There is something about the heat today that doesn't like me. Usually I'm OK until it hits 35 degrees and it is only 30 right now. So I am in my bedroom with my really old evaporative air conditioner on, sitting on my bed, with my computer, my knitting, my book and my dogs - they are not on the bed but beside it. We are all happy and lazy and snoozy. It is the first day of the new year and I am happy to see it in right - reading.
The Aunt's Story is such a treat. It is intellegent and seductive. Im on page 76 and I have alread gathered a crop of words and lines to feed me. I just read the most delightful passage:
"Because he had to make some motion to hold up the darkness that was pressing down. It was too big. When Frank Parrott was on the road, droving, or for some reason overtaken by darkness, he could not scrape together a few sticks quickly enought, to make a little fire, to sit against.
'You forget,' he said. 'It's so long between dances you forget to buy a new pair of shoes. I remember at Singleton, in the autumn, there was a ball, an' these damn shoes pinched so bad I took them off after supper and danced on my feet.'
Frank Parrott laughted. He laughed a tthe vision of himself. He had lit his little fire."
That, to me, is brilliance. And Patrick White has littered these little gems throughout the story. I don't even need to be on my toes to catch them. They are right there for the taking. Where else in this world of ours can you find diamonds and pearls without digging or diving? In books!
I'm not going to get ahead of myself (never do that, ahem) but I think this may be my Patrick White year.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
My own personal Summer Challenge
Oh - that's just silly calling it a Challenge - with a capital C no less. In fact, it's silly to give my reading life any sort of title at all and summer is 1/3 over anyway. And since when do I have to challenge myself to read anything? OK - changing the title of this post to 'What should I read next' - way more comfortable with that!
To make a short story long, I was speaking to a friend of mine who lives in Melbourne and she and her husband were going to start reading Ulysses by James Joyce again for the third time. They read it aloud to each other in the evenings because telly is 'so boring this time of year". My friend is an artist so she has a decent attention span and her husband just likes to sit still and be calm. She is no super intellectual (she is smart though), nor his he (he's smart too), but if they can read it - so can I.
This is the 2nd time I have picked up this novel and had a go. Last time I didn't hate it but I can remember saying to myself that Joyce just made things up, like words and phrases, and pops them into the conversation as if everyone knows what he means. He waves his hand, turns his head and ptoshes us if we challenge (there's that word again) him. Joyce is so uber-confident in his writting. I dug into the bookshelf and found my copy - it is huge. I thumbed thru it and found that of the 950-odd pages almost 250 of them are notes, appendices, introductions (there are two!) and various other explanatory thingys. I can manage a 700 page novel no worries. I'm now on page 11 and already more than a little confused but determined.
I picked up the Monthly Summer Reading Special the other day and there is a wee little story about Manoly Lascaris, the partner of Patrick White. It was a sad little piece and it led me to youtube to watch Patrick White sitting on his front porch doing an interview for his Nobel Prize win. He said that one of his two favourite of his own novels was The Aunt's Story. Hey, I have that book too. I've never read Patrick White which I consider a great downfall of mine. I bought The Aunt's Story when I was going to read it for a little book group I was in but we never did - can't remember what happened. So another dig into the bookshelf uncovered a pristine, never read copy. AND less than 300 pages.
Now, the number of pages in a book mean absolutely nothing to me usually. But I have a bit more than two weeks before I have to go back to work and a bit more than four weeks before the next university term starts so I don't want to put myself into the position of having to choose between university and literature! Literature usually wins to the downfall of my grades!
I am 31 pages into The Aunt's Story and it has got me, so Patrick White is my book of choice for "What should I read next?" after the dishes are done and the grass is mown. I'm excited.
To make a short story long, I was speaking to a friend of mine who lives in Melbourne and she and her husband were going to start reading Ulysses by James Joyce again for the third time. They read it aloud to each other in the evenings because telly is 'so boring this time of year". My friend is an artist so she has a decent attention span and her husband just likes to sit still and be calm. She is no super intellectual (she is smart though), nor his he (he's smart too), but if they can read it - so can I.
