Without Lifting A Finger



Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957) , a photo by Bergmanorama 1957-58 on Flickr. Bibi Andersson is Mia.

Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957) , a photo by Bergmanorama 1957-58 on Flickr. Started watching today. Bengt Ekerot is Death.

From the preface, written in 1960, by Donald Justice:   The poetry of Kees makes its deepest impression when read as a body of work rather than a collection of isolated moments of brilliance. This may account in part for the neglect from which it has suffered. Though a number of the poems are brilliant and many are moving, no single poem perhaps is flawless. IMHO, perhaps especially in the realm of poetry, flawless can only be a subjective term. That said, here comes a shorter one (these days my preferred length) that is nearly so: LAND'S END A day all blue and white, and we Came out of woods to sand And snow-capped waves. The sea Rose with us as we walked, the land Built dunes, a lighthouse, and a sky of gulls. Here where I built my life ten years ago, The day breaks gray and cold; And brown surf, muddying the shore, Deposits fish-heads, sewage, rusted tin. Children and men break bottles on the stones. Beyond the lighthouse, black against the sky, Two gulls are...

In reading his The Last Man I couldn't help hearing (over and over again) T. S. Eliot. This debt--and much more--is discussed in Anthony Lane's New Yorker article, "The Disappearing Poet." Other interesting documents/criticism re Kees can be found here.

Didn't know his name at all a few years ago (still don't really know much about his work). Certainly didn't know--until fairly recently and after my book had been "tagged"--that his first published book was titled The Last Man . Will let you know more when I know more, but for now here's a pretty good one mentioned in the intro by David Wojahn: 1926 The porchlight coming on again, Early November, the dead leaves Raked in piles, the wicker swing Creaking. Across the lots A phonograph is playing Ja-Da . An orange moon. I see the lives Of neighbors, mapped and marred Like all the wars ahead, and R. Insane, B. with his throat cut, Fifteen years from now, in Omaha. I did not know them then. My airedale scratches at the door. And I am back from seeing Milton Sills And Doris Kenyon. Twelve years old. The porchlight coming on again.

Finished her The New Century. It was a little disappointing, but I'll eventually give it another go round. IMHO (and what is that) she should follow Szymborska's example and publish less. I can certainly understand the diarrheal impulse, but some excrement shines and some is more or less Shinola. I could hang up a poem from this volume, but I'd rather not. Instead I'll hang up a little ditty which I found on the Net. And I really like it. Envoy To write so that a beggar would take it for money. And the dying would take it for birth. [ Translated by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh ] 

Not sure exactly when it was converted, but this theater is now the Belmont Athletic Club. ***  Circa 1970 (based on what's playing: The Music Lovers ) Circa 1939 (based on what's playing: Sergeant Madden) [Photo obtained from "William" on Cinema Treasures: http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/1423/photos/25989 ]

Albertus Pictor ( English , "Albert the Painter"; b. Immenhusen, c. 1440 - d. c. 1507), also called Albert Pictor , Albert Målare and Albrekt Pärlstickare ( Swedish ), is the most famous late medieval Swedish painter, known for his wallpaintings surviving in numerous churches in southern and central Sweden. Career Albertus was originally called Albertus Immenhusen , after the German town of Immenhausen in Hessen of which he was a native. He occurs in Swedish historical sources from 1465, when he was admitted a burgher of Arboga . Eight years later he moved to Stockholm , where, in accordance with current practice, he took over the workshop as well as the widow of a deceased painter. He was a versatile and prolific artist, known to his contemporaries not only for his church wallpaintings, but also as an organist and embroiderer (hence his nickname of Pärlstickare , "Pearl-embroiderer"). More than thirty of his schemes, mostly in a secco technique, are ex...

Albertus Pictor , a photo by Hans Olind on Flickr. The "supposed" inspiration for Bergman's chess match. This painting is in the Taby Church in Sweden.

