Dancing in the Streets

Still thinking about Martha Graham’s advice to “keep the channel open.” Here’s what sailed in last night as an antidote to my own sliver of despair threatening to grow. No expectations that this will actually make an impact, go viral and get people dancing in the streets. But hey, who knows? And so I posted it on Facebook and re-post it here and urge you to share it with your community. If nothing else, perhaps it speaks to that sense of private aloneness we all feel at times like this and reminds us that we are far from alone.

Friends, take a moment with me here and please read this whole post. 

 

When the worst happened in November of 2016, like everyone I knew, I was devastated. Stunned, in shock, shaken to my core that everything I believed in and stood for and felt was evolving was thrown to the ground in the country of my birth and my life. In the way that we do, I carried that oppressive weight on my shoulders as if it were only my burden to bear, my sorrow to shoulder. Even as I knew that wasn’t true, it felt abstract that others shared the feeling and there we all were feeling so alone, walking around in a daze as if it was just us who felt shattered and ravaged and helpless and hopeless. 

 

That all changed when I took to the streets in the Women’s March in January of 2017. There we were!! All together! The ones who actually cared about Democracy and justice and inclusion and kindness. We marched together and sang together and carried our creative homemade signs and I could feel our spirit and hope and people-power rise up. Of course, there was still much horror to endure in the four years that followed, but that kick-start of togetherness helped see us through it, all the way to the sweet victory in November 2020. 

 

Now here we are again and though I’ve done reasonably well holding the hounds of hopelessness at bay, still I sift through the 40 text messages and 50 e-mails each day swinging me between hope—SURGING! — and despair—PACKING IT UP.  Like so many of us, the polls are using me as a punching bag and it’s exhausting, dispiriting and for the first time, I’m beginning to feel the fear leaking in. 

 

And so I beseech us all to consider this idea— LET’S TAKE TO THE STREETS!! Massive turnouts in every major city (and yes, rural towns) in the U.S.— heck, the WORLD, gathering the weekend before Election Day not to re-act, but to pro-act. HERE WE ARE! There’s more of us than the polls will ever admit and we are here to stand for everything that is true and beautiful and just. A giant collective roar before the vote that will energize us all and let the world know in no uncertain terms that we will defeat a babbling psychopath through the sheer force of our love and determination and through the still-living ideal of a fair election in a country re-dedicated to Democracy. 

 

You March Organizers, come out of the woodwork—time is running out! Or why wait for someone to organize it? Let’s all just pick a time and a place and inundate our Social Media in the places we live and tell everyone who resonates with the idea of gathering collectively before the election to refuse our solitary fears and turn the tide with our physical presence and get the energy moving. In nothing else, to remind each other we are not alone and we will see this through together. 

 

Please share with EVERYONE you know and though it seems impossible that this little Facebook piece could ever go viral, let’s try the impossible. And then we can tell our grandchildren about it. Who’s in?

Back in My Lane

After my evening of scorching self-doubt, I remembered where my home properly is. I may never be anything but the most amateur of musicians, authors, speakers, but when it comes to teaching, there is never a sliver of doubt. Put me in a class with 3^rd graders sitting on a rug singing Halloween songs, a circle of Orff teachers anytime, anywhere, a group of wheelchair-bound elders gathered around the piano, and I am in my proper lane, en route on the highway to Heaven. Somehow the constant changing lanes and taking side routes seems a necessary part of the journey, but there is just one lane where I wholly belong and that is called “teacher.”

 

Today was the aforementioned singing with kids at a school where my neighbor goes. I slung my guitar on my back and walked through the park to get there and that was the beginning of the delight. I walked in the room and though I’ve sung with this class maybe three or four times a year for the past three years, still I recognize many of them and they remember me. With some prompting, they can come up with some of the songs we have sung and they did. 

 

As a music teacher, I owe it to all my students, young, old and middle, to be the best musician I can be. To reflect as deeply as possible about pedagogy and the practice of the teaching craft. To speak as eloquently as I can on behalf of the children, the teachers, our profession, our passion. It’s good to remember that this is the purpose of all my stumbling efforts and triumphant success in each of those fields is wholly beyond the point. For me, at least. Those who were born to play basketball like Steph Curry or Caitlin Clark, cello like Yo Yo Ma or piano like Yuja Wang —you get the idea— have their lanes clearly demarcated and they are welcome to them. My destiny may look like a small lane on a country road compared to theirs, but both get you to heaven. No comparison necessary. 

