"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture
and, if possible, speak a few reasonable words." ~Goethe

~ also, if possible, to dwell in "a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious." ~Yeats

Showing posts with label Amy Tan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amy Tan. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Good Intentions

WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
Sunrise ~ A New Day
photo taken by Gerry McCartney ~ 22 January 2014

There's no time like January for good intentions. Hearing that phrase reminds me, every time, of the opening parable in The Joy Luck Club about the mother who wanted to bring her daughter a swan from the old country. To her consternation, the swan is seized at customs and she's left with only a single feather to represent her good intentions, her robust hopes reduced to a mere wisp: "For a long time now the woman had wanted to give her daughter the single swan feather and tell her, 'This feather may look worthless, but it comes from afar and carries with it all my good intentions,'" (17).

With each new year, it's good to replenish our optimism and dream big, or as American songwriter Woody Guthrie -- named after Woodrow Wilson -- wrote, dream good!

[Click on notebook for a better view!]

Even printed so neatly by Woody -- and enlarged as much as possible by blogspot -- it's not easy to read this photograph, so here in boldface is Woody Guthrie's New Year's Resolution List, 1942:

1. Work more and better
2. Work by a schedule
3. Wash teeth if any
4. Shave
5. Take bath
6. Eat good — fruit — vegetables — milk
7. Drink very scant if any
8. Write a song a day
9. Wear clean clothes — look good
10. Shine shoes
11. Change socks
12. Change bed cloths often
13. Read lots good books
14. Listen to radio a lot
15. Learn people better
16. Keep rancho clean
17. Dont get lonesome
18. Stay glad
19. Keep hoping machine running
20. Dream good
21. Bank all extra money
22. Save dough
23. Have company but dont waste time
24. Send Mary and kids money
25. Play and sing good
26. Dance better
27. Help win war — beat fascism
28. Love mama
29. Love papa
30. Love Pete
31. Love everybody
32. Make up your mind
33. Wake up and fight

A few years before Guthrie's list, novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald -- named after Francis Scott Key -- compiled a list of directives for his daughter, Frances Scott Fitzgerald, who was eleven years old at the time. Some have seen Fitzgerald's list as fantastic advice whereas others suggest he should have spared his little girl all this terrible advice and, instead, heeded it himself:

Things to worry about:

Worry about courage
Worry about cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about horsemanship

Things not to worry about:

Don't worry about popular opinion
Don't worry about dolls


[What is Fitzgerald saying? With all due respect, I must object!
Dolls are definitely worth worrying about!]

Don't worry about the past
Don't worry about the future
Don't worry about growing up
Don't worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don't worry about triumph
Don't worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don't worry about mosquitoes
Don't worry about flies
Don't worry about insects in general
Don't worry about parents
Don't worry about boys
Don't worry about disappointments
Don't worry about pleasures
Don't worry about satisfactions
Things to think about:
What am I really aiming at?

How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries
in regard to:
(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people
and am I able to get along with them?
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument
or am I neglecting it?

What makes Fitzgerald's fatherly advice of 1933 especially interesting -- in addition to its applicability to his own disposition -- is reading it along side the "Schedule" that he wrote on behalf of his character, Jay Gatsby, in 1925. After Gatsby's funeral, his father, Mr. Gatz sadly shares with Nick Carraway his most treasured keepsake of his son, " . . . a ragged old copy of a book called Hopalong Cassidy":

"Look here, this is a book he had when he was a boy. It just shows you.”

He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On the last fly-leaf was printed the word Schedule, and the date September 12, 1906, and underneath:


Rise from bed................ 6.00 a.m
Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling...... 6.15-6.30 ”
Study electricity, etc. ........... 7.15-8.15 ”
Work..................... 8.30-4.30 p.m
Baseball and sports............. 4.30-5.00 ”
Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it 5.00-6.00 ”
Study needed inventions........... 7.00-9.00 ”

GENERAL RESOLVES

No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable]
No more smoking or chewing
Bath every other day
Read one improving book or magazine per week
Save $5.00 {crossed out} $3.00 per week
Be better to parents

“I come across this book by accident,” said the old man. “It just shows you, don’t it?”

