The New York Times reports this evening that McReynolds died
on Friday, June 23, 2023.
See also Cold Mountain in this journal.
From Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier, 367-368:
"They consulted and twisted the pegs again
to make the dead man’s tuning…."
For Nicole (see Jan. 9).
"Ninth of January, Two Thousand… and Eleven." — Andrew Keeling
This, with the entry on Nicole from January ninth,
suggests the following dialogue from
"Escape to Witch Mountain" (1975)—
Where are the others?
Other kids?
Neighbors, I mean.
There are no neighbors.
Look out of the window. Go on...
Look as far as you can see.
Mr. Bolt owns everything in sight.
Well, I could see the sky.
|
See also "establishment of the Talented" in this journal.
For Sean Carroll, author of . . .
See also Carroll in this journal.
Related humor for Doctor Strange —
Windows Lockscreen at 12:43 AM ET tonight —
I prefer the non-humor of Cold Mountain .
See as well "Red Mountain," "Green Mountain," "Black Mountain,"
and of course "Cold Mountain."
For some images related to this rather biblical topic,
see Hillman + Dream in this journal.
“She was dazzled by light and shade, by the confusing
duplication of reflections and of frames. All coming from
too many directions for the mind to take account of.
The various images bounced against each other
until she felt a desperate vertigo….”
Summary image:
“… Margaret Murry, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed….”
In the catacomb of my mind
Where the dead endure—a kingdom
I conjure by love to rise
— Samuel Menashe, as quoted by
Stephen Spender in a review of four
different poets, "The Last Ditch,"
The New York Review of Books , July 22, 1971
"…the ghost reveals that the beggar
is in fact a sorcerer, a necromancer
who is preparing the mandala in order
to achieve an evil end. The ascetic
intends to bind the ghost to the corpse,
place it in the center of the circle,
and worship it as a deity."
— The King and the Corpse (from synopsis in
"How Many Facets Can a Non-Existent Jewel Have?")
Menashe died on Monday, August 22, 2011.
Related material by and for two other poets
who also died on Monday:
See also an excerpt from Kerouac I cached on Monday, and
Men ask the way to Cold Mountain
Cold Mountain: there's no through trail .
The Turning
"To everything, turn, turn, turn…
… there is a season, turn, turn, turn…"
For less turning and more seasons, see a search in this journal for
fullness + multitude + "cold mountain."
"They consulted and twisted the pegs again to make the dead man’s tuning…."
And one more for the road.
Lottery hermeneutics for yesterday's numbers—
PA— Midday 711, Evening 039.
NY— Midday 440, Evening 704.
Simple interpretive methods— numbers as dates and as hexagram numbers— yield 7/11, hexagram 39, and 7/04.
The reader may supply his own interpretations of 7/11 and 7/04; for hexagram 39, see Wilhelm's commentary—
"The hexagram pictures a dangerous abyss lying before us
and a steep, inaccessible mountain rising behind us."
— and the cover of Cold Mountain—
Adapted from cover of
German edition of Cold Mountain
This suggests revisiting The Edge of Eternity (July 5, 2005).
The hermeneutics of the NY midday 440 is more difficult. A Google search suggests that a Log24 post for Epiphany 2004, "720 in the Book," might yield a clue to the 440 riddle.
By all means, let us 440.
Continued from Sunday morning.
Breakfast at Tiffany's (Vintage reprint), page 73—
"Doc really loves me, you know. And I love him. He may have looked old and tacky to you. But you don't know the sweetness of him, the confidence he can give to birds and brats and fragile things like that. Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot. I've always remembered Doc in my prayers. Please stop smirking!" she demanded, stabbing out a cigarette. "I do say my prayers."
… Page 74 …
She glanced at the clock. "He must be in the Blue Mountains by now."
