|k| clippings: 2015-02-17 — crossing over

Sad news of poet Philip Levine’s passing a few days ago, so please excuse a slightly longer than usual WORK. Many, many readers will know Levine from his (rightfully) oft-anthologized poems “Animals Are Passing From Our Lives” (featured here before) and “What Work Is”. Levine was, by all accounts of mutual friends, not just a fine poet but an extremely generous reader and teacher—which are often the same thing—as well. RIP.

WORK

“M. Degas Teaches Art And Science At Durfee Intermediate School, Detroit, 1942.”

He made a line on the blackboard,
one bold stroke from right to left
diagonally downward and stood back
to ask, looking as always at no one
in particular, “What have I done?”
From the back of the room Freddie
shouted, “You’ve broken a piece
of chalk.” M. Degas did not smile.
“What have I done?” he repeated.
The most intellectual students
looked down to study their desks
except for Gertrude Bimmler, who raised
her hand before she spoke. “M. Degas,
you have created the hypotenuse
of an isosceles triangle.” Degas mused.
Everyone knew that Gertrude could not
be incorrect. “It is possible,”
Louis Warshowsky added precisely,
“that you have begun to represent
the roof of a barn.” I remember
that it was exactly twenty minutes
past eleven, and I thought at worst
this would go on another forty
minutes. It was early April,
the snow had all but melted on
the playgrounds, the elms and maples
bordering the cracked walks shivered
in the new winds, and I believed
that before I knew it I’d be
swaggering to the candy store
for a Milky Way. M. Degas
pursed his lips, and the room
stilled until the long hand
of the clock moved to twenty one
as though in complicity with Gertrude,
who added confidently, “You’ve begun
to separate the dark from the dark.”
I looked back for help, but now
the trees bucked and quaked, and I
knew this could go on forever.

—Philip Levine
—from What Work Is

Bonus: listen to Philip Levine read his poem
Bonus II: read an insightful post by Edward Byrne about Levine, Degas and this poem

WORD(S)

pulvinar /pəl-VIY-nər/. noun. A cushioned seat in a temple, or at a Roman circus or other public spectacle intended for use by the gods (or, in their stead, any royals that happened to be around). In anatomy: a bump on the back of the thalamus. From Latin pulvinus (cushion).

“The ‘pulvinaria’ were the cushions, or couches, placed in the temples of the Gods, for the use of the Divinities; which probably their priests (like their brethren who administered to Bel) did not omit to enjoy.” (Henry Thomas Riley)

“In the pre-Augustan period the pulvinar would have been simply a wooden platform, raised up some distance, upon which the images of the gods or the cult objects representing them were placed and from which they would have ‘watched’ the games.” (John H. Humphrey)

WEB

1. I’ve shared Brian Dettmer’s amazing book art/sculpture before, but when two different friends share a link within minutes of each other, it must be good stuff. → Gallery: New Art Carved from Old Books Hat-tip: Readers K. and C.

2. “Bills, garbage duty, cleaning up after dinner—living together will test any couple’s bond. But the act of combining bookshelves supplies its own revelations.” → The Books

3. Nearly 200 poets—including Alice Notley, Lynne Heijinian, Weldon Kees, Jack Gilbert and so many others you will recognize—reading from their work, thanks to Harvard’s Woodberry Poetry Room → The Listening Booth.

4. “This new series of posts will explore what I call ‘typeface mechanics’, the behind-the-scenes work that makes typefaces visually functional. It is what placates the stubborn oddities of human perception, helps or hinders the user, and informs long-standing conventions of design.” → Typeface Mechanics: 001 by Tobias Frere-Jones

5. Today in 1863, the International Red Cross—winner of three Nobel Peace Prizes in 1917, 1944, and 1963—is founded in Geneva, Switzerland by Jean Henri Dunant, who had witnessed the brutal Battle of Solferino in which 40,000 men were wounded or killed in just one day. The American Red Cross was founded by Clara Barton, AKA the Civil War’s “Angel of the Battlefield.” In addition to the Geneva Conventions, the Red Cross continues to be one of the most widely recognized and influential humanitarian organizations in the world. Incidentally, because of the potential religious meanings of the cross, there are more symbols that represent the organization than the red cross most are familiar with, including the red crescent and the red crystal (diamond).

REPRISES/RESPONSES/REJOINDERS/RIPOSTES

• Reader B. invents another form of reading that appeals a bit to me: “I read your ‘hectoreading’ as ‘hector-reading’, perhaps a more extravagant form of hate-reading.”

• Reader A. shares a nice bit of etymology: “Someone long ago lectured me about my proud use of sarcasm that it came from a word meaning to ‘tear flesh’. In arrogance I never looked it up. Fuck, they were right. ¶ French or Late Latin; French sarcasme, from Late Latin sarcasmos, from Greek sarkasmos, from sarkazein to tear flesh, bite the lips in rage, sneer, from sark-, sarx flesh; probably akin to Avestan thwarəs- to cut. ¶ […] The letter writing thing inspired me to do a 6 part Burma Shave type poem to someone via postcards.”

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

And please feel free to share anything here as far and wide as you want! If you want to give a shout-out, please link to: http://katexic.com/clippings/.

Daily(ish) email overwhelming you? Email chris+weekly@katexic.com to switch to the weekly digest edition.