“It just shows you.”

“Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always had some resolves like this or something. Do you notice what he’s got about improving his mind? He was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat him for it.”

He was reluctant to close the book, reading each item aloud and then looking eagerly at me. I think he rather expected me to copy down the list for my own use. (173 - 74)


The fatherly pride of Mr. Gatz and the earnestness of sixteen - year - old Gatsby's self - improvement list is heart - breaking, knowing as we do the failure of Gatsby's dream, but his resolve is admirable.

More light - hearted, but equally intense in its own way, is the schedule made by Oskar's friend Klepp in The Tin Drum, written in 1959 by Nobel prize winner Gunter Grass:

"Klepp often spends hours drawing up schedules. . . . This year again Klepp has spent more than two weeks trying to schedule his activities. . . . I looked through his handiwork, there was nothing very new about it:

breakfast at ten;
contemplation until lunchtime;
after lunch a nap (one hour),
then coffee, in bed if transportation was available;
flute playing in bed (one hour);
get up;
play bagpipes while marching round the room (one hour);
more bagpipes out in the courtyard (half an hour).

Next came a two - hour period, spend every other day over
beer and blood sausage and the alternate day at the movies;
in either case, before the movies or over the beer,
discreet propaganda for the illegal Communist Party of Germany,
not to exceed half an hour, mustn't overdo it.

Three nights a week to be send playing dance music at the Unicorn;
on Saturday, beer and propaganda transferred to the evening,
afternoon reserved for a bath and massage in Grunstrasse,
followed by hygiene with girl (three - quarters of an hour)at the "U9,"
then with the same girl and her girl friend coffee and cake at Schwab's,
a shave and if necessary a haircut just before the barber's closing time;
quick to the Photomaton;
then beer, blood sausage, Party propaganda, and relaxation."

I admired Klepp's carefully custom - made schedule, asked him for a copy and inquired what he did to fill in occasional gaps. "Sleep, or think of the Party," he replied after the briefest reflection." (pp 72 - 3)

Contemplation until lunchtime. Very important! I love that! Another favorite is the typical day of a typical student as set forth in Flann O'Brien's comic metafiction, At Swim Two Birds, written in 1939 (and humorously described by my friend Professor Leonard Orr as "a valuable self-help book in the guise of a novel"):

While I was engaged in the spare - time literary activities of which the preceding and following pages may be cited as more or less typical examples, I was leading a life of a dull but not uncomfortable character. The following approximate schedule of my quotidian activities may be of some interest to the lay reader:

Nature of daily regime or curriculum: Nine-thirty a.m.
rise, wash, shave and proceed to breakfast; this on the insistence of my uncle, who was accustomed to regard himself as the sun of his household, recalling all things to wakefulness on his own rising.

10.30. Return to bedroom.

12.00. Go, weather permitting, to College, there conducting light conversation on diverse topics with friends, or with acquaintances of a casual character.

2.00 p.m. Go home for lunch.

3.00. Return to bedroom. Engage in spare - time literary activity,
or read.

6.00. Have tea in company with my uncle, attending in a perfunctory manner to the replies required by his talk.

7.00. Return to bedroom and rest in darkness.

8.00. Continue resting or meet acquaintances in open thoroughfares or places of public resort.

11.00. Return to bedroom."
(p 212)

A similar life of spare - time literary activity (my favorite!) is led, apparently, by the two students, Giles and Jesse, in John Galsworthy's 1906 novel, The Man of Property (Book One of the Forsyte Saga):

"These two, Giles and Jesse, were so alike and so inseparable that they were known as the Dromios. They never talked, and seemed always completely occupied in doing nothing. It was popularly supposed that they were cramming for an important examination. They walked without hats for long hours in the Gardens attached to their house, books in their hands, a fox-terrier at their heels, never saying a word, and smoking all the time. Every morning, about fifty yards apart, they trotted down Campden Hill on two lean hacks, with legs as long as their own, and every morning about an hour later, still fifty yards apart, they cantered up again. Every evening, wherever they had dined, they might be observed about half-past ten, leaning over the balustrade of the Alhambra promenade.

