Month: June 2008

Dragonfly Death (Another poem)

I biked this week on a sunny day,

A dragonfly joined me on the way.

Green and clear and swift it flew,

A gust came up and off, it blew.

It was a joy to see the way it darted,

A moment passed and it departed.

But we were both at risk as cars roared by,

I hope we don’t get hit and die.

This one was inspired by a true story. Yesterday morning as I biked to
my sister’s commencement ceremony, a large green dragonfly caught up
suddenly and flew next to me for a moment or two before darting off.
It may have been sizing me up as a potential mate or prey. Then, it
darted off again. I thought, what a wonderful thing that this ancient
arthropod can persist in the city. They have survived in essentially
the same form since the Carboniferous period (though they were then
much bigger). And what a joy to bike side by side with it for just a
moment. Then I thought about the shitty road which threatened to slice
my tires open, and about the cars screaming by which could easily kill
me or the dragonfly. And it seemed we were both in the same situation:
it was a beautiful day to be a biker or a predatory dragonfly, and yet
it was such a high-risk experience. I think I need to add two more
lines expressing the transience of the dragonfly’s presence.

In other news, I went to the Loring Park gay pride festival yesterday
with my little sister. It was pretty gay. I had some really good
cheese curds, and I got some free lube.

~Isaac

Update: I added those two lines that were lacking, and now I am a little more satisfied with the poem.

Rest in Peace, Joe Sodd III

Joe Sodd III, a high school classmate of mine, was stabbed to
death early yesterday in the Augsburg College area. He was stabbed
once in the neck and was apparently on his moped when he was attacked.
There is a very good article on his friends’ and family’s reaction and
his dance work at Cornish College of the Arts (Seattle) here:

http://www.startribune.com/local/20302819.html?page=1&c=y

I didn’t know him all that well. We had a couple of classes together
and we talked in school and at a party at his place. But I do have one
little thing to contribute to remembering Joe. When I read “Paul’s
Case,” a short story by Willa Cather, I pictured Paul as looking like
Joe Sodd. I did this because Joe seemed, from how I knew him, to be
just like Paul from the story.

The story goes like this: Paul was a bright-eyed youth in Pittsburgh
who always wore a red carnation in his shirt and seemed to irk the
high school administration with his preoccupied mannerisms and the
sense that he was unconcerned with them, wanting to do his own thing.

Paul worked as an usher at a theater in Pitt and this experience
fueled his nebulous but potent dreams. He eventually took the train to
New York City, escaped the monotony of his home and school, the smell
of cooking, and the normalcy/idiocy of life there. He stayed in a
hotel in New York, watched performances in smoke-filled rooms, used up
all his money, and lived a brief life of beauty and art.

Instead of going home (which he had never planned to do), he killed
himself by jumping in front of a train on a freezing cold night. Willa
Cather links the red color of his carnation with the red color of his
blood when the train kills him.

Now Joe Sodd is dead, but I’ll always remember him as having lived a
brief life of beauty that ended in violence. I remember the bandanna
he wore once in Ms Hubbard’s class. I remember his amazing tap dance
performance at the South High talent show. I remember the tearful
reaction of his friends. And now I am going to re-read “Paul’s Case,”
and once again I will picture Joe as the protagonist. This time it
will have even more poignancy.

I’ll read it again and again, Joe, and never forget you.

Isaac’s Job Prospects

Yesterday I biked downtown for a “Strength and Agility Test” at the
Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s office. I am applying to be an
investigative assistant there, so I had to show up and prove I could
lift 100 pounds. Corpses can be heavy, and I’ve learned that people
often die in inconvenient places.

For example: when you’re old and constipated, you bear down hard on
the toilet because you’re trying to poo. All the blood leaves your
head, and when you stand up, you faint. The fainting itself would
normally not kill you, but you may hit your head on the porcelain
toilet and get real crammed and dead in there between the toilet and
the bathtub. Then I (in my future job) will come and pick you up, for
twelve dollars an hour. I won’t get paid per corpse, but rather by
hour.

This is just one possible scenario among many that make a “Strength
and Agility Test” so necessary.

Anyway, I volunteered to go first. I picked up the weight, went down
the hallway, up the stairs, and back down again. The other guy passed,
too. The girl failed and was told, “You can try again next year.” I
imagine she’ll just find another job instead, though, rather than lift
weights for a whole year. It’s only twelve bucks an hour, after all.

After that, Amy and I went to the Central Library’s book sale and
bought some books. We’re good friends. We do other stuff, too, besides
just being friends. She bought me a book on growing bonsai trees, and
it’s completely in French.

Those are two of my favorite things, French and bonsai trees. I am not
yet fluent in French, though, and I have not yet grown a bonsai tree.
I have, however, been researching them for some time.

I doubt either of those skills will come in handy for my job at the
Medical Examiner’s. I should probably just start lifting weights
instead. Corpses can be heavy.

A Little Note

It seems as if every winter I get depressed and do something rash that
harms my relationships and sets back my goals. This time I have
finally turned things around and apologized to several friends in
Minneapolis that I turned my back on. I’ve already apologized in
person to several of them, but to anyone who is reading this I’ll say
it again: sorry for being such an ass a year and a half ago. You’re
probably reading this page because you like me or don’t like me (one
of those), so that’s why I posted it here. I am enjoying being back
with my old friends again!

~Isaac

Another Poem

Giggling, whirling on the tire swing,
Then retching, vomiting in the sand.

Making friends and losing them,
Thinking, “They don’t understand.”

Now as I discover the world,
I find a cold and lonesome boy.

Being often so happy and often so sad,
I know that life itself is pain and joy.

I wrote this poem while sitting outside the Northfield Dairy Queen on
a concrete picnic table in the bushy, dark green grass. When the wind
gently rocked the maple branches above me, I knew I was living a
moment of beauty, and I thought about how happy was at that time.

Then I reflected on why I was there, alone, in flight from the faces
of the people I knew. I was avoiding them as if paranoid, and this
desperation-tinged situation made me think of all the time I have
spent being very sad.

I sensed the poeticism of this violent flux in my well-being and
immediately felt the urge to write. I wanted to describe a pattern in
my life in which I am delighted and engaged at one time, and hopeless
and frustrated the next.

So, the first two lines refer to the visceral experience of parting
with one’s spaghetti after having a fun and childish evening on the
playground. (This happened to me in 2nd grade.)

Lines three and four refer to my peculiar and worrisome habit of
pushing new friends away before we can become close.

Lines five and six are about my quest for understanding. I love
learning, and this love has led me to an increasingly acute perception
of my own frustration, insecurity, and sadness.

But what’s the point in mulling over my situation? Perhaps I should
help myself through turning outward rather that inward. Perhaps I
should emphasize action rather than thought alone. Thought is where
rational action has its origin, but it is only a start.

Let’s act, then. Let me study “The Sibley Guide to Birds” now, and in
the process come to know about myself.