And Sometimes Writers Can Touch

We need silence to be able to touch souls.
Mother Teresa

On Friday, January 13 of this year, 2006, Panamanian folk music suffered a heartrending loss when Ñato Califa and ten members of his band died in a traffic accident. I was so touched by the radio coverage of this tragedy that I was moved to write the piece titled “Honoring the Lost Songs,” which appeared in the February 5 edition of The Panama News.

I received several letters in response. One was from Argelis Wesley-Spruill, a Panamanian who now resides in Virginia, asking for permission to reprint the article in an upcoming issue of the newsletter of The Panamanian Folkloric Group of Hampton Roads. I was happy to comply.

And the letter that most moved me was the following:

Dear Mr. Sirias,

I found myself fascinated with your opinion piece, as I am one of those charged with making available Woody Guthrie's recordings, a few of Bob Dylan's earliest and those of the thousands of non-iconic names which constitute the folk legacy from all over the world the Smithsonian Institution now stewards.

Thank you for airing your thoughts about the topic.

Sincerely yours,

D. A. Sonneborn, Ph.D.
Assistant Director
Smithsonian Folkways Recordings
Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage
Smithsonian Institution
Washington DC
Websites: www.folkways.si.edu
www.smithsonianglobalsound.org

Accepting Fault

Though bitter, good medicine cures illness. Though it may hurt, loyal criticism will have beneficial effects.
Sima Qian


I donate many of my blog entries to The Panama News. I believe that Eric Jackson—the owner and editor of this online publication—is providing a priceless service to Panamá’s English-speaking community, which is considerably large. And as a result of my work appearing in The Panama News, I often receive responses from readers. Over the next few weeks I'll be sharing a few of these.

One of the risks of being a writer who expresses his or her views in a widely distributed forum is that we sometimes offend readers. This was the case of "The News from Colón," a piece that discussed the alarming growth of violent crime in Panamá’s second largest city, situated on the Caribbean side of the Canal. The article appeared both in my blog and The Panama News in November of 2005.

In response to “The News from Colón,” Rafael Barnett wrote:

I have read your article and differ with you on the highlighted statement: Every English-language guidebook advises tourists to avoid this city, which is populated mostly by descendants of the Jamaicans and Barbadians who were brought to Panama as cheap labor by the French and, later, the Americans during the construction of the canal. I challenge you to investigate and you will find that all the derogatory things said about Colon cannot be only attributed to the descendants of the Jamaicans and Barbadians. After all these descendants are the ones whose majority have migrated to the United States. Many of the descendants of the cheap labor of construction days who remained in Panama were from other countries, however, whenever there is negative talk about this group of people there is always mention of Jamaicans and Barbadians.

West Indians as we are also vulgarly called; are an intelligent, hard working, problem solving bunch. In spite of the deck being stacked against us, we have risen to the highest professional levels in different disciplines. Have been innovative in changing the way things have been done and most of us have saved and invested our hard earned cash wisely in this country that has reluctantly accepted us.

Every time we have figured out how to play the game, beat the system, the rules have been changed, yet we don’t make a public spectacle complaining or blocking traffic. We just learn the new rules and begin playing by them.

Like the rest of the country the make-up of the city of Colon has gone through a metamorphic change over the past fifty years, thus many of the blacks who live there are not descendants of those who came to build the Railroad and/or the Canal.

Now this is not an accusation that you are overtly discriminating negatively against Jamaicans or Barbadians, however, there is a trend to covertly discriminate against los antillanos even by the so called negro colonial. In practice being called either an Antillean, Jamaican, or Barbadian on our streets has negative connotations, this way of thinking even goes further when you are duped, the term congeado is used having connotations that anyone from the Congo (African) is black and easily fooled or stupid.

It is not my intention to start a firestorm, however, I just hope that in the future some thought is given when you write about those of "West Indian" descent.

Thanks,
Rafael


My response:

Dear Rafael:

I apologize if something in the article upset you. I never meant to imply that the problems of Colón are due to any particular ethnic group. The article states that the culprit is poverty and lack of employment opportunities. And these, I believe, stem from the Panamanian government's historic lack of attention to the problems Colón faces.