"They were never seen otherwise than together; in this way passing their lives, apparently perfectly content."
(found in Part III, Chapter 24, "Mrs. Macander's Evidence" p 232; in some editions, p 297).

Even more frivolous than the daily routine of the Dromios is that of the The Lethargarians, Inhabitants of the Doldrums, in The Phantom Tollbooth, one of those novels for kids of all ages, written in 1961 by Norton Juster, illustrated by Jules Feiffer:

"Well, if you can't laugh or think, what can you do?" asked Milo.

"Anything as long as it's nothing, and everything as long as it isn't anything," explained another. "There's lots to do; we have a very busy schedule --


"At 8 o'clock we get up, and then we spend

"From 8 to 9 daydreaming.

"From 9 to 9:30 we take our early midmorning nap.

"From 9:30 to 10:30 we dawdle and delay.

"From 10:30 to 11:30 we take our late early morning nap.

"From ll:00 to 12:00 we bide our time and then eat lunch.

"From l:00 to 2:00 we linger and loiter.

"From 2:00 to 2:30 we take our early afternoon nap.

"From 2:30 to 3:30 we put off for tomorrow what we could have done today.

"From 3:30 to 4:00 we take our early late afternoon nap.

"From 4:00 to 5:00 we loaf and lounge until dinner.

"From 6:00 to 7:00 we dillydally.

"From 7:00 to 8:00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9:00 we waste time.

"As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding, or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."

"You mean you'd never get anything done," corrected Milo.

"We don't want to get anything done," snapped another angrily; "we want to get nothing done, and we can do that without your help."

"You see," continued another in a more conciliatory tone, "it's really quite strenuous doing nothing all day, so once a week we take a holiday and go nowhere, which was just where we were going when you came along. Would you care to join us?"
(pp 26 - 7)

No matter how silly or eccentric, each of these schedules offers some truth toward an ordered existence. From Guthrie's determination, to Fitzgerald's didacticism and Gatsby's zeal; from Klepp's obsessions to the students' self - absorption and the Lethargarians' inverse industry, there is an attention to detail and a quest to fill each hour that heightens our own self - awareness as we organize our good intentions for the remainder of the New Year.

Another Sunrise photo by Gerry McCartney
Early Morning View of Navy Pier as seen from
Northwestern University Arthur Rubloff Building / School of Law,
downtown Chicago ~ 30 November 2012

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, February 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com


Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Friday, May 28, 2010

Love In The Open Hand

MAKE THAT A TREE HOUSE
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS!


"Is love rice in a jar, no need to give back an egg?"

I really liked The Joy Luck Club; then I liked The Kitchen God's Wife even more; and The Hundred Secret Senses even more than that. Good Better Best. (The Bonesetter's Daughter, not so much; but that's okay.) In all these novels, Amy Tan has created so many moments of pure magic, you might find it difficult to choose a favorite, but for me it's easy: Chapter 12 in The Hundred Secret Senses: "The Best Time To Eat Duck Eggs."

In this chapter, Kwan tells Libby about the thousand-year duck eggs, buried years before in her previous life as Miss Moo, when she shared an understated romance with the peddler, Zeng who provided her with empty canning jars for storing the lime-cured eggs. Each week they exchange these tokens: a jar for Miss Moo and an egg for Zeng, until times get hard and food of any kind, including eggs, has become scarce. Even though Miss Moo no longer has any pickled eggs to share, kindly Zeng proffers the jar, this time not empty but filled with rice to see her through the lean stretch. She is overwhelmed by his generosity: "So heavy with feelings! Was this love? Is love rice in a jar, no need to give back an egg?" (181).

