"Really? You like rap?"

About rap in general, I have this to say: it is easy to see why rap is so popular with athletes, because rapping is a sort of athleticism transformed into words. How does a point guard, or a running back, or an inside center beat his defender? Now, one way is to overpower the defender; another is simply to outrun the defender. I suggest that neither of those ways requires athleticism as I define it. It doesn’t take an athlete to run someone into the ground (apologies to Misko, but no one would accuse him of being athletic, even though he frequently trucks people into the ground), nor does it take an athlete to outrun someone--I mean straight-line speed here. This part of my judgment stems from my long-distance-runner bias that speed is a pure and simple God-given talent--not that sprinters don’t have to work at things as well, but you never say of a sprinter, “Wow, that was athletic!” (I make no claim, mind, that long-distance running requires athleticism, either.) No, the athletic way to defeat a defender is with some type of juke. It seems also that more athletic pleasure derives from “faking someone out of their shorts,” or “breaking someone’s ankles,” than from trucking someone or outrunning someone (though these perhaps give more aesthetic pleasure). Any running back or inside center or point guard worth his salt knows that the best juke consists of the principle movements of “fast, slow, fast.” Put even simpler, the juke consists simply in changing the speed at which your body is moving, while keeping your running motion fluid and under control.

Music, or at least the music that holds the most interest for me, works similarly. Gregorian chant does not move at a straight-line speed; it moves in a free-flowing line of two- and three-note neums that may be sped up or slowed down at the discretion of the choirmaster. The free-rhythmic character of the beat in chant within otherwise strict guidelines is one of chant’s distinctive characteristics. The masters of classical music are known for their mastery of counterpoint, which served to check or speed up the otherwise regular meter of their songs. To give just one more suggestion, I remember Eileen’s insistence that the great lyricists are those whose irregular substitutions both work against the beat and uphold it. In other words, the beat is upheld but kind of violated at the same time. By contrast, Kundera’s judgment of the primitivism of rock: “The heart’s beat is amplified so that man can never for a moment forget his march toward death.”

Two kinds of rap that are not athletic: I need only refer to the "dey-dey" or the "wee-wee" schools of rap. The speech of deys impresses in its onslaught of verbiage that is, quite simply, words without thought. This type of rap may correspond with those “athletes” who simply have a God-given talent for speed, who can blow by their defender by simple virtue of having more talent. The speech of the wees, on the other hand, impresses with a sort of dull, rhythmic mind-numbing, sort of like those running backs who just try to run over everything in their path. Much as I love Ludacris, it seems that Chris isn’t that good at mixing these two styles. For example, the verses in “Roll Out” have the invariable sequence of wee, dey, wee, dey. For another, Luda's memorable “Act the Fool” is written completely in the wee style. It’s sad, because I have great respect for Mr. Bridges’s beats and bass lines. An ideal rap world: Luda’s beats and Eminem’s words.

Give me, on the other hand, the speech of a true athlete, like those verbal athletes Slim and Dre in “Forgot about Dre,” who will rap without succumbing to a single speed, who will linger over the short “i”s and the long “a”s at the end of every line--(this technique reminds me of early French poets, who employed rich rhyme, trying to rhyme assonantally at the end of lines as much as possible--see the three assonances at the end of each line below: i.e., “Slim Shady,” “twin babies,” “mid-eighties;” Marshall doesn’t just stop with three, either; for example, earlier in the song, “So, what do you say to somebody you hate? / Or, anyone trying to bring trouble your way? / Wanna resolve things in a bloodier way? / Just study a tape of NWA!” I apologize for the esoteric 'junior poet terminolgy,' but nothing else can come close to explaining the genius of these lines. See, each 'line' in the 'stanza' concludes with four 'rich rhymes,' and the first and last lines kind of give the stanza a 'closed' feel, 'enveloping' the middle two lines with ‘double rich rhymes.’ Dre does this well, too. Check out his verses in “Forgot about Dre." First of all, it’s impressive that Dre is able to structure the entire first verse on just the assonance of long o plus long e (even though it gets a bit annoying, especially by the end of the verse); but, it’s even more athletic that Dre manages to include rich rhyme almost throughout the entire lines in the following section: “Hated on by most of these [people] / with no cheese, no deals, / and no gs, no wheels, / and no keys, no boats / no snowmobiles and no skis; / mad at me ‘cause I can finally afford / to provide my family with groceries….” Again [and it hurts me to do it; I love me Ludacris], compare Chris’s lyrical abilities negatively to really rich rhyme)--yet still pack words linked from line to line in a fast patter. The following is the bit that first enticed me to Mr. Mathers years ago (I first heard this at the Fort Scott swimming pool from the mouth of the instructor who was teaching swimming lessons with me):

Slim shady,
hotter than a set of twin babies,
in a Mercedes Benz with the windows up
when the temp goes up to the mid-eighties,
calling men ladies;
sorry doc, but I been crazy,
there’s no way that you can save me;
it’s OK, go with him, Hailey….

