{"id":3818,"date":"2009-03-20T13:19:03","date_gmt":"2009-03-20T17:19:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=3818"},"modified":"2009-08-28T15:35:28","modified_gmt":"2009-08-28T19:35:28","slug":"dogs-lions-and-fish-oh-my","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2009\/03\/dogs-lions-and-fish-oh-my\/","title":{"rendered":"Dogs, Lions, and Fish (Oh My!)"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'Policeman,<\/a>From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

When you run after your thoughts, you are like a dog chasing a stick: every time a stick is thrown, you run after it. Instead, be like a lion who, rather than chasing after the stick, turns to face the thrower. One only throws a stick at a lion once.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Milarepa<\/a>)<\/p>\n

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

The End Of March<\/strong>
\nFor John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury<\/em><\/p>\n

It was cold and windy, scarcely the day
\nto take a walk on that long beach
\nEverything was withdrawn as far as possible,
\nindrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken,
\nseabirds in ones or twos.
\nThe rackety, icy, offshore wind
\nnumbed our faces on one side;
\ndisrupted the formation
\nof a lone flight of Canada geese;
\nand blew back the low, inaudible rollers
\nin upright, steely mist.<\/p>\n

The sky was darker than the water
\n—it<\/em> was the color of mutton-fat jade.
\nAlong the wet sand, in rubber boots, we followed
\na track of big dog-prints (so big
\nthey were more like lion-prints). Then we came on
\nlengths and lengths, endless, of wet white string,
\nlooping up to the tide-line, down to the water,
\nover and over. Finally, they did end:
\na thick white snarl, man-size, awash,
\nrising on every wave, a sodden ghost,
\nfalling back, sodden, giving up the ghost…
\nA kite string?–But no kite.<\/p>\n

I wanted to get as far as my proto-dream-house,
\nmy crypto-dream-house, that crooked box
\nset up on pilings, shingled green,
\na sort of artichoke of a house, but greener
\n(boiled with bicarbonate of soda?),
\nprotected from spring tides by a palisade
\nof–are they railroad ties?
\n(Many things about this place are dubious.)
\nI’d like to retire there and do nothing<\/em>,
\nor nothing much, forever, in two bare rooms:
\nlook through binoculars, read boring books,
\nold, long, long books, and write down useless notes,
\ntalk to myself, and, foggy days,
\nwatch the droplets slipping, heavy with light.
\nAt night, a grog a l’am\u00e9ricaine<\/em>.
\nI’d blaze it with a kitchen match
\nand lovely diaphanous blue flame
\nwould waver, doubled in the window.
\nThere must be a stove; there is<\/em> a chimney,
\naskew, but braced with wires,
\nand electricity, possibly
\n–at least, at the back another wire
\nlimply leashes the whole affair
\nto something off behind the dunes.
\nA light to read by–perfect! But–impossible.
\nAnd that day the wind was much too cold
\neven to get that far,
\nand of course the house was boarded up.<\/p>\n

On the way back our faces froze on the other side.
\nThe sun came out for just a minute.
\nFor just a minute, set in their bezels of sand,
\nthe drab, damp, scattered stones
\nwere multi-colored,
\nand all those high enough threw out long shadows,
\nindividual shadows, then pulled them in again.
\nThey could have been teasing the lion sun,
\nexcept that now he was behind them
\n–a sun who’d walked the beach the last low tide,
\nmaking those big, majestic paw-prints,
\nwho perhaps had batted a kite out of the sky to play with.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Elizabeth Bishop [source<\/a> (pages 15-16)]<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

