MONDAY, 9 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "Passengers," by Billy Collins from Picnic, Lightning © University of Pittsburgh Press.
Passengers
At the gate, I sit in a row of blue seats
with the possible company of my death,
this sprawling miscellany of people—
carry-on bags and paperbacks—
that could be gathered in a flash
into a band of pilgrims on the last open road.
Not that I think
if our plane crumpled into a mountain
we would all ascend together,
holding hands like a ring of skydivers,
into a sudden gasp of brightness,
or that there would be some common place
for us to reunite to jubilize the moment,
some spaceless, pillarless Greece
where we could, at the count of three,
toss our ashes into the sunny air.
It's just that the way that man has his briefcase
so carefully arranged,
the way that girl is cooling her tea,
and the flow of the comb that woman
passes through her daughter's hair ...
and when you consider the altitude,
the secret parts of the engines,
and all the hard water and the deep canyons below ...
well, I just think it would be good if one of us
maybe stood up and said a few words,
or, so as not to involve the police,
at least quietly wrote something down.
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of novelist Philippa Gregory, born in Nairobi, Kenya (1954), who now lives in Hartlepool, England. She's the author of a trilogy of novels about the Laceys, a family of wealthy 18th-century landowners. Wideacre (1987) was the first in the series.
It's the birthday of Irish playwright Brian Friel, born Bernard Patrick Friel, near Omagh, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland (1929). He was working as a teacher in Londonderry when his short stories began appearing in the New Yorker. This early success encouraged him to become a full-time writer. His first major play was Philadelphia, Here I Come! (1964); since that time, he has written over two dozen plays, including Translations (1980) and Dancing at Lughnasa (1990).
It's the birthday of the 37th president of the United States, Richard Milhous Nixon, born in Yorba Linda, California (1913). He ran for president in 1960, and lost to John F. Kennedy by only 113,000 out of 69 million votes cast. Two years later, he lost the race for governor of California and announced that he was quitting politics, saying, "You won't have Richard Nixon to kick around any more." But in 1968 he ran for President a second time, this time defeating the Democratic nominee, Hubert H. Humphrey.
On this day in 1909, the Antarctic expedition led by Sir Ernest H. Shackleton was forced to turn back just ninety-seven miles short of reaching the South Pole.
It's the birthday of French writer and feminist Simone de Beauvoir, born in Paris (1908). She's the author of novels and autobiographical works, including Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter (1958), but she is best known for her influential study of women in society, The Second Sex (1949). Gloria Steinem said: "If any single human being can be credited with inspiring the woman's movement, it's Simone de Beauvoir."
It's the birthday of the man who created "Blondie"—Murat Bernard (Chic Young), born in Chicago (1901). The strip started in 1930 as the story of a playboy and his flapper girlfriend. After a year or two, a manager at King Features approached Young with a suggestion. "Why don't you have them marry? You know more about married life than you do about dating anyway." Dagwood and Blondie were married on February 13, 1933, and Young's comedy of high society was recast in middle-class suburbia.
TUESDAY, 10 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "On My Own," by Philip Levine from New and Selected Poems © Alfred A. Knopf.
On My Own
Yes, I only got here on my own.
Nothing miraculous. An old woman
opened her door expecting the milk,
and there I was, seven years old, with
a bulging suitcase of wet cardboard
and my hair plastered down and stiff
in the cold. She didn't say, "Come in,"
she didn't say anything. Her luck
has always been bad, so she stood
to one side and let me pass, trailing
the unmistakable aroma of badger
which she mistook for my underwear,
and so she looked upward, not
to heaven but to the cracked ceiling
her husband had promised to mend,
and she sighed for the first time
in my life that sigh which would tell
me what was for dinner. I found my room
and spread my things on the sagging bed:
and bright ties and candy striped shirts,
the knife to cut bread, the stuffed weasel
to guard the window, the silver spoon
to turn my tea, the pack of cigarettes
for the life ahead, and at last
the little collection of worn-out books
from which I would choose my only name—
Morgan the Pirate, Jack Dempsey, the Prince
of Wales. I chose Abraham Plain
and went off to school wearing a cap
that said "Ford" in the right script.
