Feministing Sarah and Hagar by Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente


This resonates with me in part because I am working on a set of poems written from the viewpoint of these and other Biblical women rather than from the viewpoint of the males who “wrote” the Bible.

Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente's avatarFeminism and Religion

sarah_hagarOne story that has marked my life as a feminist is that of Sarah and Hagar. This is a story of pain and enmity among women under patriarchy that despite its age, is still relevant to illustrate the negative effects of the androcentric socialization. But it can also hold an inspirational feminist reading that leads us towards a reflection on the amazing possibilities of a shift in the way we women look at each other.

Feminism is a political practice, an ethics for living based in an option for women. It is not or should not be a Diploma, a chair where to work from 9:00am to 5:00pm, or an excuse to act from our own privileges against other women. In private and in public, in academia or in the street, in sexual, cultural, intellectual and religious affairs, a feminist is a feminist, without excuses or regrets.

This year I was part of…

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Contemplations, High School Seniors–May 18


Rarely do I go ten days without posting on my blog.  I teach English IV in high school.  Most people think students want to graduate, will do what it takes to do so.  Such is not always the case.  Ten days ago, at the time of my last post, at least ten per cent of my senior class members did not have passing grades.  When the school looked at all classes, including math, the percentage hit 47.  Hard to believe, I know.  After nearly harassing students about missing papers and their grade, emailing parents, and hunting students down during other classes and the hallways to remind them, I am down to only a few not passing.

Several types of students exist, including those who work hard and care no matter what, those who think a miracle will occur and they will pass no matter what, and those who really do not care all that much and think whatever, it won’t matter.  Today we had Senior Day.  As a teacher delegated to go, I spent from 8 to 4 with nearly 90 students between the ages of 17 and 19.  All the above groups presented themselves to jump endlessly at a trampoline club and later at the local university athletic center to engage in the activity of choice.

Some students demonstrate the social ability to move from group to group comfortably.  Others, like several young women with whom I walked, exercised on various machines, and then played racket ball, feel comfortable chiefly with close, at least somewhat serious friends.

This leads me to contemplate what creates career success in life.  Social dexterity helps as does a decent work ethic.  Intelligence matters also.  The more adept combine all these.  Is it possible to find success if these are lacking?  It depends on the chosen career and what the individual wants to achieve.

Last year some of the smartest students, especially females, made choices that in the short run cut off their academic life.  Some are working, some waiting for a baby to be born.  Several who demonstrated less academic acuity in high school have finished their first year of college quite successfully.  Some of their choices continue to mystify me.

Yesterday, a freshman commented to a senior that freshmen year does not matter much.  The senior, who does have ambitious college plans, immediately corrected the freshman.  He expressed regret at not taking high school more seriously sooner.  It does matter.  Choices a student makes as young as 14 and 15 can affect the rest of his or her life.

The question I keep thinking is this:  how do I as a teacher help them make wise decisions?  The literature we read aptly demonstrates the effects of both good and bad decisions.  Does that help?  How many will only learn through life’s hard lessons?

 

Note:  Four female students who do care walked into my classroom yesterday and presented me with a red rose bush ready for planting.  I will plant it this weekend.

 

 

 

 

Barbie Doll


This poem praises my mother.  It is page 17 of my memoir in poems, “On the Rim of Wonder”.  It seems appropriate to republish it here for Mother’s Day.

 

Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed, and blond, my mother,

one fearless, controlling woman.  Long after Mom’s death, Dad said,

“Barbara was afraid of absolutely no one and nothing.”  They married

late:  34 and 38.  He adored her unconditionally.  She filled my life

with horses, music, love, cornfields, hay rides, books, ambition.  Whatever

she felt she had missed, I was going to possess:  books, piano lessons, a

college education.  Her father, who died long before I was born, loved fancy,

fast horses.  So did she.  During my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my

hysterical night coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her

in a wagon.  With less than 100 pounds and lots of determination, she

stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri River Bottom,

strong, willful, free.

