{"id":7874,"date":"2010-08-20T06:51:43","date_gmt":"2010-08-20T10:51:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=7874"},"modified":"2010-12-31T13:29:21","modified_gmt":"2010-12-31T18:29:21","slug":"right-looking","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2010\/08\/right-looking\/","title":{"rendered":"Right Looking"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image of Fay Ray, by William Wegman (1988), found here<\/a>, as well as elsewhere
\non the Web (e.g., Style Me to the Moon<\/a>)]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

My Hand<\/strong><\/p>\n

See how the past is not finished
\nhere in the present
\nit is awake the whole time
\nnever waiting
\nit is my hand now but not what I held
\nit is not my hand but what I held
\nit is what I remember
\nbut it never seems quite the same
\nno one else remembers it
\na house long gone into air
\nthe flutter of tires over a brick road
\ncool light in a vanished bedroom
\nthe flash of the oriole
\nbetween one life and another
\nthe river a child watched<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(W. S. Merwin, The Shadow of Sirius<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

And now here’s the thing. It takes a time like this for you to find out how sore your heart has been, and, moreover, all the while you thought you were going around idle terribly hard work was taking place. Hard, hard work, excavation and digging, mining, moiling through tunnels, heaving, pushing, moving rock, working, working, working, working, panting, hauling, hoisting. And none of this work is seen from the outside. It’s internally done. It happens because you are powerless and unable to get anywhere, to obtain justice or have requital, and therefore in yourself you labor, you wage and combat, settle scores, remember insults, fight, reply, deny, blab, denounce, triumph, outwit, overcome, vindicate, cry, persist, absolve, die and rise again. All by yourself? Where is everybody? Inside your breast and skin, the entire cast.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Saul Bellow, The Adventures of Augie March<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

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

Because he’s read about it in a book on Zen
\nand there are lilies-of-the-valley on the table
\nin a thin white vase, he takes all morning
\nto look at them and only them — to concentrate
\nhis sole attention on the lilies-of-the-valley.<\/p>\n

Each bell-blossom on each stem is Zen,
\nhe thinks, and the three now fallen on the table,
\nalso Zen\u2014as each leaf and crease, each morning,
\nand the way the seconds and the minutes concentrate
\nbefore they separate… and lilies-of-the-valley.<\/em><\/p>\n

Suspended in its bubble-universe of Zen
\nthe sun casts window-shadows on the table.
\nAn old refrigerator hums away the morning,
\nas if it, too, has vowed to concentrate
\non being and not being lilies-of-the-valley.<\/p>\n

Puns flash across his mind: Now and Zen,
\nZen Commandments, Mice and Zen<\/em>. At the table,
\nhead in hands, he scarcely moves all morning.
\nImages distill, dissolving like a concentrate.
\nI must stay focused on the lilies-of-the-valley.<\/em><\/p>\n

But politics kill Calm… and war and Zen
\nkeep leaping up and leaping on and leaping off the table,
\nlike a cat let loose will leap into the morning,
\nthen start its stalking, tensing, and will concentrate
\non anything that sways the lilies-of-the-valley.<\/p>\n

“What takes your mind off Zen is also Zen,
\ndumplings and spring rolls, a vase upon a table,
\nblossoms, petals, stems… ” The April morning
\ncontinues floating in Time’s concentrate,
\nand lovely, lovely are the lilies-of-the-valley.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Dick Allen [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Midsummer, Georgia Avenue<\/strong><\/p>\n

Happiness: a high, wide porch, white columns
\ncrowned by the crepe-paper party hats
\nof hibiscus; a rocking chair; iced tea; a book;
\nan afternoon in late July to read it,
\nor read the middle of it, having leisure
\nto mark that place and enter it tomorrow
\njust as you left it (knock-knock of woodpecker
\nkeeping yesterday’s time, cicada’s buzz,
\nthe turning of another page, and somewhere
\na question raised and dropped, the pendulum-
\nswing of a wind chime). Back and forth, the rocker
\nand the reading eye, and isn’t half<\/p>\n

your jittery, odd joy the looking out
\nnow and again across the road to where,
\nunder the lush all\u00e9es of long-lived trees
\nconferring shade and breeze on those who feel
\nnone of it, a hundred stories stand confined,
\neach to their single page of stone? Not far,
\nthe distance between you and them: a breath,
\na heartbeat dropped, a word in your two-faced
\nbook that invites you to its party only
\nto sadden you when it’s over. And so you stay
\non your teetering perch, you move and go nowhere,
\ngazing past the heat-struck street that’s split<\/p>\n

down the middle\u2014not to put too fine
\na point on it\u2014by a double yellow line.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Mary Jo Salter, Open Shutter<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

If you want a sure-fire conversation starter to pull out of your pocket during an awkward social moment, try this: Why do people often look sideways when they’re answering a question? And why do they sometimes look right, and other times look left?…<\/p>\n

The reason is probably the same as the reason people generally find it hard to do two things at once, or the reason that it’s hard to concentrate on a book if someone’s talking. Averting your gaze allows you to cut yourself off from a particularly attention-getting and distracting environmental stimulus — the questioner’s face — in order to focus on the answer to the question. The reason your pet cat doesn’t do that is that, for her, memory and thought are more exclusively triggered by what’s in front of her eyes, nose, or ears. Sometimes, that’s true for humans too, such as when you try to remember the name of a type of tree you see. But often, we operate in a world of introspection that isn’t directly environmentally-cued or -controlled.<\/p>\n

Recent experiments have added a twist: If you somehow prevent people from averting their gaze, they have a harder time answering a question.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(David Gamon, of The Naked Scientists<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

Sometimes the best, the sweetest perspectives are retro<\/em>spective — even when mottled by patches of “If only…” More satisfying yet: looking forward to looking back. Here’s a piercing little two-minute crystallization of that idea: “You’ll Remember,” by Patty Griffin, from 2007’s Children Running Through<\/em>.<\/p>\n

[Below, click Play button to begin <\/em>‘You’ll Remember’. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left — a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 2:09 long.]<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

[audio:youllremember_pattygriffin.mp3|titles=’You’ll Remember’|artists=Patty Griffin]<\/div>\n

Lyrics [source<\/em><\/a>]:<\/p>\n

You’ll Remember<\/strong>
\n(Patty Griffin)<\/em><\/p>\n

Maybe one day, along the way
\nYou’ll remember me, on this island
\nSmiling at you, how I used to
\nMaybe one day, you’ll remember<\/p>\n

And it won’t be sad, to think of all we had
\nAll unhappy ends could be behind us then
\nMaybe one day, along the way
\nYou’ll think of me, and you’ll be smiling
\nMaybe one day, you’ll remember<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image of Fay Ray, by William Wegman (1988), found here, as well as elsewhere on the Web (e.g., Style Me to the Moon)] From whiskey river: My Hand See how the past is not finished here in the present it is awake the whole time never waiting it is my hand now but not what […]<\/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":[247,1393,250,5,36,251],"tags":[178,351,1017,1862,1945,1946,1947,1948],"class_list":{"0":"post-7874","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-art","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-reading","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"tag-whiskey-river","13":"tag-ws-merwin","14":"tag-mary-jo-salter","15":"tag-dick-allen","16":"tag-william-wegman","17":"tag-saul-bellow","18":"tag-david-gamon","19":"tag-patty-griffin","20":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-230","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7874","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=7874"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7874\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7984,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7874\/revisions\/7984"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7874"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7874"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7874"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}