To answer Kwan's question: Yes! That's love, pure and simple, no strings attached, no angle, no need to give back an egg. Love in the open hand, wishing to help, wishing not to hurt. The same love described by Edna St. Vincent Millay in her tender sonnet:

Sonnet XI
Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
Or rich with red corundum or with blue,
Locked, and the key withheld, as other girls
Have given their loves, I give my love to you;
Not in a lovers'-knot, not in a ring
Worked in such fashion, and the legend plain—
Semper fidelis, where a secret spring
Kennels a drop of mischief for the brain:




"Down in
the meadow
where the
cowslips grow"

by Kate Greenaway
(1846 - 1901)
English children's
book illustrator





Love in the open hand, no thing but that,
Ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,
As one should bring you cowslips in a hat
Swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt,
I bring you, calling out as children do:
"Look what I have!—And these are all for you."
~from the sonnet sequence Fatal Interview

A few months ago, when I mentioned this sonnet on my daily blog, I knew that it deserved another, longer look. Millay is undoubtedly one of the the most-mentioned writers in my literary discussions, and always one of my top choices for desert island reading. I know you're supposed to say The Bible or Shakespeare, but I'd be more inclined to pack the sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

What I admire about "Sonnet XI" is its innocence and optimism, a poem to read when you fear that what you have to offer, the things that you hold out are not being accepted, not even when you say, "these are all for you." And what are those things? Not diamond rings so much as thoughts, ideas, values, dreams, favorite poems, past experiences, rice in a jar, cowslips in a hat -- all the things that add to up to your own particular way of being in the world. How sad the thought of offering honest companionship and getting the message, "Oh, no, you should be a different way than what you are."

This sonnet says that you deserve someone who offers you "Love in the open hand / no thing but that." However lovely the gifts and delightful the tokens, they should always be offered freely out of tenderness and a desire for your company -- just the way you are -- never as a way to control or "improve." And better yet, when you offer your affection and your deepest hopes and dreams, "ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt," they should be accepted freely -- not scrutinized or analyzed or held up against the light or laughed at or brushed aside or put on hold. Kwan's story says to avoid the selfish lovers who give "only enough to take back what they wanted from me" (181). Not all are as trustworthy and pure of heart as dear Mr. Zeng.

Take care of your heart.

Knowing, as I'm sure you do by now, that one of the imperatives for this blog is a poem for every poem, here are a few others to go along with Millay's sonnet.

First, this song by Donovan:

Turquoise
Your smile - beams like sunlight - on a gull's wing
and the leaves - dance and play - after you
Take my hand - and hold it - as you would a flower
take care with my heart - oh darling - she's made of glass

Your eyes - feel like silence - resting on me
and the birds - cease to sing - when you rise
Ride easy - your fairy stallion - you have mounted
take care how you fly - my precious - you might fall down

In the pastel skies - the sunset - I have wandered
with my eyes and ears and heart - strained to the full
I know I tasted the essence - in the few days
take care who you love - my precious - he might not know

words and music by Donovan Leitch (b. 1946)
British singer, songwriter, guitarist

sung by Joan Baez (b. 1941)
American folk singer, songwriter, activist.


Second, this childhood reverie:

I Shall Come Back
I shall be coming back to you
From seas, rivers, sunny meadows,
Glens that hold secrets:
I shall come back with my hands full
Of light and flowers....
I shall bring back things I have picked up,
Traveling this road or the other,
Things found by the sea or in the pinewood.
There will be a pine-cone in my pocket,
Grains of pink sand between my fingers.
I shall tell you of a golden pheasant’s
Feather....
Will you know me?

composed at age 10 - 12, by Hilda Conkling (1910 - 86)
American child poet


And third, this long poem:

