More Robert Lowell, by popular request

The old South Boston Aquarium stands

in a Sahara of snow now.

Its broken windows are boarded.

The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.

The airy tanks are dry.

Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass;

my hand tingled

to burst the bubbles

drifting from the noses of the cowed, compliant fish.

My hand draws back.

I often sigh still for the dark downward and vegetating kingdom

of the fish and reptile.

The Old South Boston Aquarium:

A girdle of orange, Puritan-pumpkin colored girders

braces the tingling Statehouse,

shaking over the excavations, as it faces Colonel Shaw

and his bell-cheeked Negro infantry

on St. Gaudens’ shaking Civil War relief,

propped by a plank splint against the garage’s earthquake.

Two months after marching through Boston,

half the regiment was dead; at the dedication,

William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone

in the city’s throat.

Its Colonel is as lean as a compass-needle.

He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,

a greyhound’s gentle tautness;

he seems to wince at pleasure,

and suffocate for privacy.


Good story from Robert Lowell

LOWELL

I met Ford [Maddox Ford] at a cocktail party in Boston and went to dinner with him at the Athens Olympia. He was going to visit the [Allen] Tates, and said, “Come and see me down there, we’re all going to Tennessee.” So I drove down. He hadn’t arrived, so I got to know the Tates quite well before his appearance.

INTERVIEWER

Staying in a pup tent.

LOWELL

It’s a terrible piece of youthful callousness. They had one Negro woman who came in and helped, but Mrs. Tate was doing all the housekeeping. She had three guests and her own family, and was doing the cooking and writing a novel. And this young man arrived, quite ardent and eccentric. I think I suggested that maybe I’d stay with them. And they said, “We really haven’t any room, you’d have to pitch a tent on the lawn.” So I went to Sears, Roebuck and got a tent and rigged it on their lawn. The Tates were too polite to tell me that what they’d said had been just a figure of speech. I stayed two months in my tent and ate with the Tates.

(That’s a Colemans pup tent.  Here’s a photo of the Athens Olympia restaurant, now closed, from the MIT Libraries flickr.)

This is all from Robert Lowell’s Paris Review interview, which ends with this:

INTERVIEWER

Don’t you think a large part of it is getting the right details, symbolic or not, around which to wind the poem tight and tighter?

LOWELL

Some bit of scenery or something you’ve felt. Almost the whole problem of writing poetry is to bring it back to what you really feel, and that takes an awful lot of maneuvering. You may feel the doorknob more strongly than some big personal event, and the doorknob will open into something that you can use as your own. A lot of poetry seems to me very good in the tradition but just doesn’t move me very much because it doesn’t have personal vibrance to it. I probably exaggerate the value of it, but it’s precious to me. Some little image, some detail you’ve noticed—you’re writing about a little country shop, just describing it, and your poem ends up with an existentialist account of your experience. But it’s the shop that started it off. You didn’t know why it meant a lot to you. Often images and often the sense of the beginning and end of a poem are all you have—some journey to be gone through between those things; you know that, but you don’t know the details. And that’s marvelous; then you feel the poem will come out. It’s a terrible struggle, because what you really feel hasn’t got the form, it’s not what you can put down in a poem. And the poem you’re equipped to write concerns nothing that you care very much about or have much to say on. Then the great moment comes when there’s enough resolution of your technical equipment, your way of constructing things, and what you can make a poem out of, to hit something you really want to say. You may not know you have it to say.


Taco Bell ad inserted into this book?

“Mark Owen” has just returned to Virginia Beach after the Osama raid:

On my way home, I spotted the neon drive-through sign at the Taco Bell.  I always stopped for a south of the border fix on my way home from a deployment, usually in Germany.  I had made this stop several times over the years. Pulling into the line, I ordered two crispy tacos, a bean burrito, and a medium Pepsi.

At the window, a high school kid handed me my food and drink.  I pulled forward into the parking lot and took out a taco.  I spread the paper in my lap and drizzled some fire sauce over the cold, crisp lettuce and ate.


Sean Connery

on “believability”:

PLAYBOY: This brings up a point raised by many of Fleming’s critics:  While conceding that Bond’s adventures are entertaining, they denounce him as a caricature of sex appeal, and his erotic exploits as impossibly farfetched. Do you feel that’s valid?