Adapted from cover of
German edition of Cold Mountain
| Hole in the Wall
Loren Eiseley, I never found — “The Invisible Horseman” This quotation is the result of On Michaelmas 2008 (yesterday): The mailman brought next Sunday’s New York Times Book Review. On the last page was an essay by Steven Millhauser, “The Ambition of the Short Story.” It said that… “The short story concentrates on its grain of sand, in the fierce belief that there– right there, in the palm of its hand– lies the universe. It seeks to know that grain of sand the way a lover seeks to know the face of the beloved.” Part II: A search for the “grain of sand” phrase in this journal yielded a quotation from actor Will Smith: “Smith has just finished reading The Alchemist, by the Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho: ‘It says the entire world is contained in one grain of sand, and you can learn everything you need to learn about the entire universe from that one grain of sand. That is the kind of concept I’m teaching my kids.'” The quotation’s source is The Independent of July 9, 2004. Part III: The date of The Independent‘s story turns out to contain, in this journal, a meditation on white-trash food and Reba McEntire. (Recall her classic lyric — John Keats, “Fancy“ A passage closely related to Keats’s poem: “Fullness… Multitude.” These are the missing last words of Inman in Cold Mountain, added here on the Feast of St. Luke, 2004. For the meaning of these words, click on Luke. |
— Heraclitus in
Death by Philosophy,
by Ava Chitwood
Related material:
International Journal of the Classical Tradition—
“Ava Chitwood, ‘The Anonymous Philosopher of Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain: A Heraclitean Hero in a Homeric World,’ IJCT 11 (2004-2005), pp. 232-243.
1997’s surprise best-seller, Cold Mountain, is the first novel of North Carolina native and travel writer, Charles Frazier. Two ancient Greek authors shape and drive the novel, set in the post-war Southern Appalachians of 1865. Homer’s Odyssey frames the novel: the hero Inman undergoes epic adventures after the war, has his own Penelope waiting, and travels back to a land as remote as any island, Cold Mountain, North Carolina. But fragments of an anonymous philosopher who can be identified as Heraclitus alienate Inman from the Homeric world around him and determine his fate. Ada, his Penelope, also casts off her shroud of tradition: impatient with the ‘glorious war,’ no longer content to wait, Ada plunges into the new business of living. And just as the archaic, post-Homeric Greek world produced new ways of living and thought, as exemplified by Heraclitus, so too does the post-bellum world of Cold Mountain, as exemplified by Inman and Ada; their struggle, and the novel’s tension, speak to and about all those caught between two worlds, epic and philosophic, whether driven by love or strife.”
— The missing last words
of Inman in Cold Mountain,
added here on the
Feast of St. Luke, 2004
7: In that night did God appear unto Solomon, and said unto him, Ask what I shall give thee.
8: And Solomon said unto God, Thou hast shewed great mercy unto David my father, and hast made me to reign in his stead.
9: Now, O LORD God, let thy promise unto David my father be established: for thou hast made me king over a people like the dust of the earth in multitude.
10: Give me now wisdom and knowledge, that I may go out and come in before this people: for who can judge this thy people, that is so great?
"At 42– a professor with no museum experience– he was named curator of painting and sculpture at the Museum of Modern Art. It was, and is, the most influential job in the fluid, insular, fiercely contentious world of modern art. Just two decades past his last Amherst game, the lineman from Savannah was sitting in the chair where the most critical decisions in his profession are made– 'the conscientious, continuous, resolute distinction of quality from mediocrity,' according to his Olympian predecessor Alfred Barr. The Modern and its chief curator serve the American art establishment as a kind of aesthetic Supreme Court, and most of their rulings are beyond appeal."
On Quality
Varnedoe, in his final
Mellon lecture at
the National Gallery,
quoted "Blade Runner"–
"I've seen things
you people wouldn't believe….
"Frank Rich of The New York Times
on the United States of America:
"A country where
entertainment is god."
Rich's description may or may not
be true of the United States, but
it certainly seems true of
The New York Times:
Click on image to enlarge.