This is the 2nd time I have picked up this novel and had a go. Last time I didn't hate it but I can remember saying to myself that Joyce just made things up, like words and phrases, and pops them into the conversation as if everyone knows what he means. He waves his hand, turns his head and ptoshes us if we challenge (there's that word again) him. Joyce is so uber-confident in his writting. I dug into the bookshelf and found my copy - it is huge. I thumbed thru it and found that of the 950-odd pages almost 250 of them are notes, appendices, introductions (there are two!) and various other explanatory thingys. I can manage a 700 page novel no worries. I'm now on page 11 and already more than a little confused but determined.
I picked up the Monthly Summer Reading Special the other day and there is a wee little story about Manoly Lascaris, the partner of Patrick White. It was a sad little piece and it led me to youtube to watch Patrick White sitting on his front porch doing an interview for his Nobel Prize win. He said that one of his two favourite of his own novels was The Aunt's Story. Hey, I have that book too. I've never read Patrick White which I consider a great downfall of mine. I bought The Aunt's Story when I was going to read it for a little book group I was in but we never did - can't remember what happened. So another dig into the bookshelf uncovered a pristine, never read copy. AND less than 300 pages.
Now, the number of pages in a book mean absolutely nothing to me usually. But I have a bit more than two weeks before I have to go back to work and a bit more than four weeks before the next university term starts so I don't want to put myself into the position of having to choose between university and literature! Literature usually wins to the downfall of my grades!
I am 31 pages into The Aunt's Story and it has got me, so Patrick White is my book of choice for "What should I read next?" after the dishes are done and the grass is mown. I'm excited.
Double Shadow by Sally Gardner
Nope, sorry, didn't work. And believe me I am sorry. I love Sally Gardner's other books - I, Coriander, Red Necklace and Silver Blade and would recommend them without hesitation to anyone interested in Young Adult period novels. They are clever, engaging, and intellegent well-researched stories set in 17th century London and 18th century France. They have interesting characters and intriguing plots.
Double Shadow had none of this. Sorry - the character of Ezra was easy to connect to and like and his family was equally likeable. But the other characters were lifeless and bland. The plot was convoluted and the settings were vague and uninviting. I'm not going to tell you about the story because any telling on my part would ruin the little bit of tension that is there if you do decide to read it. I listened to Sally Gardner say that she had to dive deep to bring out this book. I wish she hadn't gone so far and had kept things just a little simpler. I love action and curiosity in middle reader's fiction but this is just plain confusing and 'hmm - so what!'
Please read her earlier novels and you will love Sally as much as I do. I will forgive her this one because her first three were really great. I hope she gets back on track with her next. Sorry!
Double Shadow had none of this. Sorry - the character of Ezra was easy to connect to and like and his family was equally likeable. But the other characters were lifeless and bland. The plot was convoluted and the settings were vague and uninviting. I'm not going to tell you about the story because any telling on my part would ruin the little bit of tension that is there if you do decide to read it. I listened to Sally Gardner say that she had to dive deep to bring out this book. I wish she hadn't gone so far and had kept things just a little simpler. I love action and curiosity in middle reader's fiction but this is just plain confusing and 'hmm - so what!'
Please read her earlier novels and you will love Sally as much as I do. I will forgive her this one because her first three were really great. I hope she gets back on track with her next. Sorry!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Maphead by Ken Jennings
I get recommendations for books to read from the Elliott Bay Book Company, which is a fabulous book store in Seattle. It has been my favourite book store for years. I have blogged about it many times and have sent lots of blog friends there. It has moved from its original location in Seattle's Pioneer Square to Capital Hill but it still has its original charm (good lesson for people who want to move their business and still keep their original customers - keep the ambiance the same!). Anyway, the shop recommended a book called Maphead: Charting the Wide, Weird World of Geography Wonks by a Seattle author named Ken Jennings.
