Thursday, December 29, 2022

PRESIDENT LOWELL FIGHTS ERECTION IN HARVARD SQUARE, or: Born 100 Years Ago Today


"Even though I should have known from The Recognitions that the world was not waiting breathlessly for my message, that it already knew, and was quite happy to live with all these false values, I’d always been intrigued by the charade of the so-called free market, so-called free enterprise system, the stock market conceived of as what was called a “people’s capitalism” where you “owned a part of the company” and so forth. All of which is true; you own shares in a company, so you literally do own part of the assets. But if you own a hundred shares out of six or sixty or six hundred million, you’re not going to influence things very much. Also, the fact that people buy securities—the very word in this context is comic—not because they are excited by the product—often you don’t know what the company makes—but simply for profit: The stock looks good and you buy it. The moment it looks bad you sell it. What had actually happened in the company is not your concern. In many ways I thought . . . the childishness of all this. Because JR himself, which is why he is eleven years old, is motivated only by good-natured greed. JR was, in other words, to be a commentary on this free enterprise system running out of control. Looking around us now with a two-trillion-dollar federal deficit and billions of private debt and the banks, the farms, basic industry all in serious trouble, it seems to have been rather prophetic."


William Gaddis, born 100 years ago today, in a 1986 interview.

Clearly from this and similar eloquent testimony certain members of the community have been subjected to annoyance and serious inconvenience in the pursuit of private errands of some urgency, however, recalling to mind that vain and desperate effort to prevent construction of a subway kiosk in Cambridge, Massachusetts, enshrined decades ago in the news headlines PRESIDENT LOWELL FIGHTS ERECTION IN HARVARD SQUARE, by definition the interests of the general public must not be confused with that of one or even several individuals (People v. Brooklyn & Queens Transit Corp., 258 App. Div. 753, 15 N.Y.S.2d 295, 1939, affirmed 283 N.Y. 484, 28 N.E.2d 925, 1940).


- Gaddis, Frolic of His Own

Put on the lights there, now. Before we go any further here, has it ever occurred to any of you that all this is simply one grand misunderstanding? Since you're not here to learn anything, but to be taught so you can pass these tests, knowledge has to be organized so it can be taught, and it has to be reduced to information so it can be organized do you follow that? In other words this leads you to assume that organization is an inherent property of knowledge itself, and that disorder and chaos are simply irrelevant forces that threaten it from outside. In fact it's exactly the opposite. Order is simply a thin, perilous condition we try to impose on the basic reality of chaos...


- Gaddis, JR

I know you, I know you. You're the only serious person in the room, aren't you, the only one who understands, and you can prove it by the fact that you've never finished a single  thing in your life. You're the only well-educated person, because you never went to college, and you resent education, you resent social ease, you resent good manners, you resent success, you resent any kind of success, you resent God, you resent Christ, you resent thousand-dollar bills, you resent Christmas, by God, you resent happiness, you resent happiness itself, because none of that's real. What is real, then? Nothing's real to you that isn't part of your own past, real life, a swamp of failures, of social, sexual, financial, personal...spiritual failure. Real life. You poor bastard. You don't know what real life is, you've never been near it. All you have is a thousand intellectualized ideas about life. But life? Have you ever measured yourself against anything but your own lousy past? Have you ever faced anything outside yourself? Life! You poor bastard.


- Gaddis, Recognitions

Gaddis' centennial needs remarking, his novels deserve rereading, I reread *JR* this year (some of it by audio book to and from Maine this past summer), *Frolic* the goal for 2023

Monday, December 26, 2022

and saw I was making a fatal mistake, that's the poem, but went through with it anyway

I take two of these and glue them back to back, upside-down to the other, to create fidgets and laminate them so the fountain pen ink I use in the washes along with watercolor ink and watercolor and chalk and gouache don't rub off on fingers fidgeting the fidgets and gave three to my daughter and three to my son-in-law and two to my wife for giftmas, the first ever held and seen in real life by anyone but me as opposed to viewed on this blog or that blog, what this augers I hope is nothing more than more might be seen in real life 364 days from now


All self-portraits of course, head-shots and hexes and metaphors and jinxes. I have no illusions of their worth beyond I'd rather make these than make haikus at this moment, and I laugh when catching myself watching washes dry, if I ever pored over a poem I wrote like I pore over these it's been at least a decade

But I am reading fiction again, you self-jinxing motherfucker, Jeff. Finished the first two books of Fosse's *Septology,* picked up after reading a Fosse interview in which he said he likes Murnane (and is translating Murnane into Fosse's native Norwegian) and thinks they both share similar themes and obsessions and tactics and yes, and yes, it's pinging, will read three four five and six. Reading Sorokin's *Telluria* and Cărtărescu's *Solenoid,* in and out, front to back but not start to finish, translations from Norwegian and Russian and Romanian, not consciously not reading novels whose mother tongue is English but not surprised I arrived here, I get enough fiction about America from blogrolls alone. Poetry, mother tongue only, forgive me, please? yes, third time through Diane Seuss' *Frank: Sonnets,* (published in 2021 but discovered in 2022), it's one of many reasons why my poetry drought, *I* can't (few can) like Seuss can, if you ask nice and I like you let me send you a copy, email top left of blogroll. Music? My favorite song from 2022





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[THERE IS A CERTAIN STATE OF GRACE...]

Diane Seuss

There is a certain state of grace that is not loving.
Music, Kurt says, is not a language, though people
say it is. Even poetry, though built from words,
is not a language, the words are the lacy gown,
the something else is the bride who can’t be factored
down even to her flesh and bones. I wore my own
white dress, my hair a certain way, and looked into
the mirror to get my smile right and then into my own
eyes, it’s rare to really look, and saw I was making
a fatal mistake, that’s the poem, but went through
with it anyway, that’s the music, spent years in
a graceful detachment, now silence is my lover, it does
not embrace me when I wake, or it does, but its embrace
is neutral, like God, or Switzerland since 1815.