Landed: A yogi’s memoir in pieces & poses addresses many themes common to her previous book, Places We Left Behind: a memoir-in-miniature, including dislocation, nostalgia, insecurity, and the desire to find a place to belong amid multiple international moves. And, like Places, it employs interesting literary devices: lists, poems, thought bubbles, and a true-false test. They almost read like part I and part II; Landed begins in 2011 where Places ends.
This second memoir, published 13 months after the first, goes even farther with its introspective questioning, though, as a yoga friend of Lang’s suggests that the author’s feeling adrift could be just as much due to struggles within herself as with her bi-national lifestyle and disagreements with her French husband. And we see more of Jennifer’s own work and practices to carve out her own space, within the chapters on yoga poses and classes interspersed between anecdotes of her married life and also within her account of her writing life. That includes teaching memoir writing classes in Israel as well as writing this memoir.
This book humanizes a part of the world that all too often makes headlines for the wrong reasons. It also tells the universal human story of a woman balancing concern for her husband, adult children, and aging parents, who have struggles all their own in Landed.
gone
it’s the first time
since she went
that i’ve been back here
to this outdoor café
in a crowded square
by the busy beach
at the same time
in the late afternoon
i use to come here
twice every week
after i saw her
spent an hour or two
with her
in the nursing home
where she lived
for years
today i came here
at the time i use to
and am feeling sad
as i thought i would be
and thinking lots of her
while having a coffee
enjoying the sun
and reading the paper
i suppose thoughts
and feelings
are expected
coming back here
as i’m missing her
and still find it hard
to believe
mum is gone
Stephen House has won many awards and nominations as a poet, playwright, and actor. He’s had 20 plays produced with many published by Australian Plays Transform. He’s received several international literature residencies from The Australia Council for the Arts, and an Asialink India literature residency. He’s had two chapbooks published by ICOE Press Australia: ‘real and unreal’ poetry and ‘The Ajoona Guest House’ monologue. His next book drops soon. He performs his acclaimed monologues widely. Stephen had a play run in Spain for 4 years.
Im poorly, here purely to supermax lit af pieces of dream boat first in class analysis. And so, this blustery but warm morning, wanting summat more dead, more despotically modern than Ginia Woolfy, i picked up
From my bookshelf, Luke Beesley’s Jam Sticky Visions. I didnt like it at the time i got it, but it met the criteria: prose poems. But it just seemed to glitch on the train thought he was real clever when not. For most, tho, thats just what, thats all poetry is. Pose poems.
Its not to this’n. But if it was, well, his pieces arent good enough for my reply. Beesley’s collection meets the bin back at home, a brown paper Woolworths bag you out of ideas welcome homeland security. And then, i bellyflop that trash onto the stale, malodorous front yard-birds-pecking-through-it dumpster like a babushka against a big, bad bag snatcher. To put a lid on it
Life is too shot – big bang, ‘member? – out the canon to fuck around with global village idiot, middle class pretensions who cant match magnifying glass flints. Stones have better ideals than the fish that pass degrees for and about poets here, their tree. Sun up, sun down voted, they did, for their mess escape to Plato’s outermost caves. Not thermonuclear to them yet over lap it up tick exiled you bygones can each buy a gun safe houses the generic in form elation of the errorist cellular phone it in to my hallowed lover hands it to the red hot LED scope aimed at my chest rattles and cuff links expired here to fore ground like yr ilks circuit elephants run, run, run, run, run, take a dragon, too. Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and – who?
So sLane it herds m’dear widdershins in to con sitter up grate to the verse cloud gathering like a gathering in formation dawn be Lowes haul my cheese deportment of tome travellers form a hoSPITal orderly racing to morn (!) our own Deaths wade like tables off in to the doowopping end ear ring night mayor of this new town square circle the Bast answers back to your no future
*
a neutron star let out its steam roller blind ed by your head light up a joint venture capital city gone to the doggerels of raw shucks
*
Get down stars spin around my hood lights up like mention of a crush garlic to keep the stoker doesnt seam to be any weigh here the bats the baller is knocked up to date the titanic sank out of bounds along the rolex watch tower attack gundagai slimmin’ on dust stacks cant afford the opportunity cost price of winning art disses my pure blood whine of the month this combing harvest cow and
moon you
[Ps cow and moon is a famous ice cream place in sydneys iner west]
*
Get out of my way, or no way at all. Selling sunny days, surreal estate, are you? His face jiggles like a constellation in the wind
ow, a mouth where the fireplace should be, tongue lolling out like an animal onto the floorboards, which are, by the looks of it, solid timber
pine gap.. wtf am i doing back here, your queen dragging this insipid spectacle, this treasure chest of our society behind us, its constant hacking cough
syrup me only d rink g rip tape?