Usually try to watch a couple "art films" while I'm on summer break. Have been thinking of watching this one again (other options include Bertolucci, Antonioni, Tarkovsky, Kieslowski). The copy I have also has a wonderful interview with Bergman on his island. Anyway, though it is something of a cliche now, this image is still very powerful (IMHO). 

Apparently a late work. An illness is in view. Very Jobian (IMHO). Stylistically, perhaps my favorite in The Night of Akhenaton . * Concerning God The gravest of our deficiency-induced diseases Admit it, Lord, this just won't do. This manner of creation simply will not do. To deposit this brittle eggshell of a world in the solar system, the brittle eggshell of life on earth, and then, to top it all, as if administering a mysterious mode of punishment, to grant it consciousness. This is both too little and too much. This is to lose all sense of proportion, Lord. Why expect us to cram an entire universe into toy skulls two human hands can compass? Or will you do with us as you do with acorns which you cram with entire oaks? I wouldn't use a dog as you use me. Your existence is not so much a scientific as a moral absurdity. To postulate your existence as the creator of such a world is itself an act of blasphemy.          ...

Christopher Columbus: Secretly Jewish?

Simple answer: the fictitious Arab author created by Cervantes. Cervantes claims the Arab writer's manuscript is the source of the "history" of Don Quixote. More complicated answer: see "Cide Hamete Benengeli vs. Miguel de Cervantes: The Metafictional Dialectic of Don Quijote " by Howard Mancing: http://users.ipfw.edu/jehle/cervante/csa/articf81/mancing.htm

According to the consort "notes": Notorious hack (1492? - 1558?), who wrote various romances of chivalry. Wikipedia is kinder but pretty much agrees: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feliciano_de_Silva * Anyway, Cervantes makes him Quixote's fave and mocks his style: The reason for the unreason to which my reason is subjected, so weakens my reason that I have reason to complain of your beauty

Sunken Gardens, Butchart Gardens, Victoria, British Columbia. , a photo by Jeffrey Beall on Flickr. I guess this is one of the big tourist attractions, so perhaps we'll go. Though I've heard it's a bit pricey for a garden and the girls would probably prefer something more "exciting." We'll see.

Victoria British Columbia Inner Harbour at Night - HDR , a photo by David Gn Photography on Flickr. Where we hope to go in July/August. Never been. A great photo!

First wave of Japan tsunami debris hits Alaska

Alaska Hit By 'Unprecedented' Tsunami Debris

Tilting at windmills is an English idiom which means attacking imaginary enemies. The word “tilt”, in this context, comes from jousting . The phrase is sometimes used to describe confrontations where adversaries are incorrectly perceived, or courses of action that are based on misinterpreted or misapplied heroic, romantic, or idealistic justifications. Etymology The phrase derives from an episode in the novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes . In the novel, Don Quixote fights windmills that he imagines to be giants . Quixote sees the windmill blades as the giant's arms, for instance. A relevant portion of the novel states: Just then they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that rise from that plain. And no sooner did Don Quixote see them that he said to his squire, "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them...

Sylvia Whitman , a photo by craigfinlay on Flickr. Sylvia's namesake and current owner/operator of Shakespeare & Co.

sylvia_beach_and_james_joyce , a photo by warehouse42 on Flickr.

A good article (and photo) re Le Mistral, Shakespeare & Co., George Whitman, and his daughter Sylvia Beach Whitman: http://www.francetoday.com/articles/2012/05/20/shakespeare_company_turning_the_page.html

As filtered through colander, grater, or overhead trees. Various "canvases" are: white posterboard, gunmetal gray siding, offwhite interior wall. Best I could do with the equipment I had.

My version dates to my honeymoon (1994).  If I have other and later "versions," I wasn't able to easily dig them up. Shakespeare & Co. (1994)

Shakespeare & Co Antiquarian Books , a photo by El Bingle on Flickr. I was here years ago (on my honeymoon and then later by myself). Very close to Notre Dame. Not sure if I photographed it (I'm on my way to look). I remember buying a cheap copy of something by Jean Genet (I wasn't real impressed). I don't believe I knew then of the Sylvia Beach connection.

