Back in July, I found out my yoga teacher, Hanoi, was coming back to conduct a series of Anusara wokshops. Since I'm now in Dubai, attending his workshop was not possible.
So my friend just sent me this note from Hanoi and her - to remind me of what's important.
Thank you. I love you guys.
Howdy. Just uploaded some photos from Dubai on my flickr page. Please be warned there are some gruesome pictures of dead sharks.
After all this time off-line, I finally managed to catch the free wifi at the Starbucks near my apartment. My grande cafe latte is cold and I still have to catch up on my work related emails -- which have been sorely neglected for these past week.
I wish I can say things have been going well at work; it hasn't. A lot of unforeseen delays, some of which we might have worked around if the Management had listened to advice given months ago. As they say, hindsight is always perfect, and we are left with the "If only". What frustrates me now is the refusal of the Management to learn from mistakes. My old patterns are surfacing, where in a position of frustration and powerlessness, I go into a stubborn, passive-aggressive mode. They have already cut my off-day to one day a week, in spite of the standard Friday/Saturday weekends, because we're rushing for an unrealistic deadline.
My yoga practice has also been neglected, because the air-conditioning at the new apartment is so frakking cold, I wear a jacket to sleep every night. I can't turn the air-con down because the temperature control is centralised (but centralised by whom, I have no idea). It drives me crazy having to live with the cold indoors, and the heat outdoors. Waking up every morning to a freezing apartment with stiff muscles doesn't encourage me to practice. I need to find a way around this soon. Does this mean practicing on the balcony, in full view of all my neighbours and everyone else around the block? Does this mean shorts are out for yoga practice?
A lot of people are excited about Dubai. I've only been here slightly more than one month, most of it spent working, so it's unfair for me to make any fair or accurate judgement on the city. But I'm not sure if I will ever learn to love the city. It's one of the fastest growing city in the world right now, with one of the fastest growing population because of all the people coming into Dubai for work.
For me, Dubai is not like the Paris of my imagination. The City of Lights is a place imbued with a romance, an ideal. Illusion or not, some city has a soul that sings to us; we love the place before we even set foot on it. Some cities however, speak in an alien, garbled tongue. Perhaps it is our fault for the failure to comprehend - but in Dubai, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Many people come to Dubai for work, for an opportunity to cash in on one of the fastest growing cities. Some are fortunate, but many are lucky just to survive in this city where everything cost more than they do back home. The Dubai that I have seen this past month is a place drowned in overt capitalism. I believe there is another side to Dubai that I have not met. A spiritual and compassionate side - a more human side of an ancient city. Alas, that Dubai is overshadowed by its loud, vulgar brother right now.
I'm trying to make the best of my experience here, and trying to accept what the city has to offer. It has at least offered me some educational experiences, not always pleasant.
I am an ethnic Chinese with fair-skin; I have been mistaken for various races - Japanese, Korean, Indonesian, even Filipino. In Dubai, some people don't quite know what to make of an ethnic Chinese from Southeast Asia who speaks English. Since they have a lot of Filipinos in Dubai to fill the lower strata of their service industry, they often mistake me for a Filipino. There has been several incidents where my skin-colour became an issue. At local supermarket near my apartment, the cashiers are obviously more polite and obliging to the Caucasians in the same queue. I can't even ask a cashier to break my 1,000 dirham note for my purchase while there was no question asked of a Caucasian lady who did the same. During business meetings, people talked down to us because of the colour of our skin. As the racial majority in my own country, racism isn't personal, though it exists - for others. Racism is something that we are allowed to ignore back home - smug and sheltered from the reality, pretending it isn't an issue. Here, now in Dubai, I am a minority race, and the cashier down the street looks down on me.
When you travel, the racism isn't always as prominent, perhaps because I usually travel to places where I am perceived as a source of good tourist dollar; the natives usually love my fleece. Living and working in Dubai, while trying to save a few pennies, things are different. I can go back after one year, of course, but this experience has at least been enlightening, for those for whom running away is not an option.
O Dubai. You offer me much riches, though you make me earn them.
Today is Friday, which should be a weekend in Dubai -- but guess who's working? And tomorrow is Saturday, which should also be a weekend off back home and in Dubai. Again, guess who will be working?
Things really work at their own pace here in Dubai. Try as you might, things will happen when they happen, and you just have to go with the flow. After all the delay, I am finally schedule to move into my long term apartment, nearer to the office. It will be a 2-bedroom apartment, and I will be sharing it with a colleague, H. Since the company is playing for the accomodation, I'm not complaining. Besides, I still get my own room, and it can be a good thing to have someone else around the place.
