Nature, of course: plnats, poetry, and whetever else sprouts up

WEATHER

Tomorrow’s predicted highs and lows for selected locales, which just might collectively be the hottest day of the year, north of the Equator. Once again, au natural, which is to say without dual citizenship, only actual places where real, virtual people live:

Monday, July 11, 2011

Austin, Texas 99/75
Woodstock, Georgia 95/78
Knoxville, Tenn. 95/77
Greenville, S. Car. 94/75
Gaithersburg, Md. 94/74
Gers, France 94/69
Detroit 91/72
Chino, SoCal. 91/57
Taipei 90/79
New York City 90/74
Chicago 89/70
Woodstock, N.Y. 88/71
Bethany, Conn. 87/71
Boston 87/70
Ljubljana, Slovenia 84/63
Portland, Oregon 76/59
Ghent, Belgium 76/59
Oxford, England 75/56
Utrecht, Netherlands 74/57
La Pine, Oregon 74/44
Vancouver, Canada 69/57
Pretoria, S. Africa 66/42
Campbelltown, NSW, Australia 53/36

I could use some Vancouver or Portland or La Pine weather now. 91 is the lowest we've had since June. But at least I'm not in Austin (sorry bubba)

haha! I was just thinking the same thing. But anytime our high is only in the double digits, I consider ourselves lucky.

To pick up on the tail end of the previous thread, has anyone given any consideration to what happens if someone in Le Salon dies? How will we find out? Are our spouses prepared to let the salon know if such a thing were to happen? Do we just figure it out after a few months?

Even though it gets hot here, I thank God everyday that goes by that I am no longer in Texas. The Dallas area seems to be well into the triple digits now and might stay there for the next month. God, what a horrible place. So far, the only thing our part of the metro Dallas area had that our part of Georgia doesn't is a really good Indian/Pakistani Restaurant. We haven't found any good Indian food here at all. Fortunately, frozen Indian food has come a long, long way, so we eat it at home. Plano had some damn good Indian restaurants.

Among all the things in our garden we have going on right now, we have eleven watermelons going great guns. They should be ready to begin harvesting in about a week.

Inner Tube

On the warm July river
head back

upside down river
for a roof

slowly paddling
towards an estuary between trees

there’s a dog
learning to swim near me
friends on shore

my head
dips
back to the eyebrow
I’m the prow
on an ancient vessel,
this afternoon
I’m going down to Peru
soul between my teeth

a blue heron
with its awkward
broken backed flap
upside down

one of us is wrong

he
his blue grey thud
thinking he knows
the blue way
out of here

or me

Michael Ondaatje

Note: It took me a while before this occurred to me: that to make it easier for people to reference the poets and their works, why not put the double Touchstone brackets around their names?

Visiting home in Victoria, BC. It is partly cloudy, a little windy, and my best friend Bin is getting married today, to a kind, funny Japanese girl named Minako. Bin's semi-reconstructed Cantonese grandmother is cautiously accepting. I solicit your mazel tovs on the happy pair's behalf.

Good question gene. One of the first friends I made on LT passed away and I had no idea until much later. I got to know him well enough that I knew his real name, googled and found the obit.

Attempting (unsuccessfully so far) to get some studying done today. It's so nice out I just want to laze on a chair with an interesting book.

Made carnitas last night - so delicious and easy. Going to mix up some guacamole in a bit for a snack.

4 - I've often wondered about this.

Yeah, me too, Jane. I was working on a chapter and getting along swell, but it seemed absurd to be indoors on this lovely summer day. So I jumped on the bike and pedaled to town.

I've never seen as many cars parked along the stream that snakes through town and then flows down my way. There are certain spots where the Sawkill widens, or has a small waterfall the adults and kiddies can stand under, and/or boulders or slate flats to have a picnic. On a hot weekend day like this, that's our Lake Michigan, our Pacific or Atlantic Ocean. If you come up this way and see cars along the road near a stream, check it out.

Note: for those relative newcomers (less than three nature threads old), check out our sister (or brother) thread, On the Road, River, Rails, etc., for travel-type things, like the picture of Topaz Lake just posted by Henri:

http://www.librarything.com/topic/93458#2808741

Great excitement in France today as a Frenchman dramatically grabbed the leaders jersey in the Tour de France. I must have been just about the only person in the country not to see it. We were working all day at our village Fete, but managed to slip away at 5.30pm. Rushed indoors switched on the TV to see that the race had just 5 kms to go. Unfortunately the next thing I saw was the closing credits to the programme and I had a cold cup of tea in front of me.

