Posts Tagged ‘Aaron Copland’

Time to Remember

July 9, 2014
No Longer Home

No Longer Home

And I wondered if a memory is something you have or something you’ve lost.

Another Woman, film by Woody Allen

A loaded feature of vacation, no matter how brief, is that slowing down of time and expansion of space for pausing and pondering.  This first day of mini-vacation has brought that immeasurable gift to me.  As I write this, I am listening to Aaran Copland’s “Appalachian Spring” and memories are so thick I have to brush them away like swarming gnats to the face.  

After hours of leisure spent over the pages of Melville’s Moby Dick, I felt visited by so many ideas from so many walks of life, and my emotions could not be quelled.  I walked away from the book and settled onto a comfortable sofa to stare at the TV for awhile.  I am not sure why I inserted an old VHS tape of Woody Allen’s Another Woman, except for the fact that I have watched this film numerous times over the past couple of decades, love the story, the characters, the pregnant diaglogue, and especially the intropsection one feels when moving into the later years of life.  I can understand why a film like this bombed at the American box office–the general movie-watching public wants entertainment, not thought.  And this movie really induces thought.

I posted one of my favorite lines at the top of this entry: “And I wondered if a memory is something you have or something you’ve lost.”  With it, I have posted a watercolor I did a long time ago of my Grandma McNeely’s house, of the second story where I slept when I spent summer vacations there on her farm.  My mother slept in that room as a child.  The house has now lost all its paint.  Heavy winter snowfall has torn the porch roof away from the structure and when I last saw it, the roof was still lying on the ground in front of the house.  The entire house now lists like an antique ship in the harbor without its center of gravity.  A sad sight today, but my memory of it in days when it was still a liveable dewelling still abide with me.

Before I turn my attention away to some work that needs to be done on courses I’ll teach in the fall, I wanted to post a portion of one of my favorite Walt Whitman poems, “.Eidólons”

I met a seer,

Passing the hues and objects of the world,

The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,

To glean eidólons.

Put in the chants said he,

No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,

Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,

That of eidólons.

Ever the dim beginning,

Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,

Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again),

Eidólons!  Eidólons!

Thanks for reading.

I paint in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone.

I blog to remind myself I am not really alone.