{"id":18322,"date":"2016-08-12T10:36:35","date_gmt":"2016-08-12T14:36:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=18322"},"modified":"2016-08-12T10:14:34","modified_gmt":"2016-08-12T14:14:34","slug":"right-here-or-there-right-now-or-then","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2016\/08\/right-here-or-there-right-now-or-then\/","title":{"rendered":"Right Here (or There), Right Now (or Then)"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: opening narration\/subtitle from the\u00a01999-2000 anime series <\/em>Ima, Soko ni Iru Boku<\/a> (<\/em>Now and Then, Here and There), critically and commercially very successful — but also but very dark . One site which I consulted about the series highly recommended watching it, but added that you won’t want to watch it a second time.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a> (italicized lines):<\/p>\n

Night and the River<\/strong><\/p>\n

I have seen the great feet
\nleaping
\ninto the river<\/p>\n

and I have seen moonlight
\nmilky
\nalong the long muzzle<\/p>\n

and I have seen the body
\nof something
\nscaled and wonderful<\/p>\n

slumped in the sudden fire of its mouth,
\nand I could not tell
\nwhich fit me<\/p>\n

more comfortably, the power,
\nor the powerlessness;
\nneither would have me<\/p>\n

entirely; I was divided,
\nconsumed,
\nby sympathy,<\/p>\n

pity, admiration.
\nAfter a while
\nit was done,<\/p>\n

the fish had vanished, the bear
\nlumped away
\nto the green shore<\/p>\n

and into the trees. And then there was only<\/em>
\nthis story.<\/em>
\nIt followed me home<\/em><\/p>\n

and entered my house—<\/em>
\na difficult guest<\/em>
\nwith a single tune<\/em><\/p>\n

which it hums all day and through the night—<\/em>
\nslowly or briskly,<\/em>
\nit doesn’t matter,<\/em><\/p>\n

it sounds like a river leaping and falling;<\/em>
\nit sounds like a body<\/em>
\nfalling apart.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

One of the saddest realities is most people never know when their lives have reached the summit. Only after it is over and we have some kind of perspective do we realize how good we had it a day, a month, five years ago. The walk together in the December snow, the phone call that changed everything, and that lovely evening in the bar by the Aegean. Back then you thought “this is so nice.” Only later did you realize it was the rarest bliss.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jonathan Carroll [unknown source, but quoted all over<\/em>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

Then and Now<\/strong><\/p>\n

Then was the grown-up world of tall decision,
\nIts beauty of late nights denied a child;
\nWorld of bewildering gifts, and strange derision,
\nAlien alike whether it frowned or smiled,
\nYet your least wish was governed by its laws.
\nThe landscape and the weather both were odd,
\nExploding with effects that hid a cause
\nSerene and lonely as the Will of God.
\nRecall it: peopled by an august race,
\nImmune to the passions that attack the young,
\nAnd knowing all. There every commonplace
\nMust be translated from a marvellous tongue.<\/p>\n

Now is the world of grandeur dwindled, shrunk
\nTo what the stupidest can understand.
\nThe shabby treasures of an exile\u2019s trunk
\nInclude no passport to that wonderland,
\nThough you are told you are a citizen.
\nThe scenery is changed, the climate dull;
\nThe fateful masks are faces, gods are men;
\nMost nights are long and few are magical.
\nBut there are strangers even here: their speech
\nIs rich in barbarous mystery, their ways
\nAre private, who live wholly beyond reach,
\nAdmired and feared, though none of us obeys
\nTheir foreign rule. No dictators, and yet
\nStrong utterly. While we, with pity wrung
\nFor what they must do, suffer, learn, forget,
\nFeel shy when we approach them. They are young.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

Swells<\/strong><\/p>\n

The very longest swell in the ocean, I suspect,
\ncarries the deepest memory, the information of actions
\nsummarized (surface peaks and dibbles and local sharp<\/p>\n

slopes of windstorms) with a summary of the summaries
\nand under other summaries a deeper summary: well, maybe
\ndeeper, longer for length here is the same as deep<\/p>\n

time: so that the longest swell swells least; that
\nis, its effects in immediate events are least perceptible,
\na pitch to white water rising say a millimeter more<\/p>\n

because of an old invisible presence: and on the ocean
\nfloor an average so vast occurs it moves in a noticeability
\nof a thousand years, every blip, though, of surface and<\/p>\n

intermediacy moderated into account: I like to go
\nto old places where the effect dwells, summits or seas
\nso hard to summon into mind, even with the natural<\/p>\n

ones hard to climb or weigh: I go there in my mind
\n(which is, after all, where these things negotiably are)
\nand tune in to the wave nearly beyond rise or fall in its<\/p>\n

staying and hum the constant, universal assimilation: the
\ninformation, so packed, nearly silenced with majesty
\nand communicating hardly any action: go there and<\/p>\n

rest from the ragged and rapid pulse, the immediate threat
\nshot up in a disintegrating spray, the many thoughts and
\nsights unmanageable, the deaths of so many, hungry or mad.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(A.R. Ammons [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

But for the Grace…<\/strong><\/p>\n

Seeing a white shape in the garden in the half-light, Nasrudin asked his wife to hand him his bows and arrows. He hit the object, went out to see what it was, came back almost in a state of collapse.<\/p>\n

“That was a narrow shave. Just think. If I had been in that shirt of mine hanging there to dry, I would have been killed. It was shot right through the heart.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

[Image: opening narration\/subtitle from the\u00a01999-2000 anime series Ima, Soko ni Iru Boku (Now and Then, Here and There), critically and commercially very successful — but also but very dark . One site which I consulted about the series highly recommended watching it, but added that you won’t want to watch it a second time.] From […]<\/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":"Mary Oliver, Jonathan Carroll, Nasrudin, et al: 'Right Here (or There), Right Now (or Then)'","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":[247,1393,274,5,50,36,251,4159],"tags":[595,1705,2978,4374,4375,4376,4377,4378,4379,4380],"class_list":{"0":"post-18322","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-cartoons","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-language-writing_cat","11":"category-reading","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-mary-oliver","15":"tag-nasrudin","16":"tag-a-r-ammons","17":"tag-babette-deutsch","18":"tag-jonathan-carroll","19":"tag-natalie-babbitt","20":"tag-now-and-thenhere-and-there","21":"tag-the-moment","22":"tag-anime","23":"tag-time-and-circumstance","24":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4Lw","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18322","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=18322"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18322\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18329,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18322\/revisions\/18329"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18322"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18322"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18322"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}