{"id":12479,"date":"2012-12-28T10:47:01","date_gmt":"2012-12-28T15:47:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=12479"},"modified":"2012-12-28T10:47:01","modified_gmt":"2012-12-28T15:47:01","slug":"just-finding-your-way-around-the-map","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2012\/12\/just-finding-your-way-around-the-map\/","title":{"rendered":"Just Finding Your Way Around the Map"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/OrLdKYRBOEE?rel=0\" height=\"450\" width=\"600\" allowfullscreen=\"\" frameborder=\"0\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Video: &#8220;Sailing to Philadelphia,&#8221; by Mark Knopfler (performed with James Taylor) (<\/em><a title=\"Lyrics: 'SongTitle'\" onclick=\"javascript:wopen('https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/lyrics\/sailingtophiladelphia_markknopfler.html', 'new', 375, 600); return false;\">lyrics<\/a><em><a title=\"Lyrics: 'Sailing to Philadelphia'\" onclick=\"javascript:wopen('https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/lyrics\/sailingtophiladelphia_markknopfler.html', 'new', 375, 600); return false;\">)<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From\u00a0<em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Desire is never on the map<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>it&#8217;s that unnamed lake you found<br \/>\nonce, driving a gravel road, not<br \/>\nwhere you thought you were going,<br \/>\nfast, window down, hair<br \/>\nloose to the dry wind,<br \/>\nbare foot pressing metal,<br \/>\nsoft feathers of cottonwood<br \/>\ndrift through, maple seed<br \/>\nspinning in its wild gyre.<br \/>\nBugs spatter on the windshield<br \/>\nin Rorschach you want to<br \/>\nread like tea leaves, imagine<br \/>\nyou might learn how you&#8217;ve<br \/>\ncome to this road, which<br \/>\nleft turn at midnight, which<br \/>\nwrong side of town.<\/p>\n<p>Then there it is before you,<br \/>\nglittering pure and cold and<br \/>\nsuddenly you want<br \/>\nthat stone-skipping ache<br \/>\nmore than your life, even<br \/>\nknowing how the cold water<br \/>\nmakes each hair stand on end<br \/>\nas you enter, one foot at a time<br \/>\nsand crumbling underfoot,<br \/>\nthe delicious submersion,<br \/>\nas you slip the laws of<br \/>\nsurface tension, gravity&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>and so it is you push off from shore,<br \/>\nnot caring, this lake, as you knew<br \/>\nthe moment you saw it,<br \/>\nhas no bottom.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Holly J. Hughes [<a title=\"WriterOnLine: 'Desire is never on the map,' by Holly J. Hughes\" href=\"http:\/\/www.writer-on-line.com\/content\/view\/897\/66\/\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>Going home does not come naturally to me. If my father&#8217;s medium was silence, mine had tended to be escape. But there&#8217;s no future in escape because the world is round. So the faster you run away, the faster you end up, right back where you started, face to face with whatever you were running from in the first place. Your worst fears, they&#8217;re always the most patient. They&#8217;ll wait up for you. That&#8217;s what makes them the worst.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Holly J. Hughes)<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from\u00a0<em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Getting Used to Your Name<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>After you&#8217;ve learned to walk,<br \/>\nTell one thing from another,<br \/>\nYour first care as a child<br \/>\nIs to get used to your name.<br \/>\nWhat is it?<br \/>\nThey keep asking you.<br \/>\nYou hesitate, stammer,<br \/>\nAnd when you start to give a fluent answer<br \/>\nYour name&#8217;s no longer a problem.<\/p>\n<p>When you start to forget your name,<br \/>\nIt\u2019s very serious.<br \/>\nBut don&#8217;t despair,<br \/>\nAn interval will set in.<\/p>\n<p>And soon after your death,<br \/>\nWhen the mist rises from your eyes,<br \/>\nAnd you begin to find your way<br \/>\nIn the everlasting darkness,<br \/>\nYour first care (long forgotten,<br \/>\nLong since buried with you)<br \/>\nIs to get used to your name.<br \/>\nYou\u2019re called &#8212; just as arbitrarily &#8212;<br \/>\nDandelion, cowslip, cornel,<br \/>\nBlackbird, chaffinch, turtle dove,<br \/>\nCostmary, zephyr &#8212; or all these together.<br \/>\nAnd when you nod, to show you&#8217;ve got it,<br \/>\nEverything&#8217;s all right:<br \/>\nThe earth, almost round, may spin<br \/>\nLike a top among stars.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Marin Sorescu, translated by Gabriela Dragnea, Stuart Friebert, and Adriana Varga [<a title=\"Poetry Foundation: 'Getting Used to Your Name,' by Martin Sorescu\" href=\"http:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poem\/236786\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><span class=\"explannote\" title=\"manuscript pages from which the text has been scraped off and which can be used again (I always forget what this word means!)\"><strong>Palimpsests<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n<p>In most fiction, the aim is to convey the reader to actual and imaginary places, often a mix of the two; and if such places are rendered vividly enough &#8212; readers often filling in the blanks to heighten the illusion &#8212; then the reader\u2019s memory of a novel is closely linked to the contours of the novel\u2019s places. Miss Lonelyhearts\u2019s room, Bloom\u2019s Phoenix Park, the cheap motels along the highways Humbert Humbert travels, Hemingway\u2019s boat &#8212; scores of such places make up the maps of our reading.