*
even doors stick to the souls of my chews a quiet residential area 51 of then again I saw the planet coming apart at the sentence them to knife in prism effect the Hollywood end launch your self sacrifice Alice to the dragging on a joint venture capitalism is good shit hole in my shoes flutter as I stroke your facebook gives me a psychic shucks
*
I shoot straight as bam boo yr dead head has its lid taken off a coco nut empty as the bar rel of a border disp ute swerves up dust once we’re still the most realpolitik
TOC.. Pluto will wanna gain cointreau of this terminal illness. Our expedition need return like a king to the exposition. In the meantime, en joy ride a Grif ter’s in fern al pil sen er
I LOVE THE BOOK
A piece of my life
During my graduation, I loved and read the books about my major. My first goal was to become a student as soon as possible. My goal came true in September 2022. I was recommended for studentship on the basis of Grand. This is a gift for my 18th spring! What is the taste? I and my family were very happy. Why, my sister joined me in crying, that is, my sister and I were classmates. But for some reason I stopped crying because I started crying. Because I got a phone and spent a lot of time on social networks. My work and crying decreased significantly. Instead of reading a book, I picked up the phone.
Since the beginning of the session in my studies, I have completed my specialty subjects with excellent grades. I thought that it was definitely my fault that I didn't get a book in my hand soon, and I felt a little depressed. There was no use in thinking about it now. Ehhh... it was all my fault. As they say that the last regret is your enemy, I also regretted my actions, but it was too late. I was slightly behind my peers in terms of crying.
In the summer of 2023, I realized everything about the song. Now I'm in my 2nd year, I'm 19 years old, I've grown up a lot, my thinking and outlook have expanded. Before, I used to save money for this and that, but now, as the amount of money I am saving is enough for how many books, I dream about whether I will be able to get the book I like. My biggest realization in my 19 years of life is this... I LOVE BOOKS! ⁰¹·⁰⁹·²⁰²³·
✍️Ⓜ️ #Marjonabonu Khushvaktova
I have come across some of my journals from 1979 and 1987.
Indeed, my cry to the Lord was genuine. I actually wanted to die. I cried out to the Lord over and over again for salvation and redemption. Still, I continued in turmoil. As I read my journals from those periods in my life and my writing in Synchronized Chaos since 2015, I’ve found my salvation and redemption here and now after 21 years yesterday in this apartment God has come and now lives in my Heart.❤️
I have peace beyond my understanding, as it says in the Bible. Finally, after years of darkness, there is light in my heart. Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that God promises a hope and a future, not to harm, but to prosper us. John 3:16 says that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son so that anyone who believes in Him would have eternal life.
I accept Christ the salvation that Jesus Christ purchased for me. No more do I desire to die, but to live in Christ Jesus in the here and now and throughout eternity. My death was to my sinful nature because I’ve come to accept that while I once was a sinner. I’m now saved to live a life in Christ who is alive in the Father. Therefore, like the Apostle Paul says: Romans “Dead to sin, alive to God”
Romans 6:1-14: Dead to Sin “What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” – Romans 6:1-2 (NIV). Amen and amen.
“You were born from the Rays of God’s Majesty when the stars were in their perfect place.”
~RUMI
God, I return to you in the lights of a star…shining bright with the light of love. Love from the beginning I return without darkness for I have seen the wonders of my soul. The hidden treasure of your spark within me. The world has not covered my soul in sin or emptiness leaving me without you in my heart. Your truth speaks in me in the wee hours of the morning as the world sleeps forever more. I find my soul among the stars circling the outer rim of Saturn’s moon. I’m that star to the right of your heart. O God, never to become dim for you created me to shine forever more.
“When you lose all sense of self the bonds of a thousand chains will vanish…”
~RUMI
Where can I go, O God where you do not exist? I have not traveled far enough to not feel your Holy presence within my soul. Delightful thoughts about the beginning of time together. Reaching for the clouds, as I lay in the fields of joy, wishing to see the skies once more. Before the clouds cover the moon and the sun fades into the distinct mountains of Vermont. Once we had a conversation, as I sat on the porch wondering about my life. It was a conversation about my beginning without end. My heart listened intently as you spoke of salvation and redemption. Christ the Messiah came alive within me. No more doubt nor sin to confuse my aching soul. For I had received the communion of life with these three words: You are forgiven.
The whole class goes to extinguish incendiary bombs. My friend and I like it better than sitting in a cold classroom. Although I continue to study diligently, I still have the feeling that there is no need to study now. There’s a war all around! And so we benefit and do not freeze in the dimness of the classroom.
In a couple of months of participating in such operations, our class probably went around the entire Petrograd district. Bombs fell by the dozens or even hundreds. Some of them ended up in rivers, parks or squares, and they were usually not touched. Our goal was to extinguish bombs that hit houses and ended up on roofs, attics or even indoors.
It may seem strange now, but extinguishing bombs was not a very difficult task. The main thing was not to yawn and quickly cover it with sand until the “lighters” ignited everything around. It was scary at first. Some classmates said that bombs could explode and flatly refused to approach them, others boasted excessively, but at the sight of the bomb they panicked and could not move. However, over time, we all got used to it, and extinguishing “lighters” became almost as commonplace for us as homework or test papers.
