{"id":21565,"date":"2019-10-04T12:39:36","date_gmt":"2019-10-04T16:39:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=21565"},"modified":"2019-10-04T12:41:08","modified_gmt":"2019-10-04T16:41:08","slug":"seeing-it-all-unblinking","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2019\/10\/seeing-it-all-unblinking\/","title":{"rendered":"Seeing It All, Unblinking"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: “Shattered: Corbi\u00e8re’s Affair,” by user “slrjester” on Flickr.com<\/a>. (Used here under a Creative Commons license; thank you!) Other than the explicit, er, <\/em>shatteredness of the glass shown here, it’s not obvious (to me!) how the image, or its title, relates to the extensive caption which accompanies it. That caption is, or purports to be, a portion of a play called <\/em>An Excerpt From The Teenage Opera — in particular, a monologue by a character known as “The Lecturer.”]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

We are fast moving into something, we are fast flung into something like asteroids cast into space by the death of a planet, we the people of earth are cast into space like burning asteroids and if we wish not to disintegrate into nothingness we must begin to now hold onto only the things that matter while letting go of all that doesn’t. For when all of our dust and ice deteriorates into the cosmos we will be left only with ourselves and nothing else. So if you want to be there in the end, today is the day to start holding onto your children, holding onto your loved ones; onto those who share your soul. Harbor and anchor into your heart justice, truth, courage, bravery, belief, a firm vision, a steadfast and sound mind. Be the person of meaningful and valuable thoughts. Don’t look to the left, don’t look to the right; we simply don’t have the time. Never be afraid of fear.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Long Afternoons<\/strong><\/p>\n

Those were the long afternoons when poetry left me.
\nThe river flowed patiently, nudging lazy boats to sea.
\nLong afternoons, the coast of ivory.
\nShadows lounged in the streets, haughty manikins in shopfronts
\nstared at me with bold and hostile eyes.<\/p>\n

Professors left their schools with vacant faces,
\nas if the Iliad<\/em> had finally done them in.
\nEvening papers brought disturbing news,
\nbut nothing happened, no one hurried.
\nThere was no one in the windows, you weren’t there;
\neven nuns seemed ashamed of their lives.<\/p>\n

Those were the long afternoons when poetry vanished
\nand I was left with the city’s opaque demon,
\nlike a poor traveler stranded outside the Gare du Nord
\nwith his bulging suitcase wrapped in twine
\nand September’s black rain falling.<\/p>\n

Oh, tell me how to cure myself of irony, the gaze
\nthat sees but doesn’t penetrate; tell me how to cure myself
\nof silence.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

<\/p>\n

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

Waving Goodbye<\/strong><\/p>\n

The world bends us to its purpose.
\nIn the public gardens, we found
\na “gazing globe” balanced
\non a waist-high pedestal,
\na silver ball a foot in circumference,
\nreflecting sky and ground,
\nourselves as we stood above it.
\nWe stared into its depths,
\nas in a crystal ball,
\nour faces large and wild,
\narms and legs unnaturally small,
\nas if a spell were on the world,
\nor, finally, we clearly saw the world
\nfor what it was: too brightly
\nshining, circular, unadorned.<\/p>\n

Trees bent toward us, mere shadows
\nof themselves, their shadows
\nmore substantial than the trees themselves.
\nThe sky at one o’clock
\na milky white, light-filled,
\nyet without sun or cloud. And beds
\nof tulips rising from the groundswell,
\neach one a little mouth.
\nI knelt beside you on one knee,
\ncaught up in walls of air
\nI couldn’t touch or see, the outer world
\naround me wavering, as on a hot summer day.<\/p>\n

We looked out to the future. Our future
\nselves. You stood dead center
\nin the globe and raised your hand to stop
\nthe scene, your palm enlarging
\nuntil it dwarfed the tallest trees.
\nThen waving goodbye, we walked,
\nas a joke, backward and away,
\nfarther and farther away\u2014
\nthe globe still gazing on us—
\nleaving ourselves behind
\nto live forever in that silver room,
\nto watch and spy on lovers like ourselves.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

#10<\/a>:<\/strong> Nostalgia isn’t a liar. But maybe, y’know, just maybe<\/em> nostalgia likes you a little too much. It loves to see you smiling, laughing, wistful, proud. It hates your disappointment and resentment. Go ahead, indulge it, follow it around; see the sights and hear the sounds and words it shows you. Appreciate<\/em> them. Just don’t kid yourself: don’t insult your relationship with nostalgia by pretending its memory is better than your own.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(JES, Maxims for Nostalgists<\/em>)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Shattered: Corbi\u00e8re’s Affair,” by user “slrjester” on Flickr.com. (Used here under a Creative Commons license; thank you!) Other than the explicit, er, shatteredness of the glass shown here, it’s not obvious (to me!) how the image, or its title, relates to the extensive caption which accompanies it. That caption is, or purports to be, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":21575,"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":"C. JoyBell C., Elizabeth Spires, and a Maxim for Nostalgists: 'Seeing It All, Unblinking'","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":[247,1393,5,50,251,4159],"tags":[24,1633,2807,3285,4993,4994,4995,4996],"class_list":{"0":"post-21565","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-language-writing_cat","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"category-essays","13":"tag-nostalgia","14":"tag-adam-zagajewski","15":"tag-elizabeth-spires","16":"tag-maxims-for-nostalgists","17":"tag-andrew-boyd","18":"tag-c-joybell-c","19":"tag-clear-thinking","20":"tag-plain-sight","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/10\/shatteredcorbieresaffair_slrjesterjack_thumb.jpg?fit=500%2C334&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5BP","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21565","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=21565"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21565\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21577,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21565\/revisions\/21577"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21575"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21565"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21565"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21565"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}