458 Slices
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Medium 9781847778772

‘Fun! – It’s Heaven’

Ford, Ford Madox Carcanet Press Ltd. ePub

The room was lit by a skylight from above, so that it resembled a tank in which dim fishes swim listlessly. The walls were of varnished grey paint; an immense and lamenting Christ hung upon a cross above the empty grate; a mildewed portrait of the last Pope but one made a grim spot of white near the varnished door. On a deal chair beside the deal table the old doctor sat talking to the very old lay sister who stood before him, twisting her gnarled fingers in her wooden beads.

‘Whatever it is,’ he said, and he waved his hand round to indicate the grim room. ‘This isn’t my idea of it. That is what I told the child.’

‘There need be no limits to one’s idea of it,’ the lay sister said. ‘What was it you told the poor child? I have not, you must remember, heard anything at all,’ she added. ‘Dicky Trout, I suppose, is killed. And he was to have married her? He was a dear young boy.’

‘He had been just ninety minutes in the trenches. And shot through the head! Ninety minutes! And dead! It’s what they call rotten luck. They were both my godchildren.’ He said the words with a certain fierceness of resentment.

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Medium 9781574412086

10. Ray Gonzales, “Tortas Locas” from The Underground Heart

Edited by David Taylor University of North Texas Press PDF

Chapter 10

Ray Gonzales

Tortas Locas

Ray Gonzalez is the author of nine books of poetry. Turtle Pictures

(Arizona, 2000), a mixed-genre text, received the 2001 Minnesota Book

Award for Poetry. His poetry has appeared in the 1999, 2000, and 2003 editions of The Best American Poetry (Scribners) and The Pushcart Prize: Best of the Small Presses 2000 (Pushcart Press). “Tortas Locas” is taken from his collection of essays, The Underground Heart: A Return to a Hidden Landscape

(Arizona, 2002), which received the 2003 Carr P. Collins/ Texas Institute of Letters Award for Best Book of Non-fiction, was named one of ten Best

Southwest Books of the Year by the Arizona Humanities Commission, named one of the Best Non-fiction Books of the Year by the Rocky Mountain

News, named a Minnesota Book Award Finalist in Memoir, and selected as a Book of the Month by the El Paso Public Library. His other non-fiction book is Memory Fever (University of Arizona Press, 1999), a memoir about growing up in the Southwest. He has written two collections of short stories,

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Medium 9781574416367

Then the Walls Closed In

Gayle Reaves, Editor UNT Press ePub
Medium 9781927068304

The Sound of One Cow Grazing

Lloyd Ratzlaff Thistledown Press ePub


I know a good place. By day I tramp around its trails and through its bushes, stoop like one of Gideon’s failed soldiers to drink water at its creek, gaze at things that flap and fly there, and listen to others that chirp or shriek or thump. Sometimes I talk to these creatures as if we were all children, and sometimes they reply.

But when the sun sinks below the hills across the river, stillness pervades and the dark closes in, lively critters withdraw to their thickets and nests and holes, and I am alone. There are no conveniences and no diversions — no television, no music, no toilet but an outhouse huddled in a distant black clump of trees: and if I don’t take a bottle of brandy with me, no insulation of any kind against the vastness and silence.

Here I become a boy again. In daylight, adventures beckon: spreading trees are familiar spirits, no creature fails to announce the world’s wonders. But when the place goes dark, the spooks driven off by city lights congregate, and if I’m alone I hear them, too.

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Medium 9780253019042

Part 2 Complicated Places

Wissing, Douglas A. Indiana University Press ePub

Bennie Zebelle of Muncie, Indiana, poses with a basket of tomatoes in the Agriculture Building at the 1947 Indiana State Fair.

STATE FAIRS ARE THE CONFLUENCE OF THE GARISH AND THE profound, a carnivalesque celebration of life amidst the drive for recognized excellence. Regal princesses with tiaras pass through the neon-lit Midway throngs. Burly farmers herd Brobdingnagian boars. Kids nap beside their brushed and curried heifers who gaze with long lashes at their resting guardians. Barkers howl the wonders of the sideshow; ladies quite alluring give a desultory bump. A swain with his first sideburns wallops the carnival game, trying to win a stuffed bear for his admiring sweetheart. Trailed by her two apple-cheeked boys, a young mother proudly paces through the crowd with a blue ribbon carefully placed across her prize pie.