If I Were a Dog<\/strong><\/p>\n

I would trot down this road sniffing
\non one side and then the other
\npeeing a little here and there
\nwherever I felt the urge
\nhaving a good time what the hell
\nsaving some because it\u2019s a long road<\/p>\n

but since I\u2019m not a dog
\nI walk straight down the road
\ntrying to get home before dark<\/p>\n

if I were a dog and I had a master
\nwho beat me I would run away
\nand go hungry and sniff around
\nuntil I found a master who loved me
\nI could tell by his smell and I
\nwould lick his face so he knew<\/p>\n

or maybe it would be a woman
\nI would protect her we could go
\neverywhere together even down this
\ndark road and I wouldn\u2019t run from side
\nto side sniffing I would always be protecting her and I would stop
\nto pee only once in awhile<\/p>\n

sometimes in the afternoon we could
\ngo to the park and she would throw
\na stick I would bring it back to her
\neach time I put the stick at her feet
\nI would say this is my heart
\nand she would say I will make it fly
\nbut you must bring it back to me
\nI would always bring it back to her
\nand to no other if I were a dog<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Richard Shelton<\/a> [source<\/a>]<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…returning to whiskey river<\/em><\/a> (sharing a theme with the story of the fishes cited in last Friday’s post here<\/a> at RAMH<\/em>):<\/p>\n

The moment we decide to stop and look at what is going on (like a swimmer suddenly changing course to swim upstream instead of downstream), we find ourselves battered by powerful currents we had never even suspected — precisely because until that moment we were largely living at their command.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Stephen Batchelor<\/a>, The Awakening of the West<\/em> [source<\/a>]<\/em>)<\/p>\n

Finally, as long as we’re back in the water: Francis Albert Sinatra tackles Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “Wave.” Says allmusic<\/a> about the song:<\/p>\n

The words certainly stay true to Jobim’s themes, reflecting his Zen-like appreciation for nature, human nature, and the basic essence of life.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

As usual with this little audio-player widget, click the Play button to start playing; volume control (not visible until playing begins) is the little set of parallel vertical bars on the left. Those “Zen-like” lyrics appear below.<\/p>\n

[audio:wave_jobimsinatra.mp3|titles=Wave|artists=Frank Sinatra]<\/div>\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

Wave<\/strong>
\n(words and music by Antonio Carlos Jobim;
\nperformance by Frank Sinatra)<\/em><\/p>\n

So close your eyes
\nFor that’s a lovely way to be
\nAware of things your heart alone was meant to see
\nThe fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together<\/p>\n

You can’t deny don’t try to fight the rising sea
\nDon’t fight the moon, the stars above and don’t fight me
\nThe fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together<\/p>\n

When I saw you first the time was half-past three
\nWhen your eyes met mine it was eternity<\/p>\n

By now we know the wave is on its way to be
\nJust catch the wave don’t be afraid of loving me
\nThe fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together<\/p>\n

[instrumental break]<\/em><\/p>\n

When I saw you first the time was half-past three
\nWhen your eyes met mine it was eternity<\/p>\n

By now we know the wave is on its way to be
\nJust catch that wave don’t be afraid of loving me
\nThe fundamental loneliness goes whenever two can dream a dream together<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(For what it’s worth, Wikipedia says<\/a> that in this recording, Sinatra “sung his lowest note, a low E♭.”)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From whiskey river: When you run after your thoughts, you are like a dog chasing a stick: every time a stick is thrown, you run after it. Instead, be like a lion who, rather than chasing after the stick, turns to face the thrower. One only throws a stick at a lion once. (Milarepa) Not […]<\/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":[247,1393,405,74],"tags":[178,442,1094,1095,1096,1097,1098,1099,1100,1101],"class_list":{"0":"post-3818","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-nature","9":"category-music","10":"tag-whiskey-river","11":"tag-dogs","12":"tag-lions","13":"tag-fish","14":"tag-milarepa","15":"tag-elizabeth-bishop","16":"tag-richard-shelton","17":"tag-stephen-batchelor","18":"tag-jobim","19":"tag-sinatra","20":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-ZA","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3818","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=3818"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3818\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5535,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3818\/revisions\/5535"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3818"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3818"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3818"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}