Related material:
"Plato's Good was a fixed and eternal and unmoving Idea, whereas for the rhetoricians it was not an Idea at all. The Good was not a form of reality. It was reality itself, ever changing, ultimately unknowable in any kind of fixed, rigid way." –Phaedrus in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
This apparent conflict between eternity and time, fixity and motion, permanence and change, is resolved by the philosophy of the I Ching and by the Imagism of Ezra Pound. Consider, for example, the image of The Well
as discussed here on All Saints' Day 2003 and in the previous entry.
As background, consider the following remarks of James Hillman in "Egalitarian Typologies Versus the Perception of the Unique," Part III: Persons as Images—
|
"To conceive images as static is to forget that they are numens that move. Charles Olson, a later poet in this tradition, said: 'One perception must immediately and directly lead to a further perception… always, always one perception must must must move instanter, on another.' 80 Remember Lavater and his insistence on instantaneity for reading the facial image. This is a kind of movement that is not narrational, and the Imagists had no place for narrative. 'Indeed the great poems to come after the Imagist period– Eliot’s The Waste Land and Four Quartets; Pound’s Cantos; Williams’s Paterson– contain no defining narrative.' 81 The kind of movement Olson urges is an inward deepening of the image, an in-sighting of the superimposed levels of significance within it. 82 This is the very mode that Jung suggested for grasping dreams– not as a sequence in time, but as revolving around a nodal complex. If dreams, then why not the dreamers. We too are not only a sequence in time, a process of individuation. We are also each an image of individuality."
80 The New American Poetry (D. M. Allen, ed.) N.Y.: Evergreen, Grove, 1960, pp. 387-88. from Jones, p. 42. 81 Jones,* p. 40. 82 H. D. later turned narration itself into image by writing a novel in which the stories were "compounded like faces seen one on top of another," or as she says "superimposed on one another like a stack of photographic negatives" (Jones, p. 42). Cf. Berry,** p. 63: "An image is simultaneous. No part precedes or causes another part, although all parts are involved with each other… We might imagine the dream as a series of superimpositions, each event adding texture and thickening to the rest." * Imagist Poetry (Peter Jones, ed.) London: Penguin, 1972 ** The contrast between image simultaneity and narrative succession, and the different psychological effects of the two modes, is developed by Patricia Berry, "An Approach to the Dream," Spring 1974 (N. Y./Zürich: Spring Publ.), pp. 63, 68-71 |
Hillman also says that
|
"Jung’s 'complex' and Pound's definition of Image and Lavater's 'whole heap of images, thoughts, sensations, all at once' are all remarkably similar. Pound calls an Image, 'that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time'… 'the Image is more than an Idea. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with energy'… 'a Vortex, from which and through which, and into which, ideas are constantly rushing.' 79 Thus the movement, the dynamics, are within the complex and not only between complexes, as tensions of opposites told about in narrational sequences, stories that require arbitrary syntactical connectives which are unnecessary for reading an image where all is given at once."
79 These definitions of Image by Pound come from his various writings and can all be found in Jones, pp. 32-41. Further on complex and image, see J. B. Harmer, Victory in Limbo: Imagism 1908-17, London: Secker & Warburg, 1975, pp. 164-68. |
These remarks may help the reader to identify with Ada during her well-viewing in Cold Mountain (previous entry):
"She was dazzled by light and shade, by the confusing duplication of reflections and of frames. All coming from too many directions for the mind to take account of. The various images bounced against each other until she felt a desperate vertigo…."
If such complexity can be suggested by Hexagram 48, The Well, alone, consider the effect of the "cluster of fused ideas… endowed with energy" that is the entire 64-hexagram I Ching.
“Well, it changes.”