Looks like F Scott Fitzgerald was something of a closet artist. A friend pointed this drawing out to me some while ago (he's a real big fan of  FSF). FSF is bowing before a literary god: James Joyce. I believe the mermaid on the left is Sylvia Beach (of Shakespeare & Co. fame).  

Madrid - Don Quixote , a photo by okbends on Flickr. I was in Madrid--years ago. Didn't see this (didn't think to look). We had come from Tangier and were on a train all night (I was traveling alone but I "hooked up" with two others--Japanese and Greek--also getting off in Madrid). We had agreed to go to a bullfight, but after the Prado things got tangled. Anyway, I skipped the bullfight and got on a train to Paris. Oh, well.

nemes_nagy_agnes_kozepkoru , a photo by kosatibor on Flickr.

End of a semester (feels like I was punched in one lung)  Reading: Finished Holderlin's letters (wanted to linger there; will save the essays for another day); Agnes Nemes Nagy's  The Night of  Akhenaton (told to read her long ago); Cervante's Don Quixote (it's been on my to-read list for some while) I think I'll go for a walk

Switzerland is tunnel heaven (it's not just a land of cheese and chocolate). Of course, as I was driving, I didn't get too many good pictures of tunnels. Here's a couple shots of the tunnel we took from Italy back into Switzerland, landing in Brig. Can't really see the tunnel but we're waiting in line. We're on the "car train" and the tunnel's up ahead.  

snail. , a photo by ch i r i bir i be l a on Flickr. Another perspective (again: not mine). I guess at least two people other than myself thought this tunnel interesting. We were racing to Holderlin's tower--and we had to get back to the car before the meter ran out. A beautiful spring morning. Only wish we could've stayed longer. We were on our way to Zurich.

Lines , a photo by chrys on Flickr. Not my photo. Didn't think to take one. But I was thinking of this today, about how it'd be a bit spooky at night.

Sure enough: the etymology is Welsh. These Pennsylvania towns (eventually merged) were named after two places--Bala & Cynwyd--in Wales. Apparently they lie in the Welsh Tract of Pennsylvania (just outside Philly) and were founded by Welsh Quakers (1680s). Learn something everyday. [Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bala_Cynwyd,_Pennsylvania ]

Anna Jarvis Birthplace Marker , a photo by jimmywayne on Flickr. I love that placename: Bala-Cynwyd. Reminds me a bit of something you'd see in Wales. Anyway, here's to Anna Jarvis. Letters are better than Hallmarks.

Anna Marie Jarvis (May 1, 1864, Webster, West Virginia – November 24, 1948, West Chester, Pennsylvania ) is the founder of the Mother's Day holiday in the United States . Anna Jarvis was born in the tiny town of Webster, West Virginia . Her birthplace, known as the Anna Jarvis House , was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1979. [ 1 ] She was the daughter of Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis . The family moved to nearby Grafton, West Virginia in her childhood. She graduated from what is now Mary Baldwin College in 1883. Anna's mother Ann Jarvis had founded Mothers' Day Work Clubs in five cities to improve sanitary and health conditions. The Mothers' Day Work Clubs also treated wounds, fed, and clothed both Union and Confederate soldiers with neutrality. On May 12, 1907, two years after her mother's death, Anna held a memorial to her mother and thereafter embarked upon a campaign to make "Mother's Day" a recognized holiday. She su...

IMHO, other than Ein Brief , perhaps the best story in the slender NYRB selection. Apparently it's connected to Goethe's Conversations of German Refugees in a big way. From Joel Rothenberg's A NOTE ON THE SELECTION: "An Incident in the Life of Marshall de Bassompierre" incorporates material from Goethe's Conversations of German Refugees (1795). Hofmannsthal's failure to include an attribution in his story as first published in 1900 attracted some unfavorable notice at the time. Karl Kraus had this to say about the controversy: "What ignorant persons are calling plagiarism here is actually quotation." *If I can locate the related Goethe text I will post it.