Ken Jennings is a famous Jeopardy champion. He was on for a long time and won a lot of money (over 2 mil). My mom can remember watching him and she said that he annoyed her quite a lot. But he has written an anything-but annoying book. Maphead is gorgeous. Maphead is funny and full of trivia-type facts. Maphead is indulgent and clever. Maphead is for map lovers. Duh!
Do you love perusing maps and dreaming of far off places? Does your atlas have pride of place in your book case or on your table? Do you look up every place you have ever heard of on Google Maps? Do you have maps hanging on your walls (ours are on the walls of the loo)? Are you a maphead? Well, even if you are not you will like this book. It is a comprehensive and easy to read book about maps and geography.
In this book Jennings talks about geography illiteracy in the US - school students don't know where their own states are on a map and don't know that France is a country. He talks about the cool maps that are kept in the Library of Congress that no one knows about. He talks about how maps shape governments, cultures and social systems. He talks about map collecting and geography bees (like spelling bees only held by the National Geographic Society), he talks about people who draw fantasy maps and Geocaching and many more interesting aspects of map love. It is kindof nerdy but so clever and funny. It's personable and written with a subdued enthusiasm. Jennings is obviously obsessed but he reins it in for the writing of this book - I bet he doesn't in real life. I bet he goes on and on and there is a lot of eye rolling and searching for ways to get away from the crazy map man!!
I loved it and have sent it to my brother and a couple of friends. As it says on the inside blurb in the book "If you're an inveterate map lover yourself - or even if you're among the cartographically clueless who can get lost in a supermarket (I am both of those things - are they exclusive?) - let Ken Jennings be your guide to the strange world of mapheads". Do yourself the favour of reading this book. You will laugh and I bet it won't take long till you are either telling someone else they should read it or telling someone some map trivia you learned from Ken Jennings.
Ken Jennings is a famous Jeopardy champion. He was on for a long time and won a lot of money (over 2 mil). My mom can remember watching him and she said that he annoyed her quite a lot. But he has written an anything-but annoying book. Maphead is gorgeous. Maphead is funny and full of trivia-type facts. Maphead is indulgent and clever. Maphead is for map lovers. Duh!
Do you love perusing maps and dreaming of far off places? Does your atlas have pride of place in your book case or on your table? Do you look up every place you have ever heard of on Google Maps? Do you have maps hanging on your walls (ours are on the walls of the loo)? Are you a maphead? Well, even if you are not you will like this book. It is a comprehensive and easy to read book about maps and geography.
In this book Jennings talks about geography illiteracy in the US - school students don't know where their own states are on a map and don't know that France is a country. He talks about the cool maps that are kept in the Library of Congress that no one knows about. He talks about how maps shape governments, cultures and social systems. He talks about map collecting and geography bees (like spelling bees only held by the National Geographic Society), he talks about people who draw fantasy maps and Geocaching and many more interesting aspects of map love. It is kindof nerdy but so clever and funny. It's personable and written with a subdued enthusiasm. Jennings is obviously obsessed but he reins it in for the writing of this book - I bet he doesn't in real life. I bet he goes on and on and there is a lot of eye rolling and searching for ways to get away from the crazy map man!!
I loved it and have sent it to my brother and a couple of friends. As it says on the inside blurb in the book "If you're an inveterate map lover yourself - or even if you're among the cartographically clueless who can get lost in a supermarket (I am both of those things - are they exclusive?) - let Ken Jennings be your guide to the strange world of mapheads". Do yourself the favour of reading this book. You will laugh and I bet it won't take long till you are either telling someone else they should read it or telling someone some map trivia you learned from Ken Jennings.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Fifth Day of Christmas
I'm sitting here alone, in my living room, Christmas tree lights blinking and stormy clouds outside my window. I miss my family, some of whom are in the states right now. I look forward to having Christmas with them in the coming years here, where it's warm and lovely on the day. My son, right now, is wrapped up in a winter coat and hat when all he wants is to grab his surfboard and head out for some waves after present opening on Christmas Day. My grandson knows who Santa Claus is for the first time and doesn't especially like him. He has a 'Gaga' (that's his name for me and now it's stuck) who lives in the computer. I long to give him a cuddle and hold him on my lap while I read the Night Before Christmas to him.
