{"id":16822,"date":"2015-05-29T13:59:28","date_gmt":"2015-05-29T17:59:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=16822"},"modified":"2015-05-29T13:59:28","modified_gmt":"2015-05-29T17:59:28","slug":"what-made-you-think-itd-be-easy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2015\/05\/what-made-you-think-itd-be-easy\/","title":{"rendered":"What Made You Think It’d Be Easy?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'The<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: <\/em>The Place du Havre, Paris (detail), by Camille Pisarro (1893). Says the Art Institute of Chicago: “This bustling scene, alive with the noise and movement of traffic and pedestrians, was the view from his window at the H\u00f4tel Garnier in Paris, where he stayed for a few weeks early in 1893.”]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/a><\/em> (italicized stanza):<\/p>\n

If You Knew<\/strong><\/p>\n

What if you knew you’d be the last
\nto touch someone?
\nIf you were taking tickets, for example,
\nat the theater, tearing them,
\ngiving back the ragged stubs,
\nyou might take care to touch that palm,
\nbrush your fingertips
\nalong the life line’s crease.<\/p>\n

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase
\ntoo slowly through the airport, when
\nthe car in front of me doesn’t signal,
\nwhen the clerk at the pharmacy
\nwon’t say Thank you<\/em>, I don’t remember
\nthey’re going to die.<\/p>\n

A friend told me she’d been with her aunt.
\nThey’d just had lunch and the waiter,
\na young gay man with plum black eyes,
\njoked as he served the coffee, kissed
\nher aunt’s powdered cheek when they left.
\nThen they walked a half a block and her aunt
\ndropped dead on the sidewalk.<\/p>\n

How close does the dragon’s spume<\/em>
\nhave to come? How wide does the crack<\/em>
\nin heaven have to split?<\/em>
\nWhat would people look like<\/em>
\nif we could see them as they are,<\/em>
\nsoaked in honey, stung and swollen,<\/em>
\nreckless, pinned against time?<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

I think, therefore I am<\/em> is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches. I feel, therefore I am<\/em> is a truth much more universally valid, and it applies to everything that’s alive. My self does not differ substantially from yours in terms of its thought. Many people, few ideas: we all think more or less the same, and we exchange, borrow, steal thoughts from one another. However, when someone steps on my foot, only I feel the pain. The basis of the self is not thought but suffering, which is the most fundamental of all feelings. While it suffers, not even a cat can doubt its unique and uninterchangeable self. In intense suffering the world disappears and each of us is alone with his self. Suffering is the university of egocentrism.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

<\/p>\n

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

The mind cannot fall asleep as long as it watches itself. Only when the mind moves unwatched and becomes absorbed in images that tug it as it were to one side does self-consciousness dissolve and sleep with its healing, brilliantly detailed fictions pour in upon the jittery spirit. Falling asleep is a study in trust. Likewise, religion tries to put as ease with the world. Being human cannot be borne alone. We need other presences. We need soft night noises — a mother speaking downstairs. We need the little clicks and sighs of a sustaining otherness. We need the gods.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

This is Your Chance<\/strong><\/p>\n

English Composition at South Middlesex Correctional Center.
\nJulie reads out loud, and I praise her super thesis, then show
\nhow her paragraphs veer away from it, just summarize.
\nAnd is she pissed! Too pissed to listen when her classmates try
\nto help. Amanda offers Act 2 Scene 1 — “Now I do love her
\ntoo” — as evidence of Iago’s state of mind. But Julie’s
\nshutting down, frowning at her handwritten draft, writing
\nthat took her weeks. Hey Julie<\/em>, I say. Julie doesn’t look up.
\nSays What<\/em>. Says I hate this stupid paper now<\/em>. So I say
\nHey Julie. Amanda’s helping you — write down<\/em>
\nwhat she’s saying<\/em>. She says I’m aggravated<\/em>. I think
\nthey take classes on naming their feelings. I say I know it<\/em>
\nbut you need to pull it together, or you’ll end up screwing<\/em>
\nyourself. This is your chance<\/em>. We’re all quiet, breathing
\ntogether, willing her to break out of this. Then:
\na little miracle. I look around the room and see
\nthat everyone is beautiful. Each did something special
\nwith her hair. Hey<\/em>, I say, again. I say hey<\/em> a lot in prison.
\nHey wait a minute. What’s up with everybody’s hair?<\/em>
\nMabel got a haircut. Ellie’s hair is long and black and gleaming
\ndown her back, Amanda’s in French braids. Julie’s freshly
\nblonde, down to the roots. You guys all look great!<\/em>
\nThey laugh. They’re happy I noticed.
\nThank god I noticed; now, for a minute, we
\nare women in a room, talking about their hair. Julie says
\nAmanda did her highlights, and Sandy blew it out. Good job, guys;<\/em>
\nshe looks great<\/em>. And then I say, Julie. Look at you<\/em>
\nall pissed off over your paper when you’re so lucky!<\/em>
\nLook at all these good friends you have. Helping<\/em>
\nwith your paper, doing your hair<\/em>… She nods.
\nShe looks me in the eye, back with us, back on track.
\nI know<\/em>, she says. I need to work on my gratitude<\/em>.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jill McDonough [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: The Place du Havre, Paris (detail), by Camille Pisarro (1893). Says the Art Institute of Chicago: “This bustling scene, alive with the noise and movement of traffic and pedestrians, was the view from his window at the H\u00f4tel Garnier in Paris, where he stayed for a few weeks early in 1893.”] From whiskey river […]<\/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":[247,1393,250,5,251],"tags":[1330,1421,4054,4055,4056,4057],"class_list":{"0":"post-16822","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-art","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"tag-john-updike","12":"tag-milan-kundera","13":"tag-camille-pisarro","14":"tag-ellen-bass","15":"tag-jill-mcdonough","16":"tag-life-and-death","17":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4nk","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16822","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=16822"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16822\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16828,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16822\/revisions\/16828"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16822"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16822"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16822"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}