Saline Valley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Way Now Sounds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Listener,

 

Remember that little waltz* that I look forward to playing in the future?  This is another song to play for today; and then, when it is tomorrow, we can say, Yes, 2016 sounded just like That.  I figure Chasing Shadows sounds like 2016, just like 1958 must have sounded like Well, All Right. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*  In case you don't recall it, you can hear it here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Bridge.

 

 

 

 

Dear Pensive,

Are you still considering what is the most meaningful aspect of the bridge as metaphor?  Even if you have moved on to pondering other ideas, like why the plural of spouse is not spice,  I hope you will take a few minutes to look at this beautiful bridge of grass:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Until we meet again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So Much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Bustling,

 

I have so much to tell you, and so little time to do it in.  For example, I want to tell you about the journals I am transmuting into these little sculptures, and I want to try to explain why we have come to have a couch on our front porch, and I want to give a little pep talk on facing the long summer of sunshiny days ahead of us, and then there are the new fawns with their dappled coats, and I want to make a plan with you for plotting a map of the times, dates and places that strangers speak to us.  We will need to determine some guidelines for our map- should we note the weather?  The gender of the speaker?  Age?  General description?  The sense of awareness just prior to the encounter?  The density of people in the immediate area?

 

So much to do and tell.  It has taken three readings and two hearings* of this poem before I was absolutely convinced of this poem's worthiness to be presented to you-  I hope you enjoy getting to know it as much as I have.

 

 

 

Aimless Love 

by Billy Collins

 

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,

I fell in love with a wren

and later in the day with a mouse

the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,

I fell for a seamstress

still at her machine in the tailor's window,

and later for a bowl of broth,

steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,

without recompense, without gifts,

or unkind words, without suspicion,

or silence on the telephone.

The love of the chestnut,

the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.

No lust, no slam of the door—

the love of the miniature orange tree,

the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,

the highway that cuts across Florida.

No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor—

just a twinge every now and then

for the wren who had built her nest

on a low branch overhanging the water

and for the dead mouse,

still dressed in its light brown suit.

But my heart is always propped up

in a field on its tripod,

ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail

to a pile of leaves in the woods,

I found myself standing at the bathroom sink

gazing down affectionately at the soap,

so patient and soluble,

so at home in its pale green soap dish.

I could feel myself falling again

as I felt its turning in my wet hands

and caught the scent of lavender and stone.

 

"Aimless Love" by Billy Collins, from Aimless Love. © Random House, 2013.

 

 

 

 

 *  Hear it here, read by the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giant Stitches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Stitchers,

 

Oh!  Will you look at the beauty of these constructions by artist Sarah Amos?  I am going to go and thread my needle, print my felt and start drawing right now.... 

 

Sarah Amos - Collograph Fabric Constructions 2015 from Treeline Media on Vimeo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death Valley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bridge Layer.

Dear Builders,

The bridge is certainly a useful metaphor:  You can use it to connect ideas and concepts of all sorts.  I was thinking of metaphors that were not so useful recently, because I heard rather a lulu on the radio.  It went like this:  "...like an eyelash on the edge of the sink."  You may wonder just what it was that was like an eyelash on the edge of the sink, but we may never know, because that part of the sentence was said before I tuned in.  It has me thinking, though, on metaphors that obfuscate further, versus opening up horizons and shedding light.  Like the way you approach the end of a tunnel, and you see the arch of light, which then becomes the wide vista of the road and land in front of you.

I guess I woke up on the picayune side of the bed this morning, because I believe this yellow leviathan ought to be more properly referred to as a "bridge layer."  I don't think this chicken can crow, if you know what I mean, because it demands that we separate the two components of a bridge:  The supports, stanchions or piers, and the road bed or surface of the bridge, the span, the deck.  What then, is the most vital part of the bridge metaphor?  The span, or what it spans over?  The connection or the bridge itself?  And do I mean a behemoth, a gargantua, or a humdinger instead of a leviathan?

It's like a single peanut in a blender, isn't it?  Enjoy this machine, and don't despair at the early wobblings of the camera; it settles down into something watchable pretty quickly.  Note how many people are needed to keep big bridge building Bertha operating.

 

 

Until our next metonymic meeting!  If you are impatient, you might pass the time here.