<\/p>\n<p>But poets are exempt from the duties of social realism, including the credible rendering of place. If poems lead us anywhere beyond their own endings, they lead us into the consciousness of the poet, a map, you might say, of the poet\u2019s intelligence, feeling, perception, intuition, and mannerisms.<\/p>\n<p>When one poet reads another poet, it is like one explorer studying the maps of a predecessor. If the complete works of a poet are a world map of his own making, then to be influenced by another poet is to have the map of his writing placed over your own. Every time another strong influence is experienced, another map is placed on top of a growing pile of maps, which adds up to a weight of influence. And then, if the poet is lucky enough, he discovers his own way of writing, and at that point all the accumulated maps of his reading become transparencies, through which we look into the palimpsest of the new poet\u2019s psyche. Voila!<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Billy Collins [<a title=\"PEN: 'Palimpsests,' by Billy Collins\" href=\"http:\/\/www.pen.org\/billy-collins-palimpsests\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Take a Left at My Mailbox<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Cross Sierra Vista and enter the cul-de-sac<br \/>\nWhere the pavement ends<br \/>\nCross over and down into the acequia full of trash<br \/>\nWhere a sodden quilt lies in the middle of where<br \/>\nStream once moved sand<br \/>\nIn eddies. The homeless camp<br \/>\nDisintegrates, only one mattress left<br \/>\nAnd I&#8217;m lecturing my daughter<br \/>\nWho steps back to photograph it<br \/>\n&#8220;Don&#8217;t come here alone,&#8221;<br \/>\nAnd she retorts: &#8220;I have since I was eight,&#8221; and then<br \/>\n&#8220;It&#8217;s so peaceful here, but<br \/>\nI hate the fence.&#8221;<br \/>\nThis is no arroyo cut by rain<br \/>\nBut a remnant of man, an irrigation ditch<br \/>\nNow watering detritus, the leftover, cast off, plastic bags, and worse.<br \/>\nFrom here you can cut<br \/>\nUp behind the Indian School<br \/>\nPast the transformer I didn&#8217;t even know was there<br \/>\nAnd come our where there once were tracks,<br \/>\nNow just the runners half-buried in soil.<br \/>\nIt&#8217;s Baca Street! We&#8217;re back<br \/>\nIn the neighborhood where my daughter<br \/>\nImmediately becomes lost.<br \/>\n&#8220;I don&#8217;t get straight streets,&#8221; she says.<br \/>\nMy money&#8217;s good here, I buy two cups of foamy chai<br \/>\nAnd look in her face, turning from girl to woman<br \/>\nAnd want to construct<br \/>\nMy map of the lost.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Miriam Sagan [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Map of the Lost,' by Miriam Sagan\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=p4hJQPLkHMsC&amp;pg=PA4#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and (from the work which inspired Mark Knopfler&#8217;s song):<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>The Line makes itself felt,&#8212; thro&#8217; some Energy unknown, ever are we haunted by that Edge so precise, so near. In the Dark, one never knows. Of course I am seeking the Warrior Path, imagining myself an heroick Scout. We all feel it Looming, even when we&#8217;re awake, out there ahead someplace, the way you come to feel a River or Creek ahead, before anything else,&#8212; sound, sky, vegetation,&#8212; may have announced it. Perhaps &#8217;tis the very deep sub-audible Hum of its Traffic that we feel with an equally undiscover&#8217;d part of the Sensorium,&#8212; does it lie but over the next Ridge? the one after that? We have mileage Estimates from Rangers and Runners, yet for as long as its Distance from the Post Mark&#8217;d West remains unmeasur&#8217;d, nor is yet recorded as Fact, may it remain, a-shimmer, among the few final Pages of its Life as Fiction.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Thomas Pynchon [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Mason &amp; Dixon,' by Thomas Pynchon\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=DL4RL2XeAdsC&amp;pg=PT632#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Video: &#8220;Sailing to Philadelphia,&#8221; by Mark Knopfler (performed with James Taylor) (lyrics)] From\u00a0whiskey river: Desire is never on the map it&#8217;s that unnamed lake you found once, driving a gravel road, not where you thought you were going, fast, window down, hair loose to the dry wind, bare foot pressing metal, soft feathers of cottonwood [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,593,74,50,36,251,324],"tags":[47,1141,1360,1859,3293,3294,3295],"class_list":{"0":"post-12479","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-history-in-the-news","9":"category-music","10":"category-language-writing_cat","11":"category-reading","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-researchresources","14":"tag-maps","15":"tag-billy-collins","16":"tag-thomas-pynchon","17":"tag-holly-hughes","18":"tag-mark-knopfler","19":"tag-marin-sorescu","20":"tag-miriam-sagan","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-3fh","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12479","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12479"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12479\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12492,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12479\/revisions\/12492"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12479"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12479"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12479"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}