Deep Blue

Jack London is a paragon of American literature. He is “the pioneer spirit”-made-flesh. His words resonate for me tonight:

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out
in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom
of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

This calls up in my mind James Wright, another American writer (in this case poet) who made a lasting impression with these words. In a way they are a confirmation of London’s words, from one who seemingly took the different path.

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

- The Branch Will Not Break, 1963

In reflecting on Benjamin Franklin’s comment (see Thomas Paine post below) during the signing of the Declaration of Independence that “We must all hang together, or we surely will all hang separately”, I am reminded of another of Franklin’s ideas. At the outset of the American push for independence, Franklin published the following “Join or Die” woodcut/political cartoon, that was intended to demonstrate the need for unity amongst the colonies.

Franklin knew that the UK would divide and (re)conquer the colonies, were there dissention in the ranks. He also knew that our best chance of success (in all things) was cohesiveness.

Some say this graphic was the origin of the original flag of the United States, the Gadsden Flag.

The rattle snake is an American original: no one had seen anything like it in the “Old World”. It keeps to itself, takes care of itself, and is dangerous only when threatened. It was for these reasons that it was used on the Gadsden Flag.

I’ve had a few questions from you all about Miyamoto Musashi (the author of the tagline above on my blog’s masthead)

Musashi is the author of several works of philosophy, such as The Book of Five Rings, and the Dokkodo, “The Way to be Followed Alone”. The full text is here. Musashi was a ronin, or masterless samurai, in the early 17th Century in Japan (The Edo Period). The term ronin captures merely one facet of his life. He was also an accomplished calligrapher, sculpter, painter, farmer, and philosopher. He trained constantly, in many disciplines (both martial and otherwise). Most of this training was done alone.

Days before dying, he gave us the Dokkodo. This is the original.

Let thy speech be short, comprehending much in a few words.
- Apocrypha

Whitman (see post below) had my mind ranging through the American Wild.

This is the American Wild that I was shown by my parents, of course.

Which leads me to Pirsig. You see, it’s all connected.

But you know that.

Take a look at that smile riding in back.

Robert Pirsig was indeed a Father to be respected.

He set aside his life to show his son the American Wild, this despite slowly losing his own mind at the time.

That gives a new meaning to ”Quality Time”.

Oh, by the way, just in case anyone is discouraged today: despite literally battling his mental illness to write a book about the experience(s) of the trip, Pirsig completed his book. He then received 120 rejections, and one acceptance, for his Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

One of the greatest modern books I have ever read.

And now you can too. Enjoy. If you read the book I’ve posted here, please also buy it, out of respect.

Thou art that which asserts that everything you think you are, and everything you think you perceive, are undivided.

- Robert Pirsig

Today, it’s Whitman who sings to us, from the American Wild.

I SING the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them;
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves;
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?

- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

In thinking about Watt this morning (the post below), I am reminded of a conversation with a new friend of mine, wherein we discussed Viktor Frankl.

“What is to give light must endure burning.”

Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari, Viktor, wherever you are.

You truly were properly named.

First, the historical basis for Bruce’s aphorism:

Nan-in, a Japanese Zen master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen. After he asked Nan-in about Zen, the professor spoke to Nan-in ceaselessly, for some time. Nan-in therefore prepared tea for the two of them. Nan-in poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself.

“It is overfull. No more will go in!”

“Like this cup,” Nan-in said, “you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Now, Bruce asks of us to be both the cup and the water.

Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless – like water.
Now, you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup.
You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle.
You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot.
Now water can flow, or it can crash!
Be water, my friend.

Now, realize that these words above do not capture the full impact of Bruce’s water,

and go here.

This has been rising to consciousness in my brain ever since I posted “Translations of my Postcards“, below. In addtion, it’s about Pompeii, so it has an Italian connection. So, (his) truth will out - I must put it to (cyber)paper.

When Stevens died, his coworkers at the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company were surprised to find out from his obituary that he was a poet.

Fantastic.

Wallace ”Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” Stevens 

A Postcard From The Volcano

Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;

And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;

And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt

At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion-house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky

Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion’s look
And what we said of it became

A part of what it is . . . Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,

Will say of the mansion that it seems
As if he that lived there left behind
A spirit storming in blank walls,

A dirty house in a gutted world,
A tatter of shadows peaked to white,
Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.

I started learning Italian this weekend while I was in Rimini. Very cool.

I spoke with my family, and wished My Father/my brothers/many of my friends a happy Father’s Day. They all deserve it.

I also re-read some passages of Vincent Van Gogh’s Letters to Theo.

I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream.

We can be happy for what Vincent gave us. He did not waste his life.

If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint’, then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced. 

Among the tools of mio nuovo prova (learning Italian):

1. Tu Che Mi Ascolti, by Alberto Bevilacqua.

I am on page 10. That only took me half a day. Hah! It’s going faster now that I understand common structures (word orders, etc.), and have bought an Italian/English dictionary for the occasional words that are not cognates with French, Portuguese or Spanish. È facile.

Bevilacqua has a very personal voice and tone to his writing.

The writing reminds me of  Ondaatje. They have both learned their own “trick with a knife“*.

2. Time Out, by Max Pezzali, formerly of the band 883. He sings very clearly and beautifully, which makes it easy for me to hear how he forms sentences. Questa musica è ottima.

Also, check out Negramaro.

3. Teach Yourself Italian, which worked nicely in combination with my iPod, a chaise longue, and some sun last weekend.

Am on chapter 5, part 2 now. I am impressed with how well this Audiobook is structured/wrought.

4. The patience of my Italian coworkers. :) I now have four or five accidental professors/translators pressed into service. Perdonimi gli amici, io imparerà rapidamente.

Also, see my photos from Rimini over the weekend. What a great place: I hope to return.

___________________

* Translations of My Postcards, by Michael Ondaatje

the peacock means order
the fighting kangaroos mean madness
the oasis means I have struck water

positioning of the stamp – the despot’s head
horizontal, or ‘mounted policemen’,
mean political danger

the false date means I
am not where I should be

when I speak of the weather
I mean business

a blank postcard says
I am in the wilderness

________________

Ciao à tutti!