I'm okay with H. She was a little concern about sharing the cutlery and utensils with me at first, since I am vegetarian. I tell her it's fine as long as we clean the things after use. But that's more a matter of hygiene than "contamination".
I'm moving out on the 8th of October. The new apartment is barely furnished, and there will be some spring-cleaning to be done. Oh, how I look forward to sweeping, mopping and scrubbing. :(
In the midst of trying to get my work done, H and I also had to go shopping for things for the apartment. With the cost of living here, we have to really shop around for the best bargain. And H and I have different ideas of what is necessary for a living space. I prefer to work on bare minimum when it comes to furnishing the place. Pots and pans, yes, we need. But maybe not so many. We're not here forever. I conceded to H when she says she needs a doormat, because of all the sand from the shoes.
My lone contribution to the purchase of the doormat, besides the cost: "Can I just emphasize how hideous that looks?"
We have matching plates, bowls and spoons though - because I can't bear looking at ugly utensils everyday. H just rolls her eyes in disgust at how picky I am on the aesthetics on certain things.
H needs a proper bed. I'm just fine if they give me a mattress. I need a pillow, H doesn't. H wants a clean apartment, I am not as enthusiastic about the effort required to maintain a clean apartment.
Dubai has more than a hundred different nationalities living here. It is about learning to live and work with different people, learning when to compromise, when to assert yourself.
H is learning to live with someone who wants to live on the bare minimum of furniture. I am learning to live with H, who has scheduled WEEKLY housekeeping every Friday. Oh god. Did I mention I rarely clean my own room back home? Now I have to do it EVERY WEEK?
I'm learning. Oh, the experience of Dubai.
And work is going to be crazy. After all the waiting, the momentum finally seems to have built up. I will probably be offline again for the next 2 or more weeks, working overtime to rush for a deadline that I personally find unrealistic.
But we try. Meanwhile I am giving dirty looks at the broom.
Until later.
Finally, Eid has arrived, and the fasting month is over. The restaurants and cafes are finally open for business during daylight. This is such a relief.
Today is our day off, so three colleagues and myself, we went down to the Mall of Emirates. We followed some dubious directions within the mall when we were looking for the Dubai Community Theatre and Arts Centre -- which was supposed to have a small community library staffed by volunteers. The signages are very misleading, but we found it eventually.
Annual membership fee is 150 Dirhams, with allows you to check out 8 books, for 4 weeks. It was a modest place, but with some good titles. I went ape-shit happy when I saw the Freya Stark titles available. They also have a copy of Stark's East is West -- which has gone out of print and I have not been able to find a copy anywhere. It is the story of her war-time experiences in Egypt, Palestine and Syria, way back in the days when it was unthinkable for a woman to travel alone, much less in the Middle East. I grabbed the book immediately. There's also a few Graham Greene biographies that I have my eyes on. Next trip, I think.
Ah, yes, I am now a member of the little community library in Dubai. I'm so proud of myself. :)
Okay, maybe it was an impulsive decision to put down 150 dirhams just like this. I like the books available, but Mall of the Emirates is very far away from where I will be staying. Taxi fare will probably cost me around 80 dirhams to-and-fro. Is it worth it? I don't know.
Also borrowed: Bookless in Baghdad, by Shashi Tharoor, and The Selected Essays of Gore Vidal.
Until later.
Hi Everybody. I've managed to log in today in spite of the slow connection at the service apartment. Internet access is still unreliable, so I had to prioritize and use whatever online time I can manage for work related emails. This blog unfortunately, has to stay dormant for a while, until I move into my long term apartment and apply for a personal internet account.
But I'm still alive. A few days ago I came down with a bad case of diarrhea -- had some leftover Pakistani curry that didn't agree with me. I suspect I will be writing the word "diarrhea" very often during my stay in Dubai. I wonder if I'm spelling it correctly?:)
I am definitely turning into a vampire. Can I emphasize how much I hate the sun?
I was at the House of Prose today at Jumeira Plaza (thanks for the tip, Ella). It's a nice second-hand bookstore that look wonderfully stocked with titles - and I love the full, dark wood shelves. It's the kind of place I can stay for hours. But I was in the area for a business meeting today, so there wasn't much time to browse. Maybe this Friday I will pop by again. Or I might drop by Mall of the Emirates for the Carrefour and Borders instead. Somehow grocery shopping and browsing bookstores comforts me. Now I just need some reliable internet access, I will be right at home.
