Sentient in San Francisco – 28 October 2019

Contemporary American Art – Darren Thompson: Part I of II.

Below – “Flurries and Slickers”; “Bumpershoot”; “Sidewalk Radio City”; “Close of the Day”; “Wintry”; “South Loop.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 28 October 1998 – Ted Hughes, and English poet, playwright, and Poet Laureate from 1984 to 2008.

by Ted Hughes

Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.

Contemporary American Art – Darren Thompson: Part II of II.

Below – “L Train A Comin’”; “Wavelet”; “Monument in Snow”; “The Drizzle”; “Paperwork”; “Running Lanes.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 28 October 1903 – Evelyn Waugh, an English novelist, travel writer, biographer, critic, and journalist.

Some quotes from the work of Evelyn Waugh:

“I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I’m old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.”
“Your actions, and your action alone, determine your worth.
“Punctuality is the virtue of the bored.”
“To know and love one other human being is the root of all wisdom.”
“Sometimes, I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.”
“There is something incomparably thrilling in first opening a brand new book.”
“Beer commercials are so patriotic: Made the American Way. What does that have to do with America? Is that what America stands for? Feeling sluggish and urinating frequently?”
“Evelyn Waugh: How do you get your main pleasure in life, Sir William? Sir William Beveridge: I get mine trying to leave the world a better place than I found it. Waugh: I get mine spreading alarm and despondency and I get more satisfaction than you do.”
“They are a very decent generous lot of people out here and they don’t expect you to listen…. It’s the secret of social ease in this country {America]. They talk entirely for their own pleasure. Nothing they say is designed to be heard.”
“If politicians and scientists were lazier, how much happier we should all be.”
“After all, damn it, what does being in love mean if you can’t trust a person.”
“If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.”
“I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind, and that wherever I went afterwards I should feel the lack of it, and search for it hopelessly, as ghosts are said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world.”
“I did not know it was possible to be so miserable and live but I am told that this is a common experience.”
“Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols; vagabond-language scrawled on gate-posts and paving-stones along the weary road that others have tramped before us; perhaps you and I are types and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search, each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.”

Contemporary American Art – Erica Lambertson: Part I of II.

Below – “Sun Room”; Untitled; “Belgrade”; “Ferry”; Untitled; Untitled.

This Date in Literary History: Died 28 October 2014 – Galway Kinnell, an American poet and recipient of both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.

“Blackberry Eating”
by Galway Kinnell

I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry — eating in late September.

Contemporary American Art – Erica Lambertson: Part II of II.

Below – “Ruin Walkers”; “Float Away”; “Botticelli’s Primavera”; Untitled; “Studio Shelf Still Life”; “New Hampshire.”

Poem for Today

by Nancy Botkin

All the roofs sloped at the same angle.
The distance between the houses was the same.
There were so many feet from each front door
to the curb. My father mowed the lawn
straight up and down and then diagonally.
And then he lined up beer bottles on the kitchen table.

We knew them only in summer when the air
passed through the screens. The neighbor girls
talked to us across the great divide: attic window
to attic window. We started with our names.
Our whispers wobbled along a tightrope,
and below was the rest of our lives.

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