Let’s look, just briefly, at how Shady poetically grows his subjects. He might be praising himself, sure, but his diction and imagery seem well done, and his tone seems to me to develop away from simple egotism. Twin babies? Come on, you’ve got to admit that twins are pretty hot … and they’re in a Mercedes-Benz? Hot! With windows rolled up in eighty-degree weather? Now, that’s hot. Slim is working with “heat” on different levels here. Babies are “hot” in one sense; a nice car in another; and, of course, temperature involves a different type of heat than babies or cars. He is so hot, that he is going crazy, and must eventually lose his daughter (baby--note the repetition and development of Slim’s original image), and, even his impressive opinion of his own “hotness,” as reflected by the falling, resigned, almost tender tone of his voice as he concludes his verse. It is appropriate that Marshall resigns that blown-up image of himself at the end of the verse, because the chorus is a praise of Shady’s own mentor and the co-writer of “Forgot About Dre,” the good Doctor himself: “Nowadays everybody wanna talk / like they got something to say, but nothing comes out / when they move their lips, just a bunch of gibberish; / mother[lovers] act like they forgot about Dre.”

It’s not a question of verbal aesthetics, but of verbal athletics--and oh! but “Forgot About Dre” is a vintage draught of verbal athleticism!

Borella

I guess I need some help from the theologians/philosophers. See, I am reading this stuff by Jean Borella, and loving it--a collection of essays by Borella, arranged by some guy named Champeaux into The Secret of the Christian Way after the pattern of Itinerarium Mentis In Deum. I guess my question is, who is this Borella guy? At Josh--how legit is he?

Anyway, his essay on the essence of symbol is excellent; Paul McCleary/Boomer directed me towards Borella as someone who has a good grasp of what they are trying to define as poetic inspiration. Borella points toward three aspects of the symbol. There is the “concrete form,” or “vestigial being” of the symbolon, which reveals itself as “the present part of the absent whole” (62). There is the “memorial symbol,” which is the “traditional significance” of the symbol, passed down orally by authority. A symbol doesn’t just have meaning in itself, it also has meaning “for someone else” (64-66). There is also a third aspect of the symbol: it “directs” us towards recognition of reality through “ritual activity” (66). It is this third aspect of the symbol that I think best captures the poetry or the making behind any work of art. I mean, anyone can give us symbols without doing anything special with them (just offhand, I think of A Separate Peace and The Great Gatsby), and the second characteristic has more to do with something received in the symbol itself, not really created by the poet.

Borella concludes that the rainbow (Iris, in Greek mythology), is the ultimate symbol of God’s covenant with man. The rainbow, or rather, the half-completed arch, or the broken circle, is “the revelatory sign of that primordial pact at the foundation of every religion[; it] is also the [symbolon] that signs and seals the restoration of the divine nature in creatures: the nimbus of the Roman gods and Buddhist wisdom, the halo of the Christian saints, the noble turban of Islam, and the radiant war-bonnet of the Native American. In truth the orb of the symbol encircles everything: it is the radiance of Divine Glory” (68-69).

Rain, rain, and sun! A rainbow in the sky;
A young man will be wiser by and by;
An old man’s wit may wander ere he die.

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky.

Summer Plans! What are yours?

To whom it may concern:

Thus it begins, a Summer Road-Trip of limited sorts.

I am going to be driving from Phoenix to D.C. starting this
Tuesday morning (6.08).

I will be in Dallas on Tuesday night and will leave Thursday (6.10).

I will be arriving in D.C. on Friday or Saturday at the latest (6.11/12).

I will be in D.C. taking an art class and visiting old haunts (Prospect Hill is top o' the list; and I want Sponge-Bob back.  You know who you are).

I will be attending the wedding of one MP[3] Jones and Sam.  I will be in Dallas for a week for that, and then back to D.C.

I will be in D.C. until around July 15th or so.  This would be a good time to get everyone together as I will be free and not taking classes.  Maybe some of your norther NY & PA folk can come down for something?

On my way back to Phoenix I was thinking of hitting up Raleigh, Atlanta, New Orleans, Dallas, Austin, Houston, and anything else in the way if you invite me.

Let me know if you are going to be around in these places and would like to grab lunch or hang out for a more extended time.  I have a pretty loose schedule as much as things go.  

Leave a comment on here with your summer plans so that we can figure something out!  

Poetry On The Range

http://www.oriensjournal.com/6poety.html

The Oven Bird

THE OVEN BIRD
by Robert Frost

There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.

No Salvation Outside of Poetry

Here is a wonderful talk given by Bishop Conley; Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiocese of Denver.

The Title of the talk is "No Salvation Outside of Poetry."

Bishop Conley fondly recounts his experiences in the Integrated Humanities Program (IHP sometimes called Pearson Program) at Kansas University in the 70's.

http://www.archden.org/repository//TOT_03_12_10.mp3

"Poetry is the language of love"

Found these.

Terrible Poetry Jokes.

BY PETER LaVELLE

- - - -

A man, a woman, and a blackbird walk into a bar. "Table for one, please," they say.

- - - -

Byron walks into a bar. He has sex with everyone in the bar.

- - - -

Milton, Homer and Borges walk into a bar. Milton says: "Who the fuck put this bar here?"

