The last day of vacation is too often preceded by sad dreams.

WORK

Cities at night, I feel, contain men who cry in their sleep and then say Nothing. It’s nothing. Just sad dreams. Or something like that… Swing low in your weep ship, with your tear scans and your sob probes, and you would mark them. Women—and they can be wives, lovers, gaunt muses, fat nurses, obsessions, devourers, exes, nemeses—will wake and turn to these men and ask, with female need-to-know, “What is it?” And the men say, “Nothing. No it isn’t anything really. Just sad dreams.”

—Martin Amis
—from The Information

WORD(S)

incunabula. noun. Generically, the first stages or earliest traces of the development of anything. In books/publishing, volumes produced during the infancy of publishing, before 1500 AD. Singular: incunabulum, incunable; adjective: incunabular. A collector of incunabulum is, of course, an incunabulist.

“Here they fancy that they can detect the incunabula of the revolutionary spirit.” (Thomas DeQuincey)

“Margaret treated it with a special delicacy. She carefully lifted up the front cover, supporting it with both hands. The printing inside looked different somehow, elegant and italicized, more like handwriting than printed letters. ‘It’s an incunable,’ she said quietly, rapt.” (Lev Grossman)

“Now that my mother all settled and happy I feel like becoming happy too—but the three girls are arriving soon (Joyce, Elise, Carol) and Neal all blowing hot and big season to begin. New poet on scene, little incunabular Burroughs with glasses called Dave Whitaker … (seventeen).” (Jack Kerouac)

“This Rome of the Popes, this womb of the ideal, this Ninevah of the purple, this Babylon of the cross, this Sodom of mysticism, this ark of sadistic dreams, this incunabulum of sacred follies, this generator of the new passion, this Rome, I never again shall see!” (Remy de Gourmont)

WEB

1. I heard this story in the car the other day and it’s worth a few minutes: how Karen Stobbe and her husband Mondy are using their skills as improv comics to communicate in a new way with those who have dementia.

2. “15 Types of Poets You’ll Find at Poetry Readings”. It’s funny because it’s true. A tip of the hat to: Reader T. Related: a Facebook acquaintance remarks, “One type of poet you’ll find at readings: the kind who writes.”

3. “The Strange & Curious Tale of the Last True Hermit” is making the rounds and for good reason…it’s a very well written piece about an intriguing (and polarizing) character.

4. Haiku extracted from random Supreme Court opinions.

5. Today in 1949, Martin Amis, son of Kingsley Amis but a compelling and controversial author in his own right, is born. That GQ profiled him at all, much less with the title “Martin Amis is Not a Jerk,” might provide some insight into one of our more interesting contemporary writers.

REPRISES/RESPONSES/REJOINDERS/RIPOSTES

• After reading 9 Poems Penned by Presidents, Reader T. asks: “Who knew Warren G. Harding was the original Warren G.?”

• Reader M. muses, rightly: “I’m guessing your subject line [Aug. 22: by the prigging of my thumbles] was an intentional homage to Ray Bradbury, who was born that day?”

I welcome comments, suggestions, thoughts, feedback and all manner of what-have-you. Just press ‘Reply’ or email to: clippings@katexic.com.

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