{"id":14864,"date":"2013-11-15T10:28:46","date_gmt":"2013-11-15T15:28:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=14864"},"modified":"2018-10-20T11:46:12","modified_gmt":"2018-10-20T15:46:12","slug":"leavings","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2013\/11\/leavings\/","title":{"rendered":"Leavings"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"Image<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: one of the photos in photographer Amy Regalia’s 2007 exhibit, <\/em>Leavings.
\nFor more information, see the note<\/a> at the foot of this post.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From\u00a0whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Every spirit passing through the world fingers the tangible and mars the mutable and finally has come to look and not to buy. So shoes are worn and hassocks are sat upon and finally everything is left where it was and the spirit passes on, just as the wind in the orchard picks up the leaves from the ground as if there were no other pleasure in the world but brown leaves, as if it would deck, clothe, flesh itself in flourishes of dusty brown apple leaves and then drops them all in a heap at the side of the house and goes on.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Marilynne Robinson [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Early Morning in Your Room<\/strong><\/p>\n

It’s morning. The brown scoops of coffee, the wasp-like
\nCoffee grinder, the neighbors still asleep.
\nThe gray light as you pour gleaming water —
\nIt seems you’ve traveled years to get here.<\/p>\n

Finally you deserve a house. If not deserve
\nIt, have it; no one can get you out. Misery
\nHad its way, poverty, no money at least.
\nOr maybe it was confusion. But that’s over.<\/p>\n

Now you have a room. Those lighthearted books:
\nThe Anatomy of Melancholy<\/em>, Kafka’s Letter<\/em>
\nto His Father<\/em>, are all here. You can dance
\nWith only one leg, and see the snowflake falling<\/p>\n

With only one eye. Even the blind man
\nCan see. That’s what they say. If you had
\nA sad childhood, so what? When Robert Burton<\/span>
\nSaid he was melancholy, he meant he was home.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Robert Bly [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from\u00a0whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Peace<\/strong>*<\/p>\n

What to do
\nwhen the days’ heavy heart<\/span>
\nhaving risen, late<\/span>
\nin the already darkening East
\n& prepared at any moment, to sink<\/span>
\ninto the West<\/span>
\nsurprises suddenly,
\n& settles, for a time,<\/span>
\nat a lovely place <\/span>
\nwhere mellow light spreads
\nevenly <\/span>
\nfrom face to face?<\/span>
\nThe days’ usual aggressive
\ncontrary beat<\/span>
\nnow softly dropped<\/span>
\ninto a regular pace
\nthe head riding gently its personal place<\/span>
\nwhere pistons feel like legs
\non feelings met like lace.<\/span>
\nWhy, <\/span>
\ntake a walk, then,
\nacross this town. It’s a pleasure<\/span>
\nto meet one certain person you’ve been counting on
\nto take your measure<\/span>
\nwho will smile, & love you, sweetly, at your leisure.
\nAnd if<\/span>
\nshe turns your head around
\nlike any other man,<\/span>
\ngo home<\/span>
\nand make yourself a sandwich
\nof toasted bread, & ham<\/span>
\nwith butter<\/span>
\nlots of it
\n& have a diet cola,<\/span>
\n& sit down<\/span>
\n& write this,
\nbecause you can.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ted Berrigan [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Louis [the black Labrador retriever] broke into a lope and then a run, bursting into and through one open area [in the park] and then a moment later into a second — no, this one not open but a single big tree… Louis followed The Man’s scent to the far side. He found the briefcase, The Man’s clothing. But then, what was this?, The Man had turned around and gone back to the clearing and then… disappeared?<\/p>\n

Louis looked about. He put his nose to the ground, traced circles around the large tree in the middle. Puzzled, he sat for a moment. The Man was definitely gone, taking all the right<\/em> and the little not-right<\/em> with him. Hmm. Louis did the thing which all dogs can do but domesticated ones eventually stop needing, let alone relying on: he opened his mind and let the tides of dog history rush in. No<\/em>, they told him. He was correct. This had never happened to a dog before<\/em>. He got up, walked slowly to the tree, raised a back leg and bookmarked it for future reference by himself, if need be, and by others:<\/p>\n

A human, my Male, disappeared here.<\/em>
\n Signed, Louis the black Labrador.<\/em><\/p>\n

…[After The Man returned,] in some way, He was not the same Man as when He’d awoken this morning. Correction: still<\/em> not that Man, and also (Louis felt certain) never again<\/em> quite that Man.<\/p>\n

As for the not-right<\/em> thing, The Man was suffused with it when They first arrived. It was everywhere on Him — He must have been swimming in it, whatever it was: He was practically dripping it all over the floor. The Woman — The Man himself, for that matter — didn’t seem to notice. But Louis noticed it, and it disturbed him greatly until he realized that it was evaporating. Wearing off. By the time Louis clambered up onto the big chair-bed next to Him and put his forelegs across The Man’s thighs, nearly all not-right<\/em> traces had gone. What remained, Louis was pretty sure, would remain for good. Like the big tree in the clearing in the woods, The Man had been permanently bookmarked by the experience.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(JES)<\/p>\n

_______________________________<\/p>\n

* Note:<\/strong> Ted Berrigan’s poem “Peace” should be formatted rather more elaborately than as shown above: each indented line should begin at the point where the preceding line ends. It was taking me waaaay<\/em> to much time to get this exactly right, though. If you’d like to see the poem as it was meant to be typeset, please refer to the source: The Selected Poems of Ted Berrigan<\/em><\/a>. I apologize to the poet.<\/p>\n

<\/a>About the image:<\/strong> Regarding photographer\u00a0Amy Regalia I haven’t found much online. (I think, but am not sure, that\u00a0this<\/a> is her apparently inactive Tumblr site.) I did find a handful of references, though, to a show of her work in 2007-08, at one or two galleries in San Francisco. One of their sites says:<\/p>\n

Amy Regalia stumbled upon the subject of her series, Leavings<\/em>, while on a separate assignment in San Jose. The attention to craft employed by the creators of these piles of yard waste, pre-mulch, attracted Regalia\u2019s eye. In the spirit of Bernd and Hilla Becher<\/a>, whose work classifies buildings of the same function, Regalia set out to make portraits of these organic refuse piles paying careful attention to the sidewalk horizon line. Seemingly simple streetside scenery opens up to a complex layering of information about the lives of the residents, their gardening practices, and what lies hidden behind the fence.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

([source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

I found the image used at the top of this post at the blog<\/a>\u00a0for the above gallery;\u00a0it adds one more detail: “Regalia paid careful attention to keeping certain factors consistent throughout the series, such as her distance from the sidewalk.”<\/p>\n

[back to top<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: one of the photos in photographer Amy Regalia’s 2007 exhibit, Leavings. For more information, see the note at the foot of this post.] From\u00a0whiskey river: Every spirit passing through the world fingers the tangible and mars the mutable and finally has come to look and not to buy. So shoes are worn and hassocks […]<\/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":[247,1393,405,250,5,105,251],"tags":[1395,1447,3667,3668],"class_list":{"0":"post-14864","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-nature","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-short-fiction","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"tag-robert-bly","14":"tag-marilynne-robinson","15":"tag-ted-berrigan","16":"tag-amy-regalia","17":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/s6kZSG-leavings","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14864","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=14864"}],"version-history":[{"count":26,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14864\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20635,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14864\/revisions\/20635"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14864"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14864"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14864"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}