Tuesday, January 31, 2012

That Little Planet on the Table

Dorothea Tanning, 1950:
costume design for The Witch (monstre)


Mark Doty in an interview with the readers of Smartish Pace:

"When I was a 17-year-old poet, and a dedicated young surrealist, I had a conference with William Stafford, a genuinely insightful and generous man. He read the three or four poems I presented to him while I sat quietly and watched. Then he said, 'Well, I have a feeling that these are poems in heaven, but they’re not poems on earth yet.'

I loved this. He conveyed to me that he could see the shining impulse, the interior world that the poem pointed to, but that I hadn’t yet figured out how to make this interiority available to a reader. But what he said, and the way he said it, made me feel I was capable of doing that work. It wasn’t impossible, and if I applied myself, I’d be rewarded. We went on and talked for a while about the poems or whatever, but he didn’t really need to say another thing."

Monday, January 30, 2012

B&B

Nichols' farewell performance (photo: Paul Kolnik)
(Elizabeth) Bishop and (George) Balanchine. Ballet and the reading life. My essay, "One Cluster, Dark, Astringent," forthcoming in the summer issue of The Southern Review, counts these (among others) as its subjects. In one section, I write about taking class with now-retired New York City Ballet principal Kyra Nichols at Berkeley Ballet Theater -- a totally unexpected event that changed the way I think about movement and phrasing. Although Nichols, who was one of the last ballerinas to receive direct tutelage under Balanchine, remains one of my favorite NYCB dancers, I'm also a great admirer of Wendy Whelan. (If there's ever an opportunity to see her perform "Agon," do so!) In Claudia La Rocco's "A Dancer Who Can Remember the Giants," choreographers and co-workers praise not only Whelan's obvious physical gifts, but also her intelligence:


“Whenever somebody says the word ‘muse,’ you do conjure up images of white marble statues of subservient women kneeling at the feet of a god holding a musical instrument,” Mr. Wheeldon said after a rehearsal. “Collaborator is a much better word. Ballet isn’t like contemporary dance, where the dancers are constantly using the time with the choreographer to improvise and develop material that way. In a ballet company it’s much more expected that you as the choreographer come up with the dance, and they do it. But Wendy’s not that way. She has ideas...” 

“I always have to look twice — Is that Wendy Whelan? — because she’s got this amazing ability to reinvent herself,” [choreographer] Wayne McGregor said in an interview in 2010 while creating his first work for City Ballet. “She’s just an extraordinary artist. And also I love that she’s like a racehorse; she’s got this Thoroughbred kind of body, where you actually see the musculature. You’ve got the tension, the viscerality of the body even when she just stands there. And then you’ve got the experience, which makes a difference...”

“I hear all the time she’s the quintessential Balanchine ballerina that has never worked with him,” said Craig Hall, a soloist who joined the company in 2000 and who has become one of Ms. Whelan’s regular partners. “All of the things we think about with Balanchine, she makes those things so crystal clear. Watching her dance in his ballets, I think, This is what he wants....

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Agon. (Photo: Paul Kolnik)
Whelan's talents are striking, as is her tenacity: as a dancer, she works doubly not only to master technique, but also to train her body to perform despite having severe scoliosis. Years ago, I remember reading a cover feature in Dance Magazine in which Whelan explained that when she was a child, doctors predicted that she'd have trouble overcoming her back's weaknesses. Their diagnosis left little optimism for a career in ballet. Whelan, however, was determined. At 12, she began wearing a brace, taking it off only to bathe and to dance. She wore it for five years. At 17, she joined NYCB's corps de ballet.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

O Christmas Tree...

handmade sleigh courtesy of jordanian friends
...you're still all bobbles and light, all ribbon and cones, all glitter and skirt and metal stand standing tall in the north corner of our formal living room well into the recesses of January. Christmas tree we sought in vain for weeks, returning three Saturdays straight to Mecca Mall's third level only to find all the seasonal items sold, but for a few stray boxes of hooks and Styrofoam snowmen. How we roamed the Home Goods section of Safeway (having heard you were there) only to find all four and a half feet of you, little wiry tree, in a specialty shop on the outskirts of Sweifieh -- imitation needles and trunk housed in cardboard and waiting to be assembled. You were our son's first woodland pine, a boy's sleigh stalled beneath your branches. How we stood beside the artificial evergreen of you and, smiling, posed. O Christmas tree. O Tannenbaum.

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People often ask what December 25 is like in the Hashemite Kingdom, where Islam is the predominant religion. Christmas in Amman is this: storefront displays featuring miniatures of the North Pole; lights strung up in shops; holiday cards and seasonal candy for sale; gingerbread houses, hand-carved olive wood ornaments; photo packages at the Embassy; "The First Noel" and "Silver Bells" blaring on loop in supermarkets; children's paper snowflakes taped to windows; church services and midnight mass; parties and caroling; two Arab Santas in full costume (fuzzy red suits, black boots, white beards) handing out presents in Abdoun on Christmas Eve. What's different or strange? Here, we receive more well wishes and holiday text messages from Muslim friends than we ever did stateside (minus cards, of course). In Jordan, winter doesn't really exist in the traditional sense. Jolly Old St. Nick arrives by camel.

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jabberwocky chewbacca
Last January, K. predicted that 2011 would be "a big year." Sure, I thought, and toasted. I didn't know then I was already pregnant. Turns out, K. was right: 2011 was huge! Arab Spring, bin Laden, the Royal Wedding (kidding). On a personal note, K. and I traveled to Italy, Austria, and the Czech Republic. My book was accepted for publication. We had our first son.

K. and I recently returned from a three-week trip to California where we introduced our baby to family and friends. We had a grand time reuniting with loved ones, some of whom we haven't seen in a year and a half or longer. Although goodbyes are always difficult, we were happy to return to Jordan. It's now 2012. Our still-decorated Christmas tree and seven-pound Brussels Griffon held down the fort while we were gone. We've lived here 18 months. Amman is home.