- - - -

Wordsworth and Coleridge are watching the Lakers game. They can't get service at the crowded bar. Coleridge smiles and says to Wordsworth: "Lager, lager everywhere, and I can't get a drink." Wordsworth says to Coleridge: "I have pleurisy."

- - - -

Rimbaud, Bukowski, and Dylan Thomas walk into a bar. They are promptly thrown out.

- - - -

A horse walks into a bar where Walt Whitman and Ezra Pound are drinking.

BARTENDER (to horse): Why the long face?

WHITMAN (to everyone): I, too, am a horse.

POUND (to Whitman): Shut the fuck up.

We Need Orthokardia

I got this in an e-mail today from my father, and it really spoke to me.  The e-mail stresses the necessity of poetry; and more specifically how poetry is infused and intertwined in the books of the Bible.  I have been speaking to one of my colleagues at Glendale quite a bit about poetry.  He and I believe that poetry is so necessary, but that very few people read poetry.  Within the category of poetry readers only a handful, we think, actually read and drink up the poems--and probably merely peruse or glance at them.  Poetry makes us human, it is the highest expression of language--logos.  Philosophy sits in awe of the word, of Poetry.

-PB

Sydney Anglican Network
You need to read poetry
by Michael Jensen
December 29th, 2009

I would lay money on the fact that poetry is not one of your great
interests. For most people, reading poetry is about as fun as going to
the dentist.

Yet I have been thinking about some great words from my good friend
Justin Moffatt recently, in a blog post entitled ‘We Need the Poets’:


The Bible is not just facts, and it’s not just history. It’s not all
argument, and it’s not all logic. It’s not a manifesto, and it’s
certainly not a tract. It is full of wisdom, poetry and songs. If we
desire to be true to the Bible, then we need to re-find the poets, the
wisdom writers, and the prophets.

It is one thing to say: ‘Be faithful to your wife’. But it is another
to muse with the writer of Proverbs: ‘Let your fountain be blessed,
and rejoice in the wife of your youth, a lovely deer, a graceful doe.’

So we need a few things: We need wonder, not just exegesis. We need
awe of God, not just exposition. We need insight, not just
information. We need wisdom, not just your points. We need to wrestle
with the Psalmists, and not just proclaim their certainty. We don’t
just need to ‘think Christianly’, we need to feel it too. We need
Orthokardia.


Justin’s point is that poetry is trying to do something very similar
to what preachers are trying to do. Poetry overlaps hugely with
theology. Reading great poetry sensitizes us – and makes us better
readers of the Word of God, no doubt.

Two books I have been reading have reminded me of the power and the
blessing and the necessity of poetry – especially for people who would
be good readers of Scripture.

First, "The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker." It is a terrific novel about a mediocre poet and
collector of poems. As he narrates his own story, he also gives us a
terrific lesson in reading and appreciating poetry – and introduces us
to some amazing poets. I had never heard of Louise Bogan before, for
example.

Second, E.D. Hirsh’s book How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry might be just what you need to get going with poetry. It’s a
magnificent introduction to poetry, but it is so much more than a
‘dummie's guide’. He introduces the reader to the whole world of poetry
– perhaps you’ll start a life-long love affair with a poet’s work, at
Hirsch’s invitation?

http://www.sydneyanglicans.net/life/culture/you_need_to_read_poetry/

These lines

from today's poemAday really struck me as masterful.

Look for smaller signs instead, the fine
disturbances of ordered things when suddenly
the rhythms of your expectation break
and in a moment's pause another world
reveals itself behind the ordinary.

-by poet Dana Gioia

"Icarium Mare" by Richard Wilbur

Here's the poem on which I am writing my final J-Po paper. I thought that some might enjoy making its acquaintance.

Icarium Mare
Richard Wilbur

We have heard of the undimmed air
Of the True Earth above us, and how here,
Shut in our sea-like atsmosphere,
We grope like muddled fish. Perhaps from there,

That fierce lucidity,
Came Icarus' body tumbling, flayed and trenched
By waxen runnels, to be quenched
Near Samos riding in the actual sea,

Where Aristarchus first
Rounded the sun in thought; near Patmos, too,
Where John's bejeweled inward view
Descried an angel in the solar burst.

The reckoner's instruments,
The saint's geodic skull bowed in his cave--
Insight and calculation brave
Black distances exorbitant to sense,

Which in its little shed
Of broken light knows wonders all the same.
Where else do lifting wings proclaim
The advent of the fire-gapped thunderhead,

Which swells the streams to grind
What oak and olive grip their roots into,
Shading us as we name anew
Creatures without which vision would be blind?

This is no outer dark
But a small province haunted by the good,
Where something may be understood
And where, within the sun's coronal arc,

We keep our proper range,
Aspiring, with this lesser globe of sight,
To gather tokens of the light
Not in the bullion, but in the loose change.

Response to "Typical Anne"

I want to respond to Mr. Kane's most recent post by posting something that has nothing to do with anything he said.

Here are two quotes, by two dissimilar poets: John Donne and ee cummings. The quotes are about philosophy vs. poetry and wonder.

"[T]he clarity of literal language satisfies the intellect by giving knowledge, while the obscurity of figurative language stimulates the intellect to search further by causing wonder."

