{"id":17510,"date":"2015-12-04T07:26:39","date_gmt":"2015-12-04T12:26:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=17510"},"modified":"2017-04-05T12:28:00","modified_gmt":"2017-04-05T16:28:00","slug":"in-the-land-of-whatstocome","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2015\/12\/in-the-land-of-whatstocome\/","title":{"rendered":"In the Land of What&#8217;sToCome"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"intrinsic-container intrinsic-container-16x9\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/lai6StvICUM?rel=0\" width=\"1024\" height=\"576\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Video: The Hello Strangers, last seen at <\/em>RAMH<em> <a title=\"Earlier RAMH post: 'Midweek Music Break: The Hello Strangers'\" href=\"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2014\/10\/midweek-music-break-the-hello-strangers\/\" target=\"_blank\">in October 2014<\/a>, released this video cover of <a title=\"Wikipedia, on 'Que Sera, Sera'\" href=\"https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Que_Sera,_Sera_%28Whatever_Will_Be,_Will_Be%29\" target=\"_blank\">Doris Day&#8217;s 1956 classic<\/a> earlier this year &#8212; not coincidentally, on Day&#8217;s 91st birthday. Also not coincidentally, their grandfather, Ronald Chace, had both sung with Doris Day and played second trombone in Les Brown&#8217;s Big Band during Day&#8217;s tenure with Brown in the 1940s. The Strangers recorded this song in Chace&#8217;s memory.]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From <a title=\"whiskey river: 'After Thanksgiving,' by Sandra M. Gilbert\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/after-thanksgiving-lord-as-rilke-says.html\" target=\"_blank\"><em>whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>After Thanksgiving<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Lord, as Rilke says, the year bears down toward winter, past<br \/>\nthe purification of the trees, the darkened brook.<br \/>\nOnly 4:45, and the sky&#8217;s sheer black<br \/>\nclasps two clear planets and a skinny moon<br \/>\nas we drive quietly home from the airport,<br \/>\nthe last kid gone.<\/p>\n<p>The time of preparation&#8217;s over, the time of<br \/>\nharvesting the seed, the husk, the kernel, saving<br \/>\nwhat can be saved&#8212;weaves of sun like<br \/>\nrags of old flannel, provident peach stones,<br \/>\npies, pickles, berry wines to<br \/>\nhold the sweetness for a few more months.<\/p>\n<p>Now the mountains will settle into their old<br \/>\ncold habits, now the white<br \/>\nbirch bones will rise<br \/>\nlike all those thoughts we&#8217;ve tried to repress:<br \/>\nmadness of the solstice, phosphorescent<br \/>\nlogic that rules the fifteen-hour night!<\/p>\n<p>Our children, gorged, encouraged, have taken off<br \/>\nin tiny shuddering planes. Plump with stuffing,<br \/>\nwe too hurry away, holding hands, holding on.<br \/>\nSoon it&#8217;ll be January, soon snow will<br \/>\nshuffle down, cold feathers, swathing us in<br \/>\ninches of white silence&#8212;<\/p>\n<p>and the ways of the ice<br \/>\nwill be narrow, delicate.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Sandra M. Gilbert [<a title=\"Poetry Magazine (January, 1987): 'After Thanksgiving,' by Sandra Gilbert\" href=\"http:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poetrymagazine\/browse\/149\/4#!\/20600970\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: Charles Wright, on poetry and the What'sToCome\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/language-is-living-thing.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>Language is the element of definition, the defining and descriptive incantation. It puts the coin between our teeth. It whistles the boat up. It shows us the city of light across the water. Without language there is no poetry, without poetry there&#8217;s just talk. Talk is cheap and proves nothing. Poetry is dear and difficult to come by. But it poles us across the river and puts a music in our ears. It moves us to contemplation. And what we contemplate, what we sing our hymns to and offer our prayers to, is what will reincarnate us in the natural world, and what will be our one hope for salvation in the What&#8217;sToCome.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Charles Wright [<a title=\"The Paris Review: 'The Art of Poetry #41: Charles Wright'\" href=\"http:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/interviews\/2369\/the-art-of-poetry-no-41-charles-wright\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: 'How to Listen,' by Joyce Sutphen\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2015\/11\/how-to-listen-tilt-your-head-slightly.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>How To Listen<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Tilt your head slightly to one side and lift<br \/>\nyour eyebrows expectantly. Ask questions.<\/p>\n<p>Delve into the subject at hand or let<br \/>\nthings come randomly. Don&#8217;t expect answers.<\/p>\n<p>Forget everything you&#8217;ve ever done.<br \/>\nMake no comparisons. Simply listen.<\/p>\n<p>Listen with your eyes, as if the story<br \/>\nyou are hearing is happening right now.<\/p>\n<p>Listen without blinking, as if a move<br \/>\nmight frighten the truth away forever.<\/p>\n<p>Don&#8217;t attempt to copy anything down.<br \/>\nDon&#8217;t bring a camera or a recorder.<\/p>\n<p>This is your chance to listen carefully.<br \/>\nYour whole life might depend on what you hear.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Joyce Sutphen [<a title=\"joycesutphen.com: 'Two Poems'\" href=\"http:\/\/www.joycesutphen.com\/#\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a><em> &#8212; click on the &#8216;Two Poems&#8217; link<\/em>])<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from <em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>This morning has been bearing down out of the future toward this riverbank forever. And for perhaps as long, in a sense, my life has been approaching from the opposite direction. The approach of a man\u2019s life out of the past is history, and the approach of time out of the future is mystery. Their meeting is the present, and it is consciousness, the only time life is alive. The endless wonder of this meeting is what causes the mind, in its inward liberty of a frozen morning, to turn back and question and remember. The world is full of places. Why is it that I am here?