Once, Igor and I and two other guys even managed to extinguish five bombs in one day. This event did not go unnoticed, and the director said that some commander would come to praise us the next day (I did not remember his last name and rank).
It was a real event for us. The blockade brought us much closer to the teachers, and even many cold and strict teachers thawed out and treated us like family. During these six months, we have already become accustomed to receiving certificates or encouragement from them and even the director, and then a person from the outside will come, and even a military one at that! All that morning, while waiting, we discussed his arrival.
– I wonder who will come to reward us, maybe Comrade Zhdanov? – one of our friends suggested.
– Why did you decide that it was him? – Igor grinned back.
– Hey, you heroes! – our ill-wisher, bully and sophomore Petka, intervened in the conversation, – What are they going to hang orders on your chest now? You’re going to walk around and shine them at the whole school, aren’t you?
– And what are you jealous of? – I asked.
– What did you say? – he started to attack me.
– Look! They’re coming! – A voice came from the hallway.
We ran out onto the stairs in a crowd. Through a small window, we clearly saw three figures in military uniforms entering the school.
– Everyone to class quickly! – Our teacher shouted.
Everyone rushed to their places. And after a couple of minutes, a short commander with a mustache, probably as big as Budyonny’s, entered the class. Our four were asked to come to the blackboard. This commander looked at us and addressed the class with a speech. He said a lot that the situation in the country and in the world is not easy, that we are fighting for a just cause and that victory will be ours, including thanks to such brave young people like us. Then he praised us and thanked us for our dedication and service to Leningrad, shook hands with everyone, handed over badges with a portrait of Lenin and performed a military greeting (saluted). To which we all replied in unison:
– Always ready!
When he left, we continued to discuss his visit and although, as some guessed, we did not receive medals or orders, this minute of communication, praise and gratitude completely replaced it and forever fixed in my memory.
6
More raids, shelling and bombing. One of them also occurred in our area. No sooner had we rejoiced at the return of the brothers, than the blockade again reminded us of itself!
That night, many houses were destroyed, but by some miracle our street was not hit. That was the first time I heard that terrible scream that night. At first I mistook it for the sound of an exploding shell or bomb, but when it was repeated, it became obvious that it had a different origin. However, a person couldn’t scream like that, a car couldn’t make such sounds, what was it? I heard it maybe five more times during the night. Something scared me in its sound, it was the sound of pain and despair, it seemed that the city itself was crying after the bombing, trying with effort to heal its wounds.
The morning was full of bustle for our family, we accompanied Ivan and Leonid to the front. Even my mother took time off before lunch for this occasion and was at home with us. But that terrible scream kept coming out of my head, and I decided to share my thoughts. My questions and assumptions were met with misunderstanding at home, and even reproaches. They were escorting their brothers and sons to the front, and I was climbing with my nonsense. Only Leonid shared my curiosity and, at parting, told me that he had heard from an upstairs neighbor a story about how an elephant from our zoo was wounded by a fragment last night, but there are no medicines and he is doomed to death.
After school, Igor and I walked around the zoo again, hoping to see something. He was very impressed by my stories. Although he did not hear these screams himself, he took my word for it and expressed hopes that specialists could come from Moscow and save the unfortunate animal. We were very worried about our elephant.
The promenade and the streets around the zoo seemed lifeless and quiet. Bare trees stuck up their branches like thorns. The dark waters of the Neva were still shackled by the ice blockade. The sidewalks, despite the spring month of March, were covered with snow. It seemed that there was not a single living soul in this world anymore, except for Igor and me.
Suddenly, I was called out. Turning around, I saw Masha dragging a sled with empty buckets. Scolding us for our idleness, she told us to immediately collect two buckets of water and take us home. Unable to refuse, I dragged the sled to the river. Igor volunteered to come with me for company.
On the way back, in this disturbing silence, we heard the cry of an elephant for the first time that day. So he was still alive! But why does he keep screaming? Is there really no way to help him? While we were standing and wondering, the elephant trumpeted again, even louder and longer.
His cry was reflected in our hearts with horror. We quickly walked away from the zoo, and he screamed over and over again, it seemed that he was chasing us, either begging for help, or warning about the agony of death, or blaming the pain that man generously gave to innocent animals.
At night, the screams of a dying elephant were heard again. I couldn’t sleep, and in order not to wake my brothers, I quietly got out of bed and walked barefoot to the window, slightly opening the window into the night darkness.
The almost indistinguishable silhouettes of the city were filled with the wild cry of death of the unfortunate animal. Perhaps this is the most terrible memory of the blockade and what I have always associated with it. That night, I also couldn’t sleep, but just stood and stared out the window for several hours in a row, hoping that my participation could ease the elephant’s torment.
