Often it just takes a word to get one’s mind working. When I first encountered the word sophism I filed it away in my memory bank for recall, something I’ve done several times. It’s defined in my Webster’s New World dictionary as being "a wise and plausible but fallacious argument or form of reasoning, whether or not intended to deceive." We’re in the political hucksterism season again where it can be easily observed, and in the run-up to the current war the public was subjected to the false argument of weapons of mass destruction being a compulsive cause.
Sophistry brought us to the present state of world affairs and also takes us elsewhere. A recent Newsweek ran a small 50 word article reviewing the book How Toyota Became #1 which caught the attention of my critical gaze. For reasons, some earned, some promoted through sales pitch, Toyota gained a lot of favor with the American public and people seemed to think they were the best. I always thought they were overpriced, but with buyers willing to give more for something they thought was better, sales numbers took Toyota to the top. But they have problems, too. The little article I refer to talks of engine-sludge lawsuits, more recalls than sales, and a top manager leaving to accept the same job at Chrysler.
A whole category of professionals exists to sway and convince people. Advertising agencies do nothing but peddle propaganda for clients who pay them to do so. Maytag claims their repairmen sit around with nothing to do because their product is so good. I doubt it. Gas stations claim to sell the best gas, but whenever I drive by a certain gas terminal on I-94 I see tankers from different companies waiting in line to load. TV preachers sell salvation for those willing to buy. With so many of them proclaiming that they hold the key to heaven, does it mean folks who don’t follow their persuasion will not get there?
When I was a little boy I remember seeing one particular fellow sitting on a bench on main street telling fish stories and stretching his hands wide to illustrate the length of that fish. Each time he told the story the distance between his hands grew bigger. His was the humorous lie.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
How Big Is the Cage?
On my latest trip to the library I browsed through a favorite section, the biographies. I never know which book will jump out and beg to be read. This time it was Merle Haggard's Sing Me Back Home: My Life. I opened it and read in its prologue where he spoke of waking up, extremely hungover, in a prison. It was just one of the many brushes he had with the law, and he had to work his way through them all to reach a certain stage of maturity before he could turn his energy into something more creative and positive, in his case, writing songs and performing. The argument can be made, I suppose, that his early life validates the type of songs he writes. Maybe they are a rebellion against the growing constraints of society.
Recently, I had read a magazine article and made notes where Haggard was interviewed. One of the questions he was asked was what he misses about the America of 40 years ago. He replied, "I miss the freedom. I'm crazy about liberty and freedom, and they've taken all our freedoms away. You can't do anything. Everything's illegal ... People don't seem to realize it. People act like this is the way they want it." I recognize that philosophy as a strong theme running through his songs. I can't help but think about recent trends where the U. S. Constitution seems to have slipped in relevancy, and a small, select group of people in the upper echelon of government interpret or ignore it to suit their purposes. When I studied Political Science I learned that was an oligarchy.
Freedom is a notion that I've always considered important, too. It is one of the themes that catches my eye, especially when I see it shrinking away. I read once what the legal eagle Gerry Spence, the one with the cowboy hat and fringed buckskin jacket, said it about it in one of his books, "What if we have been born in a cage like the polar bear at the San Diego Zoo, and having known nothing else, we accept the cage as freedom?" Dad talks about remembering when highway stop signs first got planted at intersections and how there was an uproar from some who felt a freedom was being taken from them. Of course, there is the concept of protecting the greater good, and some laws need to be in place to protect us. But think of all the laws that have been passed since the stop sign law, and further, the interpretation of those laws. Are our grandchildren being born into a cage that they accept as freedom? Will succeeding generations be confined in smaller and smaller cages? Maybe the concept of freedom is being redefined! These are provocative thoughts!
Recently, I had read a magazine article and made notes where Haggard was interviewed. One of the questions he was asked was what he misses about the America of 40 years ago. He replied, "I miss the freedom. I'm crazy about liberty and freedom, and they've taken all our freedoms away. You can't do anything. Everything's illegal ... People don't seem to realize it. People act like this is the way they want it." I recognize that philosophy as a strong theme running through his songs. I can't help but think about recent trends where the U. S. Constitution seems to have slipped in relevancy, and a small, select group of people in the upper echelon of government interpret or ignore it to suit their purposes. When I studied Political Science I learned that was an oligarchy.
Freedom is a notion that I've always considered important, too. It is one of the themes that catches my eye, especially when I see it shrinking away. I read once what the legal eagle Gerry Spence, the one with the cowboy hat and fringed buckskin jacket, said it about it in one of his books, "What if we have been born in a cage like the polar bear at the San Diego Zoo, and having known nothing else, we accept the cage as freedom?" Dad talks about remembering when highway stop signs first got planted at intersections and how there was an uproar from some who felt a freedom was being taken from them. Of course, there is the concept of protecting the greater good, and some laws need to be in place to protect us. But think of all the laws that have been passed since the stop sign law, and further, the interpretation of those laws. Are our grandchildren being born into a cage that they accept as freedom? Will succeeding generations be confined in smaller and smaller cages? Maybe the concept of freedom is being redefined! These are provocative thoughts!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Do Not Go Gentle ...