I don't really care about Christmas. I like it enough but it's awfully forced for too much liking. To me it is a day to spend with my sons - only one this year but he'll do - and eat good food, special food, that we wouldn't have the rest of the year. It is a time to talk to family and old friends. It is some time away from work and school to reflect on life and get some of those 'Isn't it a Shame' (I didn't have more time) things done. It's my time to go to galleries and exhibitions, movies and out for lunches.
I am sentimental over old Christmas years. I miss my Dad and other good friends and family memebers who have passed away - Dad loved Christmas for the same reasons as I like it - food and family. But as lonely as I feel, as sad as I am that I only get to Skype with my family, I also feel incredibly lucky in my life. I have health, safety, love, freedom, hot water and a toilet, hope, money, food, my eyes, the internet, quiet, independence, books, a creative mind, music, and an open mind. Lucky. I will not take any of these things for granted in the future. I will revel in the fact that I can have a shower every day, go for a walk with no fear, drink clean water, read Salmon Rushdie and speak my mind. I will pay attention and be merry. I will drink a glass of eggnog and toast my good fortune.
I don't really care about Christmas. I like it enough but it's awfully forced for too much liking. To me it is a day to spend with my sons - only one this year but he'll do - and eat good food, special food, that we wouldn't have the rest of the year. It is a time to talk to family and old friends. It is some time away from work and school to reflect on life and get some of those 'Isn't it a Shame' (I didn't have more time) things done. It's my time to go to galleries and exhibitions, movies and out for lunches.
I am sentimental over old Christmas years. I miss my Dad and other good friends and family memebers who have passed away - Dad loved Christmas for the same reasons as I like it - food and family. But as lonely as I feel, as sad as I am that I only get to Skype with my family, I also feel incredibly lucky in my life. I have health, safety, love, freedom, hot water and a toilet, hope, money, food, my eyes, the internet, quiet, independence, books, a creative mind, music, and an open mind. Lucky. I will not take any of these things for granted in the future. I will revel in the fact that I can have a shower every day, go for a walk with no fear, drink clean water, read Salmon Rushdie and speak my mind. I will pay attention and be merry. I will drink a glass of eggnog and toast my good fortune.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Places to Read Of Human Bondage
W Somerset Maugham. That is a great name. I would like to be named Somerset. It instantly recalls summer afternoons lazing on the lawns of some great old mansion, drinking Gin with ice cubes clinking against glasses, and a lazy game of badminton or lawn tennis happening vaguely over there (dimissive languid wave of my hand in a far off direction). Of Human Bondage has none of that scene in it. It's a classic so I'm sure most people have read it or at least heard of it. I read it when I was quite young - the title was enticing. But I didn't remember any of it, really. It came on my Kobo as a free download so I read it again. It took me months to finish it - not because it isn't great - it is - but because other 'things' kept popping up like university classes, work, and other books. Finally, it is done. And now I miss it.
Of Human Bondage has been discussed enough times that I don't need to critique it in any way. It is the story of Philip Carey - a man with a whopper of a tale of woe. As he limps his way through life he paints in Paris, he attends medical school in London, he falls obsessively in love with Mildred (a thoroughly despicable character) and also falls in and out of all kinds of fortune. It is a completely readable novel written in 1915 and I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in reading classics. Maugham's language is impeccable and his descriptions of landscape and personality is divine.
