[Image: scene from Northlandz, the world’s largest model train layout
(Flemington, NJ). Photo by Vlad Bubnov, on Flickr.]
From whiskey river (italicized portion):
In the Moment
It was a day in June, all lawn and sky,
the kind that gives you no choice
but to unbutton your shirt
and sit outside in a rough wooden chair.And if a glass of ice tea and a volume
of seventeenth-century poetry
with a dark blue cover are available,
then the picture can hardly be improved.I remember a fly kept landing on my wrist,
and two black butterflies
with white and red wing-dots
bobbed around my head in the bright air.I could feel the day offering itself to me,
and I wanted nothing more
than to be in the moment — but which moment?
Not that one, or that one, or that one,or any of those that were scuttling by
seemed perfectly right for me.
Plus, I was too knotted up with questions
about the past and his tall, evasive sister, the future.What churchyard held the bones of George Herbert?
Why did John Donne’s wife die so young?
And more pressingly,
what could we serve the vegetarian twinswho were coming to dinner that evening?
Who knew that they would bring their own grapes?
And who was the driver of that pickup
flying down the road toward the lone railroad track?And so the priceless moments of the day
were squandered one by one—
or more likely several thousand at a time—
with quandary and pointless interrogation.All I wanted was to be a pea of being
inside the green pod of time,
but that was not going to happen today.
I had to admit to myself
as I closed the blue book on the face
of Thomas Traherne [*] and returned to the house
where I lit a flame under a pot
full of floating brown eggs,and, while they cooked in their bubbles,
I stared into a small oval mirror near the sink
to see if that crazy glass
had anything special to tell me today.
(Billy Collins, from The Trouble with Poetry, and Other Poems [source])
…and:
Life is made up of moments, small pieces of glittering mica in a long stretch of gray cement. It would be wonderful if they came to us unsummoned, but particularly in lives as busy as the ones most of us lead now, that won’t happen. We have to teach ourselves how to make room for them, to love them, and to live, really live.
(Anna Quindlen, A Short Guide to a Happy Life)
Not from whiskey river:
The Last Glass Bead Game Player
The colored beads, his playthings, in his hand,
He sits head bent; around him lies a land
Laid waste by war and ravaged by disease.
Growing on rubble, ivy hums with bees;
A weary peace with muted psalmody
Sounds in a world of aged tranquility.
The old man tallies up his colored beads;
he fits a blue one here, a white one there,
Makes sure a large one, or a small, precedes,
and shapes his Game ring with devoted care.
Time was he had won greatness in the Game,
Had mastered many tongues and many arts,
Had known the world, traveled in foreign parts—
From pole to pole, no limits to his fame.
Around him pupils, colleagues always pressed.
Now he is old, worn-out; his life is lees.
Disciples come no longer to be blessed,
Nor master to invite an argument.
All, all are gone, and the temples, libraries,
And schools of Castalia are no more. At rest
Amid the ruins, the glass beads in his hand,
Those hieroglyphs once so significant
That now are only colored bits of glass,
He lets them roll until their force is spent
And silently they vanish in the sand.
(Herman Hesse [source])
The girl group known as The Cookies had two incarnations. The first (dating to the early 1950s) morphed into Ray Charles’s backup singers, The Raelettes. Starting in 1961, with a mostly new lineup (including one Earl-Jean McCrea), they sang backup for acts like Neil Sedaka and Tony Orlando. By 1962 they had a hit of their own: “Chains,” written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin in their Brill Building songwriting personas:
[Below, click Play button to begin Chains. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left — a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 2:31 long.]
Lyrics:
Chains
(by Gerry Goffin and Carole King; performance by The Cookies)Chains
My baby’s got me locked up in chains
And they ain’t the kind that you can see
Whoa-oh, these chains of love got a hold on me
YeahChains
Well, I can’t break away from these chains
I can’t run around ’cause I’m not free
Whoa-oh, these chains of love won’t let me be
YeahNow believe me when I tell you
I think you’re fine
I’d like to love you
But, darling, I’m imprisoned by theseChains
My baby’s got me locked up in chains
And they ain’t the kind that you can see
Whoa-oh, these chains of love got a hold on me
YeahI wanna tell you, pretty baby
Your lips look sweet
I’d like to kiss them
But I can’t break away from all of theseChains
My baby’s got me locked up in chains
And they ain’t the kind that you can see
Whoa-oh, these chains of love got a hold on me
YeahChains
Chains of love
Chains of love
(repeat and fade out)
King and Goffin supposedly offered the song to The Cookies in gratitude for McCrea’s recommending a good babysitter. The babysitter in question shortly stepped onto the world’s music stage as Little Eva –who recorded King and Goffin’s very big hit of 1961, “The Loco-Motion” (on which The Cookies, yes, performed the backup honors).
Of course, the Loco-Motion in question really — really, now — has nothing to do with trains. But connections are interesting, aren’t they?
___________________
* Given the context of those lines from Billy Collins, I thought this bit from Wikipedia was interesting (emphasis added):
Thomas Traherne, MA (1636 or 1637 – ca. 27 September 1674) was an English poet and religious writer. His style is often considered Metaphysical…
As so little of Traherne’s work had (apparently) survived his death, Traherne was previously labeled a “missing person” in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. In 2004, thanks to a number of additional discoveries, his status changed so much that he is no longer labeled a “missing person.” He is now highly regarded, such that if there were a picture of him (no portrait of Traherne has been authenticated), he would be put next to other well-knowns such as Wordsworth.