The teachers were soft-spoken women
smelling like washed babies and the students
fierce as lost dogs, but they all hushed
in wonder when I named the 400 angels
of death, the planets sighted and unsighted,
the moment at which creation would turn
to burned feathers and blow every which way
in the winds of shock. I sat down
and the room grew quiet and warm. My eyes
asked me to close them. I did, and so
I discovered the beauty of sleep and that
to get ahead I need only say I was there,
and everything would open as the darkness
in my silent head opened onto seascapes
at the other end of the world, waves
breaking into mountains of froth, the sand
running back to become salt savor
of the infinite. Mrs. Tarbox woke me
for lunch—a tiny container of milk
and chocolate cookies in the shape of Michigan.
Of course I went home at 3:30, with
the bells ringing behind me and four stars
in my notebook and drinking companions
on each arm. If you had been there
in your yellow harness and bright hat
directing traffic you would never
have noticed me—my clothes shabby
and my eyes bright—; to you I'd have been
just an ordinary kid. Sure, now you
know, now it's obvious, what with the light
of the Lord streaming through the nine
windows of my soul and the music of rain
following in my wake and the ordinary air
on fire every blessed day I waken the world.
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of poet Philip Levine, born in Detroit, Michigan (1928).
It's the birthday of American historian Dumas Malone, born in Coldwater, Mississippi (1892). He's remembered for his six-volume biography of Thomas Jefferson, Jefferson and His Time, which came out between 1948 and 1981. The biography was recently selected as one of the hundred greatest non-fiction books of the 20th century by the Modern Library.
It's the birthday of the American poet Robinson Jeffers, born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (1887), the son of a theologian. He entered medical school at the age of 19, but dropped out; he went to the School of Forestry at the University of Washington, in Seattle, but scrapped that, too, after less than a year. Then he went to California, where he got married and published his first volume of poetry, Flagons and Apples (1912). He built himself a tower in Carmel, where he lived the rest of his life.
On this day in 1863, the world's first underground passenger train opened in London: the Metropolitan Line. Before the line opened, The Times of London wrote: "It is an insult to common sense to suppose that people would ever prefer to be driven amid palpable darkness through the foul subsoil of London." Nevertheless, the new London Underground was an immediate success.
WEDNESDAY, 11 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "Lost," by David Wagoner from Collected Poems 1956-1976 © Indiana University Press.
Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of novelist Alan Paton, born in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa (1903). He was running a government reform school for young black boys when he wrote his first and most famous novel, Cry, the Beloved Country (1949). The success of it allowed Paton to resign from his government post and devote himself to writing. His second novel was Too Late the Phalarope (1953). Alan Paton, who said: "I could have made better use of my life, but I did try hard to do one thing. That was to persuade white South Africa to share its power, for reasons of justice and survival."
It's the birthday of American philosopher and psychologist William James, born in New York City (1842). During his long tenure on the faculty at Harvard, he became one of the founders of the philosophical school known as Pragmatism. He explained Pragmatism by saying: "The ultimate test for us of what a truth means is the conduct it dictates or inspires." Truth was not an abstract idea; it could be judged only by practical, concrete results. So, in his book The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), he argued that the truth of a religious belief could only be determined by the emotional satisfaction it provided. James coined the term "stream of consciousness" to describe the fluid and shifting state of ideas in the human mind. He was the older brother of the novelist Henry James.
It's the birthday of the founder of Cornell University, Ezra Cornell, born in Westchester Landing, New York (1807). He grew rich as the business partner of Samuel F. B. Morse, the inventor of the telegraph. In 1868 he established Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, with an initial endowment of $3 million.