A related Log24 link from
that same date, November 27:
“Plato hadn’t tried to destroy areté. He had encapsulated it; made a permanent, fixed Idea out of it; had converted it to a rigid, immobile Immortal Truth. He made areté the Good, the highest form, the highest Idea of all. It was subordinate only to Truth itself, in a synthesis of all that had gone before.That was why the Quality that Phaedrus had arrived at in the classroom had seemed so close to Plato’s Good. Plato’s Good was taken from the rhetoricians. Phaedrus searched, but could find no previous cosmologists who had talked about the Good. That was from the Sophists. The difference was that Plato’s Good was a fixed and eternal and unmoving Idea, whereas for the rhetoricians it was not an Idea at all. The Good was not a form of reality. It was reality itself, ever changing, ultimately unknowable in any kind of fixed, rigid way.”
— as well as Cold Mountain —
“So in short order Ada found herself bent backward over the mossy well lip, canted in a pose with little to recommend it in the way of dignity or comfort, back arched, hips forward, legs spraddled for balance. She held a hand mirror above her face, angled to catch the surface of the water below.
Ada had agreed to the well-viewing as a variety of experiment in local custom and as a tonic for her gloom. Her thoughts had been broody and morbid and excessively retrospective for so long that she welcomed the chance to run counter to that flow, to cast forward and think about the future, even though she expected to see nothing but water at the bottom of the well.
She shifted her feet to find better grip on the packed dirt of the yard and then tried to look into the mirror. The white sky above was skimmed over with backlit haze, bright as a pearl or as a silver mirror itself. The dark foliage of oaks all around the edges framed the sky, duplicating the wooden frame of the mirror into which Ada peered, examining its picture of the well depths behind her to see what might lie ahead in her life. The bright round of well water at the end of the black shaft was another mirror. It cast back the shine of sky and was furred around the edges here and there with sprigs of fern growing between stones.
Ada tried to focus her attention on the hand mirror, but the bright sky beyond kept drawing her eye away. She was dazzled by light and shade, by the confusing duplication of reflections and of frames. All coming from too many directions for the mind to take account of. The various images bounced against each other until she felt a desperate vertigo, as if she could at any moment pitch backward and plunge head first down the well shaft and drown there, the sky far above her, her last vision but a bright circle set in the dark, no bigger than a full moon.
Her head spun and she reached with her free hand and held to the stonework of the well. And then just for a moment things steadied, and there indeed seemed to be a picture in the mirror.”
— and Log24 on December 3 —
(in memory of George Latshaw,
who died on Tuesday, Dec. 19, 2006)
|
Brightness Doubled Seven is Heaven “Love is the shadow Witness the man who — Roger Waters, quoted in |
Garrett comments on Wordsworth’s approach to landscape, citing Karl Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, translated by Louis Wirth and Edward Shils (page numbers below refer to the 1998 Routledge edition):
“… ‘the present becomes the breach through which what was previously inward, bursts out suddenly, takes hold of the outer world and transforms it’ [p. 193]. This breaking through into ecstasy can only be brought about through ‘Kairos‘ or ‘fulfilled time'”….
See translators’ note, p. 198: “In Greek mythology Kairos is the God of Opportunity– the genius of the decisive moment. The Christianized notion of this is given thus in Paul Tillich‘s The Religious Situation [1925, translation by H. Richard Niebuhr, New York, Holt, 1932, pp. 138-139]: ‘Kairos is fulfilled time, the moment of time which is invaded by eternity. But Kairos is not perfection or completion in time.'”
Garrett quotes Wordsworth’s 1850 Prelude:
There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue … (12.208-210)
“And in book 14 Wordsworth…. symbolizes how man can find transcendent unity with the universe through the image of himself leading his group to the peak of Mt. Snowdon. Climbing at night in thick fog, he almost steps off a cliff, but at the last instant, he steps out of the mist, the moon appears, and his location on the brink is revealed. Walking in the darkness of reason, his imagination illumed the night, revealed the invisible world, and spared him his life.”
See also Charles Frazier on the edge of eternity:
“They climbed to a bend and from there they walked on great slabs of rock. It seemed to Inman that they were at the lip of a cliff, for the smell of the thin air spoke of considerable height, though the fog closed off all visual check of loftiness…. Then he looked back down and felt a rush of vertigo as the lower world was suddenly revealed between his boot toes. He was indeed at the lip of a cliff, and he took one step back….”
