Curiosity 5: Pantoums and villanelles

I met with my Thursday poets this afternoon, a generative group. We start with a theme, and several poems exemplifying the theme (today the theme was "simple"), read them out loud and chat a bit about them, then spend 30 minutes writing a poem of our own based on the theme. Finally, we share our attempts.

I have to keep convincing myself that I belong in this group. Many (most? all?) of the others are published poets. I just... like words. But so far, since I joined in March, they keep letting me in. And there's not too much eye-rolling at my feeble attempts at poetry. 

One subject that came up today was the difference between a villanelle and a pantoum (because one of the sample poems was... some hybrid form of both these, I think was the conclusion). Per WikiDiff, a villanelle "consists of five tercets and one [final] quatrain, with only two rhymes," while a pantoum "comprises a series of quatrains, the second and fourth lines of each stanza repeated as the first and third lines of the next." Got that? (I'm sure there's a more thorough discussion out there somewhere, but I'm willing to start simple.)

"One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop was mentioned as an example of a villanelle:

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

A page of the manuscript of "One Art"

 

Or there is "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke:

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

As for a pantoum, there's John Ashbery's "Pantoum"

Eyes shining without mystery,
Footprints eager for the past
Through the vague snow of many clay pipes,
And what is in store?

Footprints eager for the past,
The usual obtuse blanket.
And what is in store
For those dearest to the king?

The usual obtuse blanket
Of legless regrets and amplifications
For those dearest to the king.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs of oblivion,

Of legless regrets and amplifications,
That is why a watchdog is shy.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs of oblivion,
These days are short, brittle; there is only one night.

That is why a watchdog is shy,
Why the court, trapped in a silver storm, is dying.
These days are short, brittle; there is only one night
And that soon gotten over.

Why, the court, trapped in a silver storm, is dying!
Some blunt pretense to safety we have
And that soon gotten over
For they must have motion.

Some blunt pretense to safety we have:
Eyes shining without mystery
For they must have motion
Through the vague snow of many clay pipes.

 And "Parent's Pantoum" by Caroline Kizer (for Maxine Kumin):

Where did these enormous children come from,
More ladylike than we have ever been?
Some of ours look older than we feel.
How did they appear in their long dresses

More ladylike than we have ever been?
But they moan about their aging more than we do,
In their fragile heels and long black dresses.
They say they admire our youthful spontaneity.

They moan about their aging more than we do,
A somber group--why don't they brighten up?
Though they say they admire our youthful spontaneity
They beg us to be dignified like them

As they ignore our pleas to brighten up.
Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention
Then we won't try to be dignified like them
Nor they to be so gently patronizing.

Someday perhaps we'll capture their attention.
Don't they know that we're supposed to be the stars?
Instead they are so gently patronizing.
It makes us feel like children--second-childish?

Perhaps we're too accustomed to be stars.
The famous flowers glowing in the garden,
So now we pout like children. Second-childish?
Quaint fragments of forgotten history?

Our daughters stroll together in the garden,
Chatting of news we've chosen to ignore,
Pausing to toss us morsels of their history,
Not questions to which only we know answers.

Eyes closed to news we've chosen to ignore,
We'd rather excavate old memories,
Disdaining age, ignoring pain, avoiding mirrors.
Why do they never listen to our stories?

Because they hate to excavate old memories
They don't believe our stories have an end.
They don't ask questions because they dread the answers.
They don't see that we've become their mirrors,

We offspring of our enormous children.

 

Curiosity 4: Scorpions

We went for an afternoon hike today at Garrapata State Park, 15 miles south of us on the coast. Our goal was to find two geocaches that had been eluding us—and we did! So now that area is all smiley faces and we never have to go back! Because the hike is a real bear: steep up and, consequently, steep down. Still, it's a beautiful place and we had perfect weather: mid-60s, a nice breeze, clear skies, making for great views.

Along the way we saw many western fence lizards (Sceloporus occidentalis), what I'm guessing was a juvenile skink with its bright blue tail (Plestiodon sp.), a desiccated deer carcass, and, under a rock (still looking for geocaches), a scorpion! I'm guessing it was a California common scorpion (Paruroctonus silvestrii). 

That of course got me wondering: how many species of scorpion are there? Wikipedia tells me there are over 2,500 species, in 22 families, on all continents but Antarctica. Fun facts: Scorpions' exoskeletons contain fluorescent beta carboline and glow under ultraviolet light—which includes moonlight. The "glowing" is actually a way of reflecting the UV light, perhaps a protective mechanism from when scorpions were first on the planet, over 400 million years ago, and oxygen levels were low and UV light from the sun intense. Scorpions are nocturnal. Only a couple dozen species have stings venomous enough to seriously injure or kill a human. When scorpion babies (scorplings) are first born, their exoskeletons are soft, and their mama carries them on her back until they harden.