On this date in 1770, Benjamin Franklin introduced rhubarb to America. He was representing the American colonies as an ambassador in London, and sent a crate of rhubarb to his friend John Bartram. The plant, native to central Asia, had been introduced in Europe by traders; the rhubarb which Franklin sent to America had come to London from Siberia. Rhubarb first appeared in American seed catalogues in 1829, and soon became a popular ingredient in pies. John Bartram was also responsible for introducing kohlrabi and poinsettias to America.
It's the birthday of the American Founding Father Alexander Hamilton (1755). He was born in the British West Indies, but moved to New York City when he was 17. He became a vocal advocate for a strong centralized government, wrote more than half of the Federalist Papers, and became the leader of the Federalist Party. During Washington's Presidency, Hamilton served as the nation's first Secretary of the Treasury (1789-1795).
THURSDAY, 12 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "Venetian Air," by Thomas Moore.
Venetian Air
Row gently here, my gondolier; so softly wake the tide,
That not an ear on earth may hear, but hers to whom we glide.
Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes to see,
Oh! think what tales 'twould have to tell of wandering youths
like me!
Now rest thee here, my gondolier; hush, hush, for up I go,
To climb yon light balcòny's height, while thou keep'st watch
below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above but half such pains as we
Take day and night for woman's love, what angels we should
be!
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of Walter Mosley, born in the Watts section of Los Angeles (1952). His novels, Devil in a Blue Dress (1990), A Red Death (1991), and White Butterfly (1992) are all set in Los Angeles in the 1950s, featuring the black detective Easy (Ezekiel) Rawlins. Mosley considers his mysteries character-driven, not plot-driven, and the character, of course, is the detective. His other books include Walkin' the Dog (2000), and the science fiction novel Blue Light (2000).
It's the birthday of American poet and publisher A. D. (Allan Davis) Winans, born in San Francisco (1936). In 1971 he founded Second Coming Press, which made a name for itself by publishing the poetry of Charles Bukowski and other beat writers.
It's the birthday of writer John Griffith (Jack) London, born in San Francisco (1876). By the age of 14, he was supporting his family by raiding oyster beds and selling the stolen oysters to markets in San Francisco. As a teenager, he went to sea on a seal-hunting vessel, and, in 1897, he set out for Alaska in search of gold. Instead, he found a range of experiences which he crafted into stories. His first big success came in 1903, with the publication of The Call of the Wild. It was followed by The Sea Wolf (1904), White Fang (1906) and the autobiographical novel Martin Eden (1909). He wrote fast and drank hard and managed to spend most of the money he earned as the highest-paid writer in the United States as quickly as he got it. He bought a ranch in California and built a huge mansion on the property. Late in his life, London said: "I write for no other purpose than to add to the beauty that now belongs to me. I write a book for no other reason than to add three of four hundred acres to my magnificent estate." Nonetheless, he considered himself a socialist.
It's the birthday of American painter John Singer Sargent, born in Florence, Italy (1856), the son of American expatriates. He spent most of his life in Europe—in Paris and London—and created a sensation in 1884 when his portrait of a famous Parisian beauty, "Madame X," was shown at the Paris Salon and shocked many people with its eroticism. He was one of the great portrait painters of Edwardian high society in England. In 1910, however, Sargent gave up portrait painting and began concentrating on murals and landscapes, including a mural for the Boston Public Library.
It's the birthday of French writer Charles Perrault, born in Paris (1628). A lawyer, a poet, and critic, he's best known for the collection of fairy tales which he called Tales of Mother Goose (1697), including such famous stories as "Little Red Riding Hood," "Sleeping Beauty," and "Cinderella."
FRIDAY, 13 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats," by Walt Whitman.
Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats
Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats,
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me,
(For what is my life or any man's life but a conflict with foes,
the old, the incessant war?)
You degredations, you tussle with passions and appetites,
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds the
sharpest of all!)
