Linmag ~
Great additions on the sunglasses and his, "No Sir, I am not lying" connections to poems! The desert, as well, what a great metaphor for the 'long trip' and 'sweat' he puts into his poems, even during his arid times.
~ Elizabeth
Let's talk about A Life of Errands
I’ve been away watching trees grow but I’ve just read the last few very interesting entries. I think we’ve reached a point now where we are using the poem to explore our own and one another’s ideas, with the poem itself being just one of us.
As I read people’s ideas, which tend to focus on certain aspects, I often re-read the entire poem to see how I am perceiving it in the fullness of time (a fine, rolling Biblical phrase). I find it interesting to imagine the poem being said in different ways, by different people. As a little aside, I have a friend who, as a party stunt, recites that lovely little French poem by Ronsard (I forget the title but the first line goes, “Mignonne, allons voir si la rose....”) in a very tough voice with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. I think I read in some interview with LC, which I could try to track down, but since that looks like an awful lot of trouble, I’m hoping someone else will know it, in which he talks about his poems (or I think, songs) being flexible that way, that people can read many different meanings into them. Well, that’s what we’ve been doing, isn’t it, but I thought it was interesting that he thought that.
At any rate, I was struck by the posting by one person who said perhaps this was a world-weary, even cynical, poem, and by another who said it reflected the perceived limitations of age, and others who found it saintly. I guess I am of the persuasion who see it as a simple, yes, attempt at saintliness (in the humblest possible way); however, one of the saddest things about this poem to me, as a selfish person, is the implication that the narrator’s life is devoted entirely to serving others; it is, as the title indicates, a life of errands. There is an almost frantic tone to it: drive, deliver, fetch, whip down major highways, pick up, thirstily embrace commissions, hours across the desert...
While I would like to be saintly, I see my old age as one in which my daily schedule might be 8-1, drink coffee and read the paper; 9-9:01, snarl at a telemarketer; 9:01-10:30, stretch out in the sunshine with a glass of sherry and read a good book; 10:30-12:30, be saintly and do things for people that they haven’t even thought about yet regardless of whether they want these things done or not; 12:30-2:00, good lunch, three glasses wine, sex, nap; 2:00-2:30, wake up with a coffee down at the corner coffeehouse; 2:30-4:00, help people across the street, pet dogs, find lost things and return them, etc.; 4:00-8:00, drinks at the nabe, dinner, conversation.... Well, you get the idea. In our independent DIY culture (speaking of the USA, where I live), I have found that sometimes a great service you can do others is to allow them to do a service for you. When one can no longer drive across the desert, what? I think of Milton’s line: They also serve who only stand and wait. Perhaps that's the not-very-lucky part.
Here is a perhaps interesting exercise. If you have a friend who has not read this poem, ask him/her to read it one line at a time, covering the rest of the lines with a sheet of paper. In this way, he/she will read, for example, If You Are Lucky... Ask him/her to speculate on what will come next. Continue in the same way: You Will Grow Old.... What? What will be a result of being lucky and growing old? Sometimes doing a poem this way is like a strip-tease and interesting insights drop along the way, like underwear.... I think I’ve worn out this comparison. Good-bye for now.
As I read people’s ideas, which tend to focus on certain aspects, I often re-read the entire poem to see how I am perceiving it in the fullness of time (a fine, rolling Biblical phrase). I find it interesting to imagine the poem being said in different ways, by different people. As a little aside, I have a friend who, as a party stunt, recites that lovely little French poem by Ronsard (I forget the title but the first line goes, “Mignonne, allons voir si la rose....”) in a very tough voice with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. I think I read in some interview with LC, which I could try to track down, but since that looks like an awful lot of trouble, I’m hoping someone else will know it, in which he talks about his poems (or I think, songs) being flexible that way, that people can read many different meanings into them. Well, that’s what we’ve been doing, isn’t it, but I thought it was interesting that he thought that.
At any rate, I was struck by the posting by one person who said perhaps this was a world-weary, even cynical, poem, and by another who said it reflected the perceived limitations of age, and others who found it saintly. I guess I am of the persuasion who see it as a simple, yes, attempt at saintliness (in the humblest possible way); however, one of the saddest things about this poem to me, as a selfish person, is the implication that the narrator’s life is devoted entirely to serving others; it is, as the title indicates, a life of errands. There is an almost frantic tone to it: drive, deliver, fetch, whip down major highways, pick up, thirstily embrace commissions, hours across the desert...
