Celebrity S., Poetry, Biking, Blogging, Etc.
Have a number of mostly disconnected things on my mind today.
S. on the Radio
As I type this S. is in the other room doing a radio appearance by phone regarding the Terri Schiavo case. It's liberal talk radio show out in Minnesota, and this is the third or fourth time they've had him on as a guest in connection with his political blog. This is the first time they've invited him to talk about a national news story. I wish I could listen in, but the live stream is only available to Minnesotans.
For the record, I'd never want to live that way myself. Here's an interesting article by a bioethicist who mixes medicine and literature to talk about the inhumanity of a number of modern life-prolonging procedures. He also makes the interesting point that persistent vegetative state, or PSV, is a doctor-created disease, introduced into the medical community in the 1970s.
Postscript: The show's producer just called to thank S. for the interview and let him know they had an overwhelming positive response from their listeners afterward.
On Poetry
The April issue arrived in the mail yesterday. Cheers to them on the updated design. Jeers on the absolutely moronic review of Jack Gilbert's Refusing Heaven. The perpetrator of the nonsense, Dan Chiasson, sounds as though he's playing at criticism, but has no idea what he's talking about. For those of you who don't subscribe, he quotes the following portion of "Trying to Sleep"
I got my genius brother a summer job in the mills
and he stayed all his life. I lived with a woman four
years who went crazy later, escaped from the hospital,
hitchhiked across America terrified and in the snow
without a coat, and was raped by most men who gave her
a ride. I crank my heart even so and it turns over.
Chiasson willfully misreads these lines--or at least one hopes it was will and not mere stupidity which led him to formulate his analysis. "The litany won't slow to rank or sort old wickedness: "without a coat" runs right up against "she was raped," as though the two were comparable, or a coat might have protected her," he writes. That reeks of invention to me--like something penned by a college freshman in love with his own superior intellect.
Later Chiasson dismisses Gilbert's ability to speak "beguilingly, in paradoxes and figures," saying, "The primary hazard of this sort of thing is that, well, it's bound to attract the ladies. And so we meet Gilbert the cruiser..." What the---? Is he freakin' serious? That's what he took away from this book? Then again, I'm just a lady and you might as well ignore my criticism. For all you know I've simply fallen under the spell of Gilbert's irresistible charisma.
It is not to Poetry's credit to keep running these meaninglessly provocative reviews. Were they intellectually rigorous criticism one could forgive their being controversial. But as it is they're nothing more than deeply esoteric tabloid trash.
On Blogging
I started this blog on a whim and didn't give much thought to things like style, scope, audience, etc. Lately, however, I've been inclined to use it as a quasi-personal journal, which is not the direction I would have guessed it would take. I've never had much success with journaling and part of me regrets it. Had I taken the trouble to document my experiences, the last ten years of my life probably would have made for some interesting reading, but I lack/ed the requisite discipline. That being said, a blog is not the ideal forum for keeping a diary--not if one feels, as I do, that some aspects of one's life are not for public consumption. On the other hand, I find myself inexplicably motivated by the public nature of this endeavor, even if the audience is limited to a handful of strangers and a few friends. Much of what I write here differs from other blogs I've read in that it's not sufficiently audience-oriented to invite dialogue (as evidenced by the dearth of comments). I'm not naturally inclined toward the telling of witty anecdotes, striving to entertain would probably produce little more than long silences.
On Sleep
I need eight hours, and I've only gotten 6-6 1/2 the past two nights. I know some people consider it a badge of honor to be able to get by on five hours, but I'm not one of them. It took me years to realize how counter-productive shaving an hour or three off my nightly rest was. My motivation, concentration, and mental acuity all decline dramatically when I've not slept enough or well. Therefore, I accomplish twice as much on full sleep as I do otherwise. And this is one of those areas in which I feel our culture gets it all wrong. I suspect most people would be happier and more productive were they allowed to schedule their days according to their body rhythms--but the persistently popular notion of mind over body as an essential good discourages and disallows that possibility. Instead we're sold high-tech pillows and mattresses, white noise machines, prescription sleeping pills and the like to 'help' force our bodies into a group flow. Raise your hand if you'd rather say, no thank you.
On Biking
I took Graywolf out for her first ride yesterday. It wouldn't have been my first choice for a name, but I couldn't ignore the fact that she's gray, her purchase was inspired by reading Virginia Woolf, and the last collection of poems I read was published by Graywolf Press. So, there you go. The ride was quite a pleasant adventure. So pleasant that I was out for two hours without realizing how much time had passed. The route I chose featured at various points mud, snow, slush, ice, wet leaves, gravel--but I surprised myself by making it through unscathed. It was slow-going, like cross-country vs. downhill skiing, but no less fun for that. The bike handled beautifully. Another surprise: after two non-stop hours of aerobic exercise, the only things troubling me today are a slightly stiff right ankle and tender buttocks. In order to avoid enfeebling myself for a week, I rode until I got jello-legged, got off and walked the bike (briskly) until I recovered my legs, then rode some more and switched back and forth like that for the duration. That strategy seems to have worked well for me, and I feel up to another, albeit shorter, ride later today. I purchased and installed a wider, softer seat and can't wait to try it out.
On Entertaining
It looks like we'll be having guests from across the Pond in early April. A poetry acquaintance and his new bride will honeymooning in New York and would like to come up to New England to see us while they're here. How cool!
On a Final (Silly) Note
Czeslaw Milosz's collection of essays, To Begin Where I Am, arrived yesterday. Originally $30, I found it used online for $6 and couldn't resist. The dust jacket features a portrait of Milsoz as a young man, which bears an uncanny resemblance to Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughs. See for yourself here.
