Five Answers

Some time ago, Jaq asked some questions of me by way of his blog. My answers have been sitting in draft form for months. In case anyone is interested:

1. What will it take to get you blogging regularly? I mean, really regularly?

I wish I knew. If I ever manage, even for a month, to match your output, Jaq, I will be amazed.

2. I haven’t been there in years, so are there good bookstores in Cedar Falls/Waterloo now?

Bought Again Books is a decent used bookstore. Last I knew, it was still being managed by a retired philosophy prof whose class was once described to me as “Mister Toad’s Wild Ride.” There’s a Barnes & Noble in Waterloo, now. I don’t know if you consider it a good book store. My favorite thing about it is that my son calls it “Barns and Nobles,” which conjures up a fun image.

3. How do you respond to people who say that poetry is dead?

Amen. Just kidding! I always wonder whether they mean all poetry, or just contemporary poetry. For my part, I don’t read very much contemporary poetry, so I don’t know if there’s anything being written that will matter in 10 years, or a hundred. I’m sure there are poems that could matter. Poetry will always find readers, I think. The “long tail” model suggests lots of cultural artifacts will survive on the strength of the web’s ability to connect them with their ideal audience. Maybe that’s how poetry will survive.

4. Am I deluded in thinking that at least some of the poetry in Lord of the Rings is good stuff?

In a way, I think the proper measure is how it works in its own world. I accept it on those terms. But I have to admit that even when I was immersed in my first truly fanatical reading, I often dreaded plowing through the verse passages. (Sort of like reading the Quidditch parts in Harry Potter.) I wish I liked them more. Tolkien’s best poetry is his prose in The Silmarillion, I think.

5. Where are the most physically beautiful parts of Iowa?

You and Sean may hate this, but the territory around Decorah (home of Luther College) is probably the most striking. The northeast counties as a whole are what I would call modestly pretty. But I also like the more severe landscapes some of the western counties–huge, made of long, low hills. At dawn in winter, it can look like the end of the world . . . a beautiful end.

The Return of the Kingfisher

Once, I kept a blog whose title alluded to one of Hopkins’s birds. I took it down, for reasons I cannot quite remember. I don’t regret those words’ loss, any more than I regret tilling under the little square of poorly-tended garden next to our house. Some fruit had come of it, but it wasn’t really a part of how I lived.

 Neither is high weir, but I haven’t taken it down yet–for reasons I cannot quite articulate.

Here’s another of Hopkins’s birds:

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
    As tumbled over rim and roundy wells
    Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
    Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
    Selves- goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;
   Keeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–
   Chríst. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
   To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

I can’t imagine what my actions speak or spell to the Redactor’s eye.

Pre-Pandemic Planning

Now here is something interesting to the son of an epidemiologist: the CDC’s new guide to pandemic mitigation. I saw it linked in Slate’s Survivalist column, which criticizes the CDC for measures that are either too mild or on the wrong track.

The CDC focuses on community-based, non-pharmacological ways to slow the spread of a pandemic. In dinner-table conversations on infection control that I’ve overheard since childhood, my dad has always stressed the challenge of integrating institutional, social, and pharmacological responses to disease. The CDC seems to put a great deal of emphasis on getting individuals to accept new roles within their workplaces, schools, communities, and even faith-based organizations. In this sense, their report, from my layperson’s perspective, appears to be a good start. David Shenk, the Slate columnist, is probably right in saying that without clear answers to the vaccine supply question, the CDC’s recommendations are less robust than is ideal. But as a citizen-level call to action, their preparations do seem worthy, especially given the fading memory of how disruptive things like polio were.