[back]
Froog says
Vlad Bubnov sounds like one of those names ‘invented’ by ReCaptcha!
I read a lot of Hesse at university – one of those things I’ve long been thinking I should revisit (but on a bit of a Conrad kick first: Nostromo and The Secret Agent).
s.o.m.e. one's brudder says
But is Nothlandz bigger than Roadside America?
Jayne says
Ah, I loved making my way up the list here today. Tonight. Me and my glass of chardonnay. Thank you to Billy Collins for making poetry all right. Yes, others have done it well, too, but I love the way Billy captures contemporary moments with zero pretense.
The theme–moments–has been on my mind a lot lately. Life, maybe not as random as it seems. Moments may be strung together loosely, but nonetheless, there is a force that connects (if we’re willing to follow the dots). Those connections–when they connect, to whom they connect, where and why they connect–nudge the pieces of the puzzle into the whole. Even when we can’t see the picture, have no idea what it’s supposed to look like, somehow, those fragmented moments, the connections, get us to exactly where we need to be, should be (supposed to be?). Well, occasionally there’s a little hole in the puzzle. The piece that got swept under the rug. ;)
(And Hesse, ah, he’s on the bookshelf. Waiting for the moment to give him to my son…)
@ s.o.m.e. – if you love the rail like I do, don’t go to Northlandz.
Ashleigh Burroughs says
I recognized Billy Collins as the poet before I got to the details…. I guess I like his work, eh? Hanging onto those moments, not wanting an errant bead or a noisy car to disturb the peace, trying to make sense of randomness… all good thoughts for a sunny Sunday morning.
marta says
I like Billy Collins. On this particular poem I got hung up on the beginning. You see, when I started reading I didn’t know who wrote it, and I found myself thinking–But I don’t unbutton my shirt when I go outside. What? Anyway, I love the last stanza.
It has been difficult to keep up with reading and blogs this month. But I always come here–even if I don’t comment.
John says
Froog: ha! re: photographer’s name.
Hesse seems to appeal mostly to the young, although I’m not sure why that should be. (Maybe I’m just speaking for myself, not — like you — having read him for years and years.) Re-reading snippets of him while working on this post made me think I should dive back in, at least briefly.
What makes you decide to re-read author X, Y, or Z? I have a lot of old favorites but can’t seem to get back to them, because I’ve also got a ton of new favorites to keep up with!
John says
brudder: Coincidentally, if you followed that link to more information about Northlandz you’d find yourself on roadsideamerica.com. However, the site is not actually affiliated with the tourist attraction by that name in Shartlesville, PA. (There’s a “Roadside America, The Attraction” page at roadsideamerica.com, though!)
I don’t think the Roadside America attraction even comes close to Northlandz. (On the other hand, believe it or not, I’ve never actually been to the latter although it is/was right around the corner, almost literally.)
John says
Jayne: of course there’s no way to control it, but I do love to think of my Friday visitors here sipping at glasses of wine and ruminating on things like connections, coincidence, and missing pieces. Especially when (as you apparently did) they land here after the evening is pretty well along…
Just out of curiosity — since I haven’t been to Northlandz myself — what about it didn’t you like?
John says
a/b: Yes, it’s a safe bet that you like Billy Collins’s work. And Billy Collins himself. :) So glad you’re finding time to notice the sunlight — not that it’s remotely possible, in Arizona, to ignore it completely, haha. But, well, you know.
John says
marta: the last stanza. Yes. What is it about mirrors, anyway? I mean, I’m not (I think!) particularly vain about my appearance. I don’t, y’know, preen. But I find myself, uhhh… I don’t know. I find myself weirdly conscious of the person in the mirror, whose eyes seem to be trying to tell me something that words won’t suffice for.
If I thought for a moment that you were sacrificing your two projects of the month in order to read and comment — here or elsewhere — I’d issue you a stern lecture about not taking yourself seriously enough. So, you’ve spared us both the embarrassment. :)
marta says
@John – I know what you mean about mirrors. I could write a post…
Oh, I probably take myself seriously enough, but possibly not in the right way. Glad to skip the lecture though. :)
John says
@marta: ha!
(Actually, I have very little talent for lecturing anyone about anything. I’m too self-conscious!)
Jayne says
@John – John, re Northlandz–It’s the sensory overload, and maybe it was timing, too. The kids were young when we went, and as most kids , like to touch everything. My kids tend to be very successful at that. I didn’t like the noise, either! The whole experience was odd for me–I like the real thing too much.
I do tend to prowl in the evening–avec vin… I’m a bit of a night owl, you know. (Not to moil the metaphor!)
s.o.m.e.one's brudder says
@John – I feel a gauntlet has been tossed down. As a childhood fan of Roadside America, I need to know the mystery of the differences. I may toss caution to the wind and NOT heed Jayne’s warning to seek the answer for myself. Of course, I may discover that not only is she “spot-on” for avoiding Northlandz, but that R.A. is not the wonder I remember. At 6,000 SF, it’s hard to imagine that Northlandz is bigger, but there is a way to find out….
Next to the train diorama thingy at the Franklin Institute, I was always fascinated with this, when Bud insisted upon going. Was I ever there more than once? BTW: http://www.roadsideamericainc.com/
Shall I call if I decide to do the comparative road trip?