THE PICNIC
(click on poem to enlarge text for reading)
John Logan (1923 - 87)
American poet and teacher
The Picnic
It is the picnic with Ruth in the spring.
Ruth was third on my list of seven girls
But the first two were gone (Betty) or else
Had someone (Ellen had accepted Doug).
Indian Gully the last day of school;
Girls make the lunches for the boys too.
I wrote a note to Ruth in algebra class
Day before the test. She smiled, and nodded.
We left the cars and walked through the young corn
The shoots green as paint and the leaves like tongues
Trembling. Beyond the fence where we stood
Some wild strawberry flowered by an elm tree
And Jack in the pulpit was olive ripe.
A blackbird fled as I crossed, and showed
A spot of gold or red under its quick wing.
I held the wire for Ruth and watched the whip
Of her long, striped skirt as she followed.
Three freckles blossomed on her thin, white back
Underneath the loop where the blouse buttoned.
We went for our lunch away from the rest,
Stretched in the new grass, our heads close
Over unknown things wrapped up in wax papers.
Ruth tried for the same, I forget what it was,
And our hands were together. She laughed,
And a breeze caught the edge of her little
Collar and the edge of her brown close hair
That touched my cheek. I turned my face in-
to the gentle fall. I saw how sweet it smelled.
She didn’t move her head or take her hand.
I felt a soft caving in my stomach
As at the top of the highest slide,
When I had been a child, but was not afraid,

And did not know why my eyes moved with wet
As I brushed her cheek with my lips and brushed
Her lips with my own lips. She said to me
Jack, Jack, different than I had ever heard,
Because she wasn’t calling me, I think,
Or telling me. She used my name to
Talk in another way I wanted to know.
She laughed again and then she took her hand;
I gave her what we both had touched; can’t
Remember what it was, and we ate the lunch.
Afterward we walked in the small, cool creek
Our shoes off, her skirt hitched, and she smiling,
My pants rolled, and then we climbed up the high
Side of Indian Gully and looked
Where we had been, our hands together again.
It was then some bright thing came in my eyes,
Starting at the back of them and flowing
Suddenly through my head and down my arms
And stomach and my bare legs that seemed not
To stop in feet, not to feel the red earth
Of the Gully, as though we hung in a
Touch of birds. There was a word in my throat
With the feeling and I said, It’s beautiful.
Yes, she said, and I felt the sound and word
In my hand join the sound and word in hers
As in one name said, or in one cupped hand.
We put back on our shoes and socks and we
Sat in the grass awhile, crosslegged, under
A blowing tree, not saying anything.
And Ruth played with shells she found in the creek,
As I watched. Her small wrist which was so sweet
To me turned by her breast and the shells dropped
Green, white, blue, easily into her lap,
Passing light through themselves. She gave the pale
Shells to me, and got up and touched her hips
With her light hands, and we walked down slowly
To play the school games with the others.
I discovered "The Picnic" my Senior year in high school, in the anthology I have mentioned a few times before: Some Haystacks Don't Even Have Any Needle. I suppose it is the "apples in her skirt" in Millay's poem that brings to mind "the long, striped skirt" worn by the girl Ruth in Logan's poem, and "the loop where the blouse buttoned." Ruth is the poet's date for the school picnic; and although he admits that she was only "third on my list of seven girls," he is pleased to spend the day with her and finds himself falling in love for the very first time:

We went for our lunch away from the rest,
Stretched in the new grass, our heads close . . .
And our hands were together. She laughed,
And a breeze caught the edge of her little
Collar and the edge of her brown, loose hair . . .
I felt a soft caving in my stomach
As at the top of the highest slide
When I had been a child, but was not afraid . . .


Similar to the "cowslips in a hat," described in Millay's sonnet, Logan portrays Ruth sifting sea shells and offering them as a souvenir of the special day:

And Ruth played with some shells from the creek,
As I watched. Her small wrist which was so sweet
To me turned by her breast and the shells dropped
Green, white, blue, easily into her lap,
Passing light through themselves. She gave the pale
Shells to me, and got up and touched her hips
With her light hands, and we walked down slowly
To play the school games with the others.
















