{"id":180,"date":"2010-05-30T22:12:40","date_gmt":"2010-05-31T02:12:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.sherryquanlee.com\/?p=180"},"modified":"2010-05-30T22:13:21","modified_gmt":"2010-05-31T02:13:21","slug":"theres-nothing-like-singing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.sherryquanlee.com\/?p=180","title":{"rendered":"THERE’S NOTHING LIKE SINGING"},"content":{"rendered":"

THERE\u2019S NOTHING LIKE SINGING<\/span><\/h2>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Nothing like a four day weekend to let off steam, to entertain some of life\u2019s diversions in a whirlwind of emotion, and then, satiated, empty, still have a few hours to do what it is you want to do, to write, without actually needing to, but because you\u2019ve created a space, although somewhat obsessively and what some may call dysfunctional (shopping, eating, gambling, drinking, smoking\u2014no I\u2019m not confessing to any or all of these), to allow creativity a place to sing.\u00a0 Now there\u2019s nothing like singing, except maybe dancing, even if one, such as myself, can\u2019t sing or dance\u2014well, can\u2019t sing or dance well\u2014, there\u2019s nothing like singing or dancing to be happy (and there\u2019s nothing like not singing or dancing, especially when one desires to sing and dance, to not be happy).<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I\u2019m in the heart of soulful creativity. Cutting and pasting, sorting through images and words, treasure mapping.\u00a0 (Sipping champagne and eating chocolates.)\u00a0 Alone.\u00a0 Not where I want to be but enjoying every quiet moment being. \u00a0Then, a muse spoke, a little too loudly. I had to listen.\u00a0 The muse said, what your friend said about having to work twice as hard, be twice as good\u2014you know the story, your mom told you the story\u2014the muse said it\u2019s a myth, it\u2019s trash talkin\u2019, it\u2019s double jeopardy.\u00a0 The muse said, write that poem.\u00a0 I did.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Note:\u00a0\u00a0 recently at a writing retreat I wrote a poem so abstract, so against, be specific<\/em>.\u00a0 Addiction is the Language of Love.<\/em><\/strong>\u00a0 Isn\u2019t it the details that allow readers to connect even if their stories are different?\u00a0 A former student recently recited to me what she said I taught her about concrete and abstract images and that a rug is a rug, keep it simple.\u00a0 I was horrified that she might not have understood or I might not have explained that a shag rug<\/em> is more specific than rug<\/em> or that a shrill scream is more than anger, yet it\u2019s not just adjectives I want to address, but that one noun can be more specific than another, more descriptive, and that the important thing is to remember to give witness to the sight, the smells, the sounds, etc. of the story.\u00a0 I digress.\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t abide by rules.\u00a0 I take words out of context.\u00a0 I challenge the norm.\u00a0 Why not? (Okay, sometimes I just don\u2019t know better.)\u00a0 Students do love me for \u201cno rules\u201d \u2014most not hearing there is \u201ccraft\u201d to think about, but I want them to think about what works for them, what is their voice, who is their audience, what is their story.\u00a0\u00a0 I digress.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Today, Sunday, has been a respite from anxiety.\u00a0 No, the reasons I have been anxious of late (like the last year or two or three) have not disappeared, but Friday and Saturday the frenzy of release by shopping, by eating, by gambling, by other things has exhausted me.\u00a0 I am worn down enough to be contemplative.\u00a0 I thought about what my friend said recently, that we have to be better, twice as good and this phenomenon of working so very hard to be equal because we might have a chronic illness or we might be a Chinese Black woman who grew up white, or, or, or\u2026.and I thought, no, this is a myth.\u00a0 We must change this story.\u00a0 Yes, I have always tried to live it, being better just to be good.\u00a0 But, I wrote yet another abstract poem, It\u2019s not true<\/em><\/strong>, because I could because I have\u00a0 the luxury of a four day weekend to exhaust my anxiety so I can think clearer and so I can be creative and so I can make up my own rules, and create my own myths.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sherry Quan Lee<\/p>\n

May 30, 2010<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Aha!\u00a0 I did not write this post over my lunch hour!\u00a0 However, for qualification, and in defensive of error or sloppiness, as always, this posting is basically a first draft, as are the poems.\u00a0 This posting is also a surprise, to me, that I have just written something.\u00a0 Woo hoo, as my friend Lori would say!<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

It\u2019 not true<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (to all of us who live the myth)<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

we don\u2019t have to be better <\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

whose far fetched idea came tumbling came<\/p>\n

pouring into our determination<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

to survive prejudice; doesn\u2019t everyone<\/p>\n

have truths to hide? why does arrogance<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

rule? \u00a0a privileged view, not mine, secrets<\/p>\n

don\u2019t come with windows<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

pride is not the same as truth, if humility<\/p>\n

was respected no one<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

would have to hide or seek revenge and<\/p>\n

someone\u2019s views would just be views<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

and you and I could stop dancing<\/p>\n

on each other\u2019s feet; no-never-mind<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I\u2019m just going to be who I am and<\/p>\n

stop working twice as hard to be equal<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

to you who could never dance like me<\/p>\n

even if you tried twice as hard without<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

a view.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sherry Quan Lee<\/p>\n

May 30, 2010<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Addiction is the language of love<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cThere was a woman here who was loved.\u201d\u2014<\/em>Joy Harjo<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

of lovers.\u00a0 I am lover, I am addiction, I am loved.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sorrow is displaced by obsession, who is to say<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

what a word means or the extent of it.\u00a0 It is my<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

story I am telling.\u00a0 I could die from the loneliness \/ the<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

anger and I have or I can live with the gifts I give myself.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I am a woman who tolerates diversity, no two lovers<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

are alike, though they are all expensive.\u00a0 I don\u2019t let<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

the lovers overwhelm me, a lost paycheck a small price<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

to pay for salvation.\u00a0 The more I am addict the more I am<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

love.\u00a0 Lovers, I will not name you; you are my secret<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

love.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sherry Quan Lee<\/p>\n

April 24, 2010<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

THERE\u2019S NOTHING LIKE SINGING \u00a0 Nothing like a four day weekend to let off steam, to entertain some of life\u2019s diversions in a whirlwind of emotion, and then, satiated, empty, still have a few hours to do what it is you want to do, to write, without actually needing to, …<\/p>\n

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