Blessed Unrest

“A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?”

 - Robert Browning”

“Your boundaries are your quest.”   – Rumi

 

“I yam what I yam.”  - Popeye

 

Recently I listened to a recording of my piano playing, to a draft of my first Podcast and read something I had written and my overall impression, to put it bluntly, was, “I suck!” The act of creation requires an unbounded confidence that you have something to say and the notion that you have the needed skill and talent to say it and say it well. Suddenly, all of that crashed to the floor. 

What are the criteria that measure success? That fuel one's determination to keep trying? 

 

1)   Enough of a response from World that you are up to the job, measured in comments from people and numbers of people attending, invitations for further work.

 

2)   An inner sense that you did well, that you would like to be an audience member in your own concert, a listener to your own Podcast, a reader of your own book.

 

As for the first, the numbers have always been small and intimate, 2,000 copies of each book selling out after five years, 9 people at my bookstore reading, 30 people at my self-produced concert, a small (but steady—thank you!) blog readership. My ship that comes in is almost always a one-person kayak or canoe rather than an ocean liner. Nevertheless, I persist. 

 

But the second hit me over the head yesterday and in my crisis of faith, I briefly wondered “Why bother?” It is discouraging to keep reaching so much further than my grasp, like turning the page in the Chopin Etude and being hit with pages of 32^nd notes that my fingers can’t handle. Rumi’s reminder brings some comfort, that hitting the wall of your own limitations is a test to see how serious you are in your quest. Like being willing to start the long uphill battle with Chopin’s notes one phrase at a time in slow motion and emerging more successfully some 25 hours later. 

 

And then there’s Popeye. Knowing there are tens of thousands of musicians, speakers, writers who can do it better and who needs you anyway? Just lower the bar and be content with what you have. 

 

I think what I most need to hear today is Martha Graham, who somehow captures a bit of “all of the above” and a bit more. After writing this, I’ll try again with the Podcast, which after all is new territory and my issue with not finding my proper tone speaking into a phone to an imaginary audience rather than a live one in a workshop is something that perhaps I can improve. I don’t love that Chopin piece enough to put in the hours, but why not be content playing that Erik Satie piece and feeling the full measure of its beauty? And didn’t I just publish some old poems that I liked reading? 

 

Here's Martha (boldface mine):

 

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

 

Saturday was a bittersweet reunion with so many old-timers from The San Francisco School Community. The occasion was a Memorial Service for one of ours who died too young at 81, with his playful childlike spirit intact and a body/face that looked like he was 50. Eli Noyes was not only the father of a lovely student I taught, but illustrated my Teach Like It’s Music book and my colleague James Harding’s From Wibbleton to Wobbleton.  I knew he was a Renaissance man of many talents but had no idea how many until this gathering. Film-maker, Claymation innovator, illustrator, oboe player, accordion player, jazz piano student, weaver, potter— the list went on and there were testimonies from so many how he approached each with such creative gusto and playful exploratory spirit. It was a lovely service and while looking through my poems folder mentioned in the last post, I noticed I had written my hopes for my own Memorial Service someday. Hopefully some far distant day. 

 

Here it is. 

INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY FUNERAL

To start with, the music.

 

Lots of it and don’t hold back.

 

• Ockeghem’s Requiem, for starters. I know it's obscure, but there's a story there.

• Some Bach somewhere—organ or piano. Maybe play my 8th grade record of Prelude and Fugue. If someone can find a turntable.

• Some Georgia-Sea Island style or spirituals group singing with a soulful leader. 

But keep Jesus out of it. You can say Spirit instead.

• Somewhere there has to be some Bulgarian bagpipe. And then people will say, 

“So THAT’S what it’s supposed to sound like!”

• Of course, some jazz. Get someone to sing “Haunted Heart” with a jazz trio. Maybe “Tenderly” and the crowd singing along on “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

• If people are going to beat their breasts, might us well put it to a beat and get some body music going!

• Balinese gamelan optional. Samba or New Orleans style for the recessional. 

 

As for the people, of course, friends, family and neighbors and invite all the kids and teachers I’ve taught. 

Make everyone check their cell phones at the door.

Encourage some copious weeping freely vented. No embarrassment. Let it rip. 

No polite veneers or turn to your neighbor with a friendly handshake and forced smile.

No crap about going to a better place to rest. Show some rage at the brutal hand of death.

The acceptance of its loving embrace can come later.

 

And of course, humor. 

Laugh, cry, they're kissin' cousins. Let ‘em both loose!! 

