Category: Linda Pastan

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Stop me before I sing again

My friend Erica just saw “Hamilton” and is in danger of appearing a little obsessed. Like me. She’s the one who gave me the cast recording, which I listened to many times  before I saw the show. As Wesley Morris said in his New York Times Magazine article, “To know someone who has this album is to know someone who needs a restraining order.”
It’s wearing. For me to ask Dr. D. to stand by saying, “Rise up!” “(Eyes up! Wise up!”) Those of you singing along right now know who you are. To wake up not knowing if what’s playing in your head will be “He got a lot farther by being a lot smarter/by working a lot harder/by being a self-starter” or the deliciously smarmy King George lines, “You’ll be back/wait and see/you’ll remember you belong to me.” I did say obsession. Or maybe it’s more like possession–being possessed by the songs.
Broadway and I have history. A brief mention of something can find me leaping to “It’s been a real nice clambake” or “you’re always sorry/you’re always grateful,” not always to the delight of the other person in the room “where it happens/the room where it happens.”
I love all those shows. I consider Cole Porter’s lyrics the essence of sophistication. The music from “Carousel” or “Oklahoma” makes me think  how revolutionary those musicals were when they first appeared. When I saw the Broadway revival of “South Pacific” a few years ago, its commentary on racism, first served up to an audience newly finished with World War II, felt even more astounding seen in our current century. And Sondheim–what can I say? The perfect voice for generations raised since Freud’s ideas became part of the air we breathe.  I even have a soft spot in my heart for “1776,” an earlier well-intentioned but forgettable go at portraying the Founding Fathers, for its rhyming of predicate and Connecticut. (It’s better in the context of the song. Trust me.)
And now this transformative musical that, thanks to the recording, has a reach far beyond the Richard Rodgers Theatre. Ok, possessed…obsessed….I’m there.
(An aside– proof it’s not just me::
Me to Erica—I’m crazy about Daveed Diggs.
Erica, before seeing “Hamilton”: Who’s Daveed Diggs?
Erica, after seeing “Hamilton”: I see what you mean about Daveed Diggs.)
Lin-Manuel Miranda’s brilliant show has also made me think about how much the brilliance of hugely gifted people adds to my life. Dr. D and I recently heard Matthew Aucoin’s settings for several James Merrill poems. We saw Maya Lin’s moving River  of Pins , which can’t really be adequately conveyed by a photograph. I read Linda Pastan’s newest collection of poems and thought, with awe, of how she continues to cover the same ground, poem after poem, book after book, going deeper rather than repeating herself, never failing to offer new insight, new understanding, new mysteries. I read Ron Chernow’s biography of Hamilton before I saw the  show, and that, too, is unforgettable, and impossible to put down, which is a little inconvenient since it’s 700-plus pages. What touches me, what reaches out and makes me feel lucky to experience these and other wonderful works is the passion with which they are created.
I am filled with gratitude.

And I would probably earn the gratitude of those around me if I could just rein in my Hamilton habit a little. (“I wish I could say that was the last time/I said that last time/ It became a pastime.”) Maybe if I just think of all those amazing works of art that I am grateful to have seen and heard and read, I can find the antidote to my obsession by thinking about—(oh no!)–”what they did for love…..”
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New on the bookshelf: “Lady of the Snakes” now in paperback

Is there more time to read in the summer? A lot of things lure us outside to garden, to play tennis, to go walking, canoeing, whatever. But there are those lazy beach days, back yard days, rainy days that seem made for curling up with a good book. As if there is ever a day that wouldn’t be improved by doing that. Well, here is a book to put on your list. I loved reading it last year when it was first out. Now “Lady of the Snakes,” by Rachel Pastan, has just been reissued in paperback. It’s a terrific read, with engaging characters and the interweavings of fascinating story lines.

I asked Rachel to talk a little about the book. And, yes, the name Pastan has appeared here before. A few posts back I wrote about Rachel’s mother, Linda, who is a lovely poet and friend. You might be interested in seeing what Rachel has written about being a writer who is the daughter of a writer.

Here is what Rachel said about “Lady of the Snakes.”

“When I was expecting my first child I knew life was going to change, but after she was born I was astonished by how hard it could be to get through a day, even though I adored her. How could I make dinner, or take a shower, let alone get any writing done? When would I use my mind again, or do the work I loved?

