Thursday, December 6, 2007

Schild honored for works

By Tamika Robinson
Cardinal Staff

Dr. Steven Schild, a professor in the mass communication program at Saint Mary’s University, was recently named to the Complaints Committee in the Minnesota News Council.

Schild has served on the Minnesota News Council since 2004. As a member of the Complaints Committee, some of his duties include listening to and resolving any complaints made by audience members about the way they or an affiliated organization have been treated by any part of the media.

Schild noted that the purpose of the council is to attempt to promote better quality in journalism. “We try to provide a forum outside the court system where someone who believes that they have been unfairly dealt with by the news media can speak their peace,” he said.

As a member of the news council, Schild finds it not only rewarding but has said “it gives me things to bring back into the classroom and helps to provide examples that I hope can bring to life some of the things that are mentioned in the textbooks and will benefit the students.”

In addition to Schild’s journalistic experience, he has also published many works of poetry. His poem “Armistice” was published in Witness, an anthology of poetry, in 2004. The poem was recently awarded “Editor’s Choice” by Serengeti Press.
Schild said the poem was “based on some personal experiences that [he’s] had with a couple of people who in various ways were affected by the Vietnam War.”

“It’s a poem about the way that certain human beings, some real and some fictional, reacted to that war,” said Schild. As a poet, he said, “I try to find things to write about that are close by in my personal experience, close enough to relate to on a very personal and unabstract level.”

“I like variety and the mix that I get when I put together my teaching, the news council and poetry,” he said.


The war was dead a decade
and we were still alive.
Crazy Ed’s purple heart had spawned
cosmic-egg murals on a barren moon,
splattered day-glo flowers in deep space,
but now he sells wildlife prints
to sportsmen’s magazines.
My brother quit writing plays;
he cut his hair for steady work.
I dove into a foxhole job,
took the camouflage of standard-issue green.

The war is dead;
we lay down our arms,
we sue for peace in marriage
and mortgage,
we march home alone down a million common ways
to fleeting sleep where we dream
guerrilla dreams and know
the nightmare of capture.

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