The more I study their anatomy, the more... impressed I am that a creature like this could even exist. Key: 1 = Cephalothorax or Prosoma; 2 = Abdomen or Mesosoma; 3 = Tail or Metasoma; 4 = Claws or Pedipalps; 5 = Legs; 6 = Mouth parts or Chelicerae; 7 = pincers or Chelae; 8 = Moveable claw or Tarsus; 9 = Fixed claw or Manus; 10 = sting or Aculeus; 11 = Telson (anus in previous joint); 12 = Opening of book lungs

A scorpion, by the way, has one pair of eyes on the top of its prosoma, and two to five more pairs on either side. If it weren't for the claws extending from the cephalothorax, I could almost buy that it has a head...

This is a quick entry, because I'm beat, and ready for some ice cream and TV (Great British Baking Show, perhaps?). But now I know a little more about scorpions than I did this morning, and that's a good thing. 

Here are two photos from our loop hike: overlooking the Pacific and on the way back through a redwood canyon. I will spare you the deer carcass, though it's actually pretty cool.

And the sea of smileys, with an idea of the steepness of the terrain (our elevation gain today was just shy of 2,000 feet, over the course of a couple of miles):

Curiosity 3: British long-distance paths

Talking with my friend Lynn recently about my (abbreviated) Thames Path experience, I mentioned that I'd love to go back and tackle another path—maybe a longer one, or a hillier one, or one that traverses a variety of landscapes. She said she'd be interested in joining me. I said I would not be camping, but rather staying in inns. Lynn is a hardy soul: she's completed, in sections, most of the 2,563-mile Pacific Crest Trail (she skipped the desert stretch). But she said she'd be happy living it up, and not camping. Okay then! Lynn is a wonderful walking companion—by which I mean also talking companion. It would be fun to spend a couple, few weeks exploring the British countryside with her.

But which trail(s)? There are hundreds of long-distance footpaths—defined by the Long Distance Walkers Association as "20 miles or more in length and mainly off-road." We could start with National Trails, of which there are 17: 

Cleveland Way, 110 miles, in North Yorkshire
*Cotswold Way, 102 miles, in central England
*Coast to Coast Walk, 197 miles, in Cumbria and North Yorkshire
England Coast Path, 2,795 miles
*Glyndŵr's Way, 135 miles, in Powys, mid-Wales
*Hadrian's Wall Path, 84 miles, in Northumberland, Cumbria
North Downs Way, 153 miles, in southeastern England
Offa's Dyke Path, 177 miles, along the Wales-England border
Peddars Way and Norfolk Coast Path, 97 miles, in Suffolk and Norfolk
Pembrokeshire Coast Path, 186 miles, in Pembrokeshire, southwest Wales
Pennine Bridleway, 205 miles, in the Pennines of northern England
*Pennine Way, 267 miles, in the Pennines and southern Scotland
The Ridgeway, 87 miles, in the Berkshire Downs of southern England
South Downs Way, 100 miles, southern England
South West Coast Path, 630 miles, through Somerset, Devon, Cornwall, and Dorset
Thames Path, 184 miles, southern England
Yorkshire Wolds Way, 79 miles, Yorkshire

Then there are the Scottish Great Trails—29 of them, ranging from 28 to 214 miles and including one I've already done, the exquisite West Highland Way (96 miles).

And the Wikipedia article on long-distance paths in the UK lists several hundred more. There is no shortage of places to walk! 

In fact, it's all a bit overwhelming—and so I took recourse in Google and the qualifier "best," which pointed me to an article in Travel & Leisure magazine: "10 Most Beautiful Walking Paths in the UK—with Views of the Seaside, Snowcapped Peaks, and Mystical Glens." Now we're talking. Five of the ten are National Trails (signaled with asterisks in the above list); the five others are the Quiraing, Isle of Skye, and West Highland Way, in Scotland; the Causeway Coast Way, Country Antrim, and Slieve Binnian, County Down, in Northern Ireland; and the Wales Coast Path. 

Or here are "10 Great Walking Trails Where You Won't See Another Soul."