-Donne, John. Devotions

"not for philosophy does this rose give a damn"

-cummings, ee. voices to voices, lip to lip

Pedantry: Don't Leave Home Without It

Cigarettes are $6.00 in Phoenix, so, if you come here, make sure to stock up first. Here's a narrative poem I wrote at some point.

Aeneus and Dido Meeting

I.
bursting into the hall—spilling chicken
wings, cold from refrigeration (you had
waited until midnight to be able
to eat them) and glossy with barbeque
and hot and hot-barbeque, tumbling out
of their cold white styrofoam togo box—
awkwardly tipsy from not knowing about
the dangers of flipping cups.
two doors close, both mine closing
and another...not scared. I,
up gathering the still good chicken,
and you, now acquainted with me, shared
your spoils, (I added my candy and grape-
juice). then you suggested by leaving the room
without me, that we ought to go in search
of higher things—and I not having a
cellular device, brought my cordless-land-phone
instead. you showed me a building’s roof,
the Pleiades, and a quivered starfish
you found at Neptune’s beach, New Jersey.
we burst into the world together now,
our auspicious friendship.

II.
The next nine months we spent it together.
And once we awoke we saw the vision.
And when our spirits got low,
We raised each other up, and in joyous times
I raised you higher. That is what friends do.

III.
You never thanked me, until you did
Not chop off my hands—you had tied them
—with a hatchet.

IV.
you shiny plastic piece of
; and you pulling me through the window,
to gently tap my cheek with your knuckles.

V.
chicken wings, both drunk, the building rooftop.
it is gone, all is gone, for what?
it’s not gone, said, not gone entirely.
but, trust me, it’s gone, and I want a why.
because seeing that vision has crushed us.

Ode: Intimations of Immortality Recollected From a Recent Trip to the Dallas Aquarium

Of late I was privy to that scummy hovel,
that breeding ground of licentiousness,
the Dallas Aquarium.
Yeah, so I saw the bottom of some sharks,
and a three-toed sloth (The very name is a sin!),
and some jellyfish.
I can find no argument against warming the globe
if it means wiping these inane things off the planet.

Finding my system, and, to a degree,
my disposition, restored by an admittedly decent lunch
served by the purveyors of the establishment,
I was again downcast upon exiting the room
to find a bunch of children staring at a manatee.
A manatee! A cow-eyed nothing with whiskers!
Mother mammalia, who gave us the lion,
the cheetah, the opossum, and the chimpanzee,
how far you have fallen.

Now get out of my way, you slavish yahoo.
You're blocking my view, and they're going
to feed the sea otters in a couple of minutes.

william! not again!

I Sleep A Lot

A Poem I found that I thought you all would enjoy:

I sleep a lot and read St. Thomas Aquinas
Or The Death of God (that's a Protestant book).
To the right the bay as if molten tin,
Beyond the bay, city, beyond the city, ocean,
Beyond the ocean, ocean, till Japan.
To the left dry hills with white grass,
Beyond the hills an irrigated valley where rice is grown,
Beyond the valley, mountains and Ponderosa pines,
Beyond the mountains, desert and sheep.

When I couldn't do without alcohol, I drove myself on alcohol,
When I couldn't do without cigarettes and coffee, I drove myself
On cigarettes and coffee.
I was courageous. Industrious. Nearly a model of virtue.
But that is good for nothing.

I feel a pain.
not here. Even I don't know.
many islands and continents,
words, bazaars, wooden flutes,
Or too much drinking to the mirror, without beauty,
Though one was to be a kind of archangel
Or a Saint George, over there, on St. George Street.
Please, Doctor,
Not here. No,
Maybe it's too
Unpronounced

Please, Medicine Man, I feel a pain.
I always believed in spells and incantations.
Sure, women have only one, Catholic, soul,
But we have two. When you start to dance
You visit remote pueblos in your sleep
And even lands you have never seen.
Put on, I beg you, charms made of feathers,
Now it's time to help one of your own.
I have read many books but I don't believe them.
When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers.

I remember those crosses with chiseled suns and moons
And wizards, how they worked during an outbreak of typhus.
Send your second soul beyond the mountains, beyond time.
Tell me what you saw, I will wait.

-Czeslaw Milosz

An Afternoon With Dr. Louise Cowan

Poetry, Culture, and the University of Dallas

“…that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”

Any noble movement in culture is preceded by a return and re-grasping of foundational ideals, a return to simplicity. Optimism and simplicity graces a finished soul, a noble character, a saint.
After four years, is it true that the memories of wild nights, draughts of Shiner, and fiery couches will hide the majesty and power of the education we hold in our hands? In restoring our vision of what UD’s education has meant to us, this year’s graduation commencement address was less than effective. Besides any debate we might engage in as regards its argumentation, personally what was more disappointing was its failure to match the grandeur of our education and ideals with its subject. About to receive a confirmation of the privileged education which we have received, we heard about academic integrity through tolerance. I do not mean to belabor the address, but rather contrast it with the beautiful presentation of the King’s Award on Dr. Louise Cowan. Why was this presentation the most memorable of the morning, why did the faculty—and soon after the student body—instantaneously and unanimously rise to applaud the life’s work of Dr. Cowan? The afternoon spent with her by eleven recently graduated English majors satisfied where the graduation failed. I consider it the true confirmation of my four years, both a reflection on what was received and a challenge to unleash the power of what we have learned. A simple afternoon with wine and a saintly scholar contained more ceremony—more of an efficacious service—than the grand gestures and look of the graduation exercise. These reflections—at times mere sketches—attempt to recount and communicate the spirit of learning, wisdom, and hope which filled those few hours.