Something a little book related: I was at Festival City today, to visit the Magrudy's bookstore. I picked up two books at 15.00 Dirhams (approximately USD 4.00) each: Tim Robinson's Connemara: Listening to the Wind and Paul Bowles's The Sheltering Sky. I have been meaning to read The Sheltering Sky for a while now, so this is a good buy. As for Tim Robinson - I was curious about his writing since NYRB Classics reprinted his first book, Stones of Aran: Pilgrimage, which is about a nature walk around Aran, but it's more than a book about walking in nature. Since Stones of Aran is at home, in a box, I will have to settle for Connemara for the moment.
I like the layout of the Magrudy's at Festival City - or maybe I just like Festival City itself, with the view of the sea and the waterfall strctures around the place. Dubai is a HOT HOT place and I like the illusion of being surrounded by water.
I digress. But it's really HOT over here.
This morning I heard about the first Dubai Literary Festival coming next year, which starts February 26th. Among the writers that will appear in Dubai is Margaret Atwood and Frank McCourt. I am going to be there. No question about it. Imagine being able to meet Margaret Atwood -- in Dubai of all places. This posting may not be as difficult as it seems. :)
Until later.
Sorry for the very late update. I touched down in Dubai airport on Monday evening - or to be precise, 7:35 pm Dubai time. I later discovered to my horror that my laptop is unable to connect to the wireless LAN at the lobby of my apartment. I have been reduced to logging on via a crappy PC in the Business Centre of the apartment where we're staying. The connection is SLOW and I have to wait my turn to use it with the other guests here. Just yesterday there was a nosy Malaysian guy who kept looking over my shoulder while I was trying to check my personal email. He also kept asking me very detailed personal questions, none of which I wanted to answer - because I was already pissed at the lack of wireless.
Some people just do not understand the concept of personal space.
I am alive, thank you very much to everyone for their well-wishes. I had a safe flight, though they did screw up my vegetarian meal. *sigh*
Everyone who has been to Dubai talks about how the hot air just gushes at your face. They are right. Every time I walk out of an air-conditioned building, or even just out of the car - the hot Dubai air just hits me.
I'm wilting. And on top of that, most of the food and drink establishments are closed in the afternoon because it's the fasting month. So if you're outside - like I was yesterday - you're not going to be able to eat or drink. Hah!
I'm wilting. Only 3 days in Dubai and I'm down with a sore throat and a slight fever.
Until later.
Let me remember the meaning of Ithaka.
ITHAKA
As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery,
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with your pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbours you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind -
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvellous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
~ C.P. Cavafy (translated from the Greek by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)
Rachel Maddow's closing thoughts on September 11:
The President of the United States and the men who want to succeed him all expressed their thoughts publicly on the meaning of this anniversary today. Among other things, President Bush exalted America's response to 9/11. Senator McCain? ...the country's sacrifice. Barack Obama turned to the fight that continues.
Today will likely mark the last moment of pause before we choose the next President of this country. Until November 4th, we will, no doubt, overwhelmed by poll numbers, by political attacks and speeches and gaffes and counter-gaffes and outrages real and contrived. We'll even have moments of actual, substantive discussion of the issues.
So take this last moment's pause, before the bruising, sometimes mindless campaign starts again... in about an hour... to note the lessons about government and country that the horror of 9/11 and its difficult, 7-year aftermath have taught us.
Today, we are embroiled in two wars. Our government has no enunciated mission to complete, in order to end *either*. Osama bin Laden, whose nihilist madness orchestrated the most tragic day in this country's history, is assumed to be living in nuclear-armed Pakistan, in an ungoverned wilderness where we can't find him.
This week, the Partnership for a Secure America, which grew out of the 9/11 commission, gave the U.S. government a "C" grade on its efforts to protect America from chemical, biological, and nuclear threats. A "C" after seven years of supposedly-urgent work. The Rand Corporation recently estimated that al Qaeda, America's greatest enemy in the world, has restored its strength to pre-9/11 levels.
As we turn our attention back to the presidential campaign, to the choice we'll make in November, let September 11 remind us of what we require from our leaders and from our government -- competence.
Our choice isn't about language or personality or how well we relate to a politician. This day reminds us that our choice in November is about the competence of the government we'll elect.
For those in the position to vote for the new US President in the upcoming election - your choice do affect the rest of the world.
