Notes Number 5: Smells Like Berfrois Spirit

Nevermind, I’m already 10 minutes late for my appointed volunteer shift at the Portland Convention Center to help out at AWP19. Turns out even 11:30 am too early for this old kid to gig. I hope my unexcused absence doesn’t reflect too poorly on my literary reputaughtshun. But I will use the time though, looking ever closer and deeper into “Berfois: The Book” and “Queen Mob’s Teahouse: Teh Book.”

Whenever confronted with conventions, I remember the Salinger story “A Perfect Day for Bananafish,” which begins:

“THERE WERE ninety-seven New York advertising men in the hotel, and, the way they were monopolizing the long-distance lines, the girl in 507 had to wait from noon till almost two-thirty to get her call through. She used the time, though. She read an article in a women’s pocket-size magazine, called “Sex Is Fun-or Hell.” She washed her comb and brush. She took the spot out of the skirt of her beige suit. She moved the button on her Saks blouse. She tweezed out two freshly surfaced hairs in her mole. When the operator finally rang her room, she was sitting on the window seat and had almost finished putting lacquer on the nails of her left hand.”

Why ninety-seven? The 97th Infantry Division was active in WWII, but Salinger served in the 4th Infantry Division. In any case, today, “the girl in 507” would, in addition to all her other time using activities, be on her cell phone, wouldn’t she? As for the advertising men, they might be attending an Associated Writers and Writing Programs annual convention, such as AWP19, this week being held in Portland. Portland is a good place for bananafish. Maybe something to do with all the rain. In the today Salinger story version, AWP might be an acronym for All Earwickers Post.

But the word “ear” appears only once in “Berfrois: The Book.” Six times in “Queen Mob’s Teahouse: Teh Book.” One can read too closely. And that’s just whole words, anyway. Backing up a bit, we see “ear” appears frequently as part of other words: years, bear, Radishes, breath, Misrepresentation (in the Berfrois book); Eavesdropping, great, Picaresque, artes, Funeral, Breakfast (in the Queen Mob’s book).

The only use of the whole word “ear” found in “Berfrois the Book” is in the essay by Ed Simon, “Moved the Universe: Notes Toward an Orphic Criticism” (59:72):

“…Erato whispering in Sappho’s ear…” (59).

In his essay, Simon speaks to the mystery of literature. It’s what can’t be quizzed in class. Nor is it:

“I’ve no interest in taste, discernment, or style…” (66).

Simon is talking about the ear, about listening. He’s not asking what is literature, but where does it come from, and how does it get here. How do we hear it, learn it, learn to listen to it, for it. It’s a raw approach. It cuts through a lot of crap:

“What defines the Orphic approach is never necessarily analytical acumen (certainly not that), nor adept close readings, but rather, an ecstatic, enchanted, enraptured sense of the numinous at literature’s core. Orphic criticism is neither method nor approach, but rather attitude and perspective” (71).

For a reader, the attitude might have a bearing on Nabokov’s emphasis on relying on one’s “spine,” the “tingle” that goes up it when the magic kicks in:

“A major writer combines these three – storyteller, teacher, enchanter – but it is the enchanter in him that predominates and makes him a major writer…a great writer is always a great enchanter, and it is here that we come to the really exciting part when we try to grasp the individual magic…In order to bask in that magic a wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle” (5:6). (Nabokov, “Good Readers and Good Writers,” from “Lectures on Literature,” Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London, 1980).

Simon’s essay is in form a classic argument, and a perfect example of one. Plus, we get a history of literary criticism and enough references to keep us going for some time. The essay bemoans the very academic sustenance that gave it life, but explains why. In essence, theory grows monstrous when it becomes horror to the common reader. Simon’s statement, about which there will be some disagreement, I found very persuasive, intuitive, purposeful, clear and concise yet thorough and clarion in its call to let the sound back into the word.

Justin Erik Halldor Smith‘s “The G.O.E” (101:108 B:TB) is, at least in one sense, also about the ear:

“What I remember most vividly is the great cleavage, in the earliest time, when the moon was torn away from us” (101).

The speaker seems to be an ecological griot, an evolutionary being that “remembers everything,” and attempts to dialog with those who may have forgotten or never knew:

“There is a memory that runs through all of us unbidden, and that can be brought to the surface with a little effort. In this effort, we stop being I and thou, which seems implausible, but I have always felt that coming to see oneself as an I in the first place was the far more remarkable way of apprehending the world, while conjuring our shared memory with all the other Is is by far less remarkable” (101).

Justin’s piece is in form a parable. Why is life so reliant on symbiotic relationships that eat one another? There is a partnership, on Earth, at least, of animal and plant life. At least one form from the animal life world has suppressed and oppressed plant life. Too, within the animal world, there are unmarked distinctions that have grown into borders creating divides that threaten all kinds of partnership. Why does life eat itself so?