This novel took me quite a while to read (and I want to make this clear again - it was great and would be easy to read in a couple of sittings if life hadn't made me get up so often) and also, as I said, it is on my e-book reader which I tend to take with me when I am off on an adventure instead of carrying a big book, (long sentence - take a breath now) I read it in several places. I read it in bed, in my garden on the porch swing which isn't on the porch, at the kitchen table and in the living room. I read it at the bus stop, in coffee shops, in the movie theatre lounge, in the library and a little bit at work (only in my breaks, ahem!). I read it in Hyde Park in Sydney, at the Circular Quay, in the Botanical Gardens and at the NSW Art Gallery. I read it at the YWCA and at a posh hotel in the Southern Highlands.
There wasn't one place where this novel wasn't suitable for a little read. I think because the novel itself is set in so many interesting places it lends itself to be read in so many interesting places. And, yes, even I can make romance out of sitting on a wooden bus stop bench.
I love all kinds of books but classics make me feel connected. I love the fact that thousands of people, in many countries, in almost a hundred years have read this books. I love that we are all connected by a common experience and that I would have something to talk about with every one of them. I could go back to 1920 and have a lively discussion with someone about Maugham's style. And I hope that in 50 years I could sit down in my old porch swing and have that same lively debate.
Of Human Bondage has been discussed enough times that I don't need to critique it in any way. It is the story of Philip Carey - a man with a whopper of a tale of woe. As he limps his way through life he paints in Paris, he attends medical school in London, he falls obsessively in love with Mildred (a thoroughly despicable character) and also falls in and out of all kinds of fortune. It is a completely readable novel written in 1915 and I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in reading classics. Maugham's language is impeccable and his descriptions of landscape and personality is divine.
This novel took me quite a while to read (and I want to make this clear again - it was great and would be easy to read in a couple of sittings if life hadn't made me get up so often) and also, as I said, it is on my e-book reader which I tend to take with me when I am off on an adventure instead of carrying a big book, (long sentence - take a breath now) I read it in several places. I read it in bed, in my garden on the porch swing which isn't on the porch, at the kitchen table and in the living room. I read it at the bus stop, in coffee shops, in the movie theatre lounge, in the library and a little bit at work (only in my breaks, ahem!). I read it in Hyde Park in Sydney, at the Circular Quay, in the Botanical Gardens and at the NSW Art Gallery. I read it at the YWCA and at a posh hotel in the Southern Highlands.
There wasn't one place where this novel wasn't suitable for a little read. I think because the novel itself is set in so many interesting places it lends itself to be read in so many interesting places. And, yes, even I can make romance out of sitting on a wooden bus stop bench.
I love all kinds of books but classics make me feel connected. I love the fact that thousands of people, in many countries, in almost a hundred years have read this books. I love that we are all connected by a common experience and that I would have something to talk about with every one of them. I could go back to 1920 and have a lively discussion with someone about Maugham's style. And I hope that in 50 years I could sit down in my old porch swing and have that same lively debate.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Profundity
If you tick the box that says 'reading' when you fill out a survey about your pastimes then you probably love characters - fictional or historical. I love a good character. I love to fall in love with, hate, or mistrust a cleverly designed protagonist.
Some readers love certain characters so much that they re-read books to re-live their lives with them. Many can't wait for Elizabeth Bennet to say to Darcy 'From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry' over and over again.
I love to follow the adventures of certain characters - one of whom is Stephanie Plum. I just read Smokin' Seventeen. I started reading these Janet Evanovich books with One for the Money in 1994 - so that's what - 15 years ago. These are fast paced, sexy, hilarious books - light but great fun. I've just seen that someone is finally making these into a movie - I'll wait and see.
I have also just finished another book called Women of Letters. This is a nice book. It would be a great present. These are short, little letters. These are clever letters. These are silly letters. These are indulgent letters. This is a nice book.
