Sunday, May 15, 2011

The Days are Beautiful, or, a Tenuous Hum

It's Sunday afternoon and though the sun is out the wind is blowing madly.  And we should be mad with worry right now.  There is a month to go until Rob's exhibition opens.  And yes, there are times when I feel like I'm disintegrating, like I'm going to throw-up to be perfectly honest.  But mainly, I think you could say that I'm quite good at compartmentalizing.  Also, we do this thing where we go over scenarios, possibilities.  What we will do if the show is a bust, what we will do if the show is not a bust.  The thing is, there are a lot of possibilities.  I'm not crazy about many of them, but it's a reminder that one is never really stuck.  Well, let's hope not.

The goal this weekend was to tidy up my study.  Didn't touch it.  But I did take quite a few photos, showed my notebook a little long overdue love, and read some poems and found some music I'm queueing up for downloading:

The word "tenuous" is one that I'm quite fond of - gee wonder why.  The title of the YouTube video sort of worked for me when I saw it, as Rob paints in the basement.  We often refer to him as the basement dweller, hermit in the basement, etc.  When people come over they often marvel that he can create such wonderfully realistic and light-filled paintings in such a dingy space.  Whatever else this existence of ours is, it's certainly tenuous.

You know, I'd meant to write a lovely carefree calming post today, but look, it's permeated with angst and uncertainty and tinged with despair.  But these are the times that are often the most creative.  I was having a long bath yesterday, and it came to me that when I'm finished with my current novel, and maybe before I'm quite finished, I'm going to start writing essays again.  I had five or six possible topics pop into my head, and I was quite thrilled.  Some of the ideas are things I've been mulling over for some time, but suddenly it seemed possible to pursue them in longer essays.  And it's also something that I think I now have the stamina for.  It will be a while before I can get to them in any seriousness, but I can start jotting notes down, keeping my eye out for things that the essays might need.  I'll start collecting.  This is usually how it's gone for me.  When one book is wrapping up, I start having ideas for the next.

Now, I'm going to leave you with this most magnificent poem by Ann Lauterbach, called, "Hum."

It begins thus:

The days are beautiful
The days are beautiful.

I know what days are.
The other is weather.

I know what weather is.
The days are beautiful.

Things are incidental.
Someone is weeping.

I weep for the incidental.
The days are beautiful.

And you can continue to read it here.  Do read it, because, in spite of the ashes, in spite of all and everything, the 
sun comes up, and indeed, the days are beautiful.  

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