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Wendell Berry [<a title=\"Google Books: 'The Long-Legged House,' by Wendell Berry\" href=\"https:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=9q-devcrvMcC&amp;pg=PA161#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>A Son with a Future<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>When he was four years old, he stood at the window during a<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">thunderstorm. His father, a tailor, sat on the table sewing.<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">He came up to his father and said, &#8220;I know what makes<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">thunder: two clouds knock together.&#8221;<\/span><br \/>\nWhen he was older, he recited well-known rants at parties.<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">They all said that he would be a lawyer.<br \/>\nAt law school he won a prize for an essay. Afterwards, he<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">became the chum of an only son of rich people. They<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">were said to think the world of the young lawyer.<\/span><br \/>\nThe Appellate Division considered the matter of his disbarment.<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">His relatives heard rumours of embezzlement.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<p>When a boy, to keep himself at school, he had worked in a<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">drug store.<\/span><br \/>\nNow he turned to this half-forgotten work, among perfumes<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">and pungent drugs, quiet after the hubble-bubble of the<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">courts and the search in law books.<\/span><br \/>\nHe had just enough money to buy a drug store in a side<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">street.<\/span><br \/>\nInfluenza broke out. The old tailor was still keeping his shop<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">and sitting cross-legged on the table sewing, but he was<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">half-blind.<\/span><br \/>\nHe, too, was taken sick. As he lay in bed he thought, &#8220;What a<br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">lot of money doctors and druggists must be making; now<\/span><br \/>\n<span style=\"margin-left: 1em;\">is my son&#8217;s chance.&#8221;<\/span><br \/>\nThey did not tell him that his son was dead of influenza.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Charles Reznikoff [<a title=\"Google Books: 'The Poems of Charles Reznikoff,' by Charles Reznikoff\" href=\"https:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=6cy6lsEnav4C&amp;pg=PA43#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>#7:<\/strong> Numerous people, including Robert Graves and Yogi Berra*, have had legitimate claim to the phrase, &#8220;The future&#8217;s not what it used to be&#8221; (and variants). Who wouldn&#8217;t want credit for it? The saying&#8217;s clever, it&#8217;s pithy, and it&#8217;s true: not only is the future not what it used to be &#8212; it never <em>was<\/em>. For that, the present&#8217;s never been the same, either. And the past, holy cow, the <em>past<\/em> &#8212; the past is the worst of the lot. So many people looking at the past. So many people bemoaning its loss, or happily kissing it good-bye. And not a single one of them (including, my friend, you and especially <em>I<\/em>) have, or have ever had, a clue what the past really <em>was<\/em>. What we call &#8220;the past&#8221; is the Schr\u00f6dinger&#8217;s cat of human existence: the moment we examine it, it collapses into whatever we hope to find.<\/p>\n<p>If you must use the past, then &#8212; for memoir, for family legends, for history, for comfort or despair, as bludgeon or mirror &#8212; accept the quantum paradox: no matter how many references you cite, how many reliable observers&#8217; memories you tap, <em>more or less true<\/em> is the best and the only past you can hope for.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(JES, <em>Maxims for Nostalgists<\/em>)<\/p>\n<p>____________________________<\/p>\n<p>* <a title=\"Quote Investigator: 'The Future Is Not What It Used To Be'\" href=\"http:\/\/quoteinvestigator.com\/2012\/12\/06\/future-not-used\/\" target=\"_blank\">The <em>Quote Investigator<\/em> blog<\/a> found its earliest appearance in 1937, in &#8220;a journal called &#8216;Epilogue&#8217; within an article titled &#8216;From a Private Correspondence on Reality&#8217; by Laura Riding and Robert Graves.&#8221; Berra, to whom the joke may be most often ascribed, finally acceded to popular demand and included it in 1988&#8217;s <em>The Yogi Book: I really didn\u2019t say everything I said!<\/em> (Note that that book&#8217;s very title asserts the past&#8217;s blurriness.)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Video: The Hello Strangers, last seen at RAMH in October 2014, released this video cover of Doris Day&#8217;s 1956 classic earlier this year &#8212; not coincidentally, on Day&#8217;s 91st birthday. Also not coincidentally, their grandfather, Ronald Chace, had both sung with Doris Day and played second trombone in Les Brown&#8217;s Big Band during Day&#8217;s tenure [&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":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[38,247,1393,74,5,50,36,251,372,4159],"tags":[24,61,941,1579,2631,2809,2862,3285,3908,4228],"class_list":{"0":"post-17510","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-backwards","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-music","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-reading","13":"category-poetry-writing_cat","14":"category-style-and-craft","15":"category-essays","16":"tag-nostalgia","17":"tag-memory","18":"tag-charles-wright","19":"tag-wendell-berry","20":"tag-joyce-sutphen","21":"tag-the-future","22":"tag-sandra-gilbert","23":"tag-maxims-for-nostalgists","24":"tag-the-hello-strangers","25":"tag-charles-reznikoff","26":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4yq","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17510","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=17510"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17510\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19047,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17510\/revisions\/19047"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17510"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17510"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17510"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}