{"id":4198,"date":"2009-04-24T08:00:13","date_gmt":"2009-04-24T12:00:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=4198"},"modified":"2009-08-28T15:35:00","modified_gmt":"2009-08-28T19:35:00","slug":"these-things-must-be-done-delicately","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2009\/04\/these-things-must-be-done-delicately\/","title":{"rendered":"These Things Must Be Done Delicately<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

From the originating page<\/a>: “Osmanthus <\/em>[JES: a\/k\/a cinnamon flower] is a unique Asian flower, with a smooth and rich scent of green tea, apricot and suede leather. It is used to scent green tea as well as special confections and Chinese baked goods. The peak of the osmanthus flowers season is… end of September until mid October, when the days start to become short, and rainstorms fight to take over the last sunny days. The osamnthus flowers falls to the wet ground and release their dusky aroma which fills the moist, air.”<\/em><\/p>\n

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

In our idleness, cinnamon blossoms fall.
\nIn night quiet, spring mountains stand
\nempty. Moonrise startles mountain birds:
\nhere and there, cries in a spring gorge.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Wang Wei)<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

People are delicate, aren’t they?<\/p>\n

(Yusunari Kawabata)<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

Tuesday, June 4th, 1991<\/strong><\/p>\n

By the time I get myself out of bed, my wife has left
\nthe house to take her botany final and the painter
\nhas arrived in his van and is already painting
\nthe columns of the front porch white and the decking gray.<\/p>\n

It is early June, a breezy and sun-riddled Tuesday
\nthat would quickly be forgotten were it not for my
\nwriting these few things down as I sit here empty-headed
\nat the typewriter with a cup of coffee, light and sweet.<\/p>\n

I feel like the secretary to the morning whose only
\nresponsibility is to take down its bright, airy dictation
\nuntil it\u2019s time to go to lunch with the other girls,
\nall of us ordering the cottage cheese with half a pear.<\/p>\n

This is what stenographers do in courtrooms,
\nalert at their dark contraptions catching every word.
\nWhen there is a silence they sit still as I do, waiting
\nand listening, finger resting lightly on the keys.<\/p>\n

This is what Samuel Pepys did too, jotting down in
\nprivate ciphers minor events that would have otherwise
\nslipped into the heavy, amnesiac waters of the Thames.
\nHis vigilance paid off finally when London caught fire<\/p>\n

as mine does when the painter comes in for coffee
\nand says how much he likes this slow, vocal rendition
\nof “You Don\u2019t Know What Love Is” and I figure I will
\nmake him a tape when he goes back to his brushes and pails.<\/p>\n

Under the music I can hear the rush of cars and trucks
\non the highway and every so often the new kitten, Felix,
\nhops into my lap and watches my fingers drumming out
\na running record of this particular June Tuesday<\/p>\n

as it unrolls before my eye, a long intricate carpet
\nthat I am walking on slowly with my head bowed
\nknowing that it is leading me to the quiet shrine
\nof the afternoon and the melancholy candles of evening.<\/p>\n

If I look up, I see out the window the white stars
\nof clematis climbing a ladder of strings, a woodpile,
\na stack of faded bricks , a small green garden of herbs,
\nthings you would expect to find outside a window,<\/p>\n

all written down now and placed in the setting
\nof a stanza as unalterably as they are seated
\nin their chairs in the ontological rooms of the world.
\nYes, this is the kind of job I could succeed in,<\/p>\n

an unpaid but contented amanuensis whose hands
\nare two birds fluttering on the lettered keys,
\nwhose eyes see sunlight splashing through the leaves,
\nand the bright pink asterisks of honeysuckle<\/p>\n

and the piano at the other end of this room
\nwith its small vase of faded flowers and its empty bench.
\nSo convinced am I that I have found my vocation,
\ntomorrow I will begin my chronicling earlier, at dawn,<\/p>\n

a time when hangmen and farmers are up and doing,
\nwhen men holding pistols stand in a field back to back.
\nIt is the time the ancients imagined in robes, as Eos
\nor Aurora, who would leave her sleeping husband in bed,<\/p>\n

not to take her botany final, but to pull the sun,
\nher brother, over the horizon\u2019s brilliant rim,
\nher four-horse chariot aimed at the zenith of the sky.
\nBut tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her,<\/p>\n

barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window
\nin one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor.
\nShe will look in at me with her thin arms extended,
\noffering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Billy Collins [source<\/a>]<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Trying to Name What Doesn\u2019t Change<\/strong><\/p>\n

Roselva says the only thing that doesn\u2019t change
\nis train tracks. She\u2019s sure of it.
\nThe train changes, or the weeds that grow up spidery
\nby the side, but not the tracks.
\nI\u2019ve watched one for three years, she says,
\nand it doesn\u2019t curve, doesn\u2019t break, doesn\u2019t grow.<\/p>\n

Peter isn\u2019t sure. He saw an abandoned track
\nnear Sabinas, Mexico, and says a track without a train
\nis a changed track. The metal wasn\u2019t shiny anymore.
\nThe wood was split and some of the ties were gone.<\/p>\n

Every Tuesday on Morales Street
\nbutchers crack the necks of a hundred hens.
\nThe widow in the tilted house
\nspices her soup with cinnamon.
\nAsk her what doesn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n

Stars explode.
\nThe rose curls up as if there is fire in the petals.
\nThe cat who knew me is buried under the bush.<\/p>\n

The train whistle still wails its ancient sound
\nbut when it goes away, shrinking back
\nfrom the walls of the brain,
\nit takes something different with it every time.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Naomi Shihab Nye [source<\/a>]<\/em>)<\/p>\n

Finally… if you’re not sure how to do something (delicately or, well, not<\/em>) it’s always best to take a class!<\/p>\n

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From the originating page: “Osmanthus [JES: a\/k\/a cinnamon flower] is a unique Asian flower, with a smooth and rich scent of green tea, apricot and suede leather. It is used to scent green tea as well as special confections and Chinese baked goods. The peak of the osmanthus flowers season is… end of September until […]<\/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":[247,1393,196,251,713],"tags":[178,1141,1167,1168,1169,1170,1171,1172,1173],"class_list":{"0":"post-4198","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-television","9":"category-poetry-writing_cat","10":"category-humor-writing_cat","11":"tag-whiskey-river","12":"tag-billy-collins","13":"tag-cinnamon-flowers","14":"tag-wang-wei","15":"tag-yusunari-kawabata","16":"tag-monty-python","17":"tag-the-argument-clinic","18":"tag-naomi-shihab-nye","19":"tag-delicately","20":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-15I","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4198","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=4198"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4198\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5534,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4198\/revisions\/5534"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4198"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4198"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4198"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}