Caveat or note bene: I do not generally espouse this sort of sentiment, however, I am so feeling this today, what with more idiocy, pusillanimity, and general non-action, I need a bit of positivity and focus.
It will come as a surprise to precisely none of you who know me well to hear a confession that I spend almost as much time looking at books to read and reading reviews as I do actually reading any books. To that end, I found a book entitled 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. Now, if that isn't a challenge, I have not ever had one. There are lots of books I have already read (have not counted them up), many I disagreed with vehemently (sorry, folks, but I don't think Catcher in The Rye is ALL THAT), and many that I had never even heard of. So here I go again, off into the literary netherworld. For any of the literati amongst you (and I know you are legion here), it's a fun book to peruse.
Another morning up early after another night early to bed. I suppose there is no excuse for not getting back to swimming today. My knee is reminding me that I need to get back to it. Le sigh. Always more shopping to do.
The next day.
The early-to-bed-early-to-rise rhythm continues. I even get up feeling a bit more energetic and positive, but by now, just about noon, the sunniness has drooped back into dread and emotional sludge. Politics and gun control, that's what's getting me down at the moment. And feeling overwhelmed with the house and Mom and all.
We got to her geriatrician this morning, even relatively on time, although that took a fair amount of finagling - (Americanism from the 1920s, perhaps combining an alteration of fainaigue (“to renege”) with the suffix + -le (“frequentative”);[1] compare haggle.) - maybe not le mot juste there. In general, her health is pretty good and her doctor thinks she is an okay candidate for a second hip replacement. Oh boy! More fun for me.
I had a nightmare that we needed a new roof.
I know part of my malaise is due to an overcast day. I need to go back to the small and incremental here, to see if I can regain some productivity.
Too Old
I am too old
to learn the names
of the new killers
This one here
looks tired and attractive
devoted, professorial
He looks a lot like me
when I was teaching
a radical form of Buddhism
to the hopelessly insane
In the name of the old
high magic
he commands
families to be burned alive
and children mutilated
He probably knows
a song or two that I wrote
All of them
all the bloody hand bathers
and the chewers of entrails
and the scalp peelers
they all danced
to the music of the Beatles
they worshipped Bob Dylan
Dear friends
there are very few of us left
silenced
trembling all the time hidden among the blood –
stunned fanatics
as we witness to each other
the old atrocity
the old obsolete atrocity
that has driven out
the heart’s warm appetite
and humbled evolution
and made a puke of prayer
to learn the names
of the new killers
This one here
looks tired and attractive
devoted, professorial
He looks a lot like me
when I was teaching
a radical form of Buddhism
to the hopelessly insane
In the name of the old
high magic
he commands
families to be burned alive
and children mutilated
He probably knows
a song or two that I wrote
All of them
all the bloody hand bathers
and the chewers of entrails
and the scalp peelers
they all danced
to the music of the Beatles
they worshipped Bob Dylan
Dear friends
there are very few of us left
silenced
trembling all the time hidden among the blood –
stunned fanatics
as we witness to each other
the old atrocity
the old obsolete atrocity
that has driven out
the heart’s warm appetite
and humbled evolution
and made a puke of prayer
BODY OF LONELINESS
She entered my foot with her foot
and she entered my waist with her snow.
She entered my heart saying,
“Yes, that’s right.”
And so the Body of Loneliness
was covered from without,
and from within
the Body of Loneliness was embraced.
Now every time I try to draw a breath
she whispers to my breathlessness,
and she entered my waist with her snow.
She entered my heart saying,
“Yes, that’s right.”
And so the Body of Loneliness
was covered from without,
and from within
the Body of Loneliness was embraced.
Now every time I try to draw a breath
she whispers to my breathlessness,
“Yes, my love, that’s right, that’s right.”
Book of Longing, New York, Ecco Press, 2017
Truly, I live in dark times!
ReplyDeleteAn artless word is foolish. A smooth forehead
Points to insensitivity. He who laughs
Has not yet received
The terrible news.
What times are these, in which
A conversation about trees is almost a crime
For in doing so we maintain our silence about so much wrongdoing!
And he who walks quietly across the street,
Passes out of the reach of his friends
Who are in danger?
It is true: I work for a living
But, believe me, that is a coincidence. Nothing
That I do gives me the right to eat my fill.
By chance I have been spared. (If my luck does not hold,
I am lost.)
They tell me: eat and drink. Be glad to be among the haves!
But how can I eat and drink
When I take what I eat from the starving
And those who thirst do not have my glass of water?
And yet I eat and drink.
I would happily be wise.
The old books teach us what wisdom is:
To retreat from the strife of the world
To live out the brief time that is your lot
Without fear
To make your way without violence
To repay evil with good —
The wise do not seek to satisfy their desires,
But to forget them.
But I cannot heed this:
Truly I live in dark times!
II
I came into the cities in a time of disorder
As hunger reigned.
I came among men in a time of turmoil
And I rose up with them.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.
I ate my food between slaughters.
I laid down to sleep among murderers.
I tended to love with abandon.
I looked upon nature with impatience.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.
In my time streets led into a swamp.
My language betrayed me to the slaughterer.
There was little I could do. But without me
The rulers sat more securely, or so I hoped.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.
The powers were so limited. The goal
Lay far in the distance
It could clearly be seen although even I
Could hardly hope to reach it.
And so passed
The time given to me on earth.
III
You, who shall resurface following the flood
In which we have perished,
Contemplate —
When you speak of our weaknesses,
Also the dark time
That you have escaped.
For we went forth, changing our country more frequently than our shoes
Through the class warfare, despairing
That there was only injustice and no outrage.
And yet we knew:
Even the hatred of squalor
Distorts one’s features.
Even anger against injustice
Makes the voice grow hoarse. We
Who wished to lay the foundation for gentleness
Could not ourselves be gentle.
But you, when at last the time comes
That man can aid his fellow man,
Should think upon us
With leniency.
—Bertolt Brecht
Oh T! Thank you so!
DeleteDon't remember that when Cohen died last year I noticed it was on Joni's birthday.
ReplyDelete