Hanging Out in the Tree House Before the Prom


COME BACK FOR
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, June 14, 2010

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Year of the Tiger

YEAR OF THE TIGER STAMPS: HONG KONG, 1998















At an art exhibit many years ago, I saw a wooden sculpture of a cat sitting atop a metal climbing frame, entitled "Little Tiger in the House." How I would love to see that again, but I don't know where to find it or who the sculptor was. How could I have neglected to write that name down?

Two of my own Little Tigers in the House
Josef (left, in 1993) & Pine (right, in 2007)
Same Chairs: Refinished & Reupholstered













In observation of the Year of the Tiger, here a few of my favorite fortune cookie proverbs that I have saved over the years.

1. "Answer just what your heart prompts you."

As I was once advised in real life (not in a cookie) when I was mulling over a potentially very bad decision: "You can go ahead and toy with that idea all you want, but I don't think your psyche will ever let you do it." How reassuring to think that my psyche was on the job, looking out for me, prompting me.

That thought has never left me. Even now, it is very reassuring to think that my psyche should care so much about me and be so trustworthy, that at some level, I have my own best interests at heart -- not just selfishly, but protectively! I am not self - destructive. The capacity to choose correctly is already within me, quietly working away on my behalf, giving me the confidence to answer just what my heart prompts me!

As Steve Jobs advises, "Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become" (Stanford Commencement Speech, 2005).


2. "Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you."

Not in Oz. In Kansas.


3. "Launch a regiment for a new healthier you!"

This is my all - time favorite. I like the idea, even if unintentional, that it might require more than a "regimen" -- it might require a "regiment"! You have to be aggressive in the quest for health and happiness!

I don't recall exactly when or where these fortunes came into my life, but I've had them magneted to three successive refrigerators for well over a decade and have transported them with me through two moves -- that's how much I value them!

I carefully removed them from my refrigerator in 2001, and packed them for our move across town, from one side of Philadelphia to the other; and again in 2004 when we returned to Indiana. Just little scraps of paper, but I'm hanging on to them. So many others have gone by the wayside -- all that take-out, all those buffets -- but these three are keepers.

Fortune cookies always remind me of that section in The Joy Luck Club, when the Joy Luck Aunties first come to America and find work at the cookie factory, inserting silly, pointless fortune-like dictums into the hot cookies as they come off the assembly line: axioms such as "Money is the root of all evil. Look around you and dig deep."

Auntie An-mei then translates back into Chinese for Auntie Lindo:

"Money is a bad influence. You become restless and rob graves."

"What is this nonsense," I [Lindo] asked her, putting the strips of paper in my pocket, thinking I should study these classical American sayings.

"They are fortunes, she [An-mei] explained. "American people think Chinese people write these sayings."

"But we never say such things!" I said. "These things don't make sense. These are not fortunes, they are bad instructions"

from The Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan, 262

It's true. Break open your fortune cookie or your Christmas Cracker and more often than not you will find some ridiculous little proverb whose so-called meaning evaporates even as your read it aloud. Luckily, though, every once in awhile, Fate makes an exception and offers an idea you can run with, one that will speak to your heart and bring you Good Fortune.Joy Luck: "It's not that we had no heart or eyes for pain. We were all afraid. We all had our miseries. But to despair was to wish back for something already lost. . . . What was worse . . . to sit and wait . . . Or to choose our own happiness? . . . So we decided to hold parties and pretend each week had become the new year. . . . And each week we could hope to be lucky. That hope was our only joy. And that's how we came to call our little parties Joy Luck" (from The Joy Luck Club, 24 -25).

Happy New Year of the Tiger! Joy! Luck! Good Fortune!


STAY TUNED FOR
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, February 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Take a look at
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com