Dr. Cowan is a southern lady. As we filed in somewhat sheepishly into a well-lit conference room with a table delicately adorned with plates of cheese and pristine wine-glasses, Dr. Cowan, with her characteristic sunglasses and calm smile, promptly embraced each student. She embraced—sometimes with a kiss on the cheek—each student, even those whom she was first meeting. We were delighted into silence, and milled about until Dr. Cowan invited us to enjoy the Hors D'Oeuvres, wine, and, of course, her famous artichoke-dip. The conversation—and a true conversation it became—began with Dr. Cowan asking us all what our plans were for post-graduation. Her voice had a calm and steady tenor which underlay a maternal presence, graced by both affection and wisdom. One knew that her roles as mother and teacher had formed an indelible mark on her character.
Her wit was sharp and charming, her insights were impeccably articulated, and her spirit was awe-inspiring. No one person has left such an invaluable, unrepeatable first impression on me. A humble soul speaks only the truth, and Dr. Cowan never overstated nor understated a fact or opinion, especially in relation to herself. Even statements laudatory of herself were expressed with an elegance and a matter-of-factness which exhibited the depth of her humility. She cared not for her own value in scholarship, but for scholarship, for a love of literature. She told us that the UD education is not “superficial” because, “We do not simply know the great works, but they live inside us, become us.” This was no more the case than in Dr. Cowan.

A Sense of Urgency
In the context of discussing strained politics within the University of Dallas, Dr. Cowan commented that “protesting is not our business, it is not fitting with the mission of our school. Perhaps this is just a personal eccentricity, but my husband and I always rejected adopting a mob mentality when you want something done. If you want to do something, if you disagree, go out there yourself and do something about it. Write a letter, talk to the person. When I left UD for a decade”—in response to the board’s firing of the heads of the departments in order to ensure that the graduate school of psychology would be closed—“I didn’t tell anybody to do the same.” Her stress on the role of the individual in transforming UD’s culture matched her insistence that we are charged to transform the national culture.
The main reason that literature is currently stagnating or declining, and a cause of optimism and excitement, is that, as Donald Cowan would frequently discuss, we are in between two overarching myths. The old myth is the dregs of the Enlightenment, the centuries-old Rationalism which embraces an analytic, rationalist structuring of reality. This old myth is masculine, analytic, quantitative, and scientific. Rationalism has died, and a new myth must arise, and with it a new wave of literature will come. Dr. Cowan said that the new myth would be characteristically feminine, close to the earth, Egalitarian, and essentially poetic. This shift would be soon, in fact now. A sense of urgency compelled her to present to us, the recent graduates who carry the necessary tools, to steer and shape this shift.
At the same time, Dr. Cowan called herself at times a skeptic about culture. She pointed out the in the media truth and tradition are fruitless, insubstantial terms. It is the privilege of the well-educated UD student to recognize the deep flaws of academia and the culture at large, and his obligation to infuse within culture the truths and tradition it so tragically lacks. Quite to the contrary of the “bunker mentality,” to which she alluded, Dr. Cowan believes the UD student ought to diffuse his zeal for learning and tradition, leading the revitalization of culture.
It is an exciting time for poetry and culture. Dr. Cowan never separated the two. The former presents itself in a form which is complimentary to and distinctively flavored by the latter. So, what ought we to do?
“You should all get a Masters someday.” She repeated this phrase ten times in the course of the conversation. Her reasons for saying so were twofold. Simply put, first, the academic world needs UD students. Secondly, the professional world needs UD students. Concerning the latter, Dr. Cowan stressed that a graduate degree allows one to enter a more elite circle of competition. The UD student is well-equipped to effect an authentic transformation of culture on both an academic and, if I may be allowed, secular level not from practical knowledge but based on the love and understanding of literature which we have allowed to grow and flourish. It is our ideas, our souls. From a twenty-one year old, such phrases always seem dead, fanciful, unproven and awkward. From such a sage as Dr. Cowan, one could believe it. Her call to us was clear, understandable, and terrifyingly lofty.