I was listening to the online streams of Alina Simone's music recently and they have begun to grow on me. What is amazing about her new album, Everyone Is Crying Out to Me Beware, is that it is entirely sung in Russian; I don't understand Russian.
Musician Alina Simone was born in Kharkiv, Ukraine and grew up in the suburbs of Massachusetts. She described her music as being "about people that bring you to the brink of joy and despair and about having epiphanies in the most ordinary places. " Her new album is a series of covers on the songs by Siberian punk-folk singer, Yanka Dyagileva. Though the language is lost in translation, the songs do not lose their emotional immediacy. Each song is a cry from the heart.
Popmatters on Alina Simone's new album:
The liner notes give us a translation of one song, “Beware”, from which the album’s title is taken. And with lines like, “I will have to swap the ritual / That I am sick and tired of / for a deadly missile”, we can see the stone-serious and poetic approach to songwriting Yanka had. And Alina Simone is the perfect performer to bring these songs to life, and hopefully bring Yanka Dyagileva to a new set of listeners. Like Nick Drake, Yanka’s life was short—she drowned mysteriously in 1991 at the age of 24—and her music was damaged and haunting. Simone’s renditions call to mind the space and cold of Siberia, where Yanka grew up. Each song echoes with the lonesome space that surrounds it, and when you get to the end of the album, you are drained. It takes energy to listen to this kind of sad beauty, and it takes a great performer to make it. Alina Simone has arrived now, and hopefully she isn’t going anywhere.
Alina Simone performs a song from her album, Everyone Is Crying Out to Me Beware :
"We should not even be talking about Sarah Palin because it's sexist."
[Thanks, Serene! I love Jon Stewart!]
I was looking forward to Shirley Manson guest-starring on the second season of The Sarah Connor Chronicles. What I didn't expect was how bizarre the stint will be. Her character is a T1000 (the Terminator made of liquid metal who can shapeshift) and here's a scene, where she morphs out of her cover - as a urinal.
Shirley Manson as a urinal. I know I'm repeating myself, but - huh?
Let us focus instead on the more rational reasons for loving Shirley Manson:
The red hair, the sultry intensity, and of course, the voice.
Let us not forget this: Shirley Manson for PETA.
There is reason for joy!
Some of my friends will be going to Dubai this October, and they are more than willing to help bring over some personal items for me. Since the books are the heaviest items in my luggage, I will be asking my friends to help bring over my books.
I am so glad for friends.
You might like to know the final list of books I have arranged to be brought to Dubai. Actually, you might not be interested at all, but I'm going to list them here anyway.
1. Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, Deborah Madison
~ Since eating out in Dubai will be expensive, most of my meals will probably have to be prepared at home. When I lamented to my friends that the thought of having to eat my own cooking everyday depresses me, The Lawyer told me, "What's why you get better."
I know practice makes perfect, but I also know I need some help. It's madness to bring a 752-paged cookbook onto the plane, but I actually did pack it in my backpack earlier. I'm so glad someone is helping me bring it over.
Did I mention how grateful I am for friends?
2. The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoevsky [translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky]
~ I'm trying to finish the volume but I may not be able to do so, which means it will have to come along. It's a heavy hardcover from the Everyman's Library. I'm definitely not being practical here. :\
3. What I Talk About When I Talk about Running, Haruki Murakami [translated by Philip Gabriel]
~ I just received my copy last week, so I had no time to pack it into a carton. It's coming along.
4. The Histories, Herodotus
~ I swear I need to finish this volume soon.
5. & 6. The final two volumes of Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time - The Prisoner and the Fugitive & Finding Time Again
~ Like I've said many times: I'm determined to finish the Proustian epic
7. Soft City, Jonathan Raban
~ Written in 1974, it's supposed to be part travelogue, part memoir, part essay on navigating the urban labyrinth. I mooched it some time back because Jonathan Raban was supposed to be one of those writers whose books defined classification.
It's a small mass paperback that slipped me as I was packing books into boxes. I decided to bring it along for variety since it's so compact.
8. Conditions of Love, John Armstrong
~ A slim volume on the philosophy of love. Again, for the variety, and because it's compact.
9. & 10. Asylum, Patrick McGrath & The Ghost Writer, John Harwood
~ For the R.I.P. III Challenge
11. Of Human Bondage, W. Somerset Maugham
~ I have a Bantam mass paperback version of this from years back. It's supposed to be one of Maugham's finest.
