Poem from a friend
Debbie Lee wrote this great poem partly inspired by between the cracks. It's a beauty. Check out Debbie's blog
Between the cracks
The art of letter writing has fallen between the cracks;
yet I admire the messiness of hand printing chaos
and a signature for more than eftpos or debit needs.
Sometimes, I spill ruby ink onto the pages, reclaiming
the beauty of red for more than editing adjustments,
tumbling and twirling the pen, so my ambitious letters
can form the basis of non-bill mail for friends;
replacing the barren loneliness of a blank page,
or trigger a thought or association I treasure.
I like the idea of purple graphemes voraciously
collecting together, especially superficial,
before they moan and whimper below your hand.
When reading about linguistics, I first thought
grapheme, phoneme and digraph were oppositional,
revolting, tormented by conjoined formation.
But I have since reconsidered them complementary;
symbiotic, meaningless without the imbued
connection – like misplaced hieroglyphics.
I want to understand language, rather than
change its meaning repeatedly and falsely,
to absorb letters like soil subsumes water.
Hand-written messages seem to be engraved upon
a pillaged earth, like oasis in a desert. When
complete, light and forsaken waterstains remain,
but alongside the smile I wear with each
letter I pen or receive, there is also a distant
memory of being part of a broader story that is
lost in translation.
After a conversation with Kate
Two thoughts from people who have been through it already, about aging and dying:
Friedrich Nietzsche
"Joy in old age. The thinker or artist whose better self has fled into his works feels an almost malicious joy when he sees his body and spirit slowly broken into and destroyed by time; it is as if he werein a corner, watching a thief at work on his safe, all the while knowing that it is empty and that all his treasures have been rescued."
- Human, all too Human
Walt Whitman:
"All goes onward and outward ... and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier."
- Leaves of Grass
Big words from a small man
My imagination captured this week by a beautiful book: The Emperor's Last Island by Julia Blackburn. It gives an account of the last few years of Napoleon's life, spent as a prisoner on the island of St Helena.
The writing shines, peppered with the author's own experience of travelling to St Helena, quotes from the journals and letters of people who lived on the island with Napoleon, and a number of bons mots from the man himself:
"Who screams the loudest on the battlefields, the English or the French?" (p. 152)
"Which is more refreshing, milk of almonds or lemonade?" (p. 153)
"Doctor, you have known the human body so intimately, have you never found the soul when you were at work with your scalpel? In which organ do you think it might reside?" (p. 161)
Fascinating insights into the mind of one of the most famous men of all time, a mind that was clearly active, curious, creative, questioning. Words that seem to speak of a man who deserves the reputation of being larger than life.
In memory
Words this week come from Katharine Hepburn, speaking about Spencer Tracy. They resonated for me particularly in memory of my father, who died 10 years ago this week. Not in an exact way, do you know what I mean? But in a poetic, metaphoric kind of way. Thanks KH:
When I met Spencer I discovered myself, do you know what I mean? That apparently meant a great deal to me. I think it must have. But he had me, I didn't have him necessarily, do you know what I mean? One person has to make that relationship work and I think I knew how and I think I did make it work.
Well in the last years of Spencer's life I didn't act so much because he wasn't feeling too well and he wasn't feeling very confident, and I was in a position to alleviate that situation for him and he was my good, good friend and that seemed wonderful to me, to be that useful.
For all those relationships that are a little bit outside the box and take a long time to understand.