{"id":9120,"date":"2011-12-02T13:06:52","date_gmt":"2011-12-02T18:06:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=9120"},"modified":"2011-12-02T13:06:52","modified_gmt":"2011-12-02T18:06:52","slug":"liquid-assets-compounded","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2011\/12\/liquid-assets-compounded\/","title":{"rendered":"Liquid Assets, Compounded"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: “Butterfly Splash,” by Alex Koloskov. For more information, including an “e-videobook” tutorial on creating this sort of effect, see the photographer’s site<\/a>, which is where I found it.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

Poem Holding Its Heart In One Fist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Each pebble in this world keeps
\nits own counsel.<\/p>\n

Certain words — these, for instance —
\nmay be keeping a pronoun hidden.
\nPerhaps the lover’s you
\nor the solipsist’s I.
\nPerhaps the philosopher’s willowy it.<\/p>\n

The concealment plainly delights.<\/p>\n

Even a desk will gather
\nits clutch of secret, half-crumpled papers,
\neased slowly, over years,
\nbehind the backs of drawers.<\/em><\/p>\n

Olives adrift in the altering brine-bath
\netch onto their innermost pits
\na few furrowed salts that will never be found by the tongue.<\/p>\n

Yet even with so much withheld,
\nso much unspoken,
\npotatoes are cooked with butter and parsley,
\nand buttons affixed to their sweater.
\nInvited guests arrive, then dutifully leave.<\/p>\n

And this poem, afterward, washes its breasts
\nwith soap and trembling hands, disguising nothing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jane Hirshfield)<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

I had a discussion with a great master in Japan, and we were talking about the various people who are working to translate the Zen books into English, and he said, “That’s a waste of time. If you really understand Zen, you can use any book. You could use the Bible. You could use Alice in Wonderland<\/em>. You could use the dictionary, because the sound of the rain needs no translation.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Alan Watts)<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

In the end, writing is like a prison, an island from which you will never be released but which is a kind of paradise: the solitude, the thoughts, the incredible joy of putting into words the essence of what you for the moment understand and with your whole heart want to believe.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(James Salter)<\/p>\n

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

The other day I found myself chairless<\/em>, in one of the rooms, and I am sometimes all but bootless<\/em> and shoeless<\/em>, before I can stir up the local shoemaker. We are not quite tailorless<\/em> and so not obliged to go trouserless<\/em>, like the thoughtless<\/em> & careless<\/em>, if not quite shameless<\/em> inhabitants of the treeless<\/em>, cultureless<\/em>, gasless<\/em>, daily-paperless<\/em> & once schoolless<\/em> regions of the north. The subject is endless & exhaustless, boundless<\/em> & bottomless<\/em> but the raising of it is not purposeless<\/em> I assure you. Then must I not, if a place is carpenterless<\/em>, at times wield the hammer carpenter-wise<\/em> myself — or if my floor is carpetless<\/em> spread it carpetwise<\/em> with something… A great deal of this applies equally to -ful<\/em>, -ly<\/em>, -ism<\/em>, -ize<\/em>, etc. Think of this when sleeplessly<\/em> tossing on your bed, or carriagelessly<\/em> scuttling home in the rain. Yours truly, if breathlessly<\/em>, JAHM.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(James A.H. Murray, editor of the first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary<\/em>, on the difficulty of deciding which compound words to include [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

River<\/strong><\/p>\n

At the turn of the river the language changes,
\na different babble, even a different name
\nfor the same river. Water crosses the border,
\ntranslates itself, but words stumble, fall back,
\nand there, nailed to a tree, is proof. A sign<\/p>\n

in new language brash on a tree. A bird,
\nnot seen before, singing on a branch. A woman
\non the path by the river, repeating a strange sound
\nto clue the bird’s song and ask for its name, after.
\nShe kneels for a red flower, picks it, later
\nwill press it carefully between the pages of a book.<\/p>\n

What would it mean to you if you could be
\nwith her there, dangling your own hands in the water
\nwhere blue and silver fish dart away over stone,
\nstoon, stein, like the meanings of things, vanish?
\nShe feels she is somewhere else, intensely, simply because
\nof words; she sings loudly in nonsense, smiling, smiling.<\/p>\n

If you were really there what would you write on a postcard,
\nor on the sand, near where the river runs into the sea?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Carol Ann Duffy)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Gin<\/strong><\/p>\n

I like a green olive
\nstuffed with a pimento
\nafter it has been submerged
\nfor some time in a martini.
\nI like to go downtown with my husband,
\nsit in a booth at the Grand
\nand let the drink rub the edge
\noff the inane fight we had
\nabout the furniture salesman
\nand whether he treated us fairly,
\nmy view, or whether he tried
\nto put one over on us,
\nmy husband’s view.
\nIn some moods we’ll fight about anything
\njust to make the other
\ncarry the weight of anger
\nwe lug all day through our lives.
\nBut that moment
\nwhen we climb into bed
\non a winter’s night,
\nletting our bodies lie down,
\nletting the day be over,
\nits not unlike the way gin
\nloosens the rope, lets float
\nthe raft into its stillest waters.
\nHappy hour, when the landscape
\nloses its daylight meaning
\nas it slips into the silk of dusk
\nbefore night pours down its jazzy notes
\nin a cathedral of crushed velvet.
\nWe are sitting side by side in the booth,
\nwatching the flurry of holiday shoppers
\ncome in from the cold.
\nBy now the salesman is a jerk,
\nor he’s a helluva guy,
\neither way is fine.
\nWe are talking about anything,
\nhaving drifted out into the calm
\nplainness of intimacy. Nothing
\nprofound, just a place to rest
\nat the end of the day,
\nthe cord between us swinging gently
\nafter the bells have stopped their ringing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jacqueline Berger)<\/p>\n

Finally: Muddy Waters (now there’s a liquid asset for you) mixes tears with the Mississippi, and serves up a powerful sip of blues:<\/p>\n

[Below, click Play button to begin <\/em>My Home Is in the Delta. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left — a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 3:59 long.]<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

[audio:myhomeisinthedelta_muddywaters.mp3|titles=’My Home Is in the Delta’|artists=Muddy Waters]<\/div>\n

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

Love that little Look out<\/em> he injects just before the guitar break — as if to say, Better be sittin’ down for this next part<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Butterfly Splash,” by Alex Koloskov. For more information, including an “e-videobook” tutorial on creating this sort of effect, see the photographer’s site, which is where I found it.] From whiskey river (italicized portion): Poem Holding Its Heart In One Fist Each pebble in this world keeps its own counsel. Certain words — these, for […]<\/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":[247,1393,74,250,5,50,251],"tags":[270,1211,2708,2709,2710,2711,2712,2713],"class_list":{"0":"post-9120","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-music","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"tag-jane-hirshfield","14":"tag-alan-watts","15":"tag-alex-koloskov","16":"tag-james-salter","17":"tag-james-a-h-murray","18":"tag-carol-ann-duffy","19":"tag-jacqueline-berger","20":"tag-muddy-waters","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-2n6","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9120","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=9120"}],"version-history":[{"count":16,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9137,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9120\/revisions\/9137"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}