{"id":7892,"date":"2010-09-10T07:06:40","date_gmt":"2010-09-10T11:06:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=7892"},"modified":"2016-07-23T10:07:47","modified_gmt":"2016-07-23T14:07:47","slug":"for-lack-of-better-words","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2010\/09\/for-lack-of-better-words\/","title":{"rendered":"For Lack of Better Words"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: “Zip Your Lips,” from A New Me’s photostream at Flickr<\/a>]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a> (italicized portion):<\/p>\n

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

When you have nothing more to say, just drive
\nFor a day all around the peninsula<\/em>,
\nThe sky is tall as over a runway,
\nThe land without marks, so you will not arrive<\/p>\n

But pass through, though always skirting landfall.
\nAt dusk, horizons drink down sea and hill,
\nThe ploughed field swallows the whitewashed gable
\nAnd you’re in the dark again. Now recall<\/p>\n

The glazed foreshore and silhouetted log.
\nThat rock where breakers shredded into rags,
\nThe leggy birds stilted on their own legs,
\nIslands riding themselves out into the fog.<\/p>\n

And then drive back home, still with nothing to say
\nExcept that now you will uncode all landscapes
\nBy this; things founded clean on their own shapes
\nWater and ground in their extremity.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Seamus Heaney [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

It’s impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, crosscurrents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully described, too many flavors, in the air or on the tongue, half-colors, too many.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Margaret Atwood, from The Handmaid’s Tale<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

When Milton was going to visit Italy in the 1630s, Sir Henry Wootton, who had been ambassador to Venice, told him his motto should be “i pensieri stretti & il viso sciolto.” Closed thoughts and an open face. Smile at everyone, and don’t tell them what you’re thinking…<\/p>\n

When people are bad at math, they know it, because they get the wrong answers on tests. But when people are bad at open-mindedness they don’t know it. In fact they tend to think the opposite. Remember, it’s the nature of fashion to be invisible. It wouldn’t work otherwise. Fashion doesn’t seem like fashion to someone in the grip of it. It just seems like the right thing to do. It’s only by looking from a distance that we see oscillations in people’s idea of the right thing to do, and can identify them as fashions.<\/p>\n

Time gives us such distance for free. Indeed, the arrival of new fashions makes old fashions easy to see, because they seem so ridiculous by contrast. From one end of a pendulum’s swing, the other end seems especially far away.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Paul Graham [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Our Masterpiece Is the Private Life<\/strong><\/p>\n

For Jules<\/em><\/p>\n

I<\/strong><\/p>\n

Is there something down by the water keeping itself
\nfrom us,<\/span>
\nSome shy event, some secret of the light that falls upon
\nthe deep,<\/span>
\nSome source of sorrow that does not wish to be
\ndiscovered yet?<\/span><\/p>\n

Why should we care? Doesn\u2019t desire cast its
\nrainbows over the coarse porcelain<\/span>
\nOf the world’s skin and with its measures fill the
\nair? Why look for more?<\/span><\/p>\n

II<\/strong><\/p>\n

And now, while the advocates of awfulness and sorrow
\nPush their dripping barge up and down the beach, let’s eat
\nOur brill, and sip this beautiful white Beaune.<\/p>\n

True, the light is artificial, and we are not well-dressed.
\nSo what. We like it here. We like the bullocks in the field
\nnext door,<\/span>
\nWe like the sound of wind passing over grass. The way
\nyou speak,<\/span><\/p>\n

In that low voice, our late night disclosures… why live
\nFor anything else? Our masterpiece is the private life.<\/p>\n

III<\/strong><\/p>\n

Standing on the quay between the Roving Swan and the
\nStar Immaculate,<\/span>
\nBreathing the night air as the moment of pleasure taken
\nIn pleasure vanishing seems to grow, its self-soiling<\/p>\n

Beauty, which can only be what it was, sustaining itself
\nA little longer in its going, I think of our own
\nsmooth passage<\/span>
\nThrough the graded partitions, the crises that bleed<\/p>\n