Christopher Fry’s obituary
in The New York Times—
“His plays radiated
In 1692 on July 31, at the time of the Salem witchcraft trials, Increase Mather reportedly "delivered a sermon… in Boston in which he posed the question… 'O what makes the difference between the devils in hell and the angels of heaven?'"
Increase, the father of Cotton Mather, was president of Harvard from June 27, 1692, to Sept. 6, 1701. His name is memorialized by Harvard's Mather House.
|
Locating Hell
"Noi siam venuti al loco ov' i' t'ho detto
"We have come to where From a Harvard student's weblog: Heard in Mather I hope you get gingivitis You want me to get oral cancer?! Goodnight fartface Turd. Turd. Turd. Turd. Turd. Make your own waffles!! Blah blah blah starcraft blah blah starcraft blah starcraft. It's da email da email. And some blue hair! Oohoohoo Izod! 10 gigs! Yeah it smells really bad. Only in the stairs though. Starcraft blah blah Starcraft fartface. Yeah it's hard. You have to get a bunch of battle cruisers. 40 kills! So good! Oh ho ho grunt grunt squeal. I'm getting sick again. You have a final tomorrow? In What?! Um I don't even know. Next year we're draggin him there and sticking the needle in ourselves. " … one more line/ unravelling from the dark design/ spun by God and Cotton Mather" — Robert Lowell |
Related material:
Log24 on 1/16,
and Hexagram 41,
Decrease
At the foot of the mountain, the lake:
The image of Decrease.
Thus the superior man controls his anger
And restrains his instincts.
This suggests thoughts of
the novel Cold Mountain
(see yesterday morning)
and the following from
Log24 on St. Luke's Day
this year:
|
Established in 1916, Montreat College is a private, Christian college located in a beautiful valley in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. |
"The valley spirit never dies…"
See also St. Luke's Day, 2004,
as well as a journal entry
prompted by both
the ignorant religion
of Harvard's past
and the ignorant scientism
of Harvard's present–
Hitler's Still Point:
A Hate Speech for Harvard.
This last may, of course, not
quite fit the description of
the superior man
controlling his anger
so wisely provided by
yesterday's lottery and
Hexagram 41.
Nobody's perfect.
History
From “Today in History,” by The Associated Press–
On this date (July 30):
“In 1864, during the Civil War, Union forces tried to take Petersburg, Va., by exploding a mine under Confederate defense lines; the attack failed.”
“A nightmare” — Ulysses
See also July 3, 2005.
From 6/6/6:
Und was fur
ein Bild des Christentums
ist dabei herausgekommen?
From this date last year:
From Darkness Visible:
"Ed Rinehart [sic] made a fortune painting canvases that were just one solid color. He had his black period in which the canvas was totally black. And then he had a blue period in which he was painting the canvas blue."
— Martin Gardner interview in AMS Notices, June/July 2005
From Art History:
"Art history was very personal through the eyes of Ad Reinhardt."
— Robert Morris,
Smithsonian Archives of American Art
From The Edge of Eternity:
Christopher Fry's obituary
in The New York Times—
"His plays radiated an optimistic faith in God and humanity, evoking, in his words, 'a world in which we are poised on the edge of eternity, a world which has deeps and shadows of mystery, and God is anything but a sleeping partner.' He said he wrote his plays in poetry because that was 'the language in which man expresses his own amazement' at the complexity both of himself and of a reality which, beneath the surface, was 'wildly, perilously, inexplicably fantastic.'"
Adapted from cover of
German edition of Cold Mountain
For Christopher Fry
and the White Goddess:
The Edge of Eternity
Christian humanist playwright Christopher Fry, author of The Lady’s Not for Burning, died at 97 on June 30, 2005.
