Meetings, meetings everywhere and not a time to think.
I have a first
line for a song, or maybe it's from the chorus, floating in my head. So far I can
tell the song borrows from John Muir and Job, and I'm trying to keep anything else
out of it because I think I have a tendency to try to turn poems into fruitcakes,
and they're probably better as caramel flans. (That is, consistent all the way
through and soaked in a single strong flavor.) At least, that applies to the
length of thing I usually write. I suspect a good epic poem could be like stone
soup, with one central metaphor and then a bit of everything thrown in. At the
sonnet length, though, you need to focus. At any rate, it's a good line, but now
it needs more lines around it, not to mention a tune.
As of this
morning, I have covered over 43 km in a boat, on foot, or on a rowing machine,
this week, which is a record for me for this year, and pretty darn good for any
year, even when I was rowing in the bigger boats.
I think I may
change the song in my head line above, because I've always had the problem that
it's not authentic. When I'm writing this, often I've just finished concentrating
on something else and there is no song floating there, or else the entry itself
makes me think of another song. Or worst of all the field title on the entry form,
which is "songin my head" (sic) makes the old Styx song "Too Much Time on My
Hands" get stuck in my brain, and I'm getting very sick of that. Especially since
that is *not* a problem I have. I may change it to "Relevant Song", like
href="http://lathesage.diaryland.com">LA has, because that fits more
circumstances, and I may add a line for what I'm reading. (If I can fit the usual
list on one line.)
One of the things I'm reading is Tristram
Shandy. I'm not terribly surprised that I like it, becaues I always thought I
would, but I find it funny how many warnings exist about how strange and difficult
it is. Clifton Fadiman, in his wonderful New Lifetime Reading Plan
obviously likes all sorts of tradnitionally difficult books, but he finds it
necessary to comment on Tristram very gingerly. I recall one line on the
order of "You may simply not be one of the people who can read Tristram
Shandy with pleasure," and goes on to explain why some people (and here I feel
he means some *other people*) think it's wonderful. I do like it, which may just
prove my mind works more like Laurence Sterne's than like James Joyce's, to whom
he is frequently compared. When I read Portrait of the Artist as a Young
Man in high school, I could tell it was good stuff; I just didn't like it. (As
opposed, say, to Hemingway, who I just didn't like.) My age may be a factor,
though, and I probably should try Ulysses if for no other reason than that
I love the exuberance of "and yes I said yes I will Yes". I'm pretty sure I'll
still find Leopold Bloom harder going than good old Uncle Toby, though.
By the way, if you haven't already, tune in
href="http://dichroic.diaryland.com/stomphome.html">yesterday for the house
tour.