And oddly enough, I ran across all this stuff just one day before my employer, a community college, began circulating questionnaires about department-level responses to pandemics. Something’s in the wind, anyhow . . .

small beer

Just a couple of notes:
+ Ken Jennings kindly reciprocated with a link to my post about his apparatus/asparagus puzzler. Thanks, Ken!
+ My sources tell me a sporting event of some significance will take place this weekend. I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch it, though: Mediacom (the local cable company) and Sinclair Communications are in a tussle of what’s gotta be pocket change to Sinclair. The upshot is CBS has been dropped from our cable system. People all over northeast Iowa are dusting off rabbit ears (or plotting an evening at a sports bar). Not sure what I’ll do . . .
+ My job takes me all over northeast Iowa to visit high schools, and lots of them are in very small towns. I often arrive in town with a little time to kill before my visit, so rather than hang out in my car in the parking lot–which might attract the wrong kind of notice in a rural community–I set up a makeshift, traveling office at the town library. I love small town libraries. The librarian is always friendly, they have a regular crowd talking like it’s a coffee shop, and there’s often an idiosyncratic cast to the collection, as though its accessions are guided by just a few personalities. The library is often a kind of showcase building for a town losing population by the year. That’s both heartening and little sad–they’re proud of their library, but it sometimes feels like the last thing they’ll raise together.

A Wish for Mr Biswas

I’m in the middle of a re-reading of Naipaul’s A House for Mr Biswas, and the title character is driving me nuts, again. In almost every situation, he makes the worst possible decision. Sometimes he does something stupid when he should do nothing at all. Sometimes he does nothing when it would be so simple to do something good.

 The strange thing is that I keep wanting better things for him. I keep hoping he’ll rise above his frustrating, rather wretched little world. Naipaul says Biswas entered the world “unwanted and unaccomodated.” He senses that what little he’s given is offered grudgingly, and he struggles to respond well to anything, even small victories.

 I love this book. It’s strange and familiar, all at once. The story takes place a world away, in another age, but its characters are instantly recognizable. Naipaul’s prose is beautiful–rich, but not overly elababorate, with a clarity few other novelists achieve. It’s one of the few books I’m truly glad to have read.

Serendipity

From Ken Jennings’s excellent blog:

By substituting two letters, you can turn GROWTH into GROTTO or GROUCH. What’s the only English word you can produce by changing two letters in the word APPARATUS? (Note to nerds: Harry Potter is not real and “apparated” isn’t a word.)

Easy: Asparagus.

This puzzle brings up an odd memory. Every time I hear the word asparagus, I’m reminded of the B Kliban cartoon below. I think I saw it in the middle Eighties.

Talk about coincidences . . .

Top 50, with Comments

Sean posted his favorite songs selected from a list of “500 Greatest” published in Rolling Stone. I’ve done something similar; I selected 10 keepers from each group of 100 (1-100, 101-200, etc)

It was a bit tougher than I thought, but the limits pushed me to choose songs I’d actually keep listening to.

2. Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones (they really knew what they were doing here) 12. A Change Is Gonna Come, Sam Cooke (the loss of Sam Cooke at this point in his career is staggering) 13. Yesterday, The Beatles (overplayed, but also underplayed) 22. Be My Baby, The Ronettes (I love the wall of sound) 23. In My Life, The Beatles (strange song, in lots of ways) 28. (Sittin on) the Dock of the Bay, Otis Redding (grew up loving this one) 39. That’ll Be the Day, Buddy Holly and the Crickets (perfect pop song) 48. All Along the Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix (possibly the artist with the highest batting average) 85. Crazy, Patsy Cline (makes me think of Christmas, somehow) 100. You Can’t Always Get What You Want, The Rolling Stones (ambitious, pretentious, and successful) 

101. Voodoo Child (Slight Return), Jimi Hendrix (man this is an amazing song. de profundis) 109. Brown Eyed Girl, Van Morrison (I love watching my wife dance to this) 110. I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (to Stop Now), Otis Redding (maybe Redding’s best song)1 15. You Send Me, Sam Cooke (smoothest singer ever) 125. Will You Love Me Tomorrow, The Shirelles (I love the wall of sound) 162. Nothing Compares 2 U, Sinead O’Connor (last great song from her) 169. Losing My Religion, R.E.M. (not their best, just their most popular) 177. Free Fallin’, Tom Petty (should be higher, maybe) 179. Love Will Tear Us Apart, Joy Division (perfect for so-called disaffected college students) 180. Hey Ya!, Outkast (a gold mine of smiles. overplayed, but not its own fault)   