From Log24 on June 30:
Robert Graves, author of
The White Goddess:
A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth—
How may the King hold back?
Royally then he barters life for love.
Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched,
Whose coils contain the ocean,
Into whose chops with naked sword he springs,
Then in black water, tangled by the reeds,
Battles three days and nights…
From Cold Mountain:
“He sat awhile on a rock, and then got up and walked all morning through the dim woods. The track was ill used, so coiled and knotted he could not say what its general tendency was. It aimed nowhere certain but up. The brush and bracken grew thick in the footway, and the ground seemed to be healing over, so that in some near future the way would not even remain as scar. For several miles it mostly wound its way through a forest of immense hemlocks, and the fog lay among them so thick that their green boughs were hidden. Only the black trunks were visible, rising into the low sky like old menhirs stood up by a forgotten race to memorialize the darkest events of their history….
They climbed to a bend and from there they walked on great slabs of rock. It seemed to Inman that they were at the lip of a cliff, for the smell of the thin air spoke of considerable height, though the fog closed off all visual check of loftiness….
Then he looked back down and felt a rush of vertigo as the lower world was suddenly revealed between his boot toes. He was indeed at the lip of a cliff, and he took one step back…. The country around was high, broken. Inman looked about and was startled to see a great knobby mountain forming up out of the fog to the west, looming into the sky. The sun broke through a slot in the clouds, and a great band of Jacob’s ladder suddenly hung in the air like a gauze curtain between Inman and the blue mountain….
Inman looked at the big grandfather mountain and then he looked beyond it to the lesser mountains as they faded off into the southwest horizon, bathed in faint smoky haze. Waves of mountains. For all the evidence the eye told, they were endless. The grey overlapping humps of the farthest peaks distinguished themselves only as slightly darker values of the pale grey air. The shapes and their ghostly appearance spoke to Inman in a way he could not clearly interpret. They graded off like the tapering of pain from the neck wound as it healed.”
See also the entries of July 3.
The crone figure in this section of Cold Mountain is not entirely unrelated to the girl accused of being a witch in Fry’s play and to Graves’s White Goddess.
From Fry’s obituary in The Guardian:
“Though less of a public theorist than Eliot, Fry still believed passionately in the validity of poetic drama. As he wrote in the magazine Adam: ‘In prose, we convey the eccentricity of things, in poetry their concentricity, the sense of relationship between them: a belief that all things express the same identity and are all contained in one discipline of revelation.'”
From Fry’s obituary in today’s New York Times:
“His plays radiated an optimistic faith in God and humanity, evoking, in his words, ‘a world in which we are poised on the edge of eternity, a world which has deeps and shadows of mystery, and God is anything but a sleeping partner.’ He said he wrote his plays in poetry because that was ‘the language in which man expresses his own amazement’ at the complexity both of himself and of a reality which, beneath the surface, was ‘wildly, perilously, inexplicably fantastic.'”
Adapted from cover of
German edition of Cold Mountain
Epigraph to Cold Mountain,
by Charles Frazier —
Men ask the way to Cold Mountain.
Cold Mountain: there’s no through trail.
— Han-shan
The Devil Came Up
to Cambridge
From a Log24 entry of Friday, December 3, 2004:
“Anything but the void. And so we keep hoping to luck into a winning combination, to tap into a subtle harmony, trying like lock pickers to negotiate a compromise with the ‘mystery tramp,’ as Bob Dylan put it….”
