the same. These are just people who dig certain kinds of clothing and engage in certain kinds of activities. We’re all human beings, built to be us; not to be slaves to the clothes we wear, or what we do for recreation. Our skin and bones shine brighter than any kind of label that tries to cover them.

Ignore the misleading statements that people throw at you. They couldn’t possibly know you better than yourself. And labels are the only shackles that you’ve been given the key to. It’s up to you if you want to unlock them or not. Spongebob never did lose his identity either. Without the name tag though, he was still Spongebob. Hard to believe, huh?

I Write Because There Are Too Many “Becauses” To Not.

by Christopher Margolin

I write because it’s louder than screaming. Because no one truly listens to words that are forever lost once simply spoken. I write, not because I have something to say, but because I have something I want you to hold onto for the rest of your days. I write because I know that I’ll forget my own voice one day, but these words will help me remember my truths. I write because the words that trickle from my pen, are much more elegant than those that stop-stumble-fall-bounce from my mouth. I write because Whitman told me to sing, because Para said to improve the blank page, because Baldwin wanted me to shout it from the mountain, and because Hemingway was tired of the elephant in the room.

I write because if I don’t, then who will? Because if I can’t tell my story, put it down in ink – even zeros and ones – who will remember my name when times winged chariot approaches?

I write because I am afraid of what might happen if I don’t.

I write because there are those who won’t, and that makes me hurt.

QOTD – July 1st – Bringing it Back to Poetry

by Christopher Margolin

I’ve been buying so many incredible poetry chapbooks as of late, and it’s starting to remind me of why I fell in love with words in the first place – so many emotions built into simple lines, punctuation that drives home meaning, a spoken word artist who is able to give the same power on the page as they do on the stage.

I love words – obviously, or I would never have started this site. I love the way an author can play with a line, or a stanza, or a bit of enjambment to force you into a certain state of mind. The perfectly placed hyphen, or “but” or semi-colon or line break, that just leaves you breathless.

We’ve had this type of question before, but it’s what we’re here for, and it’s something that is immensely important to us, to our readers, so I don’t mind having it again.

Question of the day:

What is your favorite poem? Please copy and paste, or type it into the comments section. This can either be your favorite piece by your favorite author, or your favorite out of the pieces you yourself have written.

We’ve Always Been At War With Eastasia – A Pictorial Essay

by J. Gabriel Allan

memeheader

The phenomenon of the internet meme has done something interesting to our concept of art.

*I will now briefly digress before returning to my original topic sentence. In order to understand the opening hook of this piece, you will need to be familiar with memes. To give an oversimplified explanation, memes are those bad cartoons, pictures with words at the top and bottom, and things that are funny for being funny whose joke you may not understand if you don’t understand the meme (or character). Fortunately, I do not need to give you a deeper explanation that that since we are on the internet, and as Doran Simmon has already eloquently pointed out, in the age of google there is no need to explain anything – you’re an adult look it up. If you need a good diving board into the world of memes try reddit, quickmeme, or tumblr – if you feel lost go to www.knowyourmeme.com (but, hey, come back, k?)

The phenomenon of the internet meme has done something amazing to our concept of art. On the internet, in the world of fifteen second fame, content drives the market. No one looks at Y U NO guy and asks “is this a good representation of his Springs Period?” If something is funny it plays. A drip and splatter of spilled paint is spilled paint, not a Jackson Pollock. Finally, what is said is trumping who is talking.

Very rarely do people let the content decide.

How often do you vote against your political party?

How many pictures with quotes on them are on your Facebook wall, and how many of them would be just as powerful without the giant face shot of the speaker or 14 pt. byline?

real quote

I used my Facebook page for a social experiment during the 2008 election. Unfortunately, this was before the days of screencapping everything so you’ll have to use your imagination and I will try to paint you a word picture. Unfortunately, I forget many of the exact words that were used. I’ll give you the gist. A gist picture.

I looked up a quote by Barack Obama regarding national security and a quote by George W. Bush about taking care of our less fortunate citizens. Then I flip-flopped the names.

“Words actually spoken by Barack Obama.” ~George W. Bush

“Words actually spoken by George W. Bush” ~Barack Obama

It wasn’t long until Republicans were insisting Bush’s words, of course cited with Obama’s name, were that of a socialist and, likewise, Democrats were tired of the right wing warmongering of Obama’s words.

Yes, I found quotes that were vague enough that without proper context could be taken… out of context. Sadly, the only context people needed to form their opinion was who said it. I am disgusted with the devaluation of words that has taken place. Words are not just words.

We typically discuss the repsonsibilty of the author, the speaker, the poet to choose their words carefully and use them precisely, but the power of words does not exist only with the dealer of words. Just as the power of government is dependent upon the consent of the governed, the power of words is dependent upon the consent of the masses. And it is looking more and more like Emojis are the words of the masses.

People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

– Maya Angelou

*Sunglasses Smiley*

So as to not get off on a tangent about emotional memory being one of our strongest avenues of memory and, therefore, prove Ms. Angelou’s quote, I will instead claim that its truth is being misapplied.

mathsciencehistoryunravelingthemystery

  • I don’t like your political party, I reject your words.
  • Your beliefs on gun control make me feel unsafe, it doesn’t matter what you say about foreign relations.
  • You do not believe in my religion, I do not believe in your facts.
  • You find spirituality more important to your life than science, your thoughts on life are irrelevant.

Instead of looking at who is talking, why don’t we look at what is being said? Why can’t we really listen to what is being said? The words and their inherent thought, truth, and logic (or total lack thereof) should be what is important—whether that logic, that truth, or those facts agree with our predisposed world view. Instead, we only want to agree with facts that make us feel good.

