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For something near two years I have been plodding at a luscious, stop-and-smell-the-flowers pace through the copious autobiography of the excellent Ammon Hennacy. This morning I came across an especially sparkling section of memoir-izing; this excerpt I consider a crystallization of the best of Ammon. It deals with a period of his life in which he was living and working at a Catholic Worker house located in the Bowery, New York City. This would have been the mid 1950s:
We are a paper and a movement and a house of hospitality. We are a station where folks who have lost their way stop for a time until they can decide where they want to buy a ticket to--a monastery, the Ford Foundation, a union job, the Carmelites, marriage, or lower down on skid row...
In my early days at 223 Chrystie Street... I got up at 5:00 A.M. and helped pour coffee for the line and scrubbed the slime from the hall and kitchen floor. Some men would come back as much as three times in the line. Often one drunk would preach to the men in the line, telling them that they were all no-good bums.
What kind of people come to us? All sorts of tortured souls who have no other place to go. Peter [Maurin] said that we had to put up with one another the way God puts up with us, and Dorothy [Day] said we loved God as much as we loved the person we loved the least. By this measure I am a failure, and so are the most of us. The only thing is that we have different points of touchiness and tension and different breaking points as to how much of any certain kind of misery we can take. And I suppose we get a "tolerance" toward certain irritations and and added intolerance toward others.
One kind that is especially difficult for me to take is the scrupulous, over-pious person always wanting to put a scapular on me and hovering near the holy water. They are sure to burst out in vituperation a little later. We have had some of the quiet, withdrawn scrupulous types who have generally been good workers in detailed filing, etc. But once they are presented with an emergency their frustration and hatred of life have resulted in their violently attacking whoever is in their way. Then we have the loud-mouth braggart who when drunk would upset everything by his very noise. One such person who has been here for twenty years used to exasperate me by his noise when I was trying to phone, and I said to him, "How long do I have to put up with you?"
"How long do I have to put up with you, you damn intellectual?" he replied.
This is wonderful, for the Catholic Worker is a place for derelicts, and we intellectuals talk pacifism and anarchism and go to Mass. All some of these folks want is one more drink, and in between they have to listen to us.
A big white globe
"First Lesson About Man" by Thomas Merton
Man begins in zoology.
He is the saddest animal.
He drives a big red car called anxiety.
He dreams at night
Of riding all the elevators.
Lost in the halls,
He never finds the right door.
Man is the saddest animal.
A flake-eater in the morning,
A milk-drinker.
He fills his skin with coffee
And loses patience with the rest of his species.
He draws his sin on the wall,
On all the ads in all the subways.
He draws moustaches on all the women
Because he cannot find his joy,
Except in zoology.
Whenever he goes to the phone to call Joy,
He gets the wrong number.
Therefore he likes weapons.
He knows all guns by their right name.
He drives a big black Cadillac called death.
Now he is putting anxiety into space.
He flies his worries all around Venus,
But it does him no good.
In space where for a long time there is only emptiness,
He drives a big white globe called death.
Now dear children
Who have learned the first lesson about man,
Answer your test:
"Man is the saddest animal.
He begins in zoology,
And gets lost
In his own bad news."
-------
I don't know much about poetry. But I like this poem, which I just came across last night in an essay about the poetry of Thomas Merton. One reason I like the poem is that I find it to be a graceful interplay between tragedy and humor. But I don't know what is meant by that repeated line about man beginning "in zoology."
Man begins in zoology.
He is the saddest animal.
He drives a big red car called anxiety.
He dreams at night
Of riding all the elevators.
Lost in the halls,
He never finds the right door.
Man is the saddest animal.
A flake-eater in the morning,
A milk-drinker.
He fills his skin with coffee
And loses patience with the rest of his species.
He draws his sin on the wall,
On all the ads in all the subways.
He draws moustaches on all the women
Because he cannot find his joy,
Except in zoology.
Whenever he goes to the phone to call Joy,
He gets the wrong number.