A rest day tomorrow in the tour and as Thomas Voecler joked on the news later on, he will still be the race leader on Tuesday. He should hold on to the lead until Thursday, but then he will get blown away in the high mountains as the race reaches the Pyrenees.

For you, baswood ~ Tour de France (free on demand)

Thanks EF. you don't expect to be knocked off your bike by a TV car covering the race.

My Yahoo! tells me that it will be 86° Fahrenheit at the hottest tomorrow.

Robert

It seems Durick is cracking, that he wants to tell us where he lives but just can't bring himself to do it. That's okay. Better that he doesn't. We need a Waldo on this thread.

From our Hotels on the Water Department:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/11/arts/design/boggsville-boatel-constance-hockad...

Whew! After over a week of clear, mostly comfortable weather we had a nasty storm blow through this morning knocking down trees and power lines and causing temporary flooding. Glad we decided to come home yesterday. Getting caught on the lake with 75 mph gusts is not a good time. Sky is clearing and weather forecast is for 91 degrees. Guess it is not as bad as Texas.

Have some work to do since things somehow get very dirty while we are cruising, but I will try to post a little over on the "On the Road . . ." thread. Forgot we had it.

And what more full of jollity than wine-loving Noah's meditation during the flood:

The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding
off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go
down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the
throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, 'It
looks like rain I think.'
The water has drown the Matterhorn as deep
as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it
doesn't get into the wine.

from a poem by G.K. Chesterton
http://www.poetry-online.org/chesterton_wine_and_water.htm

Drinking Song

He became more and more drunk
As the afternoon wore off.

Adrian Henri

The Magnificent Seven

A club within the selective locale club that will see (and feel) temps of 95 or more tomorrow:

Austin 102
Greenville, S.Car. 101
Gaithersburg, Md. 100
Atlanta 98
New York City 98
Knoxville, Tenn. 96
Gers, France 95

Lisa, I didn't think that there'd be trees and power lines still standing after what the Decepticons did to Chicago.

Robert

It was 90f today in the Gers. No air con. but we have an old stone farmhouse. Any days when the temperature gets to 90f, then its a case of keeping the sun out. We close all the heavy wooden shutters and spend the day creeping around in the semi darkness, but we keep cool.

We were in Germany during the heat wave of 2003, where people were dying. We were in an old workers' cottage, with stone walls and tiny, deep-set windows and it remained cool throughout. It's the modern apartment buildings that kill people.

Of course, that same cottage was chilly and damp in the winter.

A snippit from Penelope Fitzgerald's THE BOOK SHOP:

JANUARY, as always, brought its one day when people said it felt like spring. The sky was a patched and ragged blue, and the marsh, with its thousand weeds and grasses, breathed a faint odour of resurrection.

Robert-It took me a minute, but I guess you are talking about that Transformers movie? Had to Google "decepticon" since I don't go to the movies. The filming was on the news and caused a great deal of difficulty with traffic when they were here. I guess we made them put the trees and power lines back so we would have something to come down in storms.

While I am here, another interesting lake related weather note. After the storms passed we had a small seiche in our harbor. (see this link: http://www.geo.msu.edu/geogmich/seiches.htm ) The water came rushing in bringing all kinds of crud, which made it easy to see the water movement. Water level went up about 10 inches in a few minutes. Then it all turned around and went rushing out with the water level returning to normal. The whole thing took about half an hour.

Here is a Google satellite view of the harbor: http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&tab=wl

That article was very informative. Thanks!

That's cool Lisa! I thought that was the fat-man-in-the-bathtub effect. Now I know the proper terminology.

Next, Please

Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,

Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!

Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,

Flagged, and the figurehead with golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it’s
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last

We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:

Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.

Philip Larkin

Art pic of the day: New York Earth Room - which is exactly what it sounds like, a room full of dirt.



by Walter De Maria

#26 Thank you Philip for those uplifting words. Poor man spent most of his life in Hull

from the Faerie Queene - Edmund Spenser

Ah luckless babe, borne under cruell starre
And in dead parents balefull ashes bred
Full little weenest thou, what sorrows are
Left thee for portion of thy livelihed,
Poore Orphane in the wide world scattered,
As budding braunch tent from the native tree,
And throwen forth, till it be withered:
Such is the state of men: thus enter wee
Into this life with woe, and end with miseree.

That dirt room doesn't do it for me.

GATHERING LEAVES
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grow duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use,
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

Robert Frost

Found a wide range of temperatures in CA last week.
Vallecito: 98
Lake Alpine: 40
Lake Tahoe: 80
SF this morning: 60

Now flying to Boston where it's rumoured to be 90-ish.