12. The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco [translated by William Weaver]
~ I'm reading it right now. It's in a handy Warner mass paperback. The pages are yellow and stained with oily fingerprints from the last time I brought it with me to Koh Samui.
13. Sitting: A Guide to Buddhist Meditation, Diana St. Ruth
~ To remind me of what is important.
Thirteen is auspicious, right?
I'm not even in Dubai yet, but I already have two business meetings scheduled within the week of my arrival. One of them is for Sunday morning, which baffled me a little initially.
"Who works on Sunday?" I thought. Then I remember: the Muslim day of rest is Friday, not Sunday. "Weekends" are usually Fridays/Saturdays, instead of the Saturdays/Sundays we are used to. But I heard some companies have Thursday/Fridays off instead. This gives new meaning to TGIF.
These are the little things that I need to adapt to over there. It's a different world, with different customs and different rules. Some of my colleagues over there right now are trying to get used to not being allowed to eat and drink as freely during the day. I heard one of them runs to the washroom when she needs to drink, so as not to offend Muslim colleagues who are fasting at work.
I don't doubt her sincerity. As a lifetime member of the National Rifle Assn., she doesn't just support killing animals from helicopters, she does it herself. She doesn't just talk about increasing the use of fossil fuels but puts a coal-burning power plant in her own small town. She doesn't just echo McCain's pledge to criminalize abortion by overturning Roe vs. Wade, she says that if one of her daughters were impregnated by rape or incest, she should bear the child. She not only opposes reproductive freedom as a human right but implies that it dictates abortion, without saying that it also protects the right to have a child.
[This is of course, taken out of context. Read the full essay here]
Just to beat a point to a bloody pulp. From Jeanette Winterson's column for The Times:
When I was at Shakespeare and Company, a boy of about 19 wanted a book he could not afford. He really wanted the book, and he really could not afford it. So Sylvia, who owns the store, asked him if he would come back later, shift boxes, help with the poetry event they were running - and then he could take the book.
I am sure that this breaks all the rules, but it mends the jagged gap between love and money. We need money, but not everything is about money, and books, even though they are bought and sold, are essentially about love.
I'm back to reading The Idiot right no. I hope to finish the book before I depart, so to avoid having to pack the hardcover with me. Right now I would rather spend the time reading and not blogging, but I can't seem to stay away from the laptop.
I understand this blog has been on a dry spell book-wise for a very long time. To compensate for this, I'll highlight Philip Pullman's selection of 40 titles for Waterstones's Writer's Table.
What I love most about Pullman's list is the variety. This is a true reader's list, one that I admire and set me to make notes for my own reading list. His Dark Materials series was a masterpiece of fantastic imagination. His reading list hints at the deeper pool of his literary inspiration.
Boyd Tonkin remarked on the richness of the selection in The Independent:
Against the dreary agribusiness of today's book trade, Pullman's ideal landscape is a dense peasant patchwork of contrasting genres, styles and eras. From such rich soil new masterpieces sprout. How apt that among his choices is Exercises in Style by the Parisian prankster Raymond Queneau, a theme-and-variations piece which tells the same yarn in 99 different ways. Look in chain bookstores these days and you will more often find 99 stories told in exactly the same way. We should relish the feast on Pullman's table while we can – and watch out to check how visible Queneau or Pessoa remain when this sumptuous banquet has been cleared away.
I had some time recently to think about what makes a good bookstore, and what makes a good reader. With the chain bookstores taking over the market these days, the selection available are getting more generic. Take a look at the bestsellers for different chain bookstores, and often you can't tell one from the other.
We need readers who will continue to demand good literature; we often forget that we, the readers, have the economic power to dictate what bookstore carries. We need to read widely, across genres, gender and languages if possible. Reading is the greatest freedom - and the most civilized form of rebellion. We should be the ones dictating what we read, not allow that choice to be made for us by some unknown book prize committee, or Oprah.
Pullman's list, as Boyd Tonkin points out, reminds us of the richness of literature that we need to continue to seek out, for our own sake. Great literature grows from rich soil, and monoculture can ruin the eco-system of the mind.
That said, bookstores have a responsibility to the readers. I understand it is a business (I am in the business of book-selling) Profit matters, because a profitable bookstore is able to keep its staff employed, pay for its purchases and maintain a book culture within the area.
A lot of booksellers seem to have forgotten that a bookstore is a knowledge-based industry though. You are not likely to find the Pullman selection highlighted in your usual chain bookstores. (That fact that this is a Waterstone's initiative warms my little bookseller heart. Perhaps all is not lost in the book industry) The list is too eclectic. In most bookstores, what you will find being highlighted is the usual New York Times bestsellers or its equivalent.