“So I did what I always do when life surprises me: I looked around for novels that would reflect my experience back to me, to help me comprehend my life and feel less alone. To my dismay, I couldn’t find any. I decided that, when I could find some time, I would write the novel I had so much wanted to read.

“’Lady of the Snakes’ is the story of a young Russian literature professor, Jane Levitsky, with a young child. Jane is trying to find out the truth about the life and death of the wife of a famous 19th-century Russian novelist, while at the same time negotiating child care, outwitting a sly competitor, caring for a sick kid, and dealing with a Python-wearing graduate student. There’s a mystery here, and academic sleuthing, but at heart the book is about how you live when you’re torn between your passion for your work and your love for your family. Jane’s story isn’t my story, but her sense of being racked is mine.

“Many things have changed in the years since I began to write this book, and more novels featuring mothers of young children have appeared, but I’m amazed by how fraught the conversation about work and family can still be. I hope that, by telling one woman’s story, ‘Lady of the Snakes’ will offer both entertainment and solace.”

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Meanwhile outside the ivy-covered walls…

Most poets seem to have at least one foot in the academic world. They teach, they are graduate students, they have fellowships, grants, endowed chairs. But one of my favorite poets, Linda Pastan is not among them.

She has carved out a place for herself–a highly respected one that includes major awards and recognition–all from outside the literary community of colleges and universities. How did she come to do all that excellent work on her own? She and I recently had an e-mail conversation about that.

ES: I guess if we were sitting down to talk about this I would want to know how you went about constructing your career as a poet without the usual role models and support of colleagues the way you would have had in a university setting. How did you know how to proceed? Did you just start sending your work to journals? Did you have any poet friends to discuss your work with or were you working totally on your own?

LP: From the time I was twelve, I have written poetry, but when I got married after my junior year in college, I stopped. I consider myself a victim of what I call the perfectly polished floor syndrome. It was the fifties: I felt I had to have a homemade dessert on the table every night, even though I was still in school.

Ten years and 3 children later, frustrated and depressed, knowing somehow that I was supposed to be writing poems, my very supportive husband helped me construct a strict schedule for myself. I hired a baby sitter, borrowed my husband’s study, and started working for several hours every day. This kind of artificial discipline was (and is) necessary for me, or I would have waited another ten years, maybe even longer, to become a poet. (Now, at least, I have a study of my own!)

As for the publishing part, I had no mentors and it would be several years before I met other writers in the D.C. area who could advise me. So I just randomly started sending my poems to journals, and they randomly started accepting them.

ES: What about the whole psychological aspect? How did you develop and maintain your confidence in your work without those colleagues? Or maybe that part was easier?

LP: There are many advantages to living outside the mainstream of writing and publishing, here in the middle of six acres of woods. There is really nothing much to do except write poems, and so I write them.

I also think that the competitive atmosphere of a place like New York (where I grew up} would have inhibited me. And the few times I have taught in writing programs, I have not had enough energy left to do my own work– I am a very low energy person.

Of course, during the 20 summers I taught at The Bread Loaf Writing Conference, I was absolutely intoxicated by being with so many writers– all I wanted to do was to talk to them about poetry for as many hours as I could keep awake. I certainly do miss that. But now I travel half a dozen times a year to various colleges, giving readings and meeting people, and that takes care of some of the loneliness definitely inherent in my life. And I have finally met wonderful poets here in the Washington area with whom I can occasionally meet and share my work.

ES: I’m wondering, too, where your strength came from to believe in your work while you were “randomly” sending out poems. And if, when you met other writers, you felt a little intimidated or somehow “other” because they might have seemed to know each other or even speak a language that you, working on your own, weren’t using.

LP: I have always believed in my work, it’s the one thing that keeps me going. It’s not that I believe other poets aren’t better, but reading those poets only makes me resolve to work harder. They make me happy. It is only mediocre poems that depress me.

ES: I think you’re absolutely right to believe in the work. I don’t know that you can do it at all if you don’t believe in it.

LP: –And I just have to add that there certainly are times that I think my poems are entirely worthless and that I should be doing something more useful with my life!

ES: I’m glad this is what you’re doing with your life! Thank you.