By Barry Spacks
I preach to myself on Red Hill Road
that I've had it all, all I could hope for:
the older and the younger Cambridge;
Paris ... playing Hemingway;
mist on the mountains, blue-brilliant sky,
and just at the edge of a treeful hollow
a wonder: a fossil toe-print, one --
where some rare dancer
touched brilliantly down?
Below the Shrine House, courting his hen,
a peacock struts, flurries his fan
with its quivering purple eyes. The world
couldn't be more astonishing
if he were spitting gems.
A companion piece to "The Green Stamp Book" from yesterday's Poet's Choice in The Washington Post Book World on the theme of wanting/yearning. "Barry Spacks is interested in Buddhist thought and strives for a calmer focal energy -- but he does not preach to the reader," writes Robert Pinsky, who notes that instead of a multitude of images and labels, "Spacks takes on...the road, the celebrated urban centers, a fossil toe-print and the peacock. To preach to oneself that one has had enough is to acknowledge the persistence of wanting: In the old fashioned parlance once used to tease children about greed, we all tend to have 'big eyes.' Spacks lets the peacock embody that phrase literally: The spectacle of that display, quivering in courtship, is itself worth desiring."
Sunday I declared a recovery day and never left the house, though it briefly looked like I might have to run out to Target at 8 p.m. to get older son balloons, straws and assorted other objects for homemade weather equipment they are supposed to make for science that he only remembered at that hour he needed to get started on by tomorrow. The good news is that it's cold and clear and my sinuses are much better so being lazy must have been the right decision on my part. *g* Kids had Hebrew school in the morning, younger son stayed an extra three hours for a Temple Youth activity, older son was dropped off at a friend's house, then in the late afternoon younger son went to a birthday party for my very oldest local friend's son and although I very much wanted to see her and her parents and kids, I decided to spare them all my germs.
So I have nothing to report beyond stuff I learned from work, like The 4400 is definitely coming back for a third season and Wil Wheaton hated the director of Nemesis as much as Sirtis and Burton did. I also read The Washington Post, The New York Times and a bunch of news from last week and discovered that I want to go to London or Stockholm to go to the ice bar, or at least to The Billy Goat Tavern when it opens in DC. And max_und_moritz sent me a picture from the HP:GOF movie that made me and ldybastet think very naughty thoughts. Hence the icon.
Then there is stuff I learned from TV, like Desperate Housewives suffers so enormously when watched after The West Wing that I think I am going to bail on it, particularly since my older son kept wandering in and asking why the people on it were so awful to each other, for which I had no good answer whatsoever beyond an attempt to explain farce and how much fun it's supposed to be to hate despicable rich beautiful people. The West Wing always justifies my love in some way, even if it's not the show I originally loved (and that wasn't even the show everyone else originally loved, since I didn't come on board till the third season). Any series with moments like Josh "chaining" himself to a chair with his belt and then getting caught in that position and Matt claiming to have a boyfriend who's a flight attendant to see if he can freak Josh out before the revelation that Hurricane Santos and his wife broke a bed having wild sex is worth watching. And I like Janeane Garofalo's Louise, even if her character at times reminded me a little too much of the screamingly odious Amy -- so long as she stays away from feminist shrike territory I think we'll be all right. Missed Donna, but the Donna from three seasons ago, not the Donna from last season. Not too sure about the Judith Miller contempt case parallels and if CJ is covering for Toby I am not going to be happy. Let him take responsibility if it is his responsibility to take...I'm still holding out hope that it was Annabeth who was the leak, but Bartlet wouldn't call off an investigation for her. Also, I enjoyed the Steve Miller Band music video campaign sequence.
Headless scarecrow in late afternoon sunshine at Butler's Orchard this weekend.
In case I'm not back here before tomorrow night, a happy new year to everyone else celebrating! Shana Tovah!