Regarding my statement of Colón being mostly populated by the descendants of Jamaicans and Barbadians, I stand corrected. I’m relatively new to Panamá and I’m still being educated about the terms people of this country prefer with regard to ethnic identification. That said, I based my assertion on David McCullough's The Path Between the Seas. In this exhaustively researched book, this noted historian closely examines the French and U.S. hiring practices during the building of the Canal and proves, in fact, that the overwhelming majority of workers came from Jamaica (during the French construction) and Barbados (during the US phase). In addition, McCullough vividly describes the deplorable working and living conditions workers of Afro-Antillean descent were subjected to.

The bottom line is that I agree with you with respect to the real cause of the problems: racism.

Again, my apologies if I failed to make this absolutely clear.

Crónica de una muerte anunciada and a Debt to a Great Teacher

The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires.
William Arthur Ward

A teacher affects eternity. He can never tell where his influence stops.
Henry Adams



Gabriel García Márquez’s Crónica de una muerte anunciada appeared in print while I was a graduate student at California State University-Fresno. Interestingly, when I first read the novel, I was unimpressed. Perhaps that’s because I foolishly wanted García Márquez to write Cien años de soledad all over again.

After reading Crónica, I loaned my copy to Dr. José Elgorriaga, one of the most remarkable teachers I’ve ever encountered. He had the gift of making any work—a novel, a poem, a short story, or an essay—come to life. He kept students engaged, pounding his fist on the podium and raising his voice to a nearly deafening shout whenever some aspect of a text excited him. Dr. Elgorriaga wanted every student to learn to love literature as passionately as he did. Time always flew in his classroom. And to this day, in the literature courses I teach, I try my best to emulate his style.

But what I am most thankful for is that Dr. Elgorriaga taught me how to READ—to reach beyond the obvious interpretation of a text. He wanted his students to become aggressive readers; to learn to articulate not only the superficial message, but also what remains hidden, embedded between lines, characters, and themes. He taught us that an excellent reader is also the co-creator, helping to bring a literary work into its fullest bloom by arriving at conclusions that even the author could not have foreseen.

“Read with a pencil and with glasses,” he used to repeat over and over, urging us to make notes on the margins of a book, marking the impression a text made on us at a particular moment. Later, he’d tell us, we should use these notations to help us unravel the labyrinth we had entered, and through these notes we could explain, with precision, what we, as readers, had experienced during our literary journey.

I remember, as well, that Professor Elgorriaga was exceedingly selective about the novels he liked. Often, he’d tell me—with unapologetic bluntness—that a novel that I found excellent was mediocre, at best. Thus, I was surprised when Dr. Elgorriaga, who I once overheard say that García Márquez was overrated, found Crónica de una muerte anunciada brilliant. He enjoyed the novel so much that he included it among the readings for a course on the Spanish-American novel he was scheduled to teach the upcoming semester.

I will be forever grateful to Dr. Elgorriaga for opening my eyes to the skillful way in which García Márquez tells this story, a tale of a killing of honor. Professor Elgorriaga showed us—our eyes wide open with wonder as we gradually came to understand that we were in the presence of a master storyteller—how the Colombian novelist takes his readers down five different alleyways (an astounding experiment of time and perspective), while obligating us, in the end, to piece together the highly fragmented plot. And Dr. Elgorriaga highlighted how, at the novel’s conclusion, although the death has been amply foretold, we are still utterly shocked when García Márquez provides us with front row seats to witness the slaughter.

Reading Crónica de una muerte anunciada with the benefit of Dr. Elgorriaga’s sage guidance was one of the most memorable literary experiences of my life. Not only did he open my eyes to the absolute genius of García Márquez’s work, but also, as an assignment for that course, I produced my first academic article worthy of publication: “La relación texto-lector en Crónica de una muerte anunciada,” which appeared in the journal Confluencia.

Recently, a statue of Dr. Elgorriaga was unveiled in a Fresno park to honor the groundbreaking work he did in promoting the love of soccer in the heart of California’s San Joaquín Valley. (At one time, in addition to teaching and serving as the Chair of the Department of Modern Languages, Professor Elgorriaga was the head coach of Fresno State’s men soccer team, leading them to the NCAA Final Four on one occasion.)