We find more “ears” embedded in “Queen Mob’s Teahouse: Teh Book.” But, before we get too far away from “the girl in 507,” we find, in QM’sT:tB, “advertising.” Only once, both books combined, do we find the word “advertising.” It’s in “Conductor,” by Nate Lippens:

“I drive around my hometown, past the Sons of Norway advertising a Saturday lutefisk lunch, past the strip mall, past the mega-stores and past the Irish sports pub where men who look like fraternal twins line the bar with boilermakers” (187).

How is disgust drawn, when even one’s mother expresses doubt? While pure hate simply ignores, or pretends to. What happens when dislike pierces the skin so often we begin not to like ourselves, and begin to scratch away at an itch the source of which we know comes from where? Do we begin to blame ourselves for being the lightning rod? Nate’s piece seems a personal essay (it could be a story, the narrator a character). The writing is visceral, honest, seemingly true to experience. The writing is clear, drives forward without blinking. The essay contains the kind of writing you feel in your spine.

We interrupt this post for a PSA (Public Service Announcement): I’ve learned that I am being given the opportunity of redeeming myself from today’s (now, as I continue these notes, yesterday’s) unexcused absence. ~~Either tomorrow or Friday~~, This afternoon, I should be helping out at the Berfrois table at AWP19 for a spell. I’ll be wearing my ears and my advertising cap. If your there, the table ID is T11094. We might talk about how I’ve no doubt misread Simon and Smith, Lippens, and now Pickens?.

Meantime, in the Queen Mob’s book, we find Robyn Maree Pickens using the word “ear” in “The skeleton of a dog who is still alive” (47:57).

“She has been trained to fix her gaze on the clients’ hairlines or ear tips” (48).

The story moves in a form of dream language, which is to say surreal, both clear and unclear at once. Yet,

“Her dreams are full of bounding for terriers. They are either benign guides or soporific constellations that suffocate her eyes. They must never talk about dreams at the institute. She registers the cessation of oscillating air on her head and leaves the circle” (51).

Perhaps the secret to reading all dreams is simply this:

“All references are lost. Their lives are so short. They glisten. They hum” (57).

The Pickens story also is the kind that you feel in your spine.

This is the fifth in a series with notes on AWP19 and the concurrent publication of the Berfrois and QM’sT books. I’m reading through the Berfrois anthologies this week and commenting on the writing and the conference as the week wears on.

20190327_162032 — Spring in Portland for AWP19

Earworms Again

I hear tiny sounds roar like catapults through chasms. I hear dust flakes turning as they fall through the air in my room and hit the floor with a bang and spin and crash into one another like bumper cars until they each finally settle into some tiny cavern in the cracking oak floor, while another dust storm, activated by the sneeze of a moth near the ceiling, already spins out of control, howling across the room’s stormy air.

I didn’t always hear things so closely. I was a fairly inattentive listener. That is to say, I was not constantly berated for being a poor listener. When the fickle finally realize what they just said, they’re happy you weren’t listening.

I wasn’t born with the huge ears now hanging from my now bald head, ears that sprout sprouts and fungi.

Did she say I was bald? I am not bald. My hair is as robust as the oak leaf, and as glossy green. I’m not sure what has turned it so green. My hair used to be yellow. Too much blue mixed in over the years.

Words hover at my ears like siege engines threatening the gates of paradise. She brings words to me. A single no in one ear splits my skull. A melodious perfumed yes rises and fills my head like a muddy wave. My asymmetrical hearing has me looking this way and that at the walls and the corners, wondering where these words are coming from.

Even as I write these words with a pencil in a notebook, I must wear earmuffs. Music? Surely you are up to some vile jest with that word. They will be here soon. We should prepare some snacks, cheese and bread, set out a couple of wines. Is there any of that red left from last night? It was a light and pleasant red. By the swallow you already forgot. Not like this morning’s coffee. What a dreadful burden coffee has become, so thick, sulfur. And what it does to the whole system, like eating a plate of butterflies with a spoon.

So, I’ve been at it again, this writing business. Well, not a proper business, of course (I hasten to add for the severe critics ready to jump their seat), this, in any case, not a profitable business. But what is profit? And what profits a man? Unless one considers the profits of emissions never (insert whatever adverb you’d like) to return.

If one could only write the final emit. Hit the send button one last time and be done with it. Send. How easy is that? Not like the return bar. Grab, pull, slide, and “ding!” That pecking order. Still, then there was at least the bottom of a page, and the roller, and the wad up, and the ball game with the trash can. How absurd now though these bottomless pages. Go on forever, you let them.

Delete not the same as emit. Delete and it was never there. Emit and there’s the refuse. Signs. Like reading tea leaves. She used to read my tea leaves. Trace my palm. Didn’t care where I came from, where I might be going. We went for walks, happily empty. Do you remember we used to run around barefoot?

No sound was too loud in those days. The world was acoustic, the breeze, the trees, the small waves asking for some beach to rest and relax.

