From Ragan Report's Speechwriter's Newsletter, September 2007
Speaking of senior executives, some of them are avid poetry fans, explained a "New York Times" article that comes to us via Speechwriter’s Slant blog. The article showed that leading CEOs are avid readers with eclectic tastes, including a fondness for poetry.
An excerpt from Harriet Rubin's New York Times article:
Poetry speaks to many C.E.O.’s. “I used to tell my senior staff to get me poets as managers,” says Sidney Harman, founder of Harman Industries, a $3 billion producer of sound systems for luxury cars, theaters and airports. Mr. Harman maintains a library in each of his three homes, in Washington, Los Angeles and Aspen, Colo. “Poets are our original systems thinkers,” he said. “They look at our most complex environments and they reduce the complexity to something they begin to understand.”
He never could find a poet who was willing to be a manager. So Mr. Harman became his own de facto poet, quoting from his volumes of Shakespeare, Tennyson, and the poetry he found in Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” and Camus’s “Stranger” to help him define the dignity of working life — a poetry he made real in his worker-friendly factories.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Not Quite What I Was Planning
Six Word Memoirs from Writers Famous and Obscure collects almost 1,000 six-word memoirs--considered "American haiku," SMITH's book of six-word memoirs is considered "American haiku."
Six Word Memoirs from Writers Famous and Obscure collects almost 1,000 six-word memoirs--considered "American haiku," SMITH's book of six-word memoirs is considered "American haiku."
Point-of-View Exercise
She Thought, He Thought
by Sandra Linville-Thomas
Inez
Inez Turner wore her dead husband’s hand-carved mother-of-pearl bolo tie to her nephew’s wedding dance. She had his American flag cufflinks in her purse, his best tie twisted and knotted around her waist, and wore his favorite red dancing dress.
As she opened the door to the American Legion the accordion player launched his German polka band into a feverish song accompanying the Flying Dutchman dance. Men linked arms with their partners and whirled them around like a carnival ride. She saw Jason, her nephew, just as he switched his partner and swung her at a dizzying pace. Inez was knocked a little off balance by the darkness, the smoke, the thumping beat of the drums, the whirling dervishes, the laughter, the fullness of the celebration.
She stood for a moment just taking it in when she saw Jason’s bride, Tanya, sitting with her arm around the shoulders of a very narrow-featured man with a grey pony tail, his long legs elegantly crossed at the knee. He wore small, round dark glasses and peered over them at the dancers. Tanya whispered in his ear and he smiled as he directed his attention toward Inez.
Inez weaved through the tables around the dance floor, stopping often to greet most of the seated people, some of whom she had known since she was a toddler. Many were customers at her florist’s shop and some had joined her husband Pete at the farmers’ table at El Ranchito every day at noon for years.
Inez hoped Tanya’s father would not want to dance tonight.
Alexandre
Alexandre Petrovich searched the faces of the dancers for remnants of Dodge City’s Wild West. These people did not seem to be descendants of gunslingers. His daughter, Tanya, was dancing with what looked like a Bavarian bürgermeister. The accordion player’s thick fingers punched out yet another German polka and Tanya collapsed in the chair beside him, draping her arm about his shoulders like a worn shawl.
“It isn’t Malibu,” she said.
“No, but it is good,” he said.
“Jason wanted our wedding here,” she said. “But, I miss my friends.”
“You and I are such a small family now, it is good to be surrounded with a history and Russia is far away now,” he said. “You have only known your friends in California for a few years.”
“Ten, papa,” she said.
He shrugged and smiled.
“There’s your blind date,” Tanya whispered in his ear.
A woman with a short cap of white hair stood in the doorway with her hand resting on the doorknob. He wasn’t sure if she was arriving or leaving. She wore a simple red dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, cinched at the waist with a striped sash. She would have made a formidable Cossack.
Alexandre hoped she would take him to Boot Hill and the wax museum tomorrow.
She Thought, He Thought
by Sandra Linville-Thomas
Inez
Inez Turner wore her dead husband’s hand-carved mother-of-pearl bolo tie to her nephew’s wedding dance. She had his American flag cufflinks in her purse, his best tie twisted and knotted around her waist, and wore his favorite red dancing dress.
As she opened the door to the American Legion the accordion player launched his German polka band into a feverish song accompanying the Flying Dutchman dance. Men linked arms with their partners and whirled them around like a carnival ride. She saw Jason, her nephew, just as he switched his partner and swung her at a dizzying pace. Inez was knocked a little off balance by the darkness, the smoke, the thumping beat of the drums, the whirling dervishes, the laughter, the fullness of the celebration.
She stood for a moment just taking it in when she saw Jason’s bride, Tanya, sitting with her arm around the shoulders of a very narrow-featured man with a grey pony tail, his long legs elegantly crossed at the knee. He wore small, round dark glasses and peered over them at the dancers. Tanya whispered in his ear and he smiled as he directed his attention toward Inez.
Inez weaved through the tables around the dance floor, stopping often to greet most of the seated people, some of whom she had known since she was a toddler. Many were customers at her florist’s shop and some had joined her husband Pete at the farmers’ table at El Ranchito every day at noon for years.
Inez hoped Tanya’s father would not want to dance tonight.
Alexandre
Alexandre Petrovich searched the faces of the dancers for remnants of Dodge City’s Wild West. These people did not seem to be descendants of gunslingers. His daughter, Tanya, was dancing with what looked like a Bavarian bürgermeister. The accordion player’s thick fingers punched out yet another German polka and Tanya collapsed in the chair beside him, draping her arm about his shoulders like a worn shawl.
“It isn’t Malibu,” she said.
“No, but it is good,” he said.
“Jason wanted our wedding here,” she said. “But, I miss my friends.”
“You and I are such a small family now, it is good to be surrounded with a history and Russia is far away now,” he said. “You have only known your friends in California for a few years.”
“Ten, papa,” she said.
He shrugged and smiled.
“There’s your blind date,” Tanya whispered in his ear.
A woman with a short cap of white hair stood in the doorway with her hand resting on the doorknob. He wasn’t sure if she was arriving or leaving. She wore a simple red dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, cinched at the waist with a striped sash. She would have made a formidable Cossack.
Alexandre hoped she would take him to Boot Hill and the wax museum tomorrow.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I'm trying out Twitter and am not sure about it. I like reading what other people are doing, but will have to get used to the fact that anyone would like to know what's going on with me at all times. However, they're short.
Read this to find out why others love Twitter.
What do you think? Do you Twitter?
Flash fiction is another use for it.
For more on flash fiction, check out Flash Fiction Online.
Read this to find out why others love Twitter.
What do you think? Do you Twitter?
Flash fiction is another use for it.
For more on flash fiction, check out Flash Fiction Online.
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