And although Dr. José Elgorriaga’s loving labor in service of central California’s youth and the sport of soccer are certainly worthy of a monument, where I’ll always remember this amazing teacher is where he most inspired me: in the classroom.

Me—The Blog Expert

Where facts are few, experts are many.
Donald R. Gannon


I recently celebrated my first year anniversary as a blogger. The experience has been enjoyable and gratifying. Blogging is a creative way to discover what I’m thinking. What’s more, the potential of reaching a large audience is, I admit, exciting.

Since the advent of the weblog, the internet has become a haven for countless outstanding authors who have yet to see their works in print. I’m inspired to see so many gifted people taking advantage of the medium to share their views on life with the rest of the world.

With so much talent gracing cyberspace, I’m indebted to Monica Martinez for including my thoughts on weblogs in her article, “Caught Up in the Blogsphere,” which appeared in the FSView, Florida State University’s student newspaper.

Shortly after transferring to the main campus, in Tallahassee, Monica—a former student from my days at FSU-Panama—joined the FSView staff. It has been terrific to see her blossom as a writer. In a relatively short time Monica has developed a wonderful voice, and I fully expect her growth in the craft to continue. Thus, when she contacted me for the article she was writing on blogging, I was delighted to be interviewed. And needless to say, I’m also thrilled with the result.

Because of the length of Monica’s article, I’ve condensed it, considerably. And not surprisingly, I’ve included the sections in which I’m quoted. If you wish to read the entire article, there’s a link at the end of this entry.

Caught up in the ‘blogsphere’
Monica Martinez
April 17, 2006

Ever since the Internet craze began almost a decade ago, the user-computer interaction has gone to another level. First there were user forums. Later on came personal Web sites. Now there are weblogs. The cycle grows more with each day . . . .

According to Webopedia.com, a “blog” is short for “weblog,” a Web site that serves a “publicly accessible journal for an individual.”

Blogs date back as far as 1995, when personal Web sites incorporated a “news” or “personal” section as part of their links. Webrings, a group of people that joined a group for a desired interest, also allowed users to post comments in a forum, journal-type fashion . . . .

The term weblog was first used in 1997 by John Barger in his personal Web site. The short name is attributed to Peter Merholz, who divided up the word as “we blog.”

(Now) the blog craze is everywhere.

“I found out about Livejournal around 1999 or 2000 just as I was getting into high school,” FSU junior Anna Philp said. “I started updating religiously in 10th grade and have had one ever since. I like the availability of blogs and the endless amount of information and opinions expressed on them. For me, blogs keep me up to date with what my friends are doing, even if they are scattered across the world. I like the fact that I can meet lots of people in blogs who are interested in the same things that I am involved in.”

However, blogs have become more than just personal journals. Everything from images, videos and even books are being published through these sites, open to the eyes of all viewers. Some have become informative while others try to provide viewers with life support messages . . . .

“I had visited the Web sites of Luis Rodriguez and Ana Castillo, two writers I greatly admire, and discovered they had blogs; I instantly became a fan of the concept,” novelist and newly passionate blogger Silvio Sirias said. “I just have my personal one, but I love that you can get your writing out instantly, without depending on anyone but yourself. I update every Wednesday, religiously. I write about the things—both significant and trivial—that interest me: social issues, personal anecdotes, literature, music, reading, shortages of kitty litter and so forth. I write fiction, and having a blog allows me to flex a different set of writing muscles. What I essentially am trying to do through my blog is to master the art of the personal essay.”

Blogs are used to evoke a variety of topics including personal insights, culture, business, photos and even politics. Media hosts certain blogs for readers or viewers to post their opinions on a subject matter. Some of the most popular blogs are not even personal journals anymore . . . .

“I sometimes surf the blogsphere wanting to learn more about what people are saying about a specific topic and I’m amazed to discover how many great non-professional writers are out there,” Sirias said. “Blogging obliges a writer to assume that there’s a potentially enormous audience out there. If you’re not demanding with yourself, it can be easy to come across as foolish and immature. Still, I mostly find that blogs are helping the art of writing make a comeback, and that’s exciting” . . . .