Last week I read Outlaw Album by Daniel Woodrell. I really loved loved loved Winter's Bone. Outlaw Album is a book of short stories. They are dark and bleak stories. Woodrell seems to tap into the lower socio-economical culture and find little nuggets of treasures there. The stories are not all easy to read - a couple of them are quite hard to understand. The one that stands out most for me is about a woman who works in Rehab at a prison who visits the parents of one of her clients who is in prison for murder (I think). He has written a book of poetry about his criminal life which is very good and selling well. The prison board will let him out if his parents will take him back into their house but they refuse. I can't quote this book because I don't have it anymore but his father says something like 'tell him he has got all the poetry off of us that he is going to get' as he closes the door against the counselor. Woodrell is very good at spinning a tale and his economy of words is wonderful. There is nothing in these stories that doesn't absolutely need to be there. But they are depressing and sad.
So I am ready for something profound now. Something with great thought, deep, and full of insight. I am ready for another novel that takes concentration and commitment. I have time over the Christmas break to sink my literary teeth into a meaty book that I can consume and will sustain me. I need to find this novel so if anyone has any suggestions let me know. I have a couple of books sitting on my night stand that have no profundity but will keep my mind occupied until the great novel of my Christmas reading presents itself to me.
Some readers love certain characters so much that they re-read books to re-live their lives with them. Many can't wait for Elizabeth Bennet to say to Darcy 'From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry' over and over again.
I love to follow the adventures of certain characters - one of whom is Stephanie Plum. I just read Smokin' Seventeen. I started reading these Janet Evanovich books with One for the Money in 1994 - so that's what - 15 years ago. These are fast paced, sexy, hilarious books - light but great fun. I've just seen that someone is finally making these into a movie - I'll wait and see.
I have also just finished another book called Women of Letters. This is a nice book. It would be a great present. These are short, little letters. These are clever letters. These are silly letters. These are indulgent letters. This is a nice book.
Last week I read Outlaw Album by Daniel Woodrell. I really loved loved loved Winter's Bone. Outlaw Album is a book of short stories. They are dark and bleak stories. Woodrell seems to tap into the lower socio-economical culture and find little nuggets of treasures there. The stories are not all easy to read - a couple of them are quite hard to understand. The one that stands out most for me is about a woman who works in Rehab at a prison who visits the parents of one of her clients who is in prison for murder (I think). He has written a book of poetry about his criminal life which is very good and selling well. The prison board will let him out if his parents will take him back into their house but they refuse. I can't quote this book because I don't have it anymore but his father says something like 'tell him he has got all the poetry off of us that he is going to get' as he closes the door against the counselor. Woodrell is very good at spinning a tale and his economy of words is wonderful. There is nothing in these stories that doesn't absolutely need to be there. But they are depressing and sad.
So I am ready for something profound now. Something with great thought, deep, and full of insight. I am ready for another novel that takes concentration and commitment. I have time over the Christmas break to sink my literary teeth into a meaty book that I can consume and will sustain me. I need to find this novel so if anyone has any suggestions let me know. I have a couple of books sitting on my night stand that have no profundity but will keep my mind occupied until the great novel of my Christmas reading presents itself to me.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Something strange happened
I have had a really hard three weeks. Some terrible things happened and amidst it all I had to write a critique paper for my poetry class. I didn't do very well. I got some nice comments from my very academic professor but the substance just wasn't there. Needless to say my head wasn't in the game and my batting average took a dive. I got a Credit for the class - my first one! Up till now I have been getting Ds and HDs. Don't get me wrong - I deserved a C (well, he gave me a C+ but the plus sign falls off on my transcript). And to tell you the truth, I'm happy with the C (+) for the paper I wrote.