A Mother of a School
“When we started this University we thought UD students would change the world…I guess I still believe that.” She has dedicated the larger part of her life to UD, from its beginnings and through its innumerable and continuing trials. Her stories about UD’s beginnings and her thoughts on UD’s culture and aim were always marked with an irrepressible optimism and clear-sightedness in regards to its mission. The school has been through many purgative trials, and has always faced challenges from within, either from administration, the board, or the faculty. “We are poor, aren’t we? We’ve always been poor.” Dr. Cowan optimistically reminded us that UD has perpetually faced financial crises, at times worse than the present one.
Dr. Cowan lamented that she cannot teach anymore, reminding me what was said at graduation that Dr. Cowan prefers the title “teacher” over scholar, as in her own words “something happens in teaching that does not occur in ordinary life.” Such love for teaching has become so ordinary to us while at UD that we may forget its uniqueness.
Dr. Cowan advised that “being too proper will restrict the freedom of imagination” which characterized the spontaneous, adventurous beginnings. “When I was at TCU, during faculty meetings people walked around drinking sweet tea. At the University of Dallas, at faculty meetings I observed nuns walking around with glasses of bourbon.”
The Sisters of St. Joseph were marvelous, and need to be honored for conceiving of this school, providing the University with the idealistic, enthusiastic, optimistic spirit born of the character of nuns. Dr. Cowan referenced Nicolai Gogol, saying “nuns are girls who never become women,” but rather maintain their enthusiasm and youthful spirit. Cowan further quoted him by saying, “the problem with girls is that they become women.” Granted, the school required the academic direction offered by the Cowans, who saw that the school was transforming into a vocational school. However, the nuns gave the school a youthful, adventurous quality.
“Hungarians are mean,” said Dr. Cowan with a smile, “but they provided a seriousness and sophistication in all our dealings.” The Cistercians brought with them something America did not have, a European sense of class which added another dimension of culture to the faculty. They also embraced a spirit of moderation which guided the University atmosphere.
UD was always a family, in many ways caused by the southern character of the school. The University of Dallas was founded with hospitality and congeniality, provided by the southerners who first led the school. In many ways this must be restored by a return to simplicity, spontaneity, and a sense of adventure. The school must realize the adventure entailed in seeking to diffuse its ideals, combating the trend of Universities towards a mediocre, pragmatic, non-poetic education and to uphold the value of the Western tradition. She saw the current UD culture as being more proper, where things are more controlled and moderated by propriety. She warned that “being too proper will restrict the freedom of imagination” which characterized the spontaneous, adventurous beginnings. What we imagine is not simply another small, mediocre, Catholic University. “When we began the school, we wanted to make a real University.”
When asked what may be improved in UD’s current culture, Dr. Cowan spoke about the early enthusiasm for debate, for lively discussion about large questions concerning literature and philosophy. The main improvement that Dr. Cowan wishes to see is a greater inter-departmental dialogue and debate. She advocated programs that would provide a forum for debate with lots of involvement. She remembered a time when faculty and students were excited about big academic debates that were happening amongst the faculty. Our love is literature, great ideas, and this should be our passion. That there is a lack in inter-department conversation can be traced to two factors: specialization and treatment of faculty. A specialization in scholarship which ignores the whole of tradition can preclude a collaborated discussion concerning the whole (a mindset not dissimilar to the common trend to leave out translated works). Secondly, Dr. Cowan reminded us that the faculty is scandalously underpaid, and has even received deductions in salary, leading to either a disenchantment or stress which discourages the extra enthusiasm required for lively dialogue. Dr. Cowan challenged us to “Get the faculty to argue.”
Many other institutions consider UD as naïve to study translated works. Dr. Cowan’s Vanderbilt education was comprised of only English Literature. However, at UD, that not simply a few masters of Italian read The Divine Comedy, but every student does, changes the atmosphere fundamentally. Learning comprises a whole, where every work forms a part and adds to the whole organism. Without translated works, our vision of reality would come only through the lens of Beowulf and Canterbury Tales, and Dr. Cowan joked about what an odd reality that would be. She told us that the UD education is not “superficial” because, “we do not simply know the great works, but they live inside us, become us.” She said that when she met the Fugitive Critics, called also the New Critics and the Southern Critics, she noticed that they quoted Homer frequently. These works were ingrained in them, a part of their soul, not merely an object of their knowledge. UD aspires to offer their students this type of vision.
In discussing the ideal UD President, Dr. Cowan remained immensely refined considering the recent tension which has surrounded the office. Dr. Cowan stressed that the President must be a charming, public figure. His job is fundamentally to attain large monetary donations. The way in which one attains large donations is through going out into the city, into Dallas, and contributing to the city, getting involved in the city. As president, Donald Cowan would join city boards and attend city meetings. Dr. Cowan upheld the character of Dr. Lazarus as of the utmost kindness, never returning criticism with a harsh word and always remaining a gentleman. However, Dr. Cowan pointed out that he is “not a public man,” but a reserved man, and thus perhaps does not sufficiently go out and convince people of this school’s importance. One must literally go into the city, find the big potential donors, and convince them that the University of Dallas is accomplishing something extraordinary. The school does not need an academic leader—the faculty are doing a fine job, and do not need change. The school needs money. UD needs a president with the charm and enthusiasm to sell the school to the city.
Briefly mentioning the core, Dr. Cowan reminded us that it was never meant to remain static, but evolve. However, evolve in the right direction (an important qualification), i.e. towards a fuller vision of the Western tradition.
Dr. Cowan distinguished UD’s education from Great Books Programs. The latter is exemplified in an institution like TAC or St. John’s. She noted that the students there are essentially debaters, as the seminar/debate style of the classrooms there encourages students to see problems, to doubt every proposition. The books can thus lose their integrity in relation to their entirety, and may never enter the students’ mind as a holistic vision.


