Sunday, January 26, 2020

The Fire



Back to Edie.  That was not her name, but as I've said, I can't remember it.  It will come to me someday.  I hope.  She was unlike anything I'd ever been around.  I was a beast just coming from the wilderness.  I guess I had unreasonable confidence, or, perhaps, cockiness would be a better word, for I believed" my people" could crush "her people" just the way I'd always thought our dads could beat up their's.

But I was hideous.

Edie was into fashion, and she asked me to come take some pictures of her.  She had her own ideas.  These were not mine.  She set up lights and told me what to do.  Most of the pictures were too high key for me, but I was just happy to be hanging around with her.  About half the time I was there, she was talking on the phone.  She talked like an adult, like one of those movie martini moms.  That is the closest I had gotten to anything like that, anyway.


She had her own apartment.  I should mention that.  She did not live in a dorm.  She did not share a place.  She had her own apartment.  And a nice car.  A Saab, if I remember correctly.  I was trying to be a hippie.  She was already Boho chic.

As with everyone,  I wonder how her life turned out.

Today was one of those beautiful, crystal clear, blue sky, diamond-lighted days for which this place is famous.

I stayed inside.  Yup.  I sat at the computer and scanned all day.  I thought to myself, "It is a beautiful day.  You should go out.  You should even take pictures."

But I didn't have it in me.  I dawdled.  I didn't eat.  I didn't drink.  I just sat at my desk looking through old proof sheets and negatives, and I scanned.

Now I have eaten a dinner of shite and have drunk some wine, and I have moved on to "the whiskey."

I will watch some television, perhaps, or I will read a book, and I will probably go to an early bed.  And as has been my practice recently, I will wake in the dark and get out of bed at five.  So I predict.

I need a muse more than anything now.  I need someone to make me want to do something.  I need an Edie or any of the others, someone to make me aspire.  Oh Sweet Jesus, send me some inspiration.  I want to feel that fire one more time.


*.    *.    *.    *.   *

I was right.  Early to bed, up at five.  I need to be more mindful, I think.  I need to meditate, to recalibrate and recenter.  I need to get my mind right.  Isn't that what Boss said in "Cool Hand Luke"?  I've been up for over an hour, read the news, texted everyone I know, waiting for the light.  Nobody has responded, of course.  They are comfortable in their beds on a cold Sunday morning.  They will get up to breakfasts and mimosas with girlfriends and boyfriends, husbands and wives.  They will put on gentle music and wonder how best to spend their day.

They are not like us.  They are normal and comfortable.  They've already gotten their minds right.


5 comments:


  1. To the Muse

    It is all right. All they do
    Is go in by dividing
    One rib from another. I wouldn’t
    Lie to you. It hurts
    Like nothing I know. All they do
    Is burn their way in with a wire.
    It forks in and out a little like the tongue
    Of that frightened garter snake we caught
    At Cloverfield, you and me, Jenny
    So long ago.

    I would lie to you
    If I could.
    But the only way I can get you to come up
    Out of the suckhole, the south face
    Of the Powhatan pit, is to tell you
    What you know:

    You come up after dark, you poise alone
    With me on the shore.
    I lead you back to this world.

    Three lady doctors in Wheeling open
    Their offices at night.
    I don’t have to call them, they are always there.
    But they only have to put the knife once
    Under your breast.
    Then they hang their contraption.
    And you bear it.

    It’s awkward a while. Still, it lets you
    Walk about on tiptoe if you don’t
    Jiggle the needle.
    It might stab your heart, you see.
    The blade hangs in your lung and the tube
    Keeps it draining.
    That way they only have to stab you
    Once. Oh Jenny.

    I wish to God I had made this world, this scurvy
    And disastrous place. I
    Didn’t, I can’t bear it
    Either, I don’t blame you, sleeping down there
    Face down in the unbelievable silk of spring,
    Muse of black sand,
    Alone.

    I don’t blame you, I know
    The place where you lie.
    I admit everything. But look at me.
    How can I live without you?
    Come up to me, love,
    Out of the river, or I will
    Come down to you.

    James Wright

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    Replies

    1. Well, I always thought of that passage as referring to the three muses (including Erato who the Poet often wrote about).

      I just asked The Google Machine and this is what was spit out:


      Such a dark, rich loam in which the meaning of this poem puts down roots. There is Eden and Eve here (dividing one rib from another, the snake in Cloverfield, and the Milton reference: \"How Can I live without you, how forego thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined.\") there is Orpheus (I lead you back to this world), there is birth and disease and of course the muses, those three \"lady doctors\" who are probably abortionists (not Doctors who are ladies, but \"lady doctors\", one a muse who cuts a cord -- and consider another Wright poem in which Jenny \"left her new baby in a bus station can and sprightly danced away...\")
      These are dark musings, the hint of the suicidal despair, that resolve in Wright\'s later poetry. I draw a direct line between the desperation in the ending of this, the homage to the unresolved love of Jenny, about whom he still had \"the east wind to say\" -- and \"The Quest,\" the dedication in his collected works to Annie, and the balance with which it ends: \"And know the world immeasurably alive and good/Though bare as rifted paradise.\"
      Two different muses, one buried in the dark, one resolved with darkness.

      --Brian Fitzterald

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  2. Shaking it over here, boss.

    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HGyAwHwC9wk

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