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A line from the Dylan Thomas poem
In the not too distant past, whenever I went to the gym for my almost daily workout, I’d often come home and remark to Mary about a couple of the older gentlemen who frequent that place. I’d tell her how well I thought they were doing even though they were older men. It was quite the event when I discovered their true ages: one hadn’t reached 60 yet and the other was 62. The joke was on me with the glaring fact that I was the oldest of the three at 65!
On a wall in my study hangs a picture of a young boy at the age of two standing with his father behind a harnessed team of draft horses. The year would be 1944. Was it taken yesterday or 63 years ago? The answer is the latter and that little boy would be me. Much more time has passed than what remains to me, but I take my philosophy of life from the Dylan Thomas poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," a line from which I used as the epigraph to this piece.
Death has been the subject of many a poet or philosopher through the ages, and I have never forgotten one quote from the historian Arnold Toynbee: "The Greek historian Herodotus reports that the Persian emperor Xerxes wept after he had reviewed his immense expeditionary force because he realized that not a single member of it would still be alive one hundred years later." It gave meaning to a banner that used to be displayed in the lunchroom of Bek Hall at UND when I attended that school: "All is transitory — Keats." At the time the quotation was too lofty and philosophical for me to give much thought. The more I think about it, the more those words hold meaning for me or anyone else who cares to contemplate them. A person can’t do much about the passage of time, so I’ll keep my thoughts in step with the aforementioned Dylan Thomas.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A line from the Dylan Thomas poem
In the not too distant past, whenever I went to the gym for my almost daily workout, I’d often come home and remark to Mary about a couple of the older gentlemen who frequent that place. I’d tell her how well I thought they were doing even though they were older men. It was quite the event when I discovered their true ages: one hadn’t reached 60 yet and the other was 62. The joke was on me with the glaring fact that I was the oldest of the three at 65!
On a wall in my study hangs a picture of a young boy at the age of two standing with his father behind a harnessed team of draft horses. The year would be 1944. Was it taken yesterday or 63 years ago? The answer is the latter and that little boy would be me. Much more time has passed than what remains to me, but I take my philosophy of life from the Dylan Thomas poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," a line from which I used as the epigraph to this piece.
Death has been the subject of many a poet or philosopher through the ages, and I have never forgotten one quote from the historian Arnold Toynbee: "The Greek historian Herodotus reports that the Persian emperor Xerxes wept after he had reviewed his immense expeditionary force because he realized that not a single member of it would still be alive one hundred years later." It gave meaning to a banner that used to be displayed in the lunchroom of Bek Hall at UND when I attended that school: "All is transitory — Keats." At the time the quotation was too lofty and philosophical for me to give much thought. The more I think about it, the more those words hold meaning for me or anyone else who cares to contemplate them. A person can’t do much about the passage of time, so I’ll keep my thoughts in step with the aforementioned Dylan Thomas.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
North Dakota Writers
Last Thursday evening I attended a one-hour presentation by the state poet laureate Larry Woiwode. He did not speak of poetry but discussed the writing of a memoir which he has done well and entitled What I Think I Did. He has earned some stature in the national writing community with his works which I always like to read. The program was directed and produced by Prairie Public TV and will be broadcast tomorrow, Thursday, October 11. With him on the same program was a singer-guitarist who I thought was very good. The musician teaches at Minot State University and writes his own songs. Woiwode had named him associate laureate when he was appointed state poet laureate. I’m looking forward to watching the program again.
In the foyer of the Heritage Center stood a table cleverly laden with copies of Woiwode’s book. Even though I had read it a few years ago, I decided to support this member of the arts community by buying a copy for my library. I stood in line for Woiwode to autograph it and exchanged comments with him. I knew he had collaborated with the poet Tom McGrath earlier in his career on one project and mentioned that I was from the same hometown as McGrath. Woiwode quickly told me to check out the NDSU Magazine, spring, 2003 (on SU’s website) where he had written a complimentary article about McGrath. Here he replicated the acceptance speech for the poet laureate that he gave before the governor, and he said something that shows his admiration for McGrath: "The great poet of our state, the one who should have been its laureate for decades, is Tom McGrath." In fact, he went on to fill the bulk of that speech with reference to McGrath and his work.