You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses,
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of
any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother'd
ennuis!
Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come
forth,
It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies beneath me,
It shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory.
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of novelist and short-story writer Elizabeth Searle, born in Philadelphia (1962). She was a special-education teacher working with autistic patients in a state hospital and wrote a number of stories set in that world; they were collected in her first book, My Body to You (1993). Her first novel, A Four-Sided Bed, came out in 1998. Her second novel is Celebrities in Disgrace.
It's the birthday of novelist Edmund White, born in Cincinnati, Ohio (1940), the author of seven highly acclaimed novels, including the semi-autobiographical coming of age novel, A Boy's Own Story (1982) and its sequel, The Beautiful Room is Empty (1988).
It's the birthday of feminist scholar and mystery novelist Carolyn Heilbrun, born in East Orange, New Jersey (1926). As a feminist scholar, she produced such works as Reinventing Womanhood (1979), and Hamlet's Mother and Other Women (1990). At the same time, she wrote mysteries under the pen name Amanda Cross, featuring English professor and sleuth, Kate Fansler.
On this date in 1910, the first live opera broadcast took place from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City. Enrico Caruso sang in Pagliacci.
On this date in 1898, the French newspaper L'Aurore ran a letter by the novelist Emile Zola, under the title J'accuse. The letter was a fierce condemnation of French military officials, who were prosecuting a Jewish officer, Alfred Dreyfus, for treason. Zola was convinced that Dreyfus was the victim of an anti-Semitic conspiracy, and wrote his letter denouncing the prosecution. After the publication of the letter, Zola was himself prosecuted, for libel, and found guilty. He fled to England, returning to France in 1899. He died in Paris in 1902—Captain Dreyfus attended the funeral.
It's the birthday of the popular 19th-century American writer Horatio Alger Jr., born in Chelsea, Massachusetts (1832). He graduated near the top of his class at Harvard University, then spent two years in the ministry before moving to New York City and starting a career as a writer. He wrote a novel called Ragged Dick; or Street Life in New York with the Boot Blacks (1867), about a shoeshine boy who goes from rags to riches through a combination of hard work and good luck (or "luck and pluck"). The novel was a huge success. Over the next 30 years, Alger published more than a hundred successful novels using the same formula.
SATURDAY, 14 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: "January," by Baron Wormser from Mulroney and Others © Sarabande Books.
January
"Cold as the moon," he'd mutter
In the January of 5 A.M. and 15 below
As he tried to tease the old Chev into greeting
One more misanthropic morning.
It was an art (though he never
Used that curious word) as he thumped
The gas pedal and turned the key
So carefully while he held his breath
And waited for the sharp jounce
And roar of an engaged engine.
"Shoulda brought in the battery last night."
"Shoulda got up around midnight
And turned it over once."
It was always early rising as he'd worked
A lifetime "in every damn sort
Of damn factory." Machines were
As natural to him as dogs and flowers.
A machine, as he put it, "was sensible."
I was so stupid
about valves and intakes
He thought I was some religious type.
How had I lived as long as I had
And remained so out of it?
And why had I moved of my own free will
To a place that prided itself
On the blunt misery of January?
"No way
to live," he'd say as he poked
A finger into the frozen throat
Of an unwilling carburetor.
His breath hung in the air
Like a white balloon.
Later on the
way to the town where
We worked while the heater
Wheezed fitfully and the windshield
Showed indifference to the defroster
He'd turn to me and say that
The two best things in this world
Were hot coffee and winter sunrises.
The icy road beckoned to no one,
Snow began to drift down sleepily,
The peace of servitude sighed and dreamed
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of writer Anchee Min, born in Shanghai, China (1957). She came to this country in 1984, and a few years later began writing about her experiences in China. The resulting book, Red Azalea, was published in 1994. She has also written two novels, Katherine (1996) and Becoming Madame Mao (2000).