Virgin America lent me this Google Chromebook and I'm now actually surfing from the airplane! Woohoo!

Hope you enjoyed your ramble on the west coast! Hope next time you visit, you'll take in Oregon!

Philosophy

Ere all the world had grown so drear,
When I was young and you were here,
‘Mid summer roses in summer weather,
What pleasant times we’ve had together!

We were not Phyllis, simple-sweet,
And Corydon; we did not meet
By brook or meadow, but among
A Philistine and flippant throng

Which much we scorned; (less rigorous
It had no scorn at all for us!)
How many an eve of sweet July,
Heedless of Mrs. Grundy’s eye,

We’ve scaled the stairway’s topmost height,
And sat there talking half the night;
And, gazing on the crowd below,
Thanked Fate and Heaven that made us so;–

To hold the pure delights of brain
Above light loves and sweet champagne.
For, you and I, we did eschew
The egoistic “I” and “you;”

And all our observations ran
On Art and Letters, Life and Man.
Proudly we sat, we two, on high,
Throned in our Objectivity;

Scarce friends, not lovers (each avers),
But sexless, safe Philosophers.

* * * * * * *

Dear Friend, you must not deem me light
If, as I lie and muse to-night,
I give a smile and not a sigh
To thoughts of our Philosophy.

Amy Levy

XL
THE MIRROR
An APPALLING-looking man enters and looks at himself in a mirror.
'Why do you look at yourself in the glass, since the sight of your reflection can only be painful to you?'
The appalling-looking man replies: 'Sir, according to the immortal principles of '89, all men are equal before the law; pleasure or pain, that is an entirely personal matter.'
In respect of common sense, I was certainly right; but from the point of view of the law, he was not wrong.

from PARIS SPLEEN
Charles Baudelaire

>33 Porius:, I love it.

MOWING
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not ell myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound -
And that was why it whispered and did not not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at te hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

Robert Frost

How lovely it would be, Peter, if my neighbors mowed with a scythe. I sit in my back room, windows open of course, reading or writing, smoking a cigar now and then, when an unseen neighbor shatters the silence with a motor and I'm rudely reminded that winter has its advantages too.

Yes, those neighbors are uncanny in their timing having to do just when their infernal machines will make the most noise. One of my first jobs was with a landscaping service. The smell of mown grass has the same effect on me as Proust's cookies had on him. But that is where the likeness ends, I'm afraid.

I absolutely love the smell of freshly mown grass. so evocative of summer.

Bastille Day!

Have the French replaced sang impur in the "Marseillaise" yet, bas? In this fucked-up country it seems we're getting more sang impur, not less.

Le jour de gloire est arrivé...

#39 No certainly not. How can you change the words to a national anthem? Any way the french would say it is not a racist slogan - its purely metaphorique (while the right wingers snigger behind their hands) as they sing with gusto.

Plenty of frenchmen singing the Marseillaise tonight as after the first day of the "Tour" in the Pyrenees Thomas Voecler is still clinging on to his yellow jersey (For those non sport minded folk: this is translated as a frenchman is still leading the biggest professional cycle race in the world)

Perhaps you thought I was being flippant, bas. In fact, not that long ago, though perhaps before you moved to the Gers, I read about a movement among some in France to change the words to the Marseillaise, to make it less violent and less exist.

A bunch of years ago my wife and I spent a week in St. Remy de Provence, a small town south of Avignon, up the road from Van Gogh's asylum. We were there during Bastille Day, and what most impressed me was how little patriotism was attached to it. In the evening, people, families, teenagers, everyone came out to the central square and filled the streets to watch the fireworks, to have a good time, to enjoy the moment. There was nothing martial about it at all.

Fishing on the Susquehanna in July

I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.

Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure--
of fishing on the Susquehanna.

I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one--
a painting of a woman on the wall,

a bowl of tangerines on the table--
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.

There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,

rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.

But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,

when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend

under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandana

sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.

That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.

Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,

even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.

Billy Collins

Nice little surprise this morning. I went into the bathroom to take my shower, and there was a songbird singing away on top the skylight.

#42 Peter, I didn't know that. The only time I hear the Marseillaise sung is on the National Fete day of 11 November. This is when we huddle round the war memorial in our village. Most of the locals are passably familiar with the first verse but after that most of them are lost. In this part of the world it is The Gers first with France some way behind.

42,45: Pietro, there really is no overt exhibit of patriotism in the U.S. on 4th of July, is there? Around these parts people mostly are happy to have a day off with fireworks at the end.

Barry, reminds me of your review of The Discovery of France, based upon which I bought the book. I have even started reading it!

44: A beautiful beginning to the day!