201. Bizarre Love Triangle, New Order (layers of wit) 222. Oh, Pretty Woman, Roy Orbison (no one sounds like Roy) 236. Everyday, Buddy Holly and the Crickets (man, he was good) 255. Heart of Glass, Blondie (epitome of early 80s detachment) 273. Something, The Beatles (startling to me when I first listed to Abby Road in 4^th grade) 274. Somebody to Love, Jefferson Airplane (Grace Slick’s potential, realized) 278. Pictures of You, The Cure (their absolute best song, I think) 281. You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Stevie Wonder (placeholder for “Isn’t She Lovely”) 287. Walk This Way, Run-DMC (huge fun for white kids in the 80s) 289. Can’t Buy Me Love, The Beatles (despite the insipid movie of the same name) 

303. Ruby Tuesday, The Rolling Stones (they wrote actual pop songs, too) 304. With a Little Help From My Friends, The Beatles (I liked Joe Cocker’s take at Woodstock, as well ) 316. Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd (mixed-up imagery, but pretty great anyway) 334. Wild Horses, The Rolling Stones (ambitious and pretentious and successful) 335. Sweet Jane, The Velvet Underground (Cowboy Junkies’s version, actually) 337. Beat It, Michael Jackson (first music video I watched for) 356. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), Eurythmics (on every 10 minutes that summer. still good) 357. Little Wing, Jimi Hendrix (his prettiest song) 370. The Wind Cries Mary, Jimi Hendrix (his second-prettiest song) 384. Ticket to Ride, The Beatles (early Beatles for grownups) 

401. Tonight’s the Night, The Shirelles (I love the wall of sound) 408. Sweet Emotion, Aerosmith (don’t know why I like it) 427. New Year’s Day, U2 (the one where they suggest instead of explain) 445. Come As You Are, Nirvana (nicely menacing) 449. Penny Lane, The Beatles (blends several Beatles stages) 454. My Sweet Lord, George Harrison (loopy, but fun. where’s “Here Comes the Sun”? did I miss it?) 455. All Apologies, Nirvana (sad) 467. Welcome to the Jungle, Guns n’ Roses (their best song. 10 best of the 80s?) 486. How Soon Is Now?, The Smiths (grim, but compelling) 497. Buddy Holly, Weezer (smarty-pants pop that works)

On Sapphics

Sapphics for Patience
~Annie Finch

Look there—something rests on your hand and even
lingers, though the wind all around is asking
it to leave you. Passing the open passage,
you have been chosen

Seed. Like dust or thistle it sits so lightly
that your hand while holding the trust of silk gets
gentle. Seed like hope has come, making stillness.
Wish, in the quiet

If I stood there—stopped by an open passage—
staring at my hand—which is always open—
hopeful, maybe, not to compel you, I’d wish
only for patience.

Sapphics Against Anger
~Timothy Steele

Angered, may I be near a glass of water;
May my first impulse be to think of Silence,
Its deities (who are they? do, in fact, they
Exist? etc.).

May I recall what Aristotle says of
The subject: to give vent to rage is not to
Release it but to be increasingly prone
To its incursions.

May I imagine being in the Inferno,
Hearing it asked: “Virgilo mio, who’s
That sulking with Achilles there?” and hearing
Virgil say: “Dante,

That fellow, at the slightest provocation
Slammed phone receivers down, and waved his arms like
A madman. What Atilla did to Europe,
What Genghis Khan did

To Asia, that poor dope did to his marriage.”
May I, that is, put learning to good purpose,
Mindful that melancholy is a sin, though
Stylish at present.

Better than rage is the post-dinner quiet,
The sink’s warm turbulence, the streaming platters,
The suds rehearsing down the drain in spirals
In the last rinsing.

For what is, after all, the good life save that
Conducted thoughtfully, and what is passion
If not the holiest of powers, sustaining
Only if mastered.

Sapphics

On “You Can Count on Me”

High on my list of favorite films is You Can Count on Me (2000). I really enjoy the rare chance discovery that someone else likes it a lot, too.