The smells of corndogs and elephant ears mingle with the electric scent of cotton candy. Wood smoke, sopped sauce, and cooking pork chops waft from the barbecue stands. An unmistakable tang announces the animal buildings.

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Medium 9780253000958

The Singular First Person

Scott Russell Sanders Indiana University Press ePub

The first soapbox orator I ever saw was haranguing a crowd beside the Greyhound station in Providence, Rhode Island, about the evils of fluoridated water. What the man stood on was actually an up-turned milk crate, all the genuine soapboxes presumably having been snapped up by antique dealers. He wore an orange plaid sport coat and matching bow tie and held aloft a bottle filled with mossy green liquid. I don’t remember the details of his spiel, except his warning that fluoride was an invention of the Communists designed to weaken our bones and thereby make us pushovers for a Red invasion. What amazed me, as a tongue-tied kid of seventeen newly arrived in the city from the boondocks, was not his message but his courage in delivering it to a mob of strangers. I figured it would have been easier for me to jump straight over the Greyhound station than to stand there on that milk crate and utter my thoughts.

To this day, when I read or when I compose one of those curious monologues we call the personal essay, I often think of that soapbox orator. Nobody had asked him for his two cents’ worth, but there he was declaring it with all the eloquence he could muster. The essay, although enacted in private, is no less arrogant a performance. Unlike novelists and playwrights, who lurk behind the scenes while distracting our attention with the puppet show of imaginary characters; unlike scholars and journalists, who quote the opinions of others and shelter behind the hedges of neutrality, the essayist has nowhere to hide. While the poet can lean back on a several-thousand-year-old legacy of ecstatic speech, the essayist inherits a much briefer and skimpier tradition. The poet is allowed to quit after a few lines, but the essayist must hold our attention for pages and pages. It is a brash and foolhardy form, this one-man or one-woman circus, which relies on the tricks of anecdote, conjecture, memory, and wit to enthrall us.

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Medium 9780253220042

1. Santa Claus in Baghdad

Elsa Marston Indiana University Press ePub



Amal listened gloomily to the little speech that Mr. Kareem had prepared. He spoke in a halting fashion, almost as though he were making an apology, but clearly he was as happy as a bird.

“And I know,” he concluded, “that my students will greet their new teacher with respect and helpfulness, and will show how well Mr. Kareem has taught them about our glorious literary heritage.” He laughed awkwardly at his little joke, and some of the girls responded with polite smiles.

A shy bachelor, Mr. Kareem inspired more respect than affection among his students. Many complained of his tough assignments and rigorous grading, although Amal thought he was quite fair. In any case, no one could deny that Mr. Kareem taught with competence and, in his stammering way, enthusiasm. He loved the works of the old poets and tried valiantly to convey to his students the richness of Arabic literature.

Another teacher leaving us, thought Amal. How many—four this fall?

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Medium 9781938901249

8. French Hanoi

Susan Spano Roaring Forties Press ePub



A tall, beautiful woman in black and a small Asian girl stand at the prow of a barge moving slowly over a wide, jungle-banked river. The woman is Catherine Deneuve, star of the 1992 movie Indochine, about the war for independence in French Vietnam. In 1954, when France finally abandoned its Southeast Asian colony after a humiliating defeat at the hands of Vietnamese nationalists, America stepped in to wage a battle against the same enemy that was billed as an effort to stem the spread of communism.

But for a long time before all that, Vietnam was French, bound together in 1887 with Laos and Cambodia in the Indochinese Union. The relationship ultimately brought misery to all, but in another sense, the colonial era bore gorgeous fruit in the mélange of styles exhibited in every sumptuous scene of Indochine.