While I would like to be saintly, I see my old age as one in which my daily schedule might be 8-1, drink coffee and read the paper; 9-9:01, snarl at a telemarketer; 9:01-10:30, stretch out in the sunshine with a glass of sherry and read a good book; 10:30-12:30, be saintly and do things for people that they haven’t even thought about yet regardless of whether they want these things done or not; 12:30-2:00, good lunch, three glasses wine, sex, nap; 2:00-2:30, wake up with a coffee down at the corner coffeehouse; 2:30-4:00, help people across the street, pet dogs, find lost things and return them, etc.; 4:00-8:00, drinks at the nabe, dinner, conversation.... Well, you get the idea. In our independent DIY culture (speaking of the USA, where I live), I have found that sometimes a great service you can do others is to allow them to do a service for you. When one can no longer drive across the desert, what? I think of Milton’s line: They also serve who only stand and wait. Perhaps that's the not-very-lucky part.
Here is a perhaps interesting exercise. If you have a friend who has not read this poem, ask him/her to read it one line at a time, covering the rest of the lines with a sheet of paper. In this way, he/she will read, for example, If You Are Lucky... Ask him/her to speculate on what will come next. Continue in the same way: You Will Grow Old.... What? What will be a result of being lucky and growing old? Sometimes doing a poem this way is like a strip-tease and interesting insights drop along the way, like underwear.... I think I’ve worn out this comparison. Good-bye for now.
"I didn't go to the funeral of poetry. I stayed home and watched it on television." Karl Shapiro
What a super idea your last paragraph is for after-dinner conversation, Sohbet! I'm going to try that, though I may need to wait until I visit out of town somewhere 
~ poetry appreciators pretty skim around here. I agree that even more ["unrelated" to our ideas] layers and textures could emerge with this method 
Sounds like you have a pretty nice retirement planned. I'd forgotten that those telemarketers might actually dog me into retirement. As it is now, I can usually erase the day's worth from my answering machine , though a couple slip through to me in the evening once in a while 
.
I like what Ronsard has said, and really see that coming to life here, as you've noted, with everyone's input, as we "move in with" the poem. Milton was spot-on, too, in terms of allowing other people to be "givers," perhaps even some who have "taken" all their lives.
Is "the nabe" a slang abbreviation for "the neighbourhood bar/restaurant," or is it an actual place? Also, what does your acronym "DIY" stand for?
Thanks.
~ Elizabeth
~ poetry appreciators pretty skim around here. I agree that even more ["unrelated" to our ideas] layers and textures could emerge with this method Sounds like you have a pretty nice retirement planned. I'd forgotten that those telemarketers might actually dog me into retirement. As it is now, I can usually erase the day's worth from my answering machine
, though a couple slip through to me in the evening once in a while .I like what Ronsard has said, and really see that coming to life here, as you've noted, with everyone's input, as we "move in with" the poem. Milton was spot-on, too, in terms of allowing other people to be "givers," perhaps even some who have "taken" all their lives.
Is "the nabe" a slang abbreviation for "the neighbourhood bar/restaurant," or is it an actual place? Also, what does your acronym "DIY" stand for?
Thanks.
~ Elizabeth
Dear Joe,
It was very interesting to read about LC’ interview of that period where the reasons which made him stay at the Monastery were revealed. Yes, “a life of errands” can be interpreted as a simple way of “socialization”. And it’s quite good not for poets only! I can remark here it would be very good for me as for a person who tends sometimes to complicate things by thinking instead of preferring some simple useful actions [and it’s a Buddhistic definition for silliness 
].
Dear Elizabeth,
Of course, there was no need to contact me privately! Well, I’m ashamed of my mistakes – especially ones of such a type and in such a context – but I’m certainly one of those who like to laugh at themselves. And I really had been laughing all the morning! It was a “great joke”, too. And I love it, as well!
Dear Linmag,
Thank you very much for the comment on A Thousand Kisses Deep. It was very helpful for me!
