Second Thoughts, Disability Style

I have been thinking lately of disability not as a form of disablement but as a counter-intuition, a matter that may get me in trouble. Taken at face value the assertion is irresponsible, for by calling disability a quality of mind one is guilty of suborning physical difficulty within the frame of intellect. That’s a troublesome idea, akin to saying that mind over matter will solve physical challenges–a canard that people with disabilities have long experienced.

What I have in mind is that physical difference stands in relation to normatively–to able- bodiedness if you will, as a counter-intuition stands against a first thought. Talking of literary writing Jack Kerouac is famous for extolling the virtues of fast composition, of getting your words down quickly, and by turn of not editing the text. “First thought, best thought,” was the phrase he made famous. Because I am a poet I think about craft. I tend to see poetry as a vehicle for philosophical speculation rather than a tabula rasa on which we scrawl our grocery lists. I like poetry that demands something from the reader and this shouldn’t be confused with style. Poetry that reads clearly can be as inciting to good ideas as a more abstract mode of verse. William Carlos Williams is clear but very shrews. Wallace Stevens isn’t clear at all, but well worth reading. Both are philosophical poets. Both would not subscribe to Kerouac’s notion of composition. A first thought is often not the best thought. Trusting a second sense is vital both in art and in life’s negotiations. This may seem evident, but in America we value easy acquaintanceships, simple ideas of fashion, embodiment, athleticism–even when we imagine we are being outre. Look at a high school yearbook from 1970 and you will see all the boys wearing the same “mod” hair styles. Normalcy encodes it’s parameters quickly because there’s money to be made. Body piercings are a similar example. I’m not saying that self-expression is a bad thing, or insincere or flip–only that it’s easy to create a new normal in a society that holds the idea of “lifestyle” to be valuable.

I think disability provokes second thoughts–far more often than the able-bodied citizen will likely experience. Able-bodiedness is “first thought, best thought” whereas disability calls for a second or third premis. This is of course a view that’s familiar to certain spiritual traditions–one thinks of the Hindu belief that with an act of deep devotion a maleficent goddess can become a begnign figure. Please note that I am not saying that people with disabilities are more likely to be hindus. I am suggesting that the problem solving that accompanies whatever we might call the non-able-bodied life is characterized by an intuitive steadfastness that calls for revisioning and patience. One may say that such a characteristic of mind is marked by a dual consciousness that things are not what they invariably seem. Yes. I’m generalizing. I’m a poet. I get to do that. Even when I’m talking about disability as epistemology. I can make claims. But in this case my counter-intuition tells me my intuition is alright. 

SK 

 

But To Think Is To Be Full Of Sorrow

 

 

Keep silent. And write.

Each letter is incomprehensible,

Broken no matter where you look.

Watch them. Your fevered skin

The only light.

 

Tap the rim of a cracked glass.

The heart is an anchor rope.

Now it flies in the night.

In the dark pages of this room 

I spell everything. Out loud.

 

 

–Jarkko Laine

(Translated from the Finnish by Stephen Kuusisto)

Paradise

Bathtub

Man is a creature of his home.

A wary animal who hopes to walk on shining streets, 

He does not trust his heart out loud

So he worships the brightness of the night sky,

 

Surely his living voice is there–

He sings in the tub to his great god.

Life gives us such beautiful pictures

But the subsequent fate is cruel.

Home is no protection.

Rebellion simply makes a man old

And then he has no further escape 

But one…  

 

 

–Jarkko Laine

(Translated from the Finnish by Stephen Kuusisto) 

 

 

White Horse

Poika kävelee valkoinen hevonen laittaa sen riimu on
ja hevonen katsoo häntä hiljaisuudessa.
Ne ovat niin hiljaisia ​​ne ovat toisessa maailmassa.

D. H. Lawrence

The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on

and the horse looks at him in silence.

They are so silent they are in another world.

 

 

Lives Worth Living Airs Tonight on PBS

PBS Documentary On Disability Rights Movement To Air Thursday Night 
(Independent Lens)
October 24, 2011

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS– [Excerpt] People with disabilities are one of the largest minorities in the United States. But for most of American history, they occupied a sub-class of millions without access to everyday things most citizens take for granted: schools, apartment buildings, public transportation, and more. Some were forcibly sterilized under state laws. Others were committed to horrifying institutions where they were left and forgotten. 

After World War II, however, things began to change, thanks to a small group of determined people with an unwavering determination to live their lives like anyone else, and to liberate all disabled Americans of the limitations their government refused to accommodate. 

Lives Worth Living traces the development of consciousness of these pioneers who realized that in order to change the world they needed to work together. Through demonstrations and inside legislative battles, the disability rights community secured equal civil rights for all people with disabilities. Thanks to their efforts, tens of millions of people's lives have been changed.

This film is an oral history, told by the movement's mythical heroes themselves, and illustrated through the use of rare archival footage.

Entire article:
Lives Worth Living

http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/lives-worth-living/film.html
Related:
Documentary details disability rights movement (by WLS-TV disability rights reporter Karen Meyer)

http://bit.ly/ptmg4F


 

Goodbye to Jarkko Laine

Jarkko Laine

 

I learned yesterday while nosing around the internet that the Finnish poet Jarkko Laine passed away five years ago. I knew Jarkko only slightly, our paths having crossed when I was a Fulbright scholar in Helsinki during the early Reagan years. Once upon a time when Jarkko was visiting the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa I went with him to Moose Lake Minnesota to visit Robert Bly. Later Jarkko wrote a short essay about the trip for the Finnish magazine Parnasso. (He wrote touchingly of Bly’s affection for the poet David Ignatow, but left out the funniest thing for Bly told a cafe filled with hunting jacket clad Minnesotans that Jarkko was from Russia and was going to steal their blue jeans.)

Jarkko was an inventive and touching ironist–his poems tackled the runaway freight train of the sixties, all that cascading pop culture, but unlike the American “beats” he had a wonderfully Finnish sense–what you might call a homemade depth psychology. He could write lines like: withered leaves fly above the street, death’s butterflies, or, how sad!  Everything! And how cheap to say it out loud! 

Americans don’t think that way. I had planned long ago to translate Jarkko’s poetry into English as I admired his sang froid mitt tenderness. But my own blindness and daily struggle to live kept me from doing that. Then the years took the carriage.  

But I will miss him. He would appreciate this little Chinese translation by Kenneth Rexroth:

 

A Sorrow in the Harem

 

Withered flowers fill the courtyard.

Moss creeps into the great hall.

On both sides everything was said long ago.

The smell of perfume still lingers in the air.

 

Wang Chang Ling

 

 

SK 

 

Lego Hitler Visits Eastern Finland

There are some stories which can't be improved. A story at YLE begins with the following: 

Marshall Mannerheim celebrated his 75th birthday in 1942 in the eastern Finnish city of Imatra, with Adolf Hitler also in attendance at the festivities. This event has now been reconstructed in Lego form and put on display in a book shop in Imatra.

I for one, am not so weary of the world that I require a Lego Hitler.