A bookstore has to be more than just clearing stocks and selling large quantities of books. A bookstore needs to be staffed with knowledgeable readers who are eager to share what they know about books. They should always be on the look-out for exciting titles to introduce to the customers. To be able to do that competently, the booksellers have to be people who read deeply, and widely.
*** I apologise if this post suddenly goes off-tangential. As I mentioned earlier, I was thinking about the responsibility of a bookseller recently, and how we need to do more in promoting the book culture. So much more effort needs to be made, but often we choose the easiest alternative. It is so much easier to throw out 300 copies of The Secret, or the newest Oprah Book Club selection. It takes more effort to promote an unknown author who deserves better recognition, and the sales may not amount to much. Yet it is necessary, because selling books is not the same as selling a pair of shoes, or a T-shirt or a frying pan. Books are about the heart, at least, that is so for me.
And the customers - the readers who come to our bookstores - who rely on our expertise as booksellers - are short-changed because we do not make the effort.
I grew up with the notion that 'escapist' reading was intellectually inferior to coolly analytical text, but now I'm on the side of Tolkien: those most likely to be upset by the notion of escape are the jailers. Now I'll read anything, as long as it's good, as long as it gives me that sense of multiplication, of time travel and life extension.
~ Nicola Griffith [Source]
[Response to The Guardian story]
The world is awfully absurd and you can always find evidence of it. In Britain, the exam board AQA had ordered schools to remove Carol Ann Duffy's poem, "Education for Leisure" from its GCSE curriculum. The reason? The poem supposedly glorified knife crime.
Duffy responded in the most civilised manner possible, I think. Instead of an outraged public statement, she wrote a poem about it: "Mrs Schofield's GCSE" (available on The Guardian).
Note: Pat Schofield is an external examiner at Lutterworth College, Leicestershire. She complained about Duffy's poem and called it "absolutely horrendous".
Contacted by the Guardian last night, Schofield said she felt "a bit gobsmacked" to have a verse named after her. She described the poem as "a bit weird. But having read her other poems I found they were all a little bit weird. But that's me".
Seems to me it's easy to want to ban something when you don't understand it. Yes, it's just you, Mrs Schofield. It's just you. (Full disclosure: I love Carol Ann Duffy's poems.)
I have included Carol Ann Duffy's banned poem in this post. You judge for yourself if it deserves to be banned.
Education for Leisure
Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
I have had enough of being ignored and today
I am going to play God. It is an ordinary day,
a sort of grey with boredom stirring in the streets
I squash a fly against the window with my thumb.
We did that at school. Shakespeare. It was in
another language and now the fly is in another language.
I breathe out talent on the glass to write my name.
I am a genius. I could be anything at all, with half
the chance. But today I am going to change the world.
Something's world. The cat avoids me. The cat
knows I am a genius, and has hidden itself.
I pour the goldfish down the bog. I pull the chain.
I see that it is good. The budgie is panicking.
Once a fortnight, I walk the two miles into town
For signing on. They don't appreciate my autograph.
There is nothing left to kill. I dial the radio
and tell the man he's talking to a superstar.
He cuts me off. I get our bread-knife and go out.
The pavements glitter suddenly. I touch your arm.
~ Carol Ann Duffy
Michael Dirda reads Neal Stephenson's Anathem - and isn't all that thrilled by it. [Full review]
To sum up: Reading Anathem is a humbling experience. Wow, you say to yourself, this guy Stephenson really knows a lot of stuff about philosophy and physics. And he's really ingenious, too, neatly counterpointing Earth/Orth history, creating a series of elaborate puzzles that can only be solved by Encyclopedia Brown and his monastic buddies, and transcribing intellectual conversations that sound like really nerdy Caltech grad students schmoozing at 3 a.m. or Cambridge dons pontificating at high table while they wait for the Stilton to come round.
The sad thing is this: None of these more than 900 pages can have been easy to write, or even to outline. Stephenson truly is gifted in the range of material he can draw on and play with. But he is also the sort of ambitious writer who tends to go too far, which is certainly preferable to playing it safe. Still, this novel is at heart artistically simplistic, despite its techno-razzle dazzle. Sigh. The word "Anathem" -- which here refers to either a piece of religious music or an act of excommunication -- is a portmanteau of "anthem" and "anathema" -- in other words, it suggests a song of rejection. I just hate to be singing it.