Modern Politics and Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz


Who would think that a Mexican woman who wrote poetry more than three hundred years ago would have anything applicable to today’s political arena?  About one and one half years ago, my daughter returned from a business trip with a little gift, a translation of Sor Juana’s work.  It is not the sort of literature I sit down and read all the way through.  It is deep, questioning, the sort of literature you savor here and there.  A few minutes ago I opened the book once again to read one of her ballads–typically referred to as romances.   However, this is not exactly a romance.  It reads:

“One who is sad criticizes

the happy man as frivolous;

and one who is happy derides

the sad man and his suffering.

 

The two philosophers of Greece

offered perfect proofs of this truth;

for what caused laughter in one man

occasioned tears in another.

 

The contradiction has been framed

for centuries beyond number,

yet which of the two ways was correct

has so far not been determined;

 

instead, into two factions

all people have been recruited,

temperament dictating which

band each person will adhere to.”

 

This is only a small portion of the ballad.  It is ballad 2 in the translation by Edith Grossman.  The introduction to the book is by one of my favorite authors (I have read all her books published to date), Julia Alvarez.

 

 

First Flowers on the Rim of Wonder


Spring comes several weeks later in the country compared to town.  The recent rains caused a sudden rush of beauty for wild flowers and iris which grow here almost as readily as the wild, native plants.  They seem to appreciate this high, semi-arid country.

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These iris thrive in spite of native, caliche soil, no extra water, nothing.  About 1 1/2 years ago, I simply planted them without soil amendment or fertilizer.  These are rebloomers.  They will bloom again in autumn.

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These I planted along side the barn.  Once again no soil amendment, nothing extra.  However, they receive extra water from rain running off the barn roof.

Notice, the tallest one.  I did not even know I had one that color until it bloomed.

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Here it is up close.  Now for the wild flowers I found just strolling around after letting my horse out to graze.

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After looking through a couple of native plant books, I gave up on identifying this one.  If someone who reads this knows, please tell me what it is.  I have also heard there is an app for my iPAD that identifies plants.  I have yet to find it.

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This grows by the retaining wall near the barn.  Although the flowers look like guara, the rest of the plant does not.  What is it?

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Chocolate flowers were in full bloom a few days ago.  Here is one still blooming with a few scrambled eggs (yes, the common name for the smaller flowers) here and there.

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These carpet large portions of the pasture.  Guessing they are some type of wild onion but not certain.

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The blackfoot daisies are just beginning to bloom.  They will cheer up the landscape all summer and into the fall.

As more flowers bloom, I will add photos of flowers living here on the rim of wonder.

 

 

 

 

Saturday Night


Read two pages,

“Ghana Must Go”.

The wife’s Nigerian,

Yoruba, Igbo.

She sells flowers,

not in Nigeria.

The author’s name

Ethiopian?

Sip zinfandel

flowered glass.

Take a bite

chocolate filled

peppermint,

lick peppermint

fingers.

Read two pages:

“Africans…the indifference of the abundantly blessed…

who can’t accept, even with evidence, that anything native,

occurring in abundance, is exceptional without effort,

has value.”

Does anyone?

 

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Woman Is Not Anonymous by Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente


Vanessa Rivera de la Fuente's avatarFeminism and Religion

Vanessa Rivera Virginia Woolf

Lately I have been reflecting on this quote of Virginia Woolf: “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.” Here she points out the deliberate invisibilization of women’s contribution in all areas of human endeavors.

Patriarchy always takes these contributions for granted. For centuries, domestic labor has been invisible and not considered work. It has put beauty over intelligence, even with women of outstanding intelligence. And in terms of knowledge and intellectual production, patriarchy has appropriated women’s ideas and in presenting them as “anonymous,” presents them as it’s own.

Thanks to the feminist reclaiming of history, and proving the accuracy of the premise that “Anonymous is woman,” we have learned of the long list of inventions that were made possible due to women’s ideas who were kept invisible, unnamed, unquoted,  and erased;  after all, she was “just” a “woman.”

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First Iris


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First spring iris

early evening light glows

soft wind whispers

 

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Note:  for those interested in growing iris, these rebloom.  They will bloom at a minimum again in the autumn.  They are so prolific, that I separate them annually and throw them everywhere I have a blank space like here near the barn.  They will bloom for at least a month.