Well That Didn't Work . . . And So The Microphone Is Yours
Dear Muntrem Readers,
Whatever my piece a few days ago was supposed to be, none of the following describe its original intent: "screed," "shocking," "avoidant, "offensive," "stupid," "a betrayal."
But that, I have learned, is how it felt for some (or many) of you to read.
I am thankful to those who let me know they were upset and took the time to say why.
If anyone else who felt similarly wishes to do the same, just let me know or comment or just know that you were not alone.
So . . First of all. I am sorry about that.
And, given this, I want to make this space available to anyone who wants to publish here. Anyone who wants to write anything at all should feel free to do so. The microphone is yours. (I will say more about this in just a moment.)
First a word about what I wrote. A fair critique is that I got caught up in my own poetry and then took the worst of the arguments now floating around the blogosphere and conflated those with people who were offering me not only beds to sleep in and meals to eat but also deeply felt and well articulated views of a crucial and heartbreaking situation.
But I turned people I've known forever into mouthpieces and background rather than letting them speak for themselves. I swerved around the hard work of taking on serious issues while wagging my finger. Yeah, sure, it is all the phone's fault
I should add that many of the people I may have served least well work in the Middle East or send money there or inform people locally in as authentic and researched a meaningful ways as they can. They want to solve massive problems concretely and endeavor to do this difficult work when, and where the spotlight of history is off as when it is on. I write impressions and try to sound clever while they staunch wounds. Let there be no doubt about which is more valuable.
Admittedly, in the name of art I want to defend myself a little and say more about the overall process of the piece in a later post—maybe. But clearly, while setting out to draw a distinction between hospitality and war, I trampled over people, knowledge, and ideas. The betrayal of form (poetry when polemic or journalism is called for) is forgivable. Betraying one's friends and protectors much less so. Did I betray those of you kind enough to read along over the past year or two? Maybe. I don't know. Again, let me know if you wish. But that is a more complicated, less important subject and one for another time.
For now, as I said, I hope any of you who might wish to will use this space to express ideas or impressions or experiences or whatever you like.
Write something with your name at the top of it. Write anonymously. Use a pseudonym.
Write fifteen words, write 15,000.
Write about your experience and work in Palestine or your family in Israel.
Write about those you see the best thinkers on this issue.
Write about the value of activism or service or healing or philanthropy or education as you practice it
Or . . .
Write about your dog and the strange route he takes on his walks.
Write about your favorite poem or offer us a poem of your own.
Write about a story you like or drop us a free write you think needs some readers.
Write about walking in the woods each day or the business you want to promote
Or . . .
Write about the meal you most like to serve or raising twins or the grandchildren you love.
Write about what you think should happen in Gaza or Israel or around the corner from where you live.
Write a screed about what a dummy I am (15,000 word limit need not apply.)
Write whatever you want for any purpose you want under any authorial name you want.
I'm happy to offer an eye before you post or not, whatever makes the experience of value to you
In the meantime, I"ll keep posting here myself and continue to make this offer.
You can reach me at tedmunter@gmail.com
With love,
Ted