“A blog has great potential to be a dynamic and collaborative writing environment,” Jason Adams (Administrator of The Lulu Blooker Prize for weblogs) said. “Additionally, many bloggers have built large followings and have captured the attention of big publishers. This obviously isn’t guaranteed to happen to every blogger that wants to write a book, but a blog is a great way to reach a wide audience.”

Whatever the case, the blog phenomenon seems to be growing with each passing day. Blogs open a window of opportunities for writers and non-writers alike. People are always trying to find ways to voice their opinions, and weblogs may just be the beginning of it all.

If you wish to read Monica Martinez’s article in its entirety, visit the FSView

On The Singing Detective

That the saints may enjoy their beatitude and the grace of God more abundantly they are permitted to see the punishment of the damned in hell.
Saint Thomas Aquinas

It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken away from you, not by angels or demons, heaven or hell.
Buddha

. . . and then I would have these three months attacks in which I would literally look like a monster—100% psoriasis and you lose control over your temperature, halfway between hallucination and, and whatever.
Dennis Potter


The character of Philip Marlow—named after Raymond Chandler’s famous detective, without the final e on the surname—is in a hospital ward, bedridden and suffering from psoriatic arthropathy. As a result of this horrifying illness, which flares up under stress, his skin has broken open, grotesquely so, not sparing a millimeter of his body. And because of the arthritis, the patient’s hands are permanently fused shut, more clubs than fists. What’s more, an exceedingly high fever has rendered him delusional.

Phillip Marlow, a writer of detective stories (played brilliantly by Michael Gambon, Richard Harris’s replacement in the Harry Potter movies), is hallucinating when we first meet him. From this highly unbalanced vantage point, the hospital staff and patients, people from his past, and characters from his stories alternate haphazardly throughout the program, sometimes bursting into song and dance as they lip-synch to recordings from the 30s and 40s by Bing Crosby, the Mills Brothers, Al Jolson, the Andrew Sisters, Dean Martin, and others. Also, Marlow’s agitated mind shifts abruptly between his present, his childhood, and the novel/screenplay he’s attempting to compose in his head while confined to a hospital bed.

And although I’m hopelessly disoriented, I’m also completely captivated by The Singing Detective, the six-episode BBC series that first aired in 1986, twenty years ago.

This fever-pitched, stream of consciousness drama came from the mind of Dennis Potter (1935-1994), the British dramatist and screenwriter who is best known in the United States for the movie Pennies from Heaven, Hollywood’s adaptation of another of his successful BBC dramas.

Throughout his career, Potter was notorious for using the incidents of his personal life as dramatic fodder. Surprisingly, he claimed that The Singing Detective was his least biographical work. Yet, after watching the DVD with special features—the set a loan from my friend Benjamin Murphy—I was astonished to see how, for this production, Potter once again mined his fears, his obsessions, his anguish, and his sexual and emotional fantasies. Most notably, he, like his character Philip Marlow, suffered from psoriatic arthropathy: a crippling illness that, as portrayed on the screen, is a living hell.

But what most awed me about Potter’s work was that, as a writer, I could never reveal so graphically my psychological warts—not even close—for in The Singing Detective, Dennis Potter appears to be offering us an unobstructed of his inner self, of his raw flesh.

Ultimately, this superb television drama is neither about singing nor about being a detective. After spending several hours expecting a nebulously constructed mystery to be solved, I realized that the real point of The Singing Detective was for the viewers to see how Marlow exorcises the personal demons that torment him. And as the writer of detective stories confronts the sordid events of his childhood that had deeply wounded his psyche, he starts his journey on the road toward developing a proper sense of self.

The remarkable thing about The Singing Detective is that while Marlow gradually lays out his blackened and fractured soul for us to examine—and the more he does this, the more his skin condition improves—Dennis Potter is teaching us that we are largely the result of the battles that our memories, our fantasies, and our realities wage against one another.

The Singing Detective is a fascinating voyage into the harrowing depths of a writer’s personal anguish. At the conclusion of the series, Philip Marlow walks out of the hospital on his own two feet, a victor in his most recent bout against the dark forces that assail him. And yet, although we are witnessing his triumphant exit from hell as he begins to limp toward purgatory, we can be sure that he will never make it to heaven.