The Boss Discovers a Gem of a Poem: Late Fragment, by Raymond Carver

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

The Boss Discovers a Gem of a Poem: Late Fragment, by Raymond Carver

Nope. Not about Springsteen. But imagine if it was? Bruce, if you’re out there and if you dislodge a poetical masterpiece (somewhat east of Glory Days) from the dregs of time, please share it with the world. Cuz that would be solid.

No but today, my boss sent me this gem* as she stumbled upon it whilst (or while, if you must not be cockney) conducting an unrelated poem search. Too much back story. Here it is:

LATE FRAGMENT
By Raymond Carver

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Rumor has it (Rumor has it!) that this was Carver’s last writing. If you were to write just one last poem, what would it be? If you were to go out tomorrow but not know today but still somehow have the wherewithal to know, this is your last. What would you write? Would it be dark or joyful? Reminiscent or life-affirming or mad? Would you take it with you?

Why does Carver call his last words a fragment? Did he mean to go on? Is this only an excerpt of what Carver meant to be his unabridged last poem? Did he take that part with him? I like to think that.

Here is today’s literature know-how: Raymond Carver and John Cheever are not the same person. Though apparently, they were drinking buddies on several occasions. I say prove it! Show me the picture where the two men are linked arm in arm at the bar. Show me where their FB Timelines intersect.

From NYT, by Stephen King, Nov. 19, 2009

And until mid-1977, Raymond Carver was out of control. While teaching at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he and John Cheever became drinking buddies. “He and I did nothing but drink,” Carver said of the fall semester of 1973. “I don’t think either of us ever took the covers off our typewriters.” Because Cheever had no car, Carver provided transportation on their twice-weekly booze runs. They liked to arrive at the liquor store just as the clerk was unlocking for the day. Cheever noted in his journal that Carver was “a very kind man.” He was also an irresponsible boozehound who habitually ran out on the check in restaurants, even though he must have known it was the waitress who had to pay the bill for such dine-and-dash customers. His wife, after all, often waited tables to support him.

If King can testify to it, I’m in.

It’s good to have writing buddies, and drinking buddies, and buddies who do both separately but never the twain shall meet. Writing can be a tainted virtue. Have faith and, if you don’t have your own Cheever to procrastinate with… well maybe you’re already one great step past them in your creativity! Right on.

Cheever, Carver, Tomato, Cathedral, let’s call the whole thing off.

LW

*Thanks to DN for the fragment.

Fiction involves brain science. Brain science is not fiction. Repeat.

In a recent post, I was talking about the importance of nonfiction when it comes to balanced literacy programs vs. core knowledge. And if that means anything to you at all, you may also have heard about the piece that was in the Times on Saturday about how brain science is alive and well when it comes to reading. All hail brain science!

To begin, how many solid arguments do you suppose there are for advocating fiction in the classroom? Yeah. Hi. Only about a billion!

From NYT:

Researchers have long known that the “classical” language regions, like Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, are involved in how the brain interprets written words. What scientists have come to realize in the last few years is that narratives activate many other parts of our brains as well, suggesting why the experience of reading can feel so alive. Words like “lavender,” “cinnamon” and “soap,” for example, elicit a response not only from the language-processing areas of our brains, but also those devoted to dealing with smells.

Did you know this? It’s fascinating that a certain part of our brain can detect what cinnamon smells like just by reading the word. How often do you suppose that word comes up in essays or nonfiction? OK, maybe the answer is a lot. Or if it is not found often outside of recipes, then there are bound to be tens of thousands of other descriptive words that any essayist may have in his arsenal. I think the general idea is that, in nonfiction, you can’t use a word like lavender in the same way that you can in a fictional tale. It would not be quite as magical and would stir up only connotations of its color (or smell, depending on context). And yes, soap is soap is soap. Do our brains really register that much of a difference if it’s real or imagined?

The novel, of course, is an unequaled medium for the exploration of human social and emotional life. And there is evidence that just as the brain responds to depictions of smells and textures and movements as if they were the real thing, so it treats the interactions among fictional characters as something like real-life social encounters.

Fall into the story. I’ve tried to understand what that means my whole life. Is there any equivalent to reading a novel? What it does to you or how it makes you feel; how it forms in you (at an early age) so many different ways in which you can view your own world. How you relate to others based on characters you once knew in books. How much of an influence stories were in our lives! If we are read the right ones, I suppose. Whichever those may be.

 … novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people’s thoughts and feelings. … A 2010 study by Dr. Mar found a similar result in preschool-age children: the more stories they had read to them, the keener their theory of mind ( [the] capacity of the brain to construct a map of other people’s intentions )

It is true that when reading a straight narrative of who, what, where, why, and when, you aren’t often given the emotions behind the facts. And that’s probably how it should be. Students should learn from informative texts as EQUALLY as they do from their stories and their fantasies. Again, heh, I am respectfully (and I guess politically) on both sides of this. Why should one side outread the other? Can’t there be a fair and equal balance? I imagine the problem would come then between grades. If a student has different teachers as he/she progresses through K-12, who’s to say which texts are right for each level? Who is to say? Maybe there doesn’t have to be such a fuss about it after all. Maybe these are only idiosyncrasies in an otherwise scattered and non-centralized educational system. Can any one answer be right?

Reading great literature, it has long been averred, enlarges and improves us as human beings. Brain science shows this claim is truer than we imagined.

Word to that.

-LW

*Interesting note: When you type the word “fiction” into Google Images, the first that pops up is Alice and her croquet racket (above).