There Are Many Blessings...
...to be thankful for, on this loveliest of grey days, grey canvas splashed with the insane yellow of zexmania (Wedelia or Zexmania hispida)flowers in the street: out of grey, neon birth. Herbie Hancock's CD River: The Joni Letters: oh my Lord, the album is exquisite, and will need a post of its own, after I stop wearing a hole in it. The chill chill chilly morning this past week when I stumbled upon it on the way to school, bless our local jazz KRTU, Ms Norah Jones giving us "Court and Spark" from my Scorpio big sister. Lush and subterranean is Ms Jones with Mr Hancock. More later. Promise.
It's darkened here again: the Friday night bachelors were out and about this grey beauty-day: the lovely Ms Tea has returned from her Austin jaunt, the Letters are on one last time before pizzas are homemade and we all settle in for the latest Fun Police incarnation that is Ocean's 13.
We have a beauteous week of no school ahead: are we ever blessed.
And then this, from the crazemoid Mr Berryman:
My idea is this: The artist is extremely lucky who is presented with the worst possible ordeal which will not actually kill him. At that point, he’s in business. Beethoven’s deafness, Goya’s deafness, Milton’s blindness, that kind of thing. And I think that what happens in my poetic work in the future will probably largely depend not on my sitting calmly on my ass as I think, “Hmm, hmm, a long poem again? Hmm,” but on being knocked in the face, and thrown flat, and given cancer, and all kinds of other things short of senile dementia. At that point, I’m out, but short of that, I don’t know. I hope to be nearly crucified.
Read the whole Paris Review interview here. Should be caviar and borscht, plenty yummy.
http://www.theparisreview.com/media/4052_BERRYMAN.pdf
Can't say I'm exactly there with Brother Ivan's take on luck. I'll take zexmania in the street. But, I'll read Mr B even at his wackiest. Especially at his wackiest.
Nearly crucified?
Peace, out.
It's darkened here again: the Friday night bachelors were out and about this grey beauty-day: the lovely Ms Tea has returned from her Austin jaunt, the Letters are on one last time before pizzas are homemade and we all settle in for the latest Fun Police incarnation that is Ocean's 13.
We have a beauteous week of no school ahead: are we ever blessed.
And then this, from the crazemoid Mr Berryman:
My idea is this: The artist is extremely lucky who is presented with the worst possible ordeal which will not actually kill him. At that point, he’s in business. Beethoven’s deafness, Goya’s deafness, Milton’s blindness, that kind of thing. And I think that what happens in my poetic work in the future will probably largely depend not on my sitting calmly on my ass as I think, “Hmm, hmm, a long poem again? Hmm,” but on being knocked in the face, and thrown flat, and given cancer, and all kinds of other things short of senile dementia. At that point, I’m out, but short of that, I don’t know. I hope to be nearly crucified.
Read the whole Paris Review interview here. Should be caviar and borscht, plenty yummy.
http://www.theparisreview.com/media/4052_BERRYMAN.pdf
Can't say I'm exactly there with Brother Ivan's take on luck. I'll take zexmania in the street. But, I'll read Mr B even at his wackiest. Especially at his wackiest.
Nearly crucified?
Peace, out.
posted by murat11 at 6:01 PM
4 Comments:
Paschal, thank you for mentioning KRTU. I went and looked it up and am now listening to it via live stream. I liked the gray of the day too. When I wandered outside the air felt unusually thick. :)
Peace!
Lee: From 5 am to 10 pm, KRTU is certainly one of SA's treasures. Would they would move to jazz 24/7. 2 am jazz would a great thing to behold.
Hey, Murat, there's a big write-up about "River" in one of our local papers. It's made a splash here too.
A week off from work, homemade pizzas, and going to the movies--you are one rich man, Paschal! Let me know about Ocean's 13. LOVED 11 but skipped 12.
The words from Berryman are always appreciated. Life, friends, is NOT boring. Dream Song 14?
San: I, clearly, am not a hip man. The three of us loved Ocean's 11, and we really enjoyed 12, too. I don't what everybody's problem was with 12. 13, on the other hand, what others have called atonement for 12 (?), seemed just tired and worn out to me. They play Pacino as a putz and a fool (I wanted more fire), Barkin as a joke: the 13 didn't have to work that hard to get the dough and the revenge. Slightly hilarious, though, to watch "Sexiest" "Man"-"winner" Matt Damon as Linus: that made for some unintended comedy for me, since I have decided, if MD is sexiest man, then "I" am the "world's" "sexiest" "woman" "."
More on River later, which I now realize will be a long ramble on Ms Joni herself.
Berryman was THE MAN, before there was A MAN. Nuff said, Berrymanista. Peace.
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