43: How delicate and honest this poem is, at the same time. My closest experience of farming (like for example bringing in hay and building the hay stacks) would be looking at art and reading books, but I have actually paddled a canoe down a river. (I am not good at it and tire easily - no upper body strength to speak of. I recently discovered kayaking and it is SO much easier!)

TWO TRAMPS IN MUD TIME
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRosY_jyXfs

Beautiful, Porius. On a darker side of nature, the woman taking care of our animals in Slovenia has taken video of the snake Porius eating a large frog.
Can video be posted here?

Upload to YouTube and share the link is the easiest means I know of.

thanks

It's late, Piero. Later than The Late Show in fact.

"You go unpack your sorrow
Trash Man comes tomorrow
Leave it at the curb
And we'll just roll away ..."

An existential night for you, Henri, with its attendant, bleak awakening? Or am I reading too much into a song? A good one, I think; one of my favorites from him.

You can't hope to keep
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wr4jIWl654&feature=related

The excrement, which is what remains of all this, is loaded with our whole blood guilt. By it we know what we have murdered. It is the compressed sum of all the evidence against us. It is our daily and continuing sin and as such, it stinks and cries to heaven. It is remarkable how we isolate ourselves with it. In special rooms, set aside for the purpose we get rid of it; our most private moment is when we withdraw there; we are alone only with our excrement. It is clear that we are ashamed of it. It is the age old seal of that power process of digestion which is enacted in the darkness, without this, would remain hidden forever.
Elias Canetti from CROWDS AND POWER.

We felt so dirty after seeing it that we felt compelled to eat at Seor Picos, a popular Mexican resaurant. We ordered thespiciest food they had just to burn ourselves out, inside.
Shirley Temple after seeing NIGHT GAMES

EPIGRAPHs from Ishmael Reed's FREELANCE PALLBEARERS

That brings to (my) mind, Peter, the scene in Discrete Charm of the Bourgeoisie in which a gathering of people sit on toilet seats, around a table, and one by one go guiltily into a toilet-sized room to eat.

The discrete charm indeed. Great posts on writing, P, it's very interesting when you divulge and when not so much. You are nothing if not unpredictable, if I may say so.

Warm days and coolish nights. Gorgeous weather. It looks to be quite warm the next few days, at least through Thursday. Not much rain lately. Low humidity, though I see it's up there around 75 today. High dew point, which they say is the real indicator, who knows - those weather channel clothes-horses always seem in the know, don't they? I love it when they wax metaphorical about hurricanes. In Hereford a Hurricane hardly ever Happens, or something to that effect. I saw the first PYGMALION movie with Wendy Hiller, Shaw was said to have liked it. The transformation from cockney to cutglass accent was thrilling. Wendy Hiller was always better than she should have been. Leslie Howard as the kindly language docktor was also excellent. The guy in Stanley Holloway's role was quite good, too.
A Chinese fan and a birdcage
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_Sj9o7DWJU
A little bit of the first PyGMALION movie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaC0hPvi2Hc

Ishmael Reed just released a new novel, btw, Por-Man, called Juice.

Well, actually, Piero, while it's probably true I'm always in the midst of one existential crisis or another, what was gettin' to me last night was the arrival of the apocalypse in Los Angeles: Carmageddon, that has come and shut down the 405 freeway all weekend -- that, I think, was keeping me awake, not only worried for myself, but for our salon friends in Oregon and WA too whom we share interstate 5 with, which will become overly crowded as people are detoured over to it. I just saw a local newscaster literally drive through the detour/closure area talking about driving safety while turning her head from the road to the camera next to her, completely distracted, and with so many local newscasters doing likewise on every local channel to show us just how DANGEROUS it is out there, I've suddenly become agoraphobic and even though I've things to do, won't be able to get them done because the 405 is closed! Never mind the closure is on the other side of town, I'm scared. As R.E.M. once sang, "it's the end of the world, and I DON'T feel fine"!

Thanks for listening.

get a scooter!
:)

Yes, Carmaggedon. I saw that in the paper this morning, decided to post it, then fell asleep at the wheel, so to speak:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/16/us/16freeway.html?_r=1&ref=us

It seems to me in this instance carmageddon and karmageddon are the same thing.

44,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LV_V8wZsiDk

Just got back from one of those, watchamacallits, pig roasts, at the Wittenberg Fish and Game Club on the other side of town. In the woods, as a matter of fact.