It's the birthday of American novelist Tillie Olsen, born Tillie Lerner, in Omaha, Nebraska (1913). A young radical, she started work on a novel about the struggles of the working class, but put it aside when she was raising her children. Her short story, "Tell Me a Riddle," won the O. Henry Award for the best American short story in 1961, and became the title story of her first published book (1962). In Silences (1979), she wrote about the conflict between motherhood and writing. She wrote: "Children need you now ... The very fact that these are real needs, that you feel them as your own, that there is no one else responsible for these needs, gives them primacy. It is distraction, not meditation, that becomes habitual; interruption, not continuity; ... Unused capacities atrophy, cease to be."
It's the birthday of novelist John Dos Passos, born in Chicago (1896), to a wealthy family that sent him to Harvard University. He became one of the émigré writers in Paris, part of the circle that included Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and E. E. Cummings. He made his reputation with his novel Manhattan Transfer (1925), followed by The 42nd Parallel (1930), 1919 (1932) and The Big Money (1936).
It's the birthday of Hugh Lofting, born in Maidenhead, Berkshire, England (1886). When he was 26, he decided to settle in New York City and become a writer, even though he was trained as a civil engineer. He had written letters to his children containing stories about a character named Dr. Dolittle, who was able to talk to animals. In 1922, he came out with The Story of Dr. Dolittle (1922). Its first sequel, The Voyages of Dr. Dolittle (1923), won the Newbery Medal for the best children's book of the year. Between 1922 and 1929, Lofting produced one Dr. Dolittle book each year. He died in 1947.
SUNDAY, 15 JANUARY, 2006
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Poem: lyrics from "I am the Monarch of the Sea," by W.S. Gilbert from H.M.S. Pinafore.
I am the Monarch of the Sea
When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an Attorney's firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so carefullee
That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee!
As office boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand-
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee!
In serving writs I made such a name
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the pass examination at the Institute,
And that pass examination did so well for me,
That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
That they took me into the partnership.
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen.
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee!
I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little, they rewarded me
By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule--
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be rulers of the Queen's Navee!
Literary and Historical Notes:
It's the birthday of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr., born in Atlanta, Georgia (1929). As president of the Southern Christian Leadership Council, he organized voter registration drives, sit-ins and marches throughout the South, protesting segregation. He was shot and killed on April 4, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee, where he'd gone to support a sanitation workers' strike. He was thirty-nine years old.
It's the birthday of writer Frank Conroy, born in New York City (1936). He's the author of the novels Stop-Time (1967), and Body and Soul (1993), and the story collection Midair (1985). He was the director at the Iowa Writers' Workshop from 1987 up until his death last year.
It's the birthday of author Ernest J. Gaines, born in Oscar, Louisiana (1933), best known for his classic, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (1971), and for A Lesson Before Dying, which won the 1993 National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction.
It's the birthday of French playwright and actor Molière, born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, in Paris (1622). As a young man, he refused to join his father's upholstery business, and ran off with an actress and her family's itinerant theater troupe. They toured all around the provinces with great success for about 14 years (1645 until 1658), but avoided Paris because Molière had been imprisoned there three times for debt. When they finally did return to Paris, Molière attempted to win the king's favor by presenting a tragedy, but bad reviews of his acting nearly ruined his career. He found success only when he staged one of his own short farces, "Love's The Best Doctor." King Louis XIV became a champion of his work, and even appeared as a ballet dancer in one of them. His plays include: Tartuffe, Don Juan, The Miser, and The Misanthrope. He once said, "It's an odd job making decent people laugh."
On this day in 1879, Gilbert and Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore: or, The Lass That Loved a Sailor was first performed in New York. A Pinafore craze quickly swept the country, thanks to the show—a clean show at a time when the theater was considered disreputable. Its success prompted producers to create more musicals and, since then, Broadway has been home to the American musical theater. H.M.S. Pinafore remains one of the most popular Gilbert and Sullivan operettas.