Therefore he likes weapons.
He knows all guns by their right name.
He drives a big black Cadillac called death.
Now he is putting anxiety into space.
He flies his worries all around Venus,
But it does him no good.
In space where for a long time there is only emptiness,
He drives a big white globe called death.
Now dear children
Who have learned the first lesson about man,
Answer your test:
"Man is the saddest animal.
He begins in zoology,
And gets lost
In his own bad news."
-------
I don't know much about poetry. But I like this poem, which I just came across last night in an essay about the poetry of Thomas Merton. One reason I like the poem is that I find it to be a graceful interplay between tragedy and humor. But I don't know what is meant by that repeated line about man beginning "in zoology."
Living in Germantown has given me a brand new appreciation for birds
Hafez says:
One rosy face from the world's garden for us is enough,
And the shade of that one cypress in the field
Strolling along gracefully for us is enough.
Look at the flow of money and the suffering
Of the world. If this glimpse of profit and loss
Is not enough for you, for us it is enough.
The dearest companion of all is here. What
Else is there to look for? The delight of a few words
With the soul friend is enough.
--
Listening to Chopin in my room, both windows open and the rain pouring down outside, incense burning, watching that nocturne spinning around on a beautiful turntable. Cascading notes getting twisted up into the quiet, repetitive chaos of the rain.
I suppose it will sound hyperbolic to say it, but wouldn't it be somehow opulent to ask for another dose of this? In the interest of modesty alone, wouldn't it feel appropriate now to put away this whole business of recorded music? Surely for me one side of a good record at the right moment is enough.
This morning I experienced the glory of God on my front porch--I was eating a grapefruit at 830 in the morning, jobless "downwardly-mobile" bourgeois dilettante that I am; I was surveying the front yard. A moment of silence creeps up on you and then the foreground of Yard and Breakfast and Schedule and What-I-Am-Doing-With-My-Life starts disintegrating, like expanding holes of acid consuming a piece of paper (where the acid is the dull, stubborn insistence of the Background to be noticed). White noise becomes colored noise and suddenly I get startled to notice all of these birds, singing, taking turns, overlapping and interrupting, screaming, calling from every direction, up in the trees all around, at every distance, at varied volume, all shapes and sizes. Lord have mercy I live in the center ring of a bizarre circus. Help, my homo sapiens frame of reference is outnumbered, drowning in the chaotic net of delicate sounds and drowning in what it represents: The day-to-day routines of a million tiny winged bodies (twitching, contracting, jumping into the air, pooping, hungry again), none of whom for even a moment have felt the need of taking up the burden of self-awareness. For goodness sakes what has the Robin or the Cardinal ever done to accommodate the grand narrative of the human race, much less the arc of my life?
Surely for me a half an hour with these little chirping aliens is enough. Surely I could move back to the cement jungle of North Philadelphia and live there for the rest of my life without ever seeing another exotic-looking migratory bird, protected by the reality of one such encounter.
One rosy face from the world's garden for us is enough,
And the shade of that one cypress in the field
Strolling along gracefully for us is enough.
Look at the flow of money and the suffering
Of the world. If this glimpse of profit and loss
Is not enough for you, for us it is enough.
The dearest companion of all is here. What
Else is there to look for? The delight of a few words
With the soul friend is enough.
--
Listening to Chopin in my room, both windows open and the rain pouring down outside, incense burning, watching that nocturne spinning around on a beautiful turntable. Cascading notes getting twisted up into the quiet, repetitive chaos of the rain.
I suppose it will sound hyperbolic to say it, but wouldn't it be somehow opulent to ask for another dose of this? In the interest of modesty alone, wouldn't it feel appropriate now to put away this whole business of recorded music? Surely for me one side of a good record at the right moment is enough.