Stephen Colbert has a term for this: truthiness.

truthiness

I don’t know about you but I really don’t want my doctor standing at the operating table to say, “I know what the literature says on this issue, but I feel that using anesthesia will cause this patient to become diabetic- get him a few ice cubes and hand me that carving knife.”

Sadly this happens. Maybe not to this extreme.

We live in a society where people will argue against Global Warming because it is cold in the winter.

We live in a society where many people can’t tell how the ice cube machine in the fridge actually works, but will argue for or against evolution from a “scientific” viewpoint.

We must thirst for knowledge, rather than respond with fear, confusion, or anger.

Look for the truth in the words instead of the this-or-that of the speaker.

Seek clarity.

Seek understanding.

Use your words. Use the words from your heart; use them with your brain.

Listen to others. Listen to their words first with your head before you allow them to harden or permeate your heart.

Use your words to express truth instead of emotion. Even the L word. To truthfully love someone is so much more powerful than to emotionally love a person. To love truthfully is to love completely, honestly, and to the core of the other person –not just how she makes you feel. Loving with truth requires sacrifice and compromise.

I have often wondered how domestic abuse is possible.

How can someone abuse a person he claims to love? As disturbing and disgusting, and uncomfortable emotionally as this is to discuss, the answer to that question is simple vocabulary. It is a misuse of the word love.

What about hate? Do you use that word properly?

People don’t always do things. Or never. Stop being so lazy.

dp lazy

While language exists for many more reasons than to woo women, there may not be a better way to get a group of teenage boys to become emotionally invested in the utility of language.

So- why do you use your words?

How do you use your words?

Do you use words that are true, words that are relevant, words that matter regardless of who is speaking?

Let the content of your language overshadow the author.

Words become thoughts become truth; let truth steer your thoughts and become your words.

What’s in a Name?

by J. Gabriel Allan

As a white male, a majority of majorities, I can’t talk about race. I’m not qualified to.

Race isn’t an issue for me, right? Life is easy; things are handed to me. My cup runneth over and my invisible knapsack is packed.

But isn’t hiding behind the privilege of my race just as debilitating as hiding behind the stereotypes of another? Isn’t an implied guilt based on race a form of racism?

So tell me again how great it is to be white as I reapply my sunscreen, struggle to execute even the most basic two-step, and consistently wind up on the wrong side of history…

My personal experiences with race can really only be boiled down to two stereotypes. One, the aforementioned white privilege I was granted at birth, and two, my name.

What could a name possibly have to do with race? Good question. What’s in a name? Better question.

Whether we like it or not, whether we admit it or not, our names are our first labels. More than ever, in today’s world, our names are our representatives we send forward to meet people prior to face to face- whether by email, text message, an electronic application, match dot com, or the increasingly rare phone call. What’s in a name? A lot.

My name is Jamaal; I’m white.

Growing up I never thought twice about my name (of course I was next door to a commune, hanging out with Orly, Oshia, Lark Song, River Rocks, Sky Blue, and more than one Rainbow).

In a high school soccer game I was called “a white man with a [horrific racial expletive deleted] name”.

In January of 2002 I flew to London. I was randomly selected for additional passenger screening. It was me, Muhammad, Abdul, Tariq, and an old white haired lady named Jenny Smith. Seriously. I’m not sure what was faster, Jenny Smith’s pat down or the dropping of the TSA agent’s face when I responded to the name Jamaal.

When I went to a time share presentation in Vegas (just to tell them no and get my free show tickets of course), the randomly selected sales agent who came calling my name looked was a bald version of Cedric the Entertainer in a white suit, Versace sunglasses, and alligator shoes.

The most frequently asked question is, “how did you get the name Jamaal?” I usually say something about a Ouija board or a heated game of Boggle that put my mother into labor. The letters just sort of fell randomly in that order. “How did you get the name Jamaal?” Well, it all started many years ago before the Coyote howled at the moon…

I got my name the same way you did. Somewhere between birth and leaving the hospital my parents wrote it on my birth certificate.

I know what people want to say. They want to stammer like the South African from Lethal Weapon 2 and say, “but… but… but… you’re WHITE.”

But they don’t.

Instead they say things like, “I never would’ve guessed your name was Jamaal.” Really, are you frequently good at guessing people’s names?

“You don’t look like a Jamaal.” And how exactly does one look like a name? Unless your name is Rose and you are overly-rubicund it’s highly unlikely you look like your name either. What if I smile larger, now do I look like a Jamaal or is this more of a Derek smile? How does a Walter express confusion, should I raise my eyebrow higher?

When people have seen my name before they’ve seen my face, I get “OH – you’re Jamaal.” Yes, I am, and the African American behind me is Chris.

It is not uncommon for people to follow up with, “I expected you to be –”and then there’s a pause; a sudden realization they are on the verge of sounding racist. There’s a look—not quite ‘deer in the headlights’, but it is a definite freeze. What to say next? I’ve heard several: taller, older, different (usually accompanied with an uncomfortable chuckle).

Very few people have the courage to say darker.

Several people have told me that Jamaal is a black name. It’s not. It’s an Arabic name. Arabic is a language, not a color.

Halfway through my first year teaching, the principal who had hired me confided that I was lucky to have gotten the job. I agreed, I had watched a majority of my classmates from grad school go from job fair to job fair and interview to interview, whereas I had been able to parlay my student-teaching directly into a job in the same school with only one interview.

That wasn’t what he meant. They had not been planning to take another student-teacher when my application showed up. But, in his words, as he scanned through it and saw a Jamaal who plays basketball and counts Muhammad Ali among his heroes he thought, we could use a little diversity.

Sorry to disappoint you.

So, no, as a white man, a majority of majorities, from a small rural town in Southern Oregon with a high school of around 400 and two black and two Hispanic families, I don’t know a lot about race. I do, however, know a little about stereotyping.