Just a few bullets: there is nothing more than these four walls Everything is interconnected, and suffers as soon as it is active, including the purest thought a human being can have Kant is the Moses of our nation, leading it out of Egyptian lethargy into the open But the scribes and Pharisees of our time, who have made out of the dear holy Bible a cold prattle that kills heart and spirit, I certainly don't want them as witnesses of my intense, living faith Every day I have to invoke the absent god again like a poor glimmering lamp that would dearly beg a drop of oil to shine into the night a bit longer

Have wanted to walk down and get some photos of the art (kids' art) on the green fence skirting the Colorado Lagoon (as far as I know: there's a dredging project going on that may last till the end of summer). Thought it might brighten up things "around here" a bit. So, I dragged the fat pug with me and we took a few photos before continuing our walk around the lagoon and golf course. Even found a good golfball which I've added to my collection.

At least in his early years Holderlin is making a living as a tutor. I believe (I've not read a full biography, so I'm garnering it from his letters): a live-in tutor. Thus some fragmentary thoughts on education (at least in this letter he is interacting with Rousseau pretty much throughout): I must waken his humanity But Rousseau is wrong in patiently waiting for humanity to awaken in the child But I would never ask the child whether he had remembered what had been said, for the point is not history itself but its influence on the heart So long as geography is not, as it usually is, reduced to something dead and papery; so long as the maps are enlivened with suitably adapted travel accounts If the child can come to notice day by day that arithmetic is part and parcel of many useful activities he will very likely take pleasure in doing it To teach a child a language systematically will be very difficult if it is to occur before the child is even capable of working towa...

Hindenburg - 1937 , a photo by Marco Crupi Visual Artist on Flickr.

Combing through Holderlin's Hymns and Fragments , translated by Richard Sieburth. I had underlined (2005) a passage (the ending) from "The Eagle": What you possess Is taking breath. What you raise By day, rediscover In sleep. Where eyes are covered And feet are bound, You will find it. Und was einer hat, ist Athem zu hohlen. Hat einer ihn nemlich hinauf Am Tage gebracht, Er findet im Schlaf ihn wieder. Denn wo die Augen zugedekt, Und gebunden die  F üß e sin d, Da wirst du es finden.

Started them a couple days ago via Kindle. Below I bullet just a few underscores: I went home moved, and thanked God that I could feel where thousands rush by indifferently, either because they are accustomed to the sight or because they have hearts like lard the desire to learn can consume all other desires But don't we most doubt precisely what we desire ? The wisdom of my 21 years very often deserts me The reason I'm still in the seminary is that my mother wishes it. I suppose I can waste a year or two for her sake Send me some of your poems soon. There is more in them for our souls than in letters. Isn't that true? And a good cause can always hope for God's protection pray for the French, the champions of the rights of man The magical light I saw it in when I had finished it, & even more when I read it to you on that unforgettable afternoon, has now dissipated so entirely that only the hope of soon writing a better poem can offer me some consolation f...

Finished  S.K . earlier in the week. Have also downloaded to my Kindle Pnin (read it years ago and loved it) and Invitation to a Beheading (pretty certain I've never read it). Something I've experienced on various modes of transportation (but no one puts a finger on it better, or funnier, than Nabokov): Ah, that bulky monster rolling on my left was a woman; eau-de-Cologne and sweat struggling for ascendancy, the former losing. The ending (winding down with the train's clickety-clack in your ears) is probably my fave part. I only grind out part: And then the masquerade draws to a close. The bald little prompter shuts his book, as the light fades gently. The end, the end. They all go back to their everyday life (and Clare goes back to her grave)--but the hero remains, for, try as I may, I cannot get out of my part: Sebastian's mask clings to my face, the likeness will not be washed off. I am Sebastian, or Sebastian is I, or perhaps we both are someone w...

At least it's favorable. Found it just googling about: http://gloomcupboard.com/2012/05/03/jenny-catlin-reviews-the-last-man-by-r-l-swihart/