So much beauty to choose from! We could do several short (2- to 3- to 4-day hikes), or one long one. For now, we've narrowed our choices down to the Pennine Way and Offa's Dyke Path—for which we even have guidebooks already, which I borrowed from Lynn several years ago. Things seem to be coming full circle. Both those hikes are fairly ambitious, but we wouldn't be far from civilization no matter what.

At this point, I'm betting Offa wins. I'd be perfectly happy with that. We'll see what happens.

P.S. 6/18 In the end, the Coast to Coast Path, scheduled to become Britain's 18th National Trail in 2025, won out. It traverses the narrow part of England, from the Irish Sea in Cumbria to the North Sea in Yorkshire. Here is the link to my daily FB digest. It was a wonderful experience!

Curiosity 2: Women Talking

On my way home from England recently, on a mostly empty economy class United flight—oh, the luxury! three seats to myself!—I watched movies most of the way: John Wick: Chapter 4 (I blame this on my traveling companion Babar ☛), When Harry Met Sally and Stand By Me (my ripostes), and Sarah Polley's Women Talking. 

I found Women Talking, about an existential conversation conducted by the women of a Mennonite community about their future, intriguing, disturbing, liberating. But one thing I didn't understand was the use of the Southern Cross as a wayfinding mark. It's a minor scene, but it threw me.

Turns out, the original novel, by Miriam Toews (2018), is based on events that actually transpired in a Bolivian Mennonite colony between 2005 and 2009. However, the novel shifts the story to somewhere in North America. And the film was shot in Canada (where Toews was herself raised in a Mennonite community). So clearly, the Southern Cross becomes incongruous—or, to use the geographic equivalent of the temporal term anachronistic, anatopic or anachoristic. (Yes, I just looked those terms up, and am happy to expand my vocabulary.)

It's funny, though, how one little detail can derail your willingness to suspend disbelief, even if only momentarily. Because of course, any movie demands that you do so. Any movie is a story. Even if it's a documentary: it's told from a certain perspective. A particular message is meant to be delivered. And it needs to be consistent.

Of course of course, I got over that silly Southern Cross detail, when it came to simply appreciating the weight of the story—though I did keep wondering: where in the southern hemisphere are there Mennonite colonies? Turns out, they're all over. In 1995 in Bolivia, there were 25, with a total population of 28,567. They're in South Africa, Australia, throughout eastern Africa, Indonesia, Brazil.

Was I the only person thrown (if but briefly) out of the story by the mention of the Southern Cross?

That said, I was delighted to be reacquainted with the song "Daydream Believer," which appears in the context of national census takers wandering through the area, the song blasting from speakers on top of their van—completely shunned by the community, until two young women decide to go talk to the drivers:

It's so incongruous—a 1967 hit becoming the theme of the 2010 census? in Canada, no less?—and yet so very perfect: somehow, not at all anachronistic, to my mind anyway. And honestly, I can't tell you how happy that song makes me feel. Which also makes me feel oh so hopeful about the women who have been talking.

And yes, I know I've said nothing about the issues discussed in the movie. See the movie. See what you think.

Curiosity 1: October 23

I wrote the other day about possibly reviving this blog. For a year. (A year!) 

I do admit, I like going back and looking at old posts. Oh: I used to like doing that! Oh: I'd still like to try to do that! Really? I did that?

Or looked at another way: it's bits and pieces, that all start to add up (maybe 50%, so far) to me. Maybe I'll try for a few more percent in this newest iteration.

For today—and this might well happen frequently—I searched for the date, October 23, on my Flickr feed (which I have not been keeping up with). And I got three hits, going way back:

2007: We got our midterms back today.
I didn't really get 100; I really got 99 (I wrote pide
instead of the correct pedí, but she gave me an extra point
for a fancy sentence I wrote about a ladies' man in the telenovela
we're watching, so who am I to argue?). Too bad I'm going to
have to drop the class soon when I take off on a climbing trip.
I'm doing so well!

2009: Went for an afternoon walk with Mary at Toro Park.
The views from the top were stunning. Here I'm looking pretty much
into the sun, about to set over the Pacific. Sometimes I feel
like I live in heaven.

2010: Well, you gotta practice on something, and better a truck tire
than one of our team members. These guys (Deputies Fritsche
and Dominguez, and our newest volunteer, James)
were hauling on the mainline with a 3:1 mechanical advantage;
the other team had a 5:1 system. Ours was harder to pull on
but required less resetting. I have no idea who won.
But we learned some kind of lesson.... Tomorrow the fun and games
will continue—in the rain.

