Lately I've been ...

... writing absolutely nothing. No poems, no journaling, no letters (long overdue). Even this blog has lately become less about writing something new and more about posting stuff already written, by me or by someone else. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Must get off my duff and write that letter already.

... reading Orthodoxy  by G. K. Chesterton; Arise from Darkness  by Fr. Benedict Groeschel, C. F. R.; and Christopher Morley's New York  for something light. Orthodoxy,  of course, is a classic of Catholic apologetics. I haven't yet read John Henry Newman's Apologia,  but it might be very interesting to compare the two. Arise from Darkness'  subtitle is "What to Do When Life Doesn't Make Sense". In the wake of all the recent senseless acts of violence, I gravitated toward this book and the author's down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is brand of spirituality. He's a tough old priest, and I love his straightforwardness. As for the Morley, I think I'll like it even better than his Philadelphia,  which was delightful.

... listening to music not as much as I was a month ago. For Christmas, my sister gave me two CDs of Paul Lewis—one is from his Beethoven Sonatas series and the other is Schubert Sonatas. Those are really the only things I've listened to seriously in the past month. For me, Lewis hasn't yet fulfilled his potential, which I think is very great. I think so far, he's only hinted at depths to come. I look forward to hearing more from him.

... watching Downton Abbey !!! Woohoo! Only, enough with Bates in jail already; can't we give him and Anna something else to do and talk about? Aren't they getting awfully bored with it all? I know I am. On another channel, I was very happy with the outcome of Next Iron Chef: Redemption.  Alex Guarnischelli's Iron Chef title is long, long overdue. Now they need to get Amanda Freitag to join the ranks.

     Movie-wise, I've been to see Les Misérables  twice already and love it. However, I do have a difficult time reconciling Russell Crowe's (Javert) limited vocal prowess with his skillful dramatic portrayal and screen presence. To use a contemporary idiom, it's a disconnect for me. Anne Hathaway (Fantine) and Eddie Redmayne (Marius) are excellent, vocally and dramatically. Also, though I'm favorably impressed by Hugh Jackman's performance—despite a distressing wobble and occasional strident nasality—and think his Valjean masterfully portrayed, I remain unmoved by his (and the director's) rendition of "Bring Him Home." In my opinion, it should be the stillest moment in the show, even on film, but both Jackman and the camera hardly ever stop moving. And Jackman's lack of a true falsetto makes the number less poignant for me. Overall, though, I love the film.

... loving this chilly weather! And the rain! (As long as I don't have to drive in it.)



Whassup?

     I seem to be experiencing a kind a trough at the moment, one of those hopefully short-lived phases in which nothing interests me, I can't be bothered, it's difficult to rouse myself even to read.

     By the way, did you know that, according to Webster's Dictionary, "short-lived" and "long-lived" are pronounced with a long "i"? All my life, I've heard people pronounce it with a short "i." I myself have always pronounced it with a short "i." I've also always heard "reptile" pronounced with a long "i," but Webster's says it's a short "i." Go figure.

     Because of this trough, it took me forever to finish Diana Tutton's novel Guard Your Daughters. I liked it quite a lot, and were I not in a trough I would have zipped right through it, it being the kind of easy-going read that makes no great demands on concentration or analytical powers. It's a straightforwardly delightful book, one that I'll most probably read again sometime down the road, and probably when I'm in another trough and can't be bothered with anything heavier.

     Though not really a short story fan, I find that short stories, along with essays, of which I am a big fan, do very well for me during troughs. I can finish one story or essay in a matter of minutes rather than hours or days, and when finished reading it, I can enjoy that particular self-congratulatory satisfaction of having done so. Currently, I'm leisurely making my way through Elizabeth Taylor's short story collection The Blush and continuing to dip occasionally into Christopher Morley essays. I must say, Taylor never fails to impress me. What a stunning writer.

     As for my own writing, the past two months have yielded eight new poems and one major revision, quite a lot when you compare it to the two little measly poems I squeezed out between last December and this past September. Honestly, I had all but given up. Despite this recent writing surge, it's been difficult to summon the motivation to submit anything for publication; finally mailing off six poems to The Lyric was done with a marked lack of enthusiasm. They'll probably hate them.

     Heigh-ho.

     On the plus side, The Next Iron Chef: Redemption and Dancing with the Stars: All-Stars have provided much in the way of amusement. And I can just feel another new poem or two tickling the back of my brain. Or maybe it's just allergies.