CONNERY: No, I don’t. The main concern for an actor or a writer is not believability but the removal of time, as I see it. Because I really think the only occasions you really are enjoying yourself, being happy, swinging, as they say, are when you don’t know what time it is–when you’re totally absorbed in a play, a film or a party and you don’t know what time it is or how long it has been going on; then you’ll usually find there is contentment and happiness. When an artist can suspend time like that for an audience, he has succeeded. It doesn’t really matter, I think, whether it is “believable” or not. The believability comes afterward; or it doesn’t. If you want to question it afterward, that’s up to you. But the writer’s and the actor’s job is to remove time–while you’re still in the book or the theater. That’s exactly what Fleming achieved for millions of readers; and that’s what I’ve tried to achieve in the Bond films.

on Ian Fleming:

CONNERY: He had great energy and curiosity and he was a marvelous man to talk to and have a drink with because of the many wide interests he had. What made him a success and caused all the controversy was that his writing was such good journalism. He always contrived extraordinary situations and arranged extravagant meetings for his characters, and he always knew his facts. He was always madly accurate, and this derived from his curiosity. When he was discussing anything, like how a truck worked or a machine or a permutation at bridge, there was a brain at work and an enormous amount of research involved; it wasn’t just a lot of drivel he was talking. That’s what I admired most about him–his energy and his curiosity.

possibly Romney-esque in politics?:

CONNERY: … This sort of motivation is the great thing that’s lacking in present-day society. Everything is so smooth-running, so attainable, that one is deprived of initiative, lured into a false sense of security. In the days before the War, with high unemployment, many people simply put in an appearance every morning at the factory although they knew there was no chance of work. Sheeplike, they felt they just had to go. Today everything’s handed to them on a platter:  They know they can get work and enough food, and socialized medicine has taken the worry out of being ill. If there is a malnutrition of any kind in this country–and I think there is–it’s self-inflicted. The only competition you’ll find today is the conflict between those few who try to correct a wrong, and the majority who hope it will just cure itself in the end.

a controversial view:

PLAYBOY: How do you feel about roughing up a woman, as Bond sometimes has to do?

CONNERY: I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong about hitting a woman–although I don’t recommend doing it in the same way that you’d hit a man. An openhanded slap is justified–if all other alternatives fail and there has been plenty of warning. If a woman is a bitch, or hysterical, or bloody-minded continually, then I’d do it. I think a man has to be slightly advanced, ahead of the woman. I really do–by virtue of the way a man is built, if nothing else. But I wouldn’t call myself sadistic. I think one of the appeals that Bond has for women, however, is that he is decisive, cruel even. By their nature women aren’t decisive–“Shall I wear this? Shall I wear that?”–and along comes a man who is absolutely sure of everything and he’s a godsend. And, of course, Bond is never in love with a girl and that helps. He always does what he wants, and women like that. It explains why so many women are crazy about men who don’t give a rap for them.

a recipe:

CONNERY: Well, for three or four people with some left over, I take a pound of the best beef and do it in olive oil and garlic for half an hour in a pot with a lid on it, so that all the juice is drained away from it, and while that’s going on I finely chop onions and carrots and have fresh tomatoes and tinned tomatoes all ready. Then I fry the carrots and the onions in butter, and once the steak has been cooking for about half an hour in the pot, I take it out and dice it up into squares–one- or two-inch squares–and then roll it in flour, salt, pepper and seasoning, and line the bottom of the bowl or stone dish. Then I cover all the meat with the onions and the carrots and the tomato–fresh and tinned–and the oil that’s left over in the juice that’s been taken from the meat I pour over the top. I then add a tube of Italian tomato purèe, and top it all off with either good stock or boiled water, and bake it in the oven for three hours and medium heat. It’s superb.

All these are from an interview in the Nov. 1965 issue of Playboy.


Next time I’m in Pittsford, Vermont…

I’m going to visit the New England Maple Museum:

ht Chestnut Hill office.


Scene from “Seven Samurai” (1954)

The main characters in Helen DeWitt’s excellent novel The Last Samurai are deeply emotionally invested in the Arika Kurosawa movie Seven Samurai.