An Angel Looking on Literature (“You can disagree with me.”)
“We should look upon literature as the angels look upon the works of man.”
Both startling and profound, this statement underlay every interpretation of literature Dr. Cowan gave that afternoon. When we approach to literature we ought to match the wonder which the angels have in considering man’s works in context of the divine plan. This notion encompasses the reason why we love literature, the mystery that keeps us in pious awe and compels us to seek the UD education and latch onto its mission.
“Fiction is in decline.” Later she would say poetry is, too. A great writer, as opposed to a good writer, captures a layered meaning reflected in the Medievals’ four-fold method, where the highest level, the spiritual level, is the anagogical. Jane Austen is a good writer, rendering things beautifully, but remains at the moral level, as do many Victorians, and thus is not great. She apologized profusely for her blunt opinions. Jane Austen was never in the core at first for this reason. Madame Bovary also remains at a moral level, but is rendered spectacularly. As she was considering converting, Dr. Cowan discovered that Madame Bovary was on the Index, and hesitated in her decision to be Catholic. Madame Bovary is completely orthodox. She commented to the side that the Index had noble intentions, but simply did not know how to read literature. Great works get at something mysterious, unknown, beyond the veil. Moby Dick showed what the novel could be, revealed the scope to which the genre could aspire. “The greatest novel in the world is Brothers Karamazov,” for it simply has everything.
Dr. Cowan thinks it inappropriate to approach an artwork and judge the characters good or bad; she detests professors who hate Odysseus because he is unjust. We are not meant to judge characters, but we are “to look upon literature as the angels look upon the work of man,” with wonder in relation to its place in the overall divine plan. Wonder at the intricacies, depths, and mysteries of human life is the mark of a good reader of great works.
She enumerated a list of books we should all read (novels) which included most of the Lit Trad. sequence, but notably also contained Brothers K, Anna Karenina, Absalom Absalom, Light in August, Dubliners, Ulysses, Portrait, Lord Jim
Peter asked about the difference between the reader judging Odysseus and Dante’s condemning him to hell and Cowan recognized that Dante is obviously doing something different. She also emphasized that the journey of the Divine Comedy is reflected in most great works.
“Literature is an organic thing,” just as Eliot spoke of culture in Tradition and the Individual Talent, where “organic” has a very important place, underlining the character of great books to change the meaning of the whole, to add to the ever-growing, unified tradition. Not just the meaning in our minds changes, but literally the meaning of the work changes. Joyce’s Ulysses transforms Odysseus in the Odyssey.
Interestingly, Dr. Cowan was not familiar with poetry until she met her husband, a physicist with a deep love for poetry. On being asked who were the greatest poets, Dr. Cowan opined that Keats has been the greatest poet of all time, one who reached depths which no other poet has uncovered. She also named Donne, Marvell, Hopkins, Eliot, Frost, and a few others as great poets. Shakespeare’s sonnets lack the same mysteriousness of Keats’ poetry, as Shakespeare’s sonnets, undoubtedly both beautiful and genius, are intellectual exercises. She said all this—apologizing several times—while maintaining that, of course, they must be read as Shakespeare is the most important writer in the English language. Dr. Cowan remarked that her husband could remember the sonnets and would recite them even after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
She also mentioned some current poets. She recognized Jorie Graham as an example of someone who is good but missing something, perhaps because in the midst of a shift in myths there is nothing to undergird contemporary poetry. A minor poet is one who never strikes a false note, a note of sentimentality, writes beautifully and flawlessly. A successful minor poet is John Crowe Ransom. A major poet does all this, but accesses themes and mysteries which journey beyond the veil, embracing Keats’ negative capability in drawing forth the unknown. In this light, Allen Tate was a failed major poet. She briefly commented that perhaps if something did not happen to Tate which led him abruptly to stop writing, he might have attained the status of major poet.

Her comments about literature were as lofty and inspiring as her insights into culture and our role in society. In her mind, and as the University of Dallas has always believed, the two are united in the same love for the truth. In awe of the organic, interwoven whole of tradition, our calling is to take up the love for that tradition which we have inherited and carry society into a new myth transformed and guided by our actions, thought, and zeal. I think every person in the conference room might have stayed all day. Dr. Cowan seemed to want to as well: more than a few times, in the youthful spirit of UD she let us know, “if we’re running out of wine there is more in my apartment. I can go get it.” Dr. Cowan is a mother and a teacher. As any person there can attest to, separating the two is neigh impossible.


The gathering was on May 19th, 2009. Compiled by Peter Kane from the memories of Peter Bloch, Michael Horan, Mary Pat Jones, Laura Junker, Peter Kane, Anne Lorimer, Elizabeth Lowery, Alex Misko, Laura Papania, John Sercer, and Mary Watson.

An adventure for a poem

I came across this poem a while back, but it should remind us to always have adventures. It is by Mark Van Doren, a devout Catholic and legendary professor of English at Columbia back in the day. He taught Dr. John Senior, and (I believe) Paul Spring's father. I respect this man as a poet, teacher, and critic. This poem falls under "Adventure" poems; Van Doren has the muse in him, and it permeates his poetry

A Dream of Trains
Mark Van Doren

As long ago they raced,
Last night they raced again;
I heard them inside me,
I felt the roll of the land.
I looked out of a window
And I was moving too;
The moon above Nebraska,
Lonely and cold.