    

Saturday Summary

Carl Vilhelm Holsoe
"Lady in an Interior"

 

     I have a predilection for muted palettes, not only in art but also interior design. If there is sufficient natural light in a room, I love the changing color of it during the course of the day, and its influence on the space and the objects in it.

     When a muted palette in a painting is paired with the subject of a lone woman reading or writing in a domestic interior, that painting immediately captures my attention. What I particularly like in this painting is the patch of sunlight on the wall, which gives brightness to the scene without actually adding color. The only other element of light is the gleam of the silver.

     So this painting is what I discovered this week. Also, this past week, I:

     ... wrote another new poem, a sonnet that's a bit non-traditional in the sense that while it's mostly iambic, the lines are not all pentameter; some are longer, others are shorter. And the rhyme scheme departs from the usual Shakespearean and Petrarchan. But it definitely reads like a sonnet. I'm pretty happy with it.

     ... have been listening to Persuasion, read by the excellent Juliet Stevenson (Truly, Madly, Deeply; Emma). Ms Stevenson does a splendid job, though the voice she gives Mary is borderline annoying. True to the character, I suppose. This is my first Austen audio book, actually. I'm enjoying it, but still prefer reading to listening, as reading affords the chance to savor and to read certain striking passages multiple times in succession with more ease. Nevertheless, I will probably be buying more audio books in future. If it's a book you're already well familiar with, it's rather nice to fall asleep listening to it, in lieu of an actual person reading you to sleep. You can always go back to the parts you missed after passing out.

     ... read Guard Your Daughters by Diana Tutton, a light, amusing mid-century novel that has been making the round of book bloggers lately. Very enjoyable, worth the purchase, and a definite candidate for re-reading every few years.

     ... received in the mail Christopher Morley's New York, which I fully expect to be every bit as delightful as his Philadelphia, if not more so. I really must read some of his fiction; never have, not even Parnassus on Wheels or The Haunted Bookshop. At any rate, his essays deserve to be on the shelf of every true lover of literature, maybe not beside William Hazlitt, but certainly beside Leigh Hunt.

     I also received the Hans Hotter/Gerald Moore recording of Schwanengesang, and Schnabel's recording of the Impromptus, to further my recent epiphanic reappraisal of Schubert. I'm learning to love him more and more each day. Another sure sign of middle age.

   

Whassup?

     As I headed out the door to go to Mass this morning, I suddenly realized that I hadn't been anywhere at all since I went to Mass last Sunday! A whole week at home. It's amazing how tempus indeed fugit , even when one never sets foot outside the door, if one makes use of imagination, thought, and curiosity. To satisfy any and all of these, there are books and music, both reliable and inexhaustible sources, and both of which I possess enough to keep me happily engrossed for the remainder of my earthly life.

     I've been dipping into two brilliant essay collections these past two weeks: In Defense of Sanity: The Best Essays of G. K. Chesterton,  and Christopher Morley's Philadelphia. The first covers a wide and astonishingly diverse variety of topics from pocket knives to the Book of Job; the second, being focused on the city of Philadelphia, is narrower in scope; nevertheless, Morley often takes us on delightful tangents: a mere slice of sunlight on the side of a building inspires him to write an extended and rather lovely version of the "stop and smell the roses" idea. I look forward to receiving Morley's collection of essays on New York, which I ordered a few days ago.

     In an earlier post I wrote that I also ordered a score of Schubert's piano sonatas so that I could study them in depth while I listened. It arrived yesterday, and I look forward to beginning my study this week. Just glancing through the score, I realized I was imagining my hands playing the notes—inevitable, I suppose. Still, I have no real desire to play. For one thing, though I still have a baby grand, it's in an appalling enough state to discourage anything but the most casual "noodling." Serious practice is completely out of the question, and a very good thing it is so, for me.

     On the poetry front, I've had an extremely fertile month—five new ones and one major revision. This is indeed "fertile" compared to the utter barrenness of previous months. I wrote somewhere in my journal that I would be happy to write one good poem per month, and I still mean that. I'd settle for one good one over four or five mediocre ones, which the Lord knows I've written in many a month in the past several years. No, my reject file is plump enough.

     So that, in a few short paragraphs, is "whassup." I do have definite plans to get out of the house this week, but even if I didn't, there is plenty on my shelves to keep my brain from turning into total mush. Thank the great God for the written word of brilliant men and women, and for glorious music.