{"id":8243,"date":"2011-07-29T11:38:34","date_gmt":"2011-07-29T15:38:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=8243"},"modified":"2011-07-29T12:47:23","modified_gmt":"2011-07-29T16:47:23","slug":"step-by-step-and-an-ounce-at-a-time","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2011\/07\/step-by-step-and-an-ounce-at-a-time\/","title":{"rendered":"Step by Step, and an Ounce at a Time"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/p>\n

[Image: <\/em>Beast of Burden, a sculpture by Sarah Perry<\/a>. For more information, see the note at the foot of this post.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

Burlap Sack<\/strong><\/p>\n

A person is full of sorrow
\nthe way a burlap sack is full of stones or sand.
\nWe say, “Hand me the sack,”
\nbut we get the weight.
\nHeavier if left out in the rain.
\nTo think that the stones or sand are the self is an error.
\nTo think that grief is the self is an error.
\nSelf carries grief as a pack mule carries the side bags,
\nbeing careful between the trees to leave extra room.
\nThe mule is not the load of ropes and nails and axes.
\nThe self is not the miner nor builder nor driver.
\nWhat would it be to take the bride
\nand leave behind the heavy dowry?
\nTo let the thick ribbed mule browse in tall grasses,
\nits long ears waggling like the tails of two happy dogs?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jane Hirshfield [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

I think there is choice possible at any moment to us, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice, and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Muriel Rukeyser)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses — that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Pablo Neruda)<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>\u00a0(the speaker here is Atlas):<\/p>\n

I escaped, and joined the revolt against the heavens. I was the war-leader, the one who had lost most and had little to fear. What can a man fear with nothing to lose?<\/p>\n

In the long fighting, most of use were killed, and my mother, out of her secret nature, promised victory to Zeus. What Titans were left were banished to Britain, where the cold inhospitable rocks are worse than death. I was spared for my great strength.<\/p>\n

In a way I was allowed to be my own punishment.<\/p>\n

Because I loved the earth. Because the seas of the earth held no fear for me. Because I had learned the positions of the planets and the track of the stars. Because I am strong, my punishment was to support the Kosmos on my shoulders. I took up the burden of the whole world, the heavens above it, and the depths below. All that there is, is mine, but none of it in my control. This is my monstrous burden. The boundary of what I am.<\/p>\n

And my desire?<\/p>\n

Infinite space<\/em>.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jeanette Winterson, Weight<\/em> [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

The Bear at the Dump<\/strong><\/p>\n

Amidst the too much that we buy and throw
\naway and the far too much we wrap it in,
\nthe bear found a few items of special
\ninterest — a honeydew rind, a used tampon,
\nthe bone from a leg of lamb. He’d rock back
\nlightly onto his rear paws and slash
\nopen a plastic bag, and then his nose—
\njammed almost with a surfeit of rank
\nand likely information, for he would pause—
\nand then his whole dowsing snout would
\ninsinuate itself a little way
\ninside. By now he’d have hunched his weight
\nforward slightly, and then he’d snatch it back,
\ntrailed by some tidbit in his teeth. He’d look
\naround. What a good boy am he.
\nThe guardian of the dump was used
\nto this and not amused. “He’ll drag that shit
\nevery which damn way,” he grumbled
\nwho’d dozed and scraped a pit to keep that shit
\nwhere the town paid to contain it.
\nThe others of us looked and looked. “City
\nfolks like you don\u2019t get to see this often,”
\none year-round resident accused me.
\nSome winter I’ll bring him down to learn
\nto love a rat working a length of subway
\ntrack. “Nope,” I replied. Just then the bear
\ndecamped for the woods with a marl of grease
\nand slather in his mouth and on his snout,
\npicking up speed, not cute (nor had he been
\ncute before, slavering with greed, his weight
\nall sunk to his seated rump and his nose stuck
\nup to sift the rich and fetid air, shaped
\nlike a huge, furry pear), but richly
\nfed on the slow-simmering dump, and gone
\ninto the bug-thick woods and anecdote.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Matthews [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

The first Beatles album I ever owned was nearly their last: 1970’s\u00a0Abbey Road<\/em>. (I quickly filled in the gaps!) That album ends with a brief, inconsequential little ditty called “Her Majesty.” But it’s preceded by a three-song suite<\/em>\u00a0which is difficult to think of as anything but a whole; this suite is often cited as one of the group’s most sophisticated works. (It’s also cited as a hint of their impending breakup — the “weight” in question being the onus of the band’s history, as they went their separate ways.)<\/p>\n

While looking through some links about the songs, I found this video. It’s from a 1997 charity concert at which Paul McCartney performed; he’s backed onstage by an interesting cast of supporting players: a gospel choir and orchestra, Phil Collins on drums, Mark Knopfler and Eric Clapton on guitar… and that’s Beatles producer George Martin wielding the conductor’s baton.<\/p>\n