From roughly 1850 to 1950, the subtle, seductive French-Vietnamese amalgamation infused couture, art, literature, and cuisine. Inevitably, the style traveled back to aesthetically sensitive Paris, where it can still be detected at certain shops, restaurants, and museums.

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Medium 9781780491929

CHAPTER ELEVEN Narrative therapy with children of parents experiencing mental health difficulties

Sue McNab Karnac Books PDF


Narrative therapy with children of parents experiencing mental health difficulties*

Ruth Pluznick and Natasha Kis-Sines

very culture has its own stories about what it means to be a

“good parent”. In Canada, this includes a parent who has the resources to look after children in a consistently nurturing manner, a parent who will put the needs of her children before her or his own needs, and a parent who can meet the challenges of parenting in a variety of different circumstances. The portrayal of “good parent” excludes parents who love their children but have difficulties of their own that sometimes get in the way of meeting their children’s needs. These parents are often judged harshly in our society and their different experiences of “mother” and “father” are misrepresented, diminished, or dismissed. Sometimes, their children are removed from their care. There are many parents “on the margins” who face these circumstances; included in this group are parents who experience mental health difficulties. In Canada, 12.1% of all children under the age of twelve lives with a parent who has been given at least one psychiatric diagnosis in the previous twelve months (Bassani, Padoin,

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Medium 9780253018571

Amiri Baraka and the Music of Life

IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

UNFORTUNATELY, THE NEW York Times neglected most of the materials that I provided their reporter for the Amiri Baraka obituary. Fortunately, they included Maya Angelou’s assessment that Amiri Baraka was the world’s greatest living poet. However, it is difficult to account for the newspaper of record that neglected to mention that, by 1995, Amiri Baraka was officially inducted into this country’s most prestigious cultural assembly, the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Was that a case of criminal neglect or a case of tragic blindness?

He advised that students imaginatively learn the art of maneuver in the Black Revolt; then he referred students to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

A few years ago, Baraka invited me to his sunny breakfast nook; that is the room that housed his portrait standing amidst an overwhelmingly white crowd of the 250 men and women honored in the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1995. He pointed to the few dark dots in the group portrait, indicating where he and Toni Morrison were standing as a token gesture to racial diversity in the constellation of American genius represented in that esteemed academy.

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Medium 9780253000958


Scott Russell Sanders Indiana University Press ePub

In memory, I wait beside Eva in the vestibule of the church to play my bit part as father of the bride. She is supposed to remain hidden from the congregation until her queenly entrance, but in her eagerness to see what’s going on up front she leans forward to peek around the edge of the half-closed door. The satin roses appliquéd to her gown catch the light as she moves, and the toes of her pale silk shoes peep out from beneath the hem. The flower girls watch her every motion. Twins a few days shy of their third birthday, they flounce their unaccustomed frilly skirts, twirl their bouquets, and stare with wide eyes down the great length of carpet leading through the avenue of murmuring people.

Eva hooks a hand on my elbow while the three bridesmaids fuss over her, fixing the gauzy veil, spreading the long ivory train of her gown, tucking into her bun a loose strand of hair, which glows the color of honey filled with sunlight. Clumsy in my rented finery—patent leather shoes that are a size too small and starched shirt and stiff black tuxedo—I stand among these gorgeous women like a crow among doves. I realize they are gorgeous not because they carry bouquets or wear silk dresses, but because the festival of marriage has slowed time down until any fool can see their glory.

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Medium 9781780491929

CHAPTER EIGHT Narrative psychiatry

Sue McNab Karnac Books PDF


Narrative psychiatry

SuEllen Hamkins

arrative psychiatry brings together narrative and biological understandings of human suffering and wellbeing. It relishes discovering untold but inspiring stories of a person’s resilience and skill in resisting mental health challenges while exposing and deconstructing discourses that fuel problems. It examines what the doctor’s kit of psychiatry has to offer in light of the values and preferences of the person seeking consultation, authorising the patient as the arbiter of what is helpful and what is not.

