{"id":18096,"date":"2016-06-03T11:33:45","date_gmt":"2016-06-03T15:33:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=18096"},"modified":"2016-06-03T11:33:45","modified_gmt":"2016-06-03T15:33:45","slug":"the-familiar-the-new","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2016\/06\/the-familiar-the-new\/","title":{"rendered":"The Familiar, the New"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"'Hiraethm,'<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Hiraeth,” by Stewart Black. Found it at Flickr.com<\/a>, and used here under a Creative Commons license. For more on the idea of <\/em>hiraeth, see the passage below<\/a> by Paula Petro.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

Theories of Time and Space<\/strong><\/p>\n

You can get there from here, though
\nthere’s no going home.<\/p>\n

Everywhere you go will be somewhere
\nyou’ve never been. Try this:<\/p>\n

head south on Mississippi 49, one-
\nby-one mile markers ticking off<\/p>\n

another minute of your life. Follow this
\nto its natural conclusion — dead end<\/p>\n

at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
\nriggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches<\/p>\n

in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
\nthe man-made beach, 26 miles of sand<\/p>\n

dumped on a mangrove swamp — buried
\nterrain of the past. Bring only<\/p>\n

what you must carry — tome of memory
\nits random blank pages. On the dock<\/p>\n

where you board the boat for Ship Island,
\nsomeone will take your picture:<\/p>\n

the photograph — who you were —
\nwill be waiting when you return<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

The desire to go home that is a desire to be whole, to know where you are, to be the point of intersection of all the lines drawn through all the stars, to be the constellation-maker and the center of the world, that center called love. To awaken from sleep, to rest from awakening, to tame the animal, to let the soul go wild, to shelter in darkness and blaze with light, to cease to speak and be perfectly understood.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

The Destination<\/strong><\/p>\n

I wanted something, I wanted. I could not have it.
\nIrremediable rock of refusal, this world thick with bird song,
\ntender with starfish and apples.
\nHow calming it is to say, “Turn right at the second corner,”
\nand be understood,
\nand see things arrive as they should at their own destination.
\nYet we speak in riddles —
\n“Turn back at the silence.” “Pass me the mountain.”
\nTo the end we each nod, pretending to understand.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

<\/p>\n

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

Stores<\/strong><\/p>\n

Fifteen I got a job at Leggett’s, stock
\nboy, fifty cents an hour. Moved up—I come
\nfrom that kind of people—to toys at Christmas,
\nthen Menswear and finally Shoes.<\/p>\n

Quit to go<\/span>
\nto college, never worked retail again, but
\nI still really like stores, savor merchandise
\nneatly stacked on tables, sweaters wanting
\nmy gliding palm as I walk by, mannequins
\nweirdly sexy behind big glass windows,
\nshoes shiny and just waiting for the right feet.<\/p>\n

So why in my seventies do Target, Lowes,
\nand Home Depot spin me dizzy and lost,
\nwanting my mother to find me, wipe my eyes,
\nhold my hand all the way out to the car?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

Possibilities<\/strong><\/p>\n

I prefer movies.
\nI prefer cats.
\nI prefer the oaks along the Warta.
\nI prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
\nI prefer myself liking people
\nto myself loving mankind.
\nI prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
\nI prefer the color green.
\nI prefer not to maintain
\nthat reason is to blame for everything.
\nI prefer exceptions.
\nI prefer to leave early.
\nI prefer talking to doctors about something else.
\nI prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
\nI prefer the absurdity of writing poems
\nto the absurdity of not writing poems.
\nI prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
\nthat can be celebrated every day.
\nI prefer moralists
\nwho promise me nothing.
\nI prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
\nI prefer the earth in civvies.
\nI prefer conquered to conquering countries.
\nI prefer having some reservations.
\nI prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
\nI prefer Grimms’ fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.
\nI prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
\nI prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
\nI prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
\nI prefer desk drawers.
\nI prefer many things that I haven’t mentioned here
\nto many things I’ve also left unsaid.
\nI prefer zeroes on the loose
\nto those lined up behind a cipher.
\nI prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
\nI prefer to knock on wood.
\nI prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
\nI prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
\nthat existence has its own reason for being.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

<\/a>…and:<\/p>\n

Hiraeth.<\/p>\n

It’s pronounced “here-eyeth” (roll the “r”) and it’s a Welsh word. It has no exact cognate in English. The best we can do is “homesickness,” but that’s like the difference between hardwood and laminate. Homesickness is hiraeth-lite.<\/p>\n

…you need to look at the legends, too, to understand hiraeth. Arthur<\/span> and Llywelyn<\/span> never really died. They’re only napping until fate calls them back to set things right for Cymru. The same goes for Owain Glyndwr, a fourteenth century Welsh knight who escalated a property dispute into a revolt and briefly united his countrymen under a short-lived parliament in West Wales. After his last battle Owain’s body was never found. He’s another one: not dead, but merely biding his time.<\/p>\n

So hiraeth is a protest. If it must be called homesickness, it’s a sickness come on—in Welsh ailments come onto you, as if hopping aboard ship—because home isn’t the place it should have been. It’s an unattainable longing for a place, a person, a figure, even a national history that may never have actually existed. To feel hiraeth is to feel a deep incompleteness and recognize it as familiar.<\/p>\n

Mae hiraeth arna amdanot ti<\/em>. There’s a homesickness on me for you. Or, if we’re mincing words, I miss you. That’s fair, too. But the deeper, national hiraeth is something you don’t have to go away to experience. You can feel it at home in Wales. In fact, that’s where you feel it most.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

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

[Image: “Hiraeth,” by Stewart Black. Found it at Flickr.com, and used here under a Creative Commons license. For more on the idea of hiraeth, see the passage below by Paula Petro.] From whiskey river: Theories of Time and Space You can get there from here, though there’s no going home. Everywhere you go will be […]<\/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":"No news, right? Umm, well... Solnit, Szymborska, et al: 'The Familiar, the New'","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":[183,38,247,1393,250,5,50,251,4159],"tags":[61,270,441,921,3884,4319,4320,4321,4322,4323],"class_list":{"0":"post-18096","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-everyday-life","7":"category-backwards","8":"category-ruminations","9":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","10":"category-art","11":"category-06_writing","12":"category-language-writing_cat","13":"category-poetry-writing_cat","14":"category-essays","15":"tag-memory","16":"tag-jane-hirshfield","17":"tag-home","18":"tag-wislawa-szymborska","19":"tag-rebecca-solnit","20":"tag-hiraeth","21":"tag-pamela-petro","22":"tag-david-huddle","23":"tag-natasha-trethewey","24":"tag-homesickness","25":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4HS","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18096","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=18096"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18096\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18117,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18096\/revisions\/18117"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18096"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18096"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18096"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}