Fall into each other’s arms. Hug freely and sincerely. 

 

Eat well. Dance. Flirt. 

Talk to me. Tell stories. All of them. 

(Well, maybe not all. Discretion will still have its place when I’m gone.)

 

Let it go on to the wee hours of the morning.

Don’t schedule other appointments, unless it’s the last night for the Misfits/ Some Like It Hot double feature at the Castro Theater. 

 

In which case, by all means go and eat popcorn on my behalf.

 

These some first thoughts. I’ll get back to you with the details.

 

Or not.

 

—Dec. 5, 2010 

The Return of the Part-Time Poet

This morning I awoke out of dreams telling me I needed to find a 4^th-grade child’s poem written in 2019. Miraculously, I did! In an old blogpost!

 

But first I began the search in a folder titled “Songs, Raps, Poems.” Couldn’t find it there, but it felt good to see the titles of all these poems I’ve written over the years. It has been quite a while since I’ve written a new one and that’s a shame. So to remind my part-time poet self to re-awaken and share what I’ve yet to share in any coherent published form for the .001 % of people who would ever buy a poetry book, here's a few old ones that came up.

 

ELECTRONIC BUDDHISM

 

i-Pod plugged into the laptop

 

while I sit in meditation,

 

both of us re-charging for the day.

 

Message to Buddha:

 

“Do not disconnect.” Ø 

 

 

WHY HUMANS HAVE TO WORK SO HARD

The squirrel romps, 

the jay squawks, 

the pines drip sap.

Each freely expresses its own nature,

 

While we poor mortals

sit and strain for seven days and nights,

To get a mere fleeting glimpse of 

Who we are.

 

(Mt. Baldy Zen Center)

 

 

DOUBLE HAIKU

 

Spring snow in Finland

Blustery winds in Scotland

Plum blossoms in Spain.

 

Grey skies in Beijing

Balmy breezes in Brazil

Home to ‘Frisco fog.

 

MY SISTER TURNS SIXTY AND I FEED THE CAT

 

I keep the cat’s food in a large, purple tin.

Inside a red cup to scoop it out.

 

Each day, I put a cupful in his bowl

And he eats. 

Each day, the dry pellets in the tin

sink down

cup by cup 

toward the shiny bottom,

until one day, 

                                                                                                they’re gone. 

 

And so do our years descend in measured cups,

feeding some small creature who purrs with contentment

and rubs against our leg

in gratitude and affection. 

Bad News/ Good News

Out of the 30 political e-mails and texts I get daily, the ones I delete the fastest start with “Bad news!” or “We’re begging!!” Who needs it? We are built for hope and things are bad enough without having to be always reminded of it. At the same time, the only road to good news is through the dubious neighborhoods of bad news, through the stormy weather of anger and outrage, through the long hard look at the mirror of truth even if we don’t like what we see there. 

 

As a writer, I need to consider which route to take when I invite the reader to travel with me. And now, about to launch my first Podcast, I’m painfully aware that I have a short minute to see if I can entice the listener to keep listening and probably the bad news approach is not the best route to take. Here is a first draft of one possible opening episode, which I think I won’t use. You see I do get to the good news, but perhaps the listener will never arrive, having gotten out of the cab (well, Uber or Lyft, to be more contemporary) after the first paragraph. At any rate, having written it, why not include it here? (And yes, I will alert you as to when the first Podcast is actually launched and how to access it in case you’re interested. Hopefully by November 1^st!). 

 

Hello. I am Doug Goodkin and you’re listening to the ABC of Education. 

Today’s episode: “Between Education and Catastrophe.” Here I introduce the theme of this Podcast and why I chose it. 

 

The title comes from a quote by H.G. Wells: “We are in a race between education and catastrophe.” Think about that for a moment. When was the last time you had a serious conversation about education? That you read a book about it or listened to a podcast or bought an education magazine? Every day for some 12 to 15 years, parents drop their kids off at school, but how much do they think about what really goes on there? In our national discourse, everybody’s talking about the economy or technology or the latest diet plan or this crisis or that one, but how much do we hear about schools? In the recent Vice-President debate, the subject did come up briefly and the brilliant suggestion from one of the candidates was that we get “stronger locks on the doors.” I just filled out a survey about what issues I’m concerned about and out of 15 different choices—healthcare, immigration reform, creating jobs, etc.—no surprise, schools and education were nowhere to be seen on the list. 

