I've taught poetry for almost twenty years now, and for most of that time, I had a lot of faith in poetry and in myself as a poet. I saw poetry as the most authentic expression of language, because only in poetry is language both the means and the end of language. (In all other genres language is the means to an end.) I remember once telling a class that if the world were to be saved, it would be saved by poetry. I went on to explain: What if before our country engaged in war, the soldiers were required to spend a year studying the language of the "enemy" and then spend a second year studying the great poetry that has been written in that language. So that, say, before the US could attack Iran, soldiers would study the poet Rumi in his original tongue? One of my students (who had served in the army), in a gesture of outrage yelled, "But that would never work! No one would fight!" oh? . . .
Three years ago I was asked to join a group of faculty at Utah Valley State College which was putting together a new Peace and Justice Studies Program. It is a minor for now, but will become a major some time after UVSC becomes a university (which will be July 1, 2008). There are only about 250 peace studies programs in the US (compared to how many military schools/academies/programs?). I felt very good about the program and its importance (especially as UVSC is located in one of the most conservative areas of the country--we're the college that is a bit infamous over the backlash at having Michael Moore visit our campus just before the last election, and many people in the valley would like to see the lettering on the outside of our Liberal Arts building read "Conservative Arts Building").
Then, on August 18, 2005, my twenty-four year old son, my only child, Blake Donner, drowned in a caving accident along with three of his friends.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
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