Month: October 2020

thank you

At the moment, the world is offering us lots of reminders that life is short and time’s winged chariot is always hurrying near. It’s easy to get sucked into fear, anger or sorrow about this. They’re all around us (as well as inside us). So I was particularly delighted to discover this poem which suggests a different and beautiful response to intimations of mortality. Here it is: ‘Thank you‘ by Ross Gay. Read it and be refreshed. (You can also hear him read a couple of bits from a recent book here.)

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now, what was that thing…?

Do you remember those Magic Eye pictures? I thought they were a craze in the 80s but according to their website it was the 90s (I seem to have mislaid a decade somewhere or other). The pictures came to mind this morning when I was trying to remember a name I’d forgotten: something about the way I had to stop striving to see the 3D image in order to be able to do so made me think of what it can be like these days trying to retrieve something from long-term mental storage. And that made me think of ‘Forgetfulness‘ by Billy Collins. If you can bear not to read it straight away, do click the red arrow by the title to hear the author reading it. It’s a great way to meet the poem.

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strangeness making sense

The other poem in my head while I was on holiday was one I almost always hear in there when I’m away from home: Larkin’s ‘The Importance of Elsewhere‘. The experience of being where no-one knows your name (apologies for the echo of the Cheers theme tune which may have just drifted across your mind) can feel safe or frightening, liberating or paralysing, and I’ve always loved Larkin’s exploration of these facts in this poem.

Larkin is of course a supreme anatomist of being alone. In ‘Vers de Societe‘ he is darkly witty and wonderful on the distinctions between aloneness and loneliness, solitude and isolation, as well as on the messages both internal and cultural which exist in relation to these different states. in ‘The Importance of Elsewhere’ we find a characteristic Larkin spareness—he never wastes a word—as well as honesty. I find it deeply moving the way he manages to speak so clearly about the loneliness of his life at ‘home’ by speaking only about the acceptable sense of ‘difference’ elsewhere.

‘Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home,/ Strangeness made sense’: that stunning opening sentence has an epigrammatic quality. It’s ok not to belong where you’re not supposed to belong. This central thought, and its unsaid opposite, are fleshed out through the rest of the poem. There’s something so delightfully deft in the nearly playful, definitely paradoxical recognition that the ‘salt rebuff’ can ‘ma[k]e him welcome’, that ‘difference’ can connect you, put you ‘in touch’. There’s another important distinction made by the end of the second stanza—that he is ‘separate, not unworkable’, which serves to mark the surfacing of the fear and pain which exist at the heart of the poem. I find the word ‘unworkable’ so quietly powerful, so touching. It’s not a word that makes a fuss, and isn’t as immediately value-laden a word as unsociable, or terrible, or damaged, or flawed. Nonetheless there’s a sort of sad resignation in it—that this is the quietly, undramatically painful fact of him. He just doesn’t work as a person in relationship. In the final stanza he doesn’t admit to refusing ‘[his] customs and establishments’, but despite the conditional verb the closing imagery of insurance, with its connotations of death and disaster, speaks clearly of what is unsaid.

Particularly at the moment, when the world has become strange to us, I wonder how many people might find in this poem the curious comfort of reading and knowing they are not alone in their loneliness?

the winged life

Everything there is to be said about the toxic potential of social media has already have been said somewhere else (probably on social media) so I won’t rehearse it here. And it’s true that the splicing together of commercials for our lives (rather then inhabiting them) isn’t quite what Wendell Berry’s splendid ‘The Vacation‘ is about; but it feels related, somehow. Besides, this was the poem which came to mind while I was away on my holiday. Here it is.

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