Those of us who know and appreciate McGrath and his work know why he never received the honors due to him: his politics precluded him from any positive acceptance by the "honorable" members of the community. I’ve read where McGrath called himself a communist with a small "c". My dictionary defines that as anyone advocating ideas thought of as leftist or subversive. That definition in and of itself can be interpreted very broadly as well as hotly argued. My interpretation of where he stood was that of being against the abuses of ownership who did not show any concern or compassion for those who worked for them. When I first read his book length poem Letter to an Imaginary Friend I was immediately struck by the early passage I've remembered which probably explains the beginnings of his political bent. A harvest hand for the family, Cal, a bundle teamster, befriended Tom, but because he became a labor spokesman for the crew. he received a severe beating from the boss, Tom’s uncle. A passage reads: "Cal spoke for the men and my uncle cursed him./ I remember that ugly sound, like some animal cry touching me/ Deep and cold, and I ran toward them/ And the fighting started./ My uncle punched him. I heard the breaking crunch/ Of his teeth going and the blood leaped out of his mouth..."
In the foyer of the Heritage Center stood a table cleverly laden with copies of Woiwode’s book. Even though I had read it a few years ago, I decided to support this member of the arts community by buying a copy for my library. I stood in line for Woiwode to autograph it and exchanged comments with him. I knew he had collaborated with the poet Tom McGrath earlier in his career on one project and mentioned that I was from the same hometown as McGrath. Woiwode quickly told me to check out the NDSU Magazine, spring, 2003 (on SU’s website) where he had written a complimentary article about McGrath. Here he replicated the acceptance speech for the poet laureate that he gave before the governor, and he said something that shows his admiration for McGrath: "The great poet of our state, the one who should have been its laureate for decades, is Tom McGrath." In fact, he went on to fill the bulk of that speech with reference to McGrath and his work.
Those of us who know and appreciate McGrath and his work know why he never received the honors due to him: his politics precluded him from any positive acceptance by the "honorable" members of the community. I’ve read where McGrath called himself a communist with a small "c". My dictionary defines that as anyone advocating ideas thought of as leftist or subversive. That definition in and of itself can be interpreted very broadly as well as hotly argued. My interpretation of where he stood was that of being against the abuses of ownership who did not show any concern or compassion for those who worked for them. When I first read his book length poem Letter to an Imaginary Friend I was immediately struck by the early passage I've remembered which probably explains the beginnings of his political bent. A harvest hand for the family, Cal, a bundle teamster, befriended Tom, but because he became a labor spokesman for the crew. he received a severe beating from the boss, Tom’s uncle. A passage reads: "Cal spoke for the men and my uncle cursed him./ I remember that ugly sound, like some animal cry touching me/ Deep and cold, and I ran toward them/ And the fighting started./ My uncle punched him. I heard the breaking crunch/ Of his teeth going and the blood leaped out of his mouth..."
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Once Around the Circle
Tomorrow, Wednesday, October 3 will be the last day of working as I have for the past six years driving a state employee around this 10 county area since she has accepted a promotion from her regional position to a state administrative position. I no longer will drive on a regular basis but have happily agreed to stand by on an on-call basis and take only an occasional trip. At the beginning of this year I told her I did not care to drive anymore after the end of the year, but this changes things and I might just hang around for awhile. We used to call these little jobs "beer money." Even though I no longer have need of beer money, I can always use a little extra spending money.
.....
Thursday marks one of my favorite days around here; the Bismarck Public Library starts its three day used book sale. It opens at 7:00 am, and I’ll be leaving here by 6:45 to get there. Prices are right: $20 or less buys a whole bag full. Then, that evening, our premier state writer Larry Woiwode makes a presentation at the Heritage Center regarding the writing of memoirs. For a little culture, what the heck, I’m going to go.
.....
Yesterday a couple lines of poetry popped into my head; something I had to memorize in college: "The world is too much with us; late and soon,/Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;/ Little we see in Nature that is ours..." I know I’m conservative (my wife calls me cheap), but when I drive around and see all the junk sitting in people’s driveways, I can’t help but think they’ve overspent and are hard-pressed to make payments on that little-used, unimportant stuff. I wonder how many of them have a library card.
.....
Thursday marks one of my favorite days around here; the Bismarck Public Library starts its three day used book sale. It opens at 7:00 am, and I’ll be leaving here by 6:45 to get there. Prices are right: $20 or less buys a whole bag full. Then, that evening, our premier state writer Larry Woiwode makes a presentation at the Heritage Center regarding the writing of memoirs. For a little culture, what the heck, I’m going to go.
.....
Yesterday a couple lines of poetry popped into my head; something I had to memorize in college: "The world is too much with us; late and soon,/Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;/ Little we see in Nature that is ours..." I know I’m conservative (my wife calls me cheap), but when I drive around and see all the junk sitting in people’s driveways, I can’t help but think they’ve overspent and are hard-pressed to make payments on that little-used, unimportant stuff. I wonder how many of them have a library card.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)