Thirty

Thirty 

Two weeks from today we'll be with her and my beloved son-in-law in Michigan

Thirty

THE WRITER

Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

In Her Room at the Prow of the House Where Light Breaks, and the Windows Are Tossed with Linden, My Daughter Is Writing a Story

Here is the gorgeous Richard Wilbur poem the title of this post is stolen from. I was thinking about Planet, the driving her to Ohio and leaving her there alone. The above is a video she shot in the car when just she and I were driving her back for the start of the Fall 2012 semester, I went and found it (I go and find it) an hour ago (every few days).

That paragraph (this post) first posted mid-late August 2013. In the video Planet and I are on I-70 just west of St Clairsville, Ohio heading to my abandoning her at college. The music is Julianna Barwick. 

I'm grateful you read, but this isn't for you. Will be gone in morning, back whenever we need and want.

The Eyes Open to the Sound of Pulleys, or: Rest in Peace, Richard Wilbur

THE WRITER

Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.
 
Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.
 
But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which
 
The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.
   
I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash
 
And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

-----

Rest in Peace, Richard Wilbur. I liked his poems before Hecht taught me to read him, loved them after.

The above - well, either you saw the posts to Planet late night when she was at college or you didn't. The video goes with it. Two more poems, including the one I stole this post's title from below the fold.

Then Up and Pipes the Major, Leave the Hand In or Change the Vows

• For her loved ones who didn't see it last night, here's Planet's hand working on a final art project, photo taken by her friend E, who has the same first name as one of Planet's loved ones.
• Help please. I am looking for word combinations made up of the exact same letters. Adobe/abode. Destiny/density. Preserve/perverse. Please and thanks.
• How many have we killed? Here is the telling sentence: International law acknowledges that killing is not always illegal or wrong, and that a government has the authority to do so as a last resort in genuine self-defense.
• Building a case for self-defense.
• The lunatic fringe that rules the West: The behavior exhibited by Western leaders, especially since the launching of the Terror War -- and especially in the Anglo-American alliance -- would be regarded as criminally insane by any dispassionate diagnosis. This is seen in large matters -- such as the hundreds of thousands of innocent people slaughtered in their criminal aggression in Iraq -- and in small matters. For example, a story in the Guardian this week related how the courageous statesfolk in the U.S. Senate once again kowtowed to their masters in the National Security apparat, and removed a very mild requirement that the United States government issue an annual report telling us how many civilians it killed with its drone-assassination programs the previous year. No dice, said the security archons -- and the Senate said, OK, boss!
• Technocapitalism: Time, Value, and Labor.
• Fucked-up America.

• People lined up this morning in torrential rain to see Bill Clinton speak at Hilltop. Those at the front of the line have been there since Tuesday morning. The line goes down the hill to the left.
• No fences in valley. Frances checks in from New Mexico.
• Is this your homework, Larry?
• Rothenberg's complete Airplane Poems.
• Canetti's Auto da Fe. This should give Jim a chance to rerun some blogposts.
• Prunella's latest playlist.
• Yes, the Mick Turner below the poem, I've posted it before, his Don't Tell the Driver is my most listened to album of the past year, it gets better each time.
• Piano smashing. I've posted all eleven parts of this in one post, today just have part five, head over to youtube for the other ten parts.

LEAVE THE HAND IN

John Ashbery

Furthermore, Mr. Tuttle used to have to run in the streets.   

Now, each time friendship happens, they’re fully booked.   

Sporting with amaryllis in the shade is all fine and good,   

but when your sparring partner gets there first   

you wonder if it was all worth it. “Yes, why do it?”   

I’m on hold. It will take quite a lot for this music   

to grow on me. I meant no harm. I’ve helped him   

from getting stuck before. Dumb thing. All my appetites are friendly.   

Children too are free to go and come as they please.   

I ask you only to choose between us, then shut down this election.   

But don’t reveal too much of your hand at any given time.   

Then up and pipes the major, leave the hand in,   

or change the vows. The bold, enduring menace of courtship is upon us   

like the plague, and none of us can say what trouble   

will be precipitated once it has had its way with us.   

Our home is marshland. After dinner was wraparound.   

You got a tender little look at it.   

Outside, it never did turn golden.

Her Father's Daughter's Gift to Her Father

My daughter Planet has watched me read and reread Moby Dick year after year for years, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. For Giftmas this year she special ordered for me an abridgment that distills the novel to its essence so I don't spend three months of 2014 rereading the full version yet again. I've read the abridged 42 times since Giftmas. Wait.......43. Like the original, it gets better with each rereading.

*

Kensington to Frederick to Hagerstown to Hancock to Cumberland to Morgantown to Washington to Wheeling to Zanesville to Planet