Here is a scene from the movie they often reference:


The Nicholas Roerich Museum in New York City

Is an under-visited place.  Pittsburgh Office told us about it awhile ago

H.P. Lovecraft referred to the “strange and disturbing paintings of Nicholas Roerich” in his Antarctic horror story At the Mountains of Madness.


Jeff Bezos citing Warren Buffett

From this old Fast Company article (worth reading).  Bezos is talking about getting investors who understand Amazon is playing a long-term strategy.  But of course it goes beyond:

“With respect to investors, there’s a great Warren Buffettism,” he says. “You can hold a rock concert and that can be successful, and you can hold a ballet and that can be successful, but don’t hold a rock concert and advertise it as a ballet.”


Some Paintings Mentioned in “The Last Samurai” by Helen DeWitt

Highly recommended, this book has no connection at all to the Tom Cruise film of the same name.  It’s 1000x better.  It’s about a child genius in London. A painting the child sees in the book:

Odysseus Deriding Polyphemus, by J. M. Turner, 1829:

Wikipedia on Turner:

He died in the house of his mistress Sophia Caroline Booth in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea on 19 December 1851. He is said to have uttered the last words “The sun is God” before expiring.

More to come??

(found the image here).


Someday My Prince Will Come

Recently we were invited by a correspondent to test-listen to some new speakers.  It had been a long time since “listening to music” was the whole activity we were doing.  Among other things we tried out this Miles Davis album, recorded March 7, 20, 21st of 1961.

During the next session, while Miles was about to wrap up “Someday My Prince Will Come,” John Coltrane suddenly appeared in the studio between two sets at the Apollo Theater where he was performing.

So says milesdavis.com, which continues (demonstrating why reading about jazz is associated with being a huge douche-out):

In two choruses,Coltrane conveyed the quintessence of his art. The next day he returned bringing, forthe last time, the intensity of his flame to the music of Miles, who in “Teo,” took advantage of his presence to extend the modal explorations of “Flamenco Sketches” even further.

Anyway.  The following anecdote was once reported in The Guardian:

In 1987, [Davis] was invited to a White House dinner by Ronald Reagan. Few of the guests appeared to know who he was. During dinner, Nancy Reagan turned to him and asked what he’d done with his life to merit an invitation. Straight-faced, Davis replied: “Well, I’ve changed the course of music five or six times. What have you done except fuck the president?”

Snopes however tells us it wasn’t so, and quotes Davis’ own autobiography, where he wrote:

Reagan was nice to us, respectful and everything.  But Nancy is the one who has the charm between those two.  She seemed like a warm person. She greeted me warmly and I kissed her hand.  She liked that.

Too bad.

What a great album cover.  That’s Miles’ then-wife Frances.  According to a message board we came across, she was working as a hostess at Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset Blvd. as of 2004.

She’s still beautiful and has the body of a dancer. Totally charming woman… She seemed totally open about who she is and her past with Miles and would probably be happy to chat with anyone about it should they stop by the restaurant.

Hamburger Hamlet is now closed.


Lionel Pries

Reading up on some Disney animators and writers.

Ken Anderson, one of the credited screenwriters for The Rescuers, Aristocats, The Jungle Book, and Cinderella, was (wikipedia tells me) “particularly influenced” by his University of Washington architecture professor, Lionel Pries.

Lionel Pries designed the Andalucia building in Santa Barbara:

Here’s a house he designed for himself:

“He used affordable modern materials — concrete, concrete block and cement-asbestos board.”

Here’s another house Pries designed, in the Laurelhurst neighborhood of Seattle:

Wikipedia:

Pries was gay, but deeply closeted in the University of Washington community. He anticipated teaching at least until he reached retirement age, but was forced to resign his university position in 1958 after he was picked up in a vice sting in Los Angeles. The reason for Pries’s abrupt departure from the university was concealed at the time.

Pries worked as a drafter until he was able to retire in 1964, then lived quietly until his death in 1968.

Lionel Pries:

(Pries photo is credited to Dorothy Conway and the Pries Collection, Special Collection, UW Libraries, Pries house photo to Charles R. Pierson from the same collection, Laurelhurst house photo “courtesy Max and Helen Gurvitch, and I got them all from this Seattle Times article by Laurence Kriesman.)


Headshot of an opera star I discovered on an Internet ramble which will now haunt my dreams.

“Hello.  I want to be near you.  Forever.”


