Tuesday, December 3, 2013

MOON ON THE RAIN








“The first of a thousand and one confusing things about weather is: why wind from a storm doesn’t come from the direction of that storm.  The second is: why high pressure doesn’t blow outward and directly into low pressure (like air from a balloon does), into the surrounding atmosphere.  The explanation is that we are used to measuring things with earthly “yardsticks,” whereas the laws of space make things look illogical.  To us, the horizon is flat, but from the moon, I guess that horizon looks pretty round.”


 



Note: Eric Sloane's inquiries, explanations and, most of all, his remarkable artwork (not shown here, but in other recent posts) concerning weather science and our place in the ordered/disordered universe, enlighten and ennoble us. The excerpt above is taken from the Cyclonic Storms chapter of his superb Book of Storms (Hurricanes, Twisters & Squalls).


But tonight, sitting here in the teardown ruins of USA today in virtual company of three pencil-neck millionaire tv pundits -- a liberal plus two flanking conservatives -- jawboning pseudo-provocatively about Obamacare (the liberal's punchline/coda, which went down smoothly among the group, I'm sorry to report, was essentially "but this doesn't affect any of us, so who fucking cares?") forced me bed contemplating that hoary Chicago lyric:


"Does anybody really know what time it is?  Does anybody really care?"
 

The horizon appears flat, illogical, hopeless (period).  I long for the long view, the magical moon view, and sometime once again, possibly, a good night’s sleep.
 



Monday, December 2, 2013

RIDE ON CASSANDRA






I can't believe that it's real,
The way that she makes me feel.
It's something deep down inside,
Though it's a feeling I cannot tie.
She's never been unfaithful to me,
So we will always be.
She's never been unfaithful to me,
As far as I can see.
She gave me love in the morning and in the evening too.
She gave me love in the morning and in the evening too.
She gave me love when I'm lonely, so I've never felt blue.
She gave me love when I'm lonely, so I've never felt blue.
So ride on, Cassandra, ride on, yes, ride on, ride on.
Ride on, Cassandra, ride on, ride on, 
ride on.







Evelyn De Morgan, Cassandra, 1898, De Morgan Centre, London, above; Ajax taking Cassandra, tondo of a red-figure kylix by the Kodros Painter. 440-430 BC, Louvre, Paris, below.


Sunday, December 1, 2013

LOVE GETS YOU





Soon will the harsh time break on us, the north wind hoot in the branches which all swish together with their closed-over boughs of leaves;  no bird sings nor ‘peeps’ now, yet love teaches me to make a song that shall not be second nor third, but first for freeing the embittered heart.



Love is the garden-close of worth, a pool of prowess (i.e., low flooded land) whence all good fruits are born if there be one to gather them faithfully; for not one does ice or snow destroy while the good trunk nourisheth them; but, if knave or coward break it, the sap is lost between the loyal.





Ezra Pound, sections I and II from En Brau Brisaral Temps Braus (trans. of Arnaut Daniel) from I Gather The Limbs of Osiris (1911-12)