— Dennis Overbye, Quantum Baseball,
New York Times, Oct. 26, 2004
From this morning’s New York Times:
|
BLOUNTVILLE, Tenn., Dec. 8 (AP) – Ralph Blizard, a renowned fiddler who began his career playing on the radio, died here on Friday [Dec. 3, 2004], according to a funeral home in Kingsport. He was 85. Mr. Blizard started playing at age 7. He began his career on the radio in In 2002, Mr. Blizard was inducted into the American Fiddlers Hall of Fame…. [He] was a founder of the Traditional Appalachian Music Heritage Association. |
In memory of Mr. Blizard:
| From Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier, 367-368:
They consulted and twisted the pegs again to make the dead man’s tuning, and they then set in playing a piece slightly reminiscent of Bonaparte’s Retreat, which some name General Washington’s tune. This was softer, more meditative, yet nevertheless grim as death. When the minor key drifted in it was like shadows under trees, and the piece called up something of dark woods, lantern light. It was awful old music in one of the ancient modalities, music that sums up a culture and is the true expression of its inner life. Birch said, Jesus wept. The fit’s took them now. None of the Guard had ever heard fiddle and banjo played together in that tuning, nor had they heard playing of such strength and rhythm applied to musical themes so direful and elegiac. Pangle’s use of the thumb on the fifth string and dropping to the second was an especial thing of arrogant wonder. It was like ringing a dinner bell, yet solemn. His other two fingers worked in a mere hard, groping style, but one honed to brutish perfection. Stobrod’s fingers on the fiddle neck found patterns that seemed set firm as the laws of nature. There was a deliberation, a study, to their clamping of the strings that was wholly absent from the reckless bowing of the right hand. What lyric Stobrod sang recounted a dream — his or some fictive speaker’s — said to have been dreamed on a bed of hemlocks and containing a rich vision of lost love, the passage of awful time, a girl wearing a mantle of green. The words without music would have seemed hardly fuller in detail than a telegraphic message, but together they made a complete world. When the song fell closed, Birch said to Teague, Good God, these is holy men. Their mind turns on matters kept secret from the likes of you and me. |
Counting Crows
on the Feast of St. Luke
"In the fullness of time,
educated people will believe
there is no soul
independent of the body,
and hence no life after death."
— Francis Crick, who was awarded
a Nobel Prize on this date in 1962
"She went to the men on the ground and looked at them and then she found Inman apart from them. She sat and held him in her lap. He tried to talk, but she hushed him. He drifted in and out and dreamed a bright dream of a home. It had a coldwater spring rising out of a rock, black dirt fields, old trees. In his dream, the year seemed to be happening all at one time, all the seasons blending together. Apple trees hanging heavy with fruit but yet unaccountably blossoming, ice rimming the spring, okra plants blooming yellow and maroon, maple leaves red as October, corn crops tasseling, a stuffed chair pulled up to the glowing parlor hearth, pumpkins shining in the fields, laurels blooming on the hillsides, ditch banks full of orange jewelweed, white blossoms on dogwood, purple on redbud. Everything coming around at once. And there were white oaks, and a great number of crows, or at least the spirits of crows, dancing and singing in the upper limbs. There was something he wanted to say."
— Charles Frazier, Cold Mountain
The Freshmen, Part II
From the Daily Princetonian,
Feb. 3, 2004:
Caption: Cate Edwards' Princeton friends support her and her father.
"… when Sen. John Edwards, father of Cate Edwards '04, decided to run for president, the troop of 17 students sacrificed tans and theses to pile into a fleet of minivans headed to New Hampshire….
These volunteers… were on a first name basis with the man who had helped them move into freshman dorm rooms and had discussed Senate votes with them over Chinese food."
From Chuck Polisher's
I Ching Lexicon:
"It's claimed that
if you take a mirror
and look backwards
into a well,
you'll see your future
down in the water."
— Cold Mountain,
Vintage paperback, 1998,
page 48
"Goin' to Carolina in my mind…"
— James Taylor
Happy Birthday,
Carl Jung
|
Jung in Von Franz's Psyche and Matter, p. 85: "What the formula can only hint at is the higher plane that is reached through the process of transformation…. The change consists in an unfolding of totality into four parts four times, which means nothing less than its becoming conscious."
Jung's Model of the Self:  Four Quartets:
"… history is a pattern Cold Mountain, the film:
Inman: You are all that keeps me from sliding into some dark place. |
His Way
Suggested by George Steiner’s phrase in the previous entry, “as in inverse canons”–
| EXT. BLACK COVE FARM. DAY.