John Cage

Tyler Cowen talks about John Cage today, as what would be his 100th is coming up.  His quotes link doesn’t include my favorite.  Possibly apocryphal, I believe I got it from the Paris Review interview of Sam Shepard which I am WAY too busy to reread right now:

Theater exists all around us and it is the purpose of formal theater to remind us.

I told that quote to the actor friend I thought would most appreciate it and even he kinda scoffed.

Couple curios from Cage’s wikipedia page:

On his education at Pomona:

 I was shocked at college to see one hundred of my classmates in the library all reading copies of the same book. Instead of doing as they did, I went into the stacks and read the first book written by an author whose name began with Z. I received the highest grade in the class. That convinced me that the institution was not being run correctly. I left.

And:

After several months in Paris, Cage’s enthusiasm for America was revived after he read Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass – he wanted to return immediately, but his parents, with whom he regularly exchanged letters during the entire trip, persuaded him to stay in Europe for a little longer and explore the continent.

Whose parents ever did that?

He went to Santa Monica, California, where he made a living partly by giving small, private lectures on contemporary art.

What?  Who paid for that?  How much?  Sounds like something PON might get away with:

Cage was working at his mother’s arts and crafts shop, where he met artist Xenia Andreyevna Kashevaroff. She was an Alaskan-born daughter of a Russian priest; her work encompassed fine bookbinding, sculpture and collage. Although Cage was involved in relationships with Don Sample and with architect Rudolph Schindler’s wife Pauline when he met Xenia, he fell in love immediately.

Well, yeah.  An Alaskan-born daughter of a Russian priest walks in, introduces herself as Xenia, and starts talking bookbinding, it’s Robyn time.

Cage met [Allen] Kaprow while on a mushroom hunt with George Segal and invited him to join his class.

That’s from the chapter of the wiki called ’60s: FAME


Lon Chaney’s Cabin

High in the Sierras, the cabin of actor Lon Chaney, Sr., “the man of a thousand faces.”

Both of Chaney’s parents were deaf, and as a child of deaf adults Chaney became skilled in pantomime.

From this LA Times article:

“Tonight I start out for the High Sierra. No shaving, no makeup, no interviews for four long, lazy weeks. We take a stove along and the wife cooks the fish I catch. We sleep under the pines and I try to climb high enough to reach the snows. Camping’s the biggest kick in life for me,” Chaney told a writer in 1928.

And:

The Forest Service considered destroying the cabin to comply with the 1964 Wilderness Act, which calls for the restoration of natural conditions in wilderness areas. But the agency changed its mind when it became clear that the amount of dynamite required to demolish the massive stone structure would cause major damage to the surrounding trees.

 


Good one from The Atlantic’s tribute to Neil Armstrong

“Astronaut John Young, Frank Borman and Neil Armstrong with Deke Slayton, during astronaut desert survival training near Reno, Nevada, in 1964.”


Logging Bunkhouse Interior, ca. 1895

from the University of Washington’s “Industries and Occupations” photograph collection.


View from Mount Holyoke, Northampton, Massachusetts, after a Thunderstorm—The Oxbow – Thomas Cole, 1836

go over to the Met and see it big.

Cole learned the rudiments of his profession from a wandering portrait painter named Stein

The fourth-highest peak in the Catskills is named after Thomas Cole:


From my cuz.

 

what a ruling champion of life.


I saw my own future!

(I should be so lucky.  E. B. White, via Letters of Note)


John le Carré

INTERVIEWER

It has been said the book [Tailor of Panama] mirrors what you feel about England at the moment.

LE CARRÉ

While abroad, I don’t want to talk gloomily about my country. I’ve become interested recently not in the macro-interpretation of my country, but the micro-interpretation. I live in a tiny, desolate part of England, where the real effects of what I see as terrible misgovernment—central misgovernment—can be felt in detail upon agriculture, fishing, communication, and transport, all of those things. My definition of a decent society is one that first of all takes care of its losers, and protects its weak. What I see in my country, progressively over these years, is that the rich have got richer, the poor have got poorer. The rich have become indifferent through a philosophy of greed, and the poorer have become hopeless because they’re not properly cared for. That’s actually something that is happening in many Western societies. Your own, I am told, is not free from it.

(Paris Review again, picture I found here credited to Jonathan Player of Rex Features)