 

If we don’t talk about it, don’t think about it, just keep going on with business as usual without considering how that business is actually doing, then catastrophe wins the race. And there are plenty of signs that it is. Our new unspoken national motto seems to be “my ignorance is as good as your education.” Here in the United States we are graduating people from universities who literally don’t know who won the Civil War. People who can’t distinguish a fact from a fantasy and don’t care which is which. People who are eating a daily diet of misinformation and disinformation, who are fed purposely manufactured lies by people in power and can’t see through them. People who will rarely read a book or go to a jazz or classical music concert or visit a museum in their adult life. People who are addicted to a steady stream of trivial nonsense on their phones and will rarely take a walk in the woods without them. And these people are empowered to vote. At a crucial time when we need more intelligence and more caring and more culture, books are being banned and teacher’s jobs are on the line if they tell the truth to students.

 

Everywhere I go, I see signs on the school walls like “Practice Mutual Respect. Be kind. Work hard. Work well with others. Knowledge is power.” And yet look at where we are. According to polls, it looks like close to 50% of the population is ready to vote for a President who is the exact antithesis of everything schools have said they stand for. There are signs everywhere that our schools are failing miserably, not just with low test scores, but with their mission of cultivating thinking, caring, responsible citizens. 

 

That’s the bad news. But there’s plenty of good news as well. School can be a place where children feel welcomed and valued and cared for, where they are trained to think critically and given a firm foundation in reading, writing and arithmetic, where they are introduced to music and dance and drama and poetry and visual arts, not merely as consumers, but as makers of art. This is not mere conjecture. I know such schools can be because they already are. They make a difference in both the present and future life of their students and those students go on to make a difference in the world as we wish it might be. Again, this is not mere dreaming. I have testimonies from over a thousand kids I’ve taught at school that contributed enormously to who they are and who they become. They give me great hope and remind me that if education is to surpass catastrophe in the marathon race, we better start talking about it and thinking about it and acting on it. And so here we are. Again, my name is Doug Goodkin and welcome to this podcast, The ABC’s of Education!

I Love San Francisco!

For thirty years, I’ve met once every two weeks with 8 or 9 other men in what is simply known as our Men’s Group. Every Wednesday night, from 7:30- 9:30, we met at a member’s house and discussed what it was like to be a contemporary human being housed in a man’s body. After check-in, there was usually a topic, ranging from fathers, mothers, children, work, religion, art, food, what have you— though a few repeats, we basically never ran out of topics.

 

Come Covid, the in-person meeting switched to Zoom and once people were tentatively socially gathering again a couple of years later, we decided we should meet in person, but outside. A combination of needing daylight hours and the honest assessment that we aging guys mostly in our 70’s were starting to nod out at night meant switching the Wednesday night meeting to Friday morning, from 10 to 12. This had the added perk of getting to explore different neighborhoods and parks in San Francisco and sometimes walking while we talked. And so we’ve continued. 

 

But today was quite different, as our host member decided to walk us down Market Street to look at some of the classic old buildings in our city’s illustrious history. In our new outdoor format, mostly the place we are is simply a backdrop to our talking about our topic, but now, the place was the topic itself. Starting at 8^th and Market, we took a look at the detailed work of the old theaters like the Orpheum, the Golden Gate Theater, the Warfield. We stopped at the 9^th Circuit Court of Appeals Building and got to go inside (impressive!). On we went past the Phelan Building and the Flood Building and the new Hastings Law Building, each one reminding us of the former times when utility and aesthetics were joined as one. So much attention to detail, to architectural elegance and grace. 

 

For those not familiar with San Francisco, Market St. is not the most pleasant place to walk. Everywhere the signs of the contemporary dispossessed, along with a bit of a ghost town feeling as so many downtown offices were vacated during Covid, never to return to their former hustle and bustle. The Blue Angels hadn’t come out yet, but the jackhammers were at full throttle, all part of a plan to try to revive and beautify Market Street. Not quite the European promenade I would hope for, but some effort to make it more attractive, friendly to walkers and interesting to tourists. 

 

With my eyes tuned to architecture, I notice other buildings that I’ve usually just passed by and now have renewed interest in visiting them, finding out more about their history, finding little treasures hidden in their hallways. It’s astounding how long one can live in a place like this and know so little about its nooks and crannies, its hidden and untold stories. I’ve done Stairway Walks of San Francisco, visited the 50 Must-See sights, wandered alone through just about every neighborhood and park, but the Building Tour awaits me. 

 

In case I haven’t mentioned it lately, I love San Francisco!