Jul. 4, 2014
Rushed to reach the dentist's
and scratch one more item
off my list of things to do,
I hurry down the porch steps,
stopping, car door half open,
as I glance beyond the porch steps,
to see not one or two but seven turkeys
foraging on the hillside,
lean, each cupped in its feathery sheen
like ancient scales or bark,
each going its own unruffled way,
wattled bills picking who knows
what—seeds or insects—
except one preening in the sunlight,
wings flexed open in airy languor,
clear ground between it
and anything like harm.
They gabble. They dip
with each mincing step
as though warming to flightlessness,
Slowly, in some long association
dyed deep in the wing,
in a tongue for which
there are no words,
they answer to light,
working their way upward
toward the treeline at the crest,
past the furry shadow of a lone cedar.
Whichever way they turn is home.
Today is Independence Day. On this day in 1776, the Second Continental Congress unanimously adopted the Declaration of Independence, and the United States officially broke from the rule of England. The document was approved and signed on July 2, and was formally adopted on July 4. John Adams always felt that the Second of July was America's true birthday, and he refused to appear at Fourth of July celebrations for the rest of his life in protest.
Today is the birthday of Nathaniel Hawthorne (books by this author), born Nathaniel Hathorne in Salem, Massachusetts (1804). He married Sophia Peabody in 1842, and soon after their wedding, Hawthorne wrote to his sister, "We are as happy as people can be, without making themselves ridiculous, and might be even happier; but, as a matter of taste, we choose to stop short at this point."
When he lost his job at the Salem Custom House, Sophia surprised him with money she'd put away out of her household allowance just so he could write a book. And he did: The Scarlet Letter (1850), about Hester Prynne, a young Puritan woman who bears a child out of wedlock and must wear a red letter "A" for adultery as her punishment.
Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass was first published on this date in 1855 (books by this author). The first edition consisted of 12 poems and was published anonymously. Whitman helped set the type himself. He kept adding to the collection and, eight editions and 36 years later, the final "death-bed edition" contained almost 400 poems. The first edition received several glowing — and anonymous — reviews in New York newspapers. Most of them were written by Whitman himself. One such review read, "An American bard at last!" But there were legitimate reviews too; one by popular columnist Fanny Fern called the collection daring and fresh. Emerson felt it was "the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom America has yet contributed." But not everyone loved it; many called it filthy, disgusting, or repulsive, and John Greenleaf Whittier threw his copy into the fire.
It was on this date in 1931, at the Kensington Registry Office in London, that James Joyce and Nora Barnacle were wed, after living together for 26 years (books by this author). They had had their first date in 1904, and had only been dating a few months when Joyce decided that he wanted to leave Ireland to live in Europe. He couldn't face going without her, so even though he had only tenuous prospects, he plucked up the courage to ask her to come along. To his amazement, she agreed. The next night, he wrote to her, "The fact that you can choose to stand beside me in this way in my hazardous life fills me with great pride and joy." They lived all over Europe, had two children, and were usually broke — until Joyce published Ulysses in 1922. It was a financial success, and Joyce wanted to make sure that Nora and their children could inherit the royalties, so they finally tied the knot.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.®