This morning I experienced the glory of God on my front porch--I was eating a grapefruit at 830 in the morning, jobless "downwardly-mobile" bourgeois dilettante that I am; I was surveying the front yard. A moment of silence creeps up on you and then the foreground of Yard and Breakfast and Schedule and What-I-Am-Doing-With-My-Life starts disintegrating, like expanding holes of acid consuming a piece of paper (where the acid is the dull, stubborn insistence of the Background to be noticed). White noise becomes colored noise and suddenly I get startled to notice all of these birds, singing, taking turns, overlapping and interrupting, screaming, calling from every direction, up in the trees all around, at every distance, at varied volume, all shapes and sizes. Lord have mercy I live in the center ring of a bizarre circus. Help, my homo sapiens frame of reference is outnumbered, drowning in the chaotic net of delicate sounds and drowning in what it represents: The day-to-day routines of a million tiny winged bodies (twitching, contracting, jumping into the air, pooping, hungry again), none of whom for even a moment have felt the need of taking up the burden of self-awareness. For goodness sakes what has the Robin or the Cardinal ever done to accommodate the grand narrative of the human race, much less the arc of my life?
Surely for me a half an hour with these little chirping aliens is enough. Surely I could move back to the cement jungle of North Philadelphia and live there for the rest of my life without ever seeing another exotic-looking migratory bird, protected by the reality of one such encounter.
In the glass
Pre-eminent documentary filmmaker Errol Morris contributes something to the NY Times every now and again.
He's just come out with a fascinating retrospective of iconic images from the 43rd presidency, as curated by representatives of three of the major still photography proprietor: AP, AFP and Reuters.
Some of the commentary is of interest, some of it is forgettable and/or predictable. I'm afraid that many of the images are best reviewed as they were first viewed: without much interpretation.
In general, I find that the AFP collection blows the others away. However, the standout image for me is this AP shot, from Crawford, Texas, which I had never seen before:
There's so much to see here, between the varied poses of the supporting cast (esp. Rice), the lines of perspective, the horizon, the evocative setting (interrupted by the microphones). The president dominates this photo in his casual attire and confident poise. There has been from the beginning something very compelling about Bush's Texan-ness, something the Republican strategists sniffed from the get-go and then failed to capitalize on, and this shot sums up for me precisely that essence. As one facet among many, this Bush is--dare I say it--dead sexy.
The other worthy bit from Morris' piece is his closing thought, as nabbed from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
"Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., writing in 1859 (about 20 years after the first daguerreotypes appeared), called photography 'a mirror with a memory.' He writes,
'The man beholdeth himself in the glass and goeth his way, and straightway both the mirror and the mirrored forget what manner of man he was…'"
He's just come out with a fascinating retrospective of iconic images from the 43rd presidency, as curated by representatives of three of the major still photography proprietor: AP, AFP and Reuters.
Some of the commentary is of interest, some of it is forgettable and/or predictable. I'm afraid that many of the images are best reviewed as they were first viewed: without much interpretation.
In general, I find that the AFP collection blows the others away. However, the standout image for me is this AP shot, from Crawford, Texas, which I had never seen before:
There's so much to see here, between the varied poses of the supporting cast (esp. Rice), the lines of perspective, the horizon, the evocative setting (interrupted by the microphones). The president dominates this photo in his casual attire and confident poise. There has been from the beginning something very compelling about Bush's Texan-ness, something the Republican strategists sniffed from the get-go and then failed to capitalize on, and this shot sums up for me precisely that essence. As one facet among many, this Bush is--dare I say it--dead sexy.
The other worthy bit from Morris' piece is his closing thought, as nabbed from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
"Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., writing in 1859 (about 20 years after the first daguerreotypes appeared), called photography 'a mirror with a memory.' He writes,
'The man beholdeth himself in the glass and goeth his way, and straightway both the mirror and the mirrored forget what manner of man he was…'"
Kinds of technology
A while back I submitted this blog to a website that tracks a few basic statistics about it. Having this information available does a couple of things for me: First of all, it makes me a little embarrassed to be blogging, as I get so few visitors. Secondly, it provides me with a good laugh by tracking the google search phrases that bring my random google searcher to one of my posts.