And thanks for additional comments on the discussed poem. Now the words “I’m not lying” make me recall those ones from Hallelujah:
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
Dear Sohbet,
I like your scheduler for saintly! Great!!! As soon as I’ll become saintly I’ll write it at a sheet and put up near my desk. Oh, no, I’ll have to draw up my own one… I’d like to get up later a bit…
Yours,
TH
It was very interesting to read about LC’ interview of that period where the reasons which made him stay at the Monastery were revealed. Yes, “a life of errands” can be interpreted as a simple way of “socialization”. And it’s quite good not for poets only! I can remark here it would be very good for me as for a person who tends sometimes to complicate things by thinking instead of preferring some simple useful actions [and it’s a Buddhistic definition for silliness
].Dear Elizabeth,
Of course, there was no need to contact me privately! Well, I’m ashamed of my mistakes – especially ones of such a type and in such a context – but I’m certainly one of those who like to laugh at themselves. And I really had been laughing all the morning!
It was a “great joke”, too. And I love it, as well!Dear Linmag,
Thank you very much for the comment on A Thousand Kisses Deep. It was very helpful for me!
And thanks for additional comments on the discussed poem. Now the words “I’m not lying” make me recall those ones from Hallelujah:
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
Dear Sohbet,
I like your scheduler for saintly!
Great!!! As soon as I’ll become saintly I’ll write it at a sheet and put up near my desk. Oh, no, I’ll have to draw up my own one… I’d like to get up later a bit…Yours,
TH
I've finally found myself! But that turned out to be a completely different person.
/contemporary saying/
/contemporary saying/
for me, the line that makes this poem is the "In Spite Of The Ache In Your Heart About The Girl You Never Found..." line.
i remember once showing Leonard Cohen's poem 'On the path' to an aunt who said to me, look at the wisdom in that poem. and 'A Life Of Errands' is .... equally full of wisdom. i cut the poem out and carry a copy with me in a little book that also holds pictures of my cat...
this poem sums up life, for me. "A Certain Cheerfulness Will Begin To Arise Out Of Your Crushed Hopes And Intentions." despite the ache in your heart. for me, at the young age of 24 it seems like there is a lot of heartache to come between now and when i am as wise as LC. and i do feel an ache in my heart, and i can feel some hopes being crushed, now. and it puts a bit of a lump in my throat to read that some day i will recognize how crushed they are. 'Crushed' has a pulpy, living kind of feel to it, though, like grass beneath a footprint -- which for me gives the poem some of its beauty and balances the feelings of apprehension about growing old. for what does grass do if a boot presses it down? it springs back, no question about whether it 'should' or 'can' recover.
No Sir, he says, I Am Not Lying. in a world that treats the old and wise with a less than admirable amount of respect, that makes grandmothers and grandfathers feel pale and expired, it takes a certain amount of wisdom to share your wisdom about life and have to defend it with I Am Not Lying. this poem is ... there's a lot more in the poem than i can articulate right now. but one day i will find my little picture books and look at pictures of my beloved cat, read leonard cohen's poem and remember the ache in my heart, and maybe some wisdom will pass to me.
it's quite a poem. i feel a lump in my throat again.
i remember once showing Leonard Cohen's poem 'On the path' to an aunt who said to me, look at the wisdom in that poem. and 'A Life Of Errands' is .... equally full of wisdom. i cut the poem out and carry a copy with me in a little book that also holds pictures of my cat...
this poem sums up life, for me. "A Certain Cheerfulness Will Begin To Arise Out Of Your Crushed Hopes And Intentions." despite the ache in your heart. for me, at the young age of 24 it seems like there is a lot of heartache to come between now and when i am as wise as LC. and i do feel an ache in my heart, and i can feel some hopes being crushed, now. and it puts a bit of a lump in my throat to read that some day i will recognize how crushed they are. 'Crushed' has a pulpy, living kind of feel to it, though, like grass beneath a footprint -- which for me gives the poem some of its beauty and balances the feelings of apprehension about growing old. for what does grass do if a boot presses it down? it springs back, no question about whether it 'should' or 'can' recover.
No Sir, he says, I Am Not Lying. in a world that treats the old and wise with a less than admirable amount of respect, that makes grandmothers and grandfathers feel pale and expired, it takes a certain amount of wisdom to share your wisdom about life and have to defend it with I Am Not Lying. this poem is ... there's a lot more in the poem than i can articulate right now. but one day i will find my little picture books and look at pictures of my beloved cat, read leonard cohen's poem and remember the ache in my heart, and maybe some wisdom will pass to me.
it's quite a poem. i feel a lump in my throat again.