A beautiful day, MONROE INMAN MONROE Inman hovers, awkward. INMAN Ada comes forward, ****** LATER ******* INT. PARLOUR. At the piano, Ada unwraps
Ada picks them out on the piano. |
(Fourteen Canons on the First Eight Notes of the Goldberg Ground)
Bach in the original —
“Bach in the Original” —
Palm Sunday, Part II:
Cold Mountain
From the notes to the CD of Songs From the Mountain (John Herrmann, Dirk Powell, Tim O’Brien):
“John [Herrmann, banjo player] would like to dedicate his work on this recording to Philip Kapleau Roshi, Kalu Rimpoche, and Harada Tangen Roshi, who all know the way to Cold Mountain….”
See Buddha’s Birthday (April 8) and The Diamond Project.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
— Tom Eliot, The Waste Land
“I am thinking…
… of the midnight picnic
Once upon a time….”
— Suzanne Vega, “Tom’s Diner“
|
Once upon a time… |
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“De donde crece la palma” — Song lyric
From On Beauty, by Elaine Scarry, Princeton University Press, 1999, a quotation from Homer —
“in Delos, beside Apollo’s altar —
the young slip of a palm-tree
springing into the light.”
See also A Mass for Lucero and The Shining of Lucero.
— George Balanchine
Diablo Ballet
Thanks to Meghan for the following:
not going, not coming,
rooted, deep and still
not reaching out, not reaching in
just resting, at the center
a single jewel, the flawless crystal drop
in the blaze of its brilliance
the way beyond.
— Shih Te (c. 730)
It turns out that Shih Te ("Foundling") was the sidekick of Han Shan ("Cold Mountain"). Here are some relevant links:
Thoughts of Robert Frost (see past two days' entries) lead to "Two Tramps in Mud Time," which in turn leads to Jack Kerouac and Gary Snyder splitting wood in The Dharma Bums.
This in turn leads, via a search on "Kerouac" and "axe," to the sentence
"There's the grace of an axe handle
as good as an Eglevsky ballet,"
in Big Sur.
Kerouac taught me when I was 16 and he is still teaching me now that I am 60.
Searching for "Eglevsky ballet" leads to this site on André Eglevsky, his work, his life, and his children. A further search leads to his daughter Marina Eglevsky, who stages dance for the Diablo Ballet.
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Marina Eglevsky and |
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Those who feel the above is too "arty" for them may nevertheless appreciate the movie by the same name: "Born to Dance" (1936), starring Eleanor Powell and James Stewart.
In the larger metaphorical sense, of course, Powell and Eglevsky are both part of the same dance… at the "still point" described so well by Shih Te.
"just resting, at the center
a single jewel…"
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"At the still point, |
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From Marshall's Jewelers, Tucson — The ideal cut is a mathematical formula for cutting diamonds to precise angles and proportions to maximize the reflection and refraction of light. In addition to these ideal proportions, the polish and symmetry of the diamond is done to the highest standards also. Only then does it qualify to receive the American Gem Society (AGS) "triple zero" rating. A "zero" rating is the most perfect rating that the AGS gives evaluating the cut, polish, and symmetry of the diamond. When a diamond receives the "zero" rating for each of these areas, (cut, polish, and symmetry), it gets three "zeros," hence the "triple zero" rating. Because of this attention to detail, it takes up to four times longer to cut a diamond to these standards than an "average" diamond. You may choose to compromise on color or clarity but to ensure the most brilliant diamond you should not compromise on cut…. The "triple zero" ideal cut guarantees you a magnificent balance of brilliance, sparkle, and fire. |
Postscript of 1/25/03:
See also the obituary of Irene Diamond, ballet patron, for whom the New York City Ballet's "Diamond Project" is named. Diamond died on January 21, 2003, the date of the above weblog entry.
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