Into the ordinary, leaving us a little more tired each time,
\nA little more distant from the experiences, which, in the
\nold days,<\/span>
\nHeld us captive for hours. The drive along the winding road<\/p>\n

Back to the house, the sea pounding against the cliffs,
\nThe glass of whiskey on the table, the open book,
\nthe questions,<\/span>
\nAll the day’s rewards waiting at the doors of sleep…<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Mark Strand [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/a>The narrator of Gordon Lightfoot’s “Did She Mention My Name?” oscillates between pretending not to care very much and, whoops!<\/em>, leaking the information that he cares quite a bit. At the end, he even nervily asks his listener to follow his example: Please say this. Only don’t, y’know, <\/em>say it.<\/em> (All the while, in the background, lurks the object of his desire: not really the “she” of the title, but what she may or may not be saying.)<\/p>\n

Lightfoot here precedes “Did She Mention…?” with a quite different song, “For Lovin’ Me.” Together, they tell a story of what you once thought you had to say, and what you can’t now quite bring yourself to.<\/p>\n\n

Update:<\/strong> A note on the lyrics… In this particular mashup-like version of the two songs, a couple of stanzas got dropped from “Did She Mention My Name” — and bits of one stanza otherwise dropped are blended into the final stanza. I tried to think of some way of representing all this, while including the complete original song, but it just didn’t work. I opted to include the complete lyrics.<\/p>\n

For Lovin’ Me\/Did She Mention My Name?<\/strong>
\n(Gordon Lightfoot)<\/em><\/p>\n

That’s what you get for lovin’ me
\nThat’s what you get for lovin’ me
\nEverything you have is gone, as you can see
\nThat’s what you get for lovin’ me<\/p>\n

I ain’t the kind to hang around
\nWith any new love that I’ve found
\nSince movin’ is my stock in trade, I’m moving on
\nI won’t think of you when I’m gone<\/p>\n

So don’t you shed a tear for me
\n‘Cause I ain’t the love you thought I’d be
\nI’ve got a hundred more like you, so don’t be blue
\nI’ll have a thousand ‘fore I’m through<\/p>\n

That’s what you get for lovin’ me
\nThat’s what you get for lovin’ me
\nEverything you have is gone, as you can see
\nThat’s what you get for lovin’ me<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

It’s so nice to meet an old friend and pass the time of day
\nAnd talk about the home town a million miles away
\nIs the ice still in the river, are the old folks still the same
\nAnd by the way, did she mention my name<\/p>\n

Did she mention my name just in passing
\nAnd when the morning came,
\ndo you remember if she dropped a name or two
\nIs the home team still on fire, do they still win all
\nthe games<\/span>
\nAnd by the way, did she mention my name<\/span><\/p>\n

Is the landlord still a loser, do his signs hang in the hall
\nAre the young girls still as pretty in the city in the fall
\nDoes the laughter on their faces still put the sun to shame
\nAnd by the way, did she mention my name<\/p>\n

Did she mention my name just in passing
\nAnd when the talk ran high,
\ndid the look in her eye seem far away
\nIs the old roof still leaking when the late snow turns to rain
\nAnd by the way, did she mention my name<\/span><\/p>\n

Did she mention my name just in passing
\nAnd looking at the rain,
\ndo you remember if she dropped a name or two
\nWon’t you say hello from someone, there’ll be no need
\nto explain<\/span>
\nAnd by the way, did she mention my name <\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Zip Your Lips,” from A New Me’s photostream at Flickr] From whiskey river (italicized portion): The Peninsula When you have nothing more to say, just drive For a day all around the peninsula, The sky is tall as over a runway, The land without marks, so you will not arrive But pass through, though […]<\/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":[38,247,1393,74,250,5,50,251],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-7892","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-backwards","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-music","10":"category-art","11":"category-06_writing","12":"category-language-writing_cat","13":"category-poetry-writing_cat","14":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-23i","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7892","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=7892"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7892\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18269,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7892\/revisions\/18269"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7892"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7892"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7892"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}