Dear jpx ~
Thank you for bringing your 24-year-old wisdom to this thread, with your feelings about this poem. You're wise beyond your years already. You bring a lot of your own feeling into expressing your own interpretation. I really love your perspective on the word "crushed"......"a pulpy, living kind of feel.....like grass beneath a footprint" and "springing back." You're right about the generalized lack of respect for the old, at least in our society. "....It seems like there is a lot of heartache to come between now and when i am as wise as LC" is very revealing of your own insight and sensitivity.
It's clear that you read this poem with your heart. I'm so glad you joined in here.
When I saw your avatar, I thought, "That looks like a "real" [your, as opposed to selected from a page of avatars] cat. Then, when I read your post, I decided I might as well ask. Is that a picture of your own beloved cat?
~ Elizabeth
Thank you for bringing your 24-year-old wisdom to this thread, with your feelings about this poem. You're wise beyond your years already. You bring a lot of your own feeling into expressing your own interpretation. I really love your perspective on the word "crushed"......"a pulpy, living kind of feel.....like grass beneath a footprint" and "springing back." You're right about the generalized lack of respect for the old, at least in our society. "....It seems like there is a lot of heartache to come between now and when i am as wise as LC" is very revealing of your own insight and sensitivity.
It's clear that you read this poem with your heart. I'm so glad you joined in here.
When I saw your avatar, I thought, "That looks like a "real" [your, as opposed to selected from a page of avatars] cat. Then, when I read your post, I decided I might as well ask. Is that a picture of your own beloved cat?
~ Elizabeth
Ciao Lizzytysh,
Am I not a "real" cat?
"Hath not a cat eyes? Hath not a cat paws, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as you? IF you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?"
And beside all this...I look great in evening clothes!
Vesuvius
Am I not a "real" cat?
"Hath not a cat eyes? Hath not a cat paws, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as you? IF you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?"
And beside all this...I look great in evening clothes!
Vesuvius
Oh dear, dear, dear, Vesuvius ~
Touche! No cat should I ever have considered un"cat"ing. Yes, of course, to everything you've listed that a cat undergoes 
. And you look better than any cat I've ever seen in evening clothes .
My apologies to you, kitty kitty; and after all this, jpx's avatar will probably have been selected from a page of them !
Meeeeeooooooowwwwws of apology to you,
Lizzytysh
Touche! No cat should I ever have considered un"cat"ing. Yes, of course, to everything you've listed that a cat undergoes
. And you look better than any cat I've ever seen in evening clothes .My apologies to you, kitty kitty; and after all this, jpx's avatar will probably have been selected from a page of them
!Meeeeeooooooowwwwws of apology to you,
Lizzytysh
Ves~ Yes, that is one truly beloved cat! Bellisima!
jpx~ I loved your delightful portraits of Marianne, (I'm assuming that's your cat's name - ?) she has such a lovely expression. Loved your perspectives on A Life Of Errands too.
Helven~ Thank you, glad you like my 'signature' mantras.
Love,
~Makera
jpx~ I loved your delightful portraits of Marianne, (I'm assuming that's your cat's name - ?) she has such a lovely expression. Loved your perspectives on A Life Of Errands too.
Helven~ Thank you, glad you like my 'signature' mantras.
Love,
~Makera
Thanks for pointing me to those photos, Vesuvius. I looked at 5 of them, and tried to do the big ones.....but they take forever to come up on my computer. I'll come back and do them later, as someone's due here pretty soon, and I want to catch up with the other threads first. Yes, Makera and Vesuvius, that is one truly beloved cat !
~ Lizzytysh
!~ Lizzytysh
Hello jpx,
Your cat is so charming! My favourite photos are “in bed”, “looking up”, “Marianne 8”, and “zzz”. And “paw and tail”!
And here is one more “real cat”. His name is Sidor. He was a kitten when this photo was made and now he’s a big furry cat, very tender but can show some muscle! And veeery talkative!
Now he says, Hellooowww All! [O, Marianne…]
I’ll let him stay here for awhile and then my dolphin will come back again.
Love,
TH&S
Meow!
Your cat is so charming!
My favourite photos are “in bed”, “looking up”, “Marianne 8”, and “zzz”. And “paw and tail”! And here is one more “real cat”. His name is Sidor. He was a kitten when this photo was made and now he’s a big furry cat, very tender but can show some muscle! And veeery talkative!
Now he says, Hellooowww All!
[O, Marianne…]I’ll let him stay here for awhile and then my dolphin will come back again.
Love,
TH&S
Meow!
I've finally found myself! But that turned out to be a completely different person.
/contemporary saying/
/contemporary saying/