It’s about a pair of siblings reunited after being out of touch for an extended time. Sammy (Laura Linney) and Terry (Mark Ruffalo) were orphaned as young children. Sammy now lives in their childhood home with son Rudy (Rory Culkin), who’s eight; Terry claims to prefer drifting in and out of jobs and lives, but he admits that he wants to come home for a little while.

Terry is bright and charming and spontaneous–everything a kid wants in an uncle. At first, anyway. He’s also a catastrophe waiting to happen. His bad judgment wrecks goodwill and hopefulness wherever he goes. But Sammy really wants him to find a more meaningful connection to . . . something. To her, and Rudy, and the world in general.

In a desperate moment, she consults Father Ron (played by the director, Kenneth Lonergan), the priest at her church. She wants to know what to do when “someone can’t quite get ahold of themselves.” Father Ron calls on them at home. As Rudy shoots baskets outside, the three of them make an awkward triangle in the living room.

Here’s a transcript of their conversation. I record it here so I can find it again, and because it’s good enough to share.

Terry: “Well, I’m not really sure why you’re here, Ron. Umm . . . I know I haven’t exactly been the model citizen since I got here, but considering how things have been going for me lately, I thought I was doing fairly well.

Directs attention to Sammy

“And I also find it kind of discouraging that you seem to think that I’m in need of some sort of spiritual guidance or what have you, so much so that you’re willing to disregard the fact that I don’t believe in any of this stuff at all.”

Sammy: “Well, I didn’t mean to discourage you.”

Terry: “Yeah, I find it kind of insulting.”

Father Ron: “Can I . . .can I say something here?

Sammy asked me to come talk to you because it’s her opinion that you’re not going to find what you’re looking for the way you’re looking for it.”

Terry: “And how would she know?”

Father Ron: “But I’m really not here to try to get you to do anything or to try to get you to believe in anything.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing that I told her, which is that as far as I’m concerned, the only way she can help you is by her example, by trying to be a model for you in the way she lives her life.

“And that doesn’t mean she’s supposed to be a saint, either, if that’s what you’re smiling about.”

Terry: “Oh, I didn’t realize I was smiling.”

Terry and Father Ron stare at their shoes for a few seconds.

Father Ron: “You know, Terry, a lot of people come to see me with all kinds of problems. Drugs, alcohol, marital problems, sexual problems–”

Terry: “Great job you have, man.”

Father Ron: “Well, I like it . . .

“I really feel like what I do is very connected with the real center of people’s lives. I’m not saying I’m always Mr Effective, but I don’t feel like my life is off to the side of what’s important. I don’t feel like my happiness and comfort are based on closing my eyes to trouble within myself or trouble in other people. I don’t feel like a negligible little scrap floating around in some kind of empty void, with no sense of connectedness to anything around me except by virtue of whatever little philosophies I can scrape together on my own.”

Terry: “Well . . . ?”

Father Ron: “Can I ask you, Terry, do you think your life is important?”

There’s a great deal to love about this movie–it’s funny and sad, it has surprises that aren’t just cheap tricks, the soundtrack is beautiful, and so on. But its best quality is its characters’ honesty with each other. They convince us that they say what they really want and need to say. And sometimes that means silence, too. There are aspects of the movie I could do without, but there are no really wasted scenes; it all adds up in the end.

Sometimes when people know each other so well that some things can go without saying, they still need to say them.

Wikibibliography

Saw via Lifehacker that a CNET writer is suggesting alternatives to Google’s suite of services. That makes sense–who doesn’t like to shop around every now and again? Even though I really enjoy Sam Adams–like Google, it’s a reliable go-to–their versions of Pale Ale, Black Lager, and Cream Stout aren’t necessarily the best in those market segments. They put out something like 18 kinds of beer; they might all be fine, but no one would expect them to produce the standard bearer in any category, much less all of them.

One of the commenters in the Lifehacker thread mentioned that they sometimes prefer Wikipedia over Google as a starting place. I can relate, and I’ve noticed that my favorite feature in almost any wiki article is the little link bibliography at the end. In fact, it’s usually the first thing I look at, and I often depart wikipedia immediately from there, never to return.

Reminds me of the old joke, “You know you’re a grad student when you find the bibliographies of books more interesting than the actual text.”