Narrative psychiatry, as I theorise and practise it, arises from the confluence of several streams of inspiration in my life. Postmodern philosophy (Foucault, 1979) and feminist theory (Gilligan, 1982;

Morgan, 1970) inspired me early on to discern and unpack operations of power in society. I studied medicine with the intention of becoming a doctor who could selectively draw from bio-medical discourses while resisting their hegemony, with hopes of attending more empathically to my patients (Lewis, 2011). Narrative psychotherapy (Freedman &

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Medium 9781847772114

We Went to Ypres

Blunden, Edmund Carcanet Press Ltd. PDF

WE WENT TO YPRES looked south-east out of the bedroom window, which was lofty, but approachable by means of a kind of firestep. Those were the hills that knew so much. That would be Verbrandenmolen, with a new windmill. From the railway cutting past Hill Sixty, puffs of steam rose in white clouds and thinned away. It was a suspicious appearance, in that particular spot – but it really meant nothing unkind.

Southward, Mount Kemmel was green almost as in the days before the bonfire of 1918, and I thought I could make out the toy observatory among the trees. Summer’s evening light was over all the place; not casting its splendours, but, as I would have had it, veiled in soft rainy warmth.

Nearer, below, was the railway station of Ypres, a humble structure which no one would have mistaken for a town hall. I had never stepped from a train there until this evening. Indeed I had only seen two or three ration-trains in this city; they used to occur, without lights, beside an old timber-dump on the west side. They amazed us, first by arriving, and then by getting away. But here was the correct, authorized, official station doing its duty. Nothing strange, of course, to see young clerks, schoolgirls, soldiers on furlough, market-dames emerging past a ticket-collector into a cobbled Place. But I found it a little strange.

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Medium 9781780491929

CHAPTER THREE Dancing between discourses

Sue McNab Karnac Books PDF


Dancing between discourses

Sue McNab

et us begin by telling a story—after all, this is what patients do when they come to an appointment with a mental health professional. How the story is told will be shaped by their view of their problem and their idea about who is listening to it, but it will also be moulded by the listener. As systemic practitioners, our listening ears attempt to hold as many positions as possible so that the story develops more depth, meaning, coherence, and purpose. This is no easy task and involves us in a number of continuing and complicated dance steps as we work to engage with the patient, their family, our professional colleagues, and the wider context.

Our story starts with Jim, a thirty-four-year-old man who has a longstanding relationship with psychosis and a diagnosis of schizophrenia. He has been attached to mental health teams since he was eighteen, when his difficulties encroached on his life to such an extent that he could not work, found living independently very stressful, and had a number of psychotic episodes. Our psychiatric colleagues have worked hard over the years to determine an appropriate and effective medication package and the clinical team has offered support in accessing assisted housing, return to work schemes, and ongoing supportive conversations. The team has been aware for some time of

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Medium 9780253018571

The Staccato Master of the World

IU Press Journals Indiana University Press ePub

AMIRI BARAKA, A brilliant light that shined brightest when in the middle of battling for his people’s rights, has taken the eternal sleep. His manifest destiny was to make racial criminals and political thugs angry and uncomfortable with a staccato style that imitated jazz music in its isolation of certain notes that appeared to be detached and of a shortened duration. This is why the poems he wrote agitated the establishment and made him a righteous defender of human freedom; they were poems with words that actualized energy and power and, more than most poets, he was a student of sound like the old bald-headed Egyptian priests who knew that articulation of the voice was the chief miracle of human mystery. He was a free man and, in that freedom, he was free to be bold, to be wrong, to be strong and to be adventurous, and to be right at times. He knew that freedom came with a price but that price was never too costly for one’s sense of purpose. Always capable of self-correction, Baraka’s ability to take the dagger of his words and strike the blow for truth as he saw it was uncanny and a part of his genius. We will miss him and his poems and plays and essays that provoked a generation to be better humans, to unleash hell on those whose fat bellies snuffed out the souls of the poor. Despite his detractors, or those who believed that he was merely this-or-that, he was a socialist, feminist, womanist, nationalist, and culturalist who sought to bring equality and justices to the world. Nothing anti-African passed him without a comment and nothing was so close to him as his battle with his own intellect. A great spirit has passed this way!

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