I wanted to take the opportunity to review a few choice selections, in no particular order. Some of them are pretty surprising--I had to go to google and enter a couple of these search phrases myself to confirm that they will actually route you to this blog:
1. "the onion magazine"
I must be one of the few that finds these things funny.
2. "recent top stories"
Shockingly, this blog shows up as the third result for that phrase.
3. "too many sermon podcasts"
I feel for this guy. Perhaps he's part of an emerging constituency of internet browsers who are turning to google for some kind of therapeutic release.
4. "quotes baden powell nation of wasters"
Unfortunately my blog was unable to provide an intrepid browser with the following quote from "Recovering To Success: A Book of Life-Sport for Young Men," by an author named Robert Baden-Powell, who I have never heard of:
"'The world can be made safe for democracy, but democracy will never be safe for the world until the mental loafer is saved from himself.' There are mental loafers and wasters just as much as there are physical wasters, fellows who let themselves be guided by cheap newspapers, persuasive orators, and rotten literature and cinemas."
5. "what does frim look like"
You won't find any pictures of me on here. But you could get close by looking up the old post that discusses my celebrity look-alike.
6. "how to get a frim but and tight legs" (sic)
All time favorite.
7. "kinds of technology", "three kinds of technology", "what are the kinds of technology", and the altruistic "what kinds of technology will help the poor"
This theme, in its many variations, brings in a steady stream of random cyber-guests. What shows up on google is an old post that was made up of a quote from Ted Kaczynski's technology manifesto. My best guess of what these browsers are looking for is quick-n-dirty ideas to work into an essay, maybe for some introductory-level college class in engineering or technology theory. The following answer, provided by Yahoo(!) answers, should do for these purposes: (1) Instructional technology (2) Assistive technology (3) Medical technology (4) Technology productive tools (5) Information technology. However, if you, dear reader, happen to be one such befuddled youngster, please note that in my newly legitimate, google-result-endorsed, blogger opinion, there is no conventional over-simplification of the "kinds" of technology that can justify your question. Technology encompasses all kinds of human creations and therefore contains an infinite amount of possible uses and categories. Certainly there is no authoritative single way to divide technology into "kinds". But, I happen to think Ted's theory is worth repeating. He breaks down technology into two functional categories: tools which can be used independently and those which are dependent on other tools to be used, requiring an ever more complex system to be sustained.
8. "my hands feel heavy"
I wanted to take the opportunity to review a few choice selections, in no particular order. Some of them are pretty surprising--I had to go to google and enter a couple of these search phrases myself to confirm that they will actually route you to this blog:
1. "the onion magazine"
I must be one of the few that finds these things funny.
2. "recent top stories"
Shockingly, this blog shows up as the third result for that phrase.
3. "too many sermon podcasts"
I feel for this guy. Perhaps he's part of an emerging constituency of internet browsers who are turning to google for some kind of therapeutic release.
4. "quotes baden powell nation of wasters"
Unfortunately my blog was unable to provide an intrepid browser with the following quote from "Recovering To Success: A Book of Life-Sport for Young Men," by an author named Robert Baden-Powell, who I have never heard of:
"'The world can be made safe for democracy, but democracy will never be safe for the world until the mental loafer is saved from himself.' There are mental loafers and wasters just as much as there are physical wasters, fellows who let themselves be guided by cheap newspapers, persuasive orators, and rotten literature and cinemas."
5. "what does frim look like"
You won't find any pictures of me on here. But you could get close by looking up the old post that discusses my celebrity look-alike.
6. "how to get a frim but and tight legs" (sic)
All time favorite.