The problem is - I now really love poetry. Cripes! I'm one of those people now. I picked up the Nobel Prize for Literature 2011 book just now - The Deleted World by Tomas Transtromer (by the way there should be a .. above the 'o' in Transtromer but I don't know how to do that on my computer (and it's fun to say his name with a Swedish accent!)). Tomas is an highly acclaimed Swedish poet who looks like a poet. He's oldish, craggy, serious and grey haired. He looks like the kind of man who would reluctantly invite you in for a cup of tea that his wife would make and sit and stare at you for the minutes until the tea was served. He would sip his tea while you and his wife made small talk about how beautiful their house was until he stopped you mid sentence to ask you what you wanted. When you told him you admired him and wanted to talk about his poetry he would shake his head and retreat into it. But finally once he learned you were a budding poet and serious about it he would say he had nothing to teach you that life couldn't do a better job of and just to write for 7 hours a day. I can just hear him - "poetry is hard work, it's a struggle, it has to be done with discipline and concentration."
And Heart! His poetry speaks of deep feelings in few words. His poetry is grey and cold on the outside and fiery and direct under all the coverings. His poetry catches your breath like a blast of artic wind. His poetry is written on the snow only to be read when the spring thaws arrive.
Through those dismal months my life was only sparked alight
when I made love to you.
As the firefly ignites and fades, ignites and fades, we follow the flashes
of its flight in the dark among the olive trees.
Throughout those dismal months, my soul sat slumped and lifeless
but my body walked to yours.
The night sky was lowing.
We milked the cosmos secretly, and survived.
Is it possible that 8 lines can take a person from the most depressed state to one of love and survival? Simple words. Words we all understand. Words that paint a picture without oils or pastels. Words that sculpt a story without bronze or marble. Words that, even in translation, will last in my English thinking mind for a very long time. Is poetry the highest form of art? I don't think there are platforms that artists sit on when being judged - like at the Olympics - the Bronze medal goes to Sculpture, the Silver to Painting and the Gold to Poetry!
Transtromer weaves magic into his words. He writes words that get in at a cellular level. And now I am one of those people who walk around with poetry in my cells, and I feel better for it.
The problem is - I now really love poetry. Cripes! I'm one of those people now. I picked up the Nobel Prize for Literature 2011 book just now - The Deleted World by Tomas Transtromer (by the way there should be a .. above the 'o' in Transtromer but I don't know how to do that on my computer (and it's fun to say his name with a Swedish accent!)). Tomas is an highly acclaimed Swedish poet who looks like a poet. He's oldish, craggy, serious and grey haired. He looks like the kind of man who would reluctantly invite you in for a cup of tea that his wife would make and sit and stare at you for the minutes until the tea was served. He would sip his tea while you and his wife made small talk about how beautiful their house was until he stopped you mid sentence to ask you what you wanted. When you told him you admired him and wanted to talk about his poetry he would shake his head and retreat into it. But finally once he learned you were a budding poet and serious about it he would say he had nothing to teach you that life couldn't do a better job of and just to write for 7 hours a day. I can just hear him - "poetry is hard work, it's a struggle, it has to be done with discipline and concentration."
And Heart! His poetry speaks of deep feelings in few words. His poetry is grey and cold on the outside and fiery and direct under all the coverings. His poetry catches your breath like a blast of artic wind. His poetry is written on the snow only to be read when the spring thaws arrive.
Through those dismal months my life was only sparked alight
when I made love to you.
As the firefly ignites and fades, ignites and fades, we follow the flashes
of its flight in the dark among the olive trees.
Throughout those dismal months, my soul sat slumped and lifeless
but my body walked to yours.
The night sky was lowing.
We milked the cosmos secretly, and survived.
Is it possible that 8 lines can take a person from the most depressed state to one of love and survival? Simple words. Words we all understand. Words that paint a picture without oils or pastels. Words that sculpt a story without bronze or marble. Words that, even in translation, will last in my English thinking mind for a very long time. Is poetry the highest form of art? I don't think there are platforms that artists sit on when being judged - like at the Olympics - the Bronze medal goes to Sculpture, the Silver to Painting and the Gold to Poetry!
Transtromer weaves magic into his words. He writes words that get in at a cellular level. And now I am one of those people who walk around with poetry in my cells, and I feel better for it.
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