Mourned for all of the autumns
I had forgotten this:
The low hills that tilted,
The barrenness, the vast.
I think I will remember now
Until the end of the world
How lordly were the straightaways,
How lyrical the curves.

Words of Wisdom from Dr. Louise Cowan

Recently many fellow English majors and I had the honour of spending the afternoon with Dr. Louise Cowan. The afternoon was filled with wine, laughs, and deep and intimate conversation. Dr. Louise, even in her old age, is energetic, quick witted, and extremely charming. In our three hour conversation (most of which we spent simply and truly listening - our last lecture, if you will, at UD) Dr. Cowan spoke with delight about the founding of our university and her contributions to it. Her mind! I can't believe, as Goldsmith says, "That one small head could carry all [s]he knew." What a delightful way to end our education: to have wine and cheese, carry on a meaningful exchange, and baske in the wisdom of the founder and designer of UD's Core Curriculum. Dr. Louise spoke of many mystical and ponder-worthy subjects, but of all, the remark which struck me most pointedly was concerning our time and place. She said that we are in an interesting time in the world, that we are "between myths," by which she meant that the "old myth" of the Englightenment, acquisition, conquest, and masculinity was dying, and that it seemed to her that the "new myth" emerging was one in which the feminine would be dominant. She spoke of equality without egalitarianism, as in Wordsworth's poem:

"The Rainbow"

My heart leaps up when I behold

A Rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the man;

And I wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

In this poem, Dr. Cowan quoted that "The Child is father of the man," and that the truth in that lies in the worthiness of the child, rather than an actual hierarchy. The household is still intact, but there is a certain equality, which she believes will be part of the new myth. She seemed to hint that it would be our generation which would bring about this "new myth."
By the end, it seemed to me, that Dr. Cowan thought and acted and argued just like a UD student, only with much more charm, eloquence, and wisdom.
In the end, she listed a couple things that made me quite happy, which is that the greatest book in the world, which happens to be my favorite book, is The Brothers Karamozov, and that Andrew Marvell, my Junior Poet, is among the greatest lyric poets of all time. This, of course made a couple of us, whose poets had not 'made the cut,' sad. Shakespeare and Hardy did not make it. Sorry Mary Pat Jones and Mary Watson The shock of Shakespeare not being listed among the ten greatest lyric poets caused Mary Watson to question Dr. Cowan's judgement (and many of us were, if I am not mistaken) on Mary's side. Who messes with Shakespeare? Dr. Cowan, however, was most judicious and gracious in her response, which she e-mailed to Laura Papania a day or so later:

"Laura, I very much enjoyed meeting with your friends; they are lovely people. Sorry that I wasn't able to get to know them before they graduated. I worry, however, about all the unguarded things I said! When I'm around students, I feel so intimate that I don't hold anything back. Would you please see if you can find the young woman who sat on my right and did her "junior poet" project on Shakespeare? I'd like her to know that of course I consider him the greatest writer in the English language. The dramas grow richer the longer one knows them. I was referring to lyrics when I was a bit dubious about whether I'd place him among the ten greatest. The sonnets are magnificent; but they are really intellectual exercises, in a way. The lyric is such a fragile (though powerful) utterance that its "intimations of immortality" hardly stand up to the intellectuality of the sonnet form. But Shakespeare's sonnets are masterpieces; and they are my constant companions. It's just that they don't quite penetrate the mystical veil that the lyric penetrates. But I realize one would have to discuss this matter at more length. Anyhow, let her know that of course I place Shakespeare first in the English language! Best wishes to you in your future undertakings. Louise Cowan"

Dr. Cowan - 1
UD English majors - 0

In the end, I enjoyed the time spent there with Lady Louise, who gave us strong encouragement to continue to keep our minds active and not to squander our fought for education. And, is it me or did she mention the oncoming dark ages? And New York city is better than Boston, by the way.

Please share your memories, dear classmates.

Day 1 of summer,

Peter Bloch

Starting the Road Trip from CUA
It is good to start this way.

Our destination calls us to the snow blasted fields,
A purple house next a grainless silo, a frozen pond.
At the CUA, a blending of ancient
and modern
has been built up, to the grandeur
of universal ideas.
A dip in the font: my head, belly, and shoulders.
A kneeler bends, the empty marble echoes its sound.
Tourists cyclopean,
Attending without being
Able gracefully to capture
The omnipresent, illusive mystery.
And yet they are here too.
Emmanuel, and do we know it?
Two in the afternoon at Kirk's house
Looking at Google for our destination.
We are called to the snow blasted fields,
Next to a grain silo and a warm house,
With a wood burning stove to keep
The snowmen - those with a mind
Of winter - at bay.
It is good to start this way.

12/30/08

One of My Favorites

since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things

will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool

while spring is in the world

my blood approves,

and kisses are a better fate

than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. don't cry

—the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

–E.E. Cummings