7. "kinds of technology", "three kinds of technology", "what are the kinds of technology", and the altruistic "what kinds of technology will help the poor"
This theme, in its many variations, brings in a steady stream of random cyber-guests. What shows up on google is an old post that was made up of a quote from Ted Kaczynski's technology manifesto. My best guess of what these browsers are looking for is quick-n-dirty ideas to work into an essay, maybe for some introductory-level college class in engineering or technology theory. The following answer, provided by Yahoo(!) answers, should do for these purposes: (1) Instructional technology (2) Assistive technology (3) Medical technology (4) Technology productive tools (5) Information technology. However, if you, dear reader, happen to be one such befuddled youngster, please note that in my newly legitimate, google-result-endorsed, blogger opinion, there is no conventional over-simplification of the "kinds" of technology that can justify your question. Technology encompasses all kinds of human creations and therefore contains an infinite amount of possible uses and categories. Certainly there is no authoritative single way to divide technology into "kinds". But, I happen to think Ted's theory is worth repeating. He breaks down technology into two functional categories: tools which can be used independently and those which are dependent on other tools to be used, requiring an ever more complex system to be sustained.
8. "my hands feel heavy"
A New Year's Post
In recognition of the dawn of 2009, I have prepared the a year-end list. I am calling it "The Most Important Ideological Questions of 2008."
Unlike The Wire magazine's top 50 albums of 2008 list and Time magazine's list of Fond Farewells 2008, it is not a very practical list. This is because (1) it has only one entry, and (2) it is likely to exist in the same form at the end of 2009 (as it has for 2007 and 2006). Nevertheless and without further ado:
THE MOST IMPORTANT IDEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS OF 2008:
1. Is the world getting better and better or is the world getting worse and worse?*
I suggest that your answer to this very basic question will determine a great deal of your politics and your religion. It will certainly determine your response to the many technological developments in which we are awash.
Greg Ash is a friend from church and a graphic designer. I contributed an essay to the latest installment of the monthly digital magazine he puts out.
You can download it here.
My essay is basically a review and reflection on a recent NY Times editorial by Kevin Kelly, an influential technological-cultural theorist and writer whose name and thoughts have regularly appeared on the pages of this blog. His NYT piece (which I would recommend reading) basically claims that the written word (as located in "the book") is in the process of being replaced by the image (as located on "the screen"). This is a thesis which comes across as either techno-centrically pretentious or really obvious, depending on how you look at it.
Though it undergirds the whole essay, The Most Important Ideological Question of 2008 waits patiently for 800 words to make a cameo appearance in the concluding sentences.
*Granted: If we're looking to get basic, the question "(What) Will I eat today?" is a more influential question in determining ideology. But I have chosen to confine my list to a more abstract or rational kind of questioning.
Unlike The Wire magazine's top 50 albums of 2008 list and Time magazine's list of Fond Farewells 2008, it is not a very practical list. This is because (1) it has only one entry, and (2) it is likely to exist in the same form at the end of 2009 (as it has for 2007 and 2006). Nevertheless and without further ado:
THE MOST IMPORTANT IDEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS OF 2008:
1. Is the world getting better and better or is the world getting worse and worse?*
I suggest that your answer to this very basic question will determine a great deal of your politics and your religion. It will certainly determine your response to the many technological developments in which we are awash.
Greg Ash is a friend from church and a graphic designer. I contributed an essay to the latest installment of the monthly digital magazine he puts out.
You can download it here.
My essay is basically a review and reflection on a recent NY Times editorial by Kevin Kelly, an influential technological-cultural theorist and writer whose name and thoughts have regularly appeared on the pages of this blog. His NYT piece (which I would recommend reading) basically claims that the written word (as located in "the book") is in the process of being replaced by the image (as located on "the screen"). This is a thesis which comes across as either techno-centrically pretentious or really obvious, depending on how you look at it.
Though it undergirds the whole essay, The Most Important Ideological Question of 2008 waits patiently for 800 words to make a cameo appearance in the concluding sentences.
*Granted: If we're looking to get basic, the question "(What) Will I eat today?" is a more influential question in determining ideology. But I have chosen to confine my list to a more abstract or rational kind of questioning.
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