Ires & Ears & Reader Satisfaction Survey

Instructions: Read each row left to right, then, in each empty cell in the first column, insert a word that irks you. In the corresponding empty cell in the far right column, insert your irky word’s opposite. If you can’t think of a word that irks you, insert a word that feels good to your ears. (Note: You may also read the words by column, top to bottom, or bottom to top – individual reader experience may vary.)

play	ear	piquancy
ear	wig	able
ear	ate	oblige
ear	riff	hive
ear	rev	rant
iron	browse	nose
ear	irk	sum
ir	clothed	ears
ear	iris	bow
ear	nose	spell
ire	oh	you
rear	reverse	ably
wear	plus	tear
spread	sheet	foot on
oval	ire	head
for	get	it
come	out	side

Reader Satisfaction Survey

In the cell to the right of the comment, indicate your level of satisfaction with The Coming of the Toads blog, using a 1 for “highly likely,” 2 for “depends,” 3 for “no opinion,” 4 for “not likely,” and 5 for “no way.” If the question suggests an “agree” or “disagree” answer, use 1 for “totally agree,” 2 for “agree somewhat,” 3 for “sometimes,” 4 for “I meditate often,” and 5 for “totally disagree.”

	1	2	3	4	5
I’ll probably stop reading your blog soon:
I’d rather listen to the radio or watch TV:
I prefer posts that are not poetry:
I want to see more pictures:
You should sponsor some giveaways:
Have you thought of knitting for a hobby?
I liked the recent bicycle post:
I’m not sure what you mean by a post?:
I’m currently reading “War and Peace”:
I’m thinking of subscribing to a magazine:
I’m thinking of buying a new car:
I have enough clothes to suit my needs:
I can never get a plumber when I need one:
I got here by mistake:
I was referred here by my plumber:
My socio-economic demographic sucks:

Thank you for visiting The Coming of the Toads and for participating in the survey.

A few gratuitous pics for this post, because some readers have come to expect pics with words, and, believe it or not, appreciate a good selfie when they see one:

Photo for cover draft

Foggy Day

Psychosomatic foghorn earborn earworms!

“I see you and Joe finished that book on mistakes. Was it good?”
“Joe posted some notes to his blog.”
“Did anyone read that post? I noticed he got no likes or comments.”
“To be a blogger is to go unread as no author dare go unread.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“So what are you reading now?”
“I’m thinking of picking up The Sorrows of Young Werther.”
“Sounds like an unnecessary error. I just read for fun.”
“What is fun?”
“Psychosomatic foghorn earborn earworms!”
“Please don’t say that again.”
“So did you help Joe with that post?”
“I put forth a few views.”
“Phew! Thinko agin!”
“Agenbite of widget.”
“Let’s go outside and have some fun!”
“I recall a moment, long ago, that may have been fun.”
“That’s the spirit! Let’s go!”

Common Earworm Remedies and the Mutant Earworm

Thanks a compost heap to the Atlantic’s Jeffrey Goldberg (April, 2011) for re-infecting readers with a term we already could not forget – earworms. Earworms are snippets of jingles or songs that unwanted, uninvited, and unannounced crash the polite party of our otherwise peaceful thoughts. We now have a mutant version that has crawled through our ear producing an image of the brain as a worm farm, a compost bin of electric eels. Our previous version of the insidious virus was bad enough, a sponge soaking in brine. Our brain plays host like a seashore shell to homeless snails that worm their way in, and no Q-Tip can reach them.

It’s like the kid whose mom washes his mouth out with a washrag and a bar of soap, for she overheard him let slip with a playground ditty, a mouthworm, a dirty word, and she hopes to get to his brain by way of his mouth, but no amount of mouthwash can clean the miscreant tongue. Just so, Q-Tips cannot reach earworms.

The mutant earworm is a strain some think threatened by the current reading crisis, exemplified by the pending disappearance of newspapers. But its mutant capabilities seem to make full eradication unlikely. The very word “earworm” is a classic example. We now think of the brain as a mass of worms electronically touching ends, randomly sparking the dull slow mass to inexplicable thoughts, thoughts like thinking of the brain as a mass of worms…. The mutant earworm invades without benefit of the jingle or song. The word is enough, and it seems to infect readers more than non-readers.

Neurologists don’t know where earworms come from, and given the current health care crisis, cries for help are being ignored.

There are of course two kinds of earworms: the bad kind, and the good kind. They often travel in pairs, but it sometimes takes two or three good earworms to outwit the bad earworms. To outwit a bad earworm with a good earworm, it helps to have a ready list of songs you can stick in your ear, common earworm remedies, household cures. A few bars of any of the following should reduce your bad earworm to compost dust after a few bars:

“Hear Comes the Night” (Bert Berns, 1964). Van Morrison with Them, 1965.
“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” (1949). Hank Williams.
“Walkin’ After Midnight” (Block & Hecht, 1957). Patsy Cline.
“Are You Lonesome Tonight” (Handman & Turk, 1926). Elvis & other versions.
“Skylark” (Johnny Mercer & Hoagy Carmichael, 1941). Many versions, one of the best is K. D. Lang’s for the soundtrack to the film “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.”
“Oh Lonesome Me” (Don Gibson & Chet Atkins, 1958). Johnny Cash 1961, Neil Young 1970.
“All of Me” (Marks & Simons, 1931). Many versions.