There, a few aspects of my life: language learning, or schooling generally—I am an inveterate student; hiking and enjoying views and landscapes; and, formerly, Search & Rescue, but volunteerism generally. I still volunteer as a wilderness ranger in the Ventana and Silver Peak Wildernesses. 

As I said, I have not been posting to Flickr. I do post to Facebook, where I have some bit of an audience, but Flickr has fallen off my radar. It is, however, good for archival purposes. I should return. Even if I don't have an audience. 

Like right now: I'm kind of curious about October 23s from 2011 through 2022. 

As for today: I didn't take any pictures. That's on record.

UK '23

Back in June, I posted links to my recent European trip as curated on FB—and now I will do the same for my even more recent trip to the UK. It's a handy way to save some memories, and photos.

Day 1: Getting from MRY-LAX to LHR and, ultimately, Greenwich—followed by an afternoon walk along the Thames.

Day 2: I rendezvoused with my friend Gill, whom I met birding in Vietnam, for a walk at Hampstead Heath, and later met, for the first time in person, my poet friend Tracey ☝︎ for drinks and dinner. Delightful!

Day 3: A stroll through London, from the British Museum along the Embankment to Westminster and Trafalgar Square.

Day 4: Switching between Greenwich and Putney—and in the afternoon, a much-needed massage.

Day 5: A brief visit to Wimbledon Common, followed by a transect from Putney up to Kensington Gardens—walking, walking, walking.

Day 6: A stroll along the Thames to Kew Gardens.

Day 7: Heading by train and taxi to Lechlade-on-Thames to start my walk along the Thames.

Day 8: A wander around Lechlade before boarding the Tranquil Rose.

Day 9/1: A two-parter: general scenes from our 13-mile walk from Lechlade to Shifford Lock; and Babar on this first day along the Thames Path.

Day 10/2: Onward to Eynsham.

Day 11/3: To Oxford and shortly beyond.

Day 12/4: A day on the boat, from Sandford Lock to Goring Lock.

Day 13/5: Another boat day, with a 5-mile walk at the end, to wind up in Marlow.

Day 14/6: A long, last walking day, from Marlow to Windsor.

Day 15: A day wandering around Eton and Windsor.

Day 16: Bidding farewell to Windsor and onward to Heathrow for the night.

Travel day—and home.

It was a terrific trip. I can't wait to do another long-distance walking path. While I still can!

A new daily project?

I am winding up two weeks in England, a little experiment in self-awareness (I guess you could say). I more or less stayed away from the main tourist sights (the British Museum being a brief exception), or anything that cost money for admission (aside from Kew Gardens). Really, mostly what I did was walk. And walk and walk and walk. In London, through various neighborhoods, along the banks of the Thames, through green spaces—Kew, Kensington Gardens, Hampstead Heath; and then I spent a week on the Thames Path, from Lechlade in Gloucestershire to Windsor in Berkshire. Walking, daily, 20, 30, even, one day, 40,000 steps. It was glorious.

And every day, too, there were so many things that caught my attention, whether a piece of public art by Antony Gormley (in Greenwich and then again in Eton), a cute and funny dog (every single day: so many dogs here!), a snatch of conversation—with Steve the Northmoor Lock keeper, or the 90-year-old man in Windsor who kept declaring, "There! I made you laugh!," or our captain James ⬉, just now winding up a 13-year career with his hotel boat the Tranquil Rose. The red kites (that's a bird), the weasel at the Church of St. John, Inglesham, the rutting deer at Windsor Great Park, the flash of turquoise across the river that I declare to be a kingfisher. Some arcane fact of history or of popular culture. The ways that people spend their time, whether to make a living or simply to amuse themselves. It's been, to say the least, stimulating.

Today in my FB Wordle group, I posted this quote, by Anthony Doerr: "'Research,' for me, is a big word that encompasses a lot of different activities, all of them based around curiosity. Research is traveling to places, or studying snowflakes with a magnifying glass, or excavating one's memories. Research is walking around Hamburg with a notebook."

Based around curiosity. 

To which Gabi responded with a quote by Zora Neale Hurston: "Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose." And, doing a little research, I finished the quote: "It is a seeking that he who wishes may know the cosmic secrets of the world and they that dwell therein."

The cosmic secrets of the world and they that dwell therein. 

I've been missing my old projects of paying attention, of being actively curious, here in this blog. And so, I think I might give it another go. Once I get home and settled in. This is merely my Statement of Intention. Let's see if I remember to actually do it.

(I couldn't find a single image of my own to illustrate this post with, so I googled and found the above painting by Doris Duschelbauer, entitled "Curiosidad." It works.)