How'd I get there? you might ask. I guess we have a different kind of redneck here in Woodstock, New York, as it was a lesbian friend of mine, who had to go to Ontario with her partner to get married, but as of July 24th will be considered married as well in New York State. She's been a town cop, is a volunteer at the fire department, and an EMT. Everyone knows her; she's one of the gang. And a hunter too, and fisherperson. So that's why I was there, with some of the heaviest people I have ever spent time with.

The Pig

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, “By gum, I’ve got the answer!”
“They want my bacon slice by slice
“To sell at a tremendous price!
“They want my tender juicy chops
“To put in all the butcher’s shops!
“They want my pork to make a roast
“And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
“They want my sausages in strings!
“They even want my chitterlings!
“The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
“That is the reason for my life!”
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
“I had a fairly powerful hunch
“That he might have me for his lunch.
“And so, because I feared the worst,
“I thought I’d better eat him first.”

Roald Dahl

THE OVEN BIRD
There is a singer that everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.

Robert Frost

Although RF is not to be considered a 'Nature Poet', he knows as much or more about Nature than most of his contemporaries, more even tan the poets of the past, excepting Virgil and Wordsworth. Like Coleridge RF believes:

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small.

Frost's love of things 'both great and small' includes birds (among which he rates the barnyard hen almost as high as the singing thrush), dogs, woodchucks, cows, and horses. He does not seem to draw the line at insects. Some of his shrewdest and most delightful - and most sympathetic - poems are about ants and fireflies and spiders and even hornets.

Birds, however, seem to hold the highest place in his affection. Especially characteristic is his tribute to 'The Oven Bird,' a kind of thrush which builds a nest resembling an oven. This is a bird that voices his knowledge of the changing seasons. And his is the gift of the poet: he knows 'what to make of a diminished thing,'

#62 In what sense "heaviest people" I wonder. What amazes me here in France is that at the equivalent to your pig roasts (our chasse dinners), there are virtually no fat people. Must be the fact that more wine is drunk than beer I suppose.

A seemingly heavy person, Darren Clarke from No. Ireland has won the Claret Cup at Royal St. George's G.C., Sandwich, Kent. Our own TCM clawingly came into this vale of tears from the same county Kent.

I'll get to heaviness later. First, a poem:

Framed

Shopped postures positioned close
so poised, so present
that bright-eyed dimpled boy
I dust him every day
so he remains glossy, spotless
and wonder does anybody notice?
does anybody know?

Polished pearls for my giggling girls
diamond necklace for the heiress
yes, that's me!
They said I looked arrogant
at first, sitting for the portrait
just relax, they intoned
try to smile
act natural

Golf's golden skin
engulfed their Daddy's grin
what glowing family faces
in the camera's closeup lens
in that trapped flash
described as happiness by some

Brent Higgins

Por,

Frost's Ovenbird looks just like a miniature New England woodland Thrush, but it's technically a New World Warbler, as are the other thrushes in the genus Seiurus.

Early American Ornithologists botched the European bird nomenclature something horrible.

And, I'm sounding like some kind of ornitho-pedant...

No, Sd, you are a bird-watching wonder. Keep it up please.

The Japan women took the WC today beating a game USA. Great performances by Rapinoe and Wambach. Wambach put the Miami Heaters to shame with her gutsy play and post-game dignity. All those billions to child-men like James & co. They could take a lesson or two from Abbey Wambach and co., to say nothing of the MARVELOUS Japanese women.

Strange. I cheered the Uhmercans all day and was also so moved by the celebration of the Japanese.

Don't you be apologizing for what you know about birds, sandy. You are my bird dog hero. We need more from you, not less.

Cruising down the river, a slide show:

http://www.salon.com/life/feature/2011/07/17/trazzler_slideshow_river_voyages/sl...

That was nice, Pietro. I can't understand, though, why they did not include our trips down the Illinois and Mississippi rivers. :-)

On a sad note, we lost two sailors last night when the racing fleet in the 103rd Chicago to Mackinac race was hit by violent storms.
http://www.d9publicaffairs.com/go/doc/443/468939/
We have had bad storms, damaged boats and injured people in other years, but no fatalities. For those of us involved, it feels like a punch to the stomach.

Very dark outside. We are on the edge of a violent T-storm. Probably a lot of rain. It won't do much to take away the heat. The temps will hover in the mid-90 territory all week.

Speaking of birds, I saw one today I don't recognize, that actually sounds like some I recognize, which is not the case outside of the Robin, Mockingbird, Cardinal, and Hummingbird, and larger ones such as game birds, but this bird was about six inches long, kind of bullet shaped, the body was pure gold and the wings were black as night. It flew in an up-down rollercoaster motion. Any idea what it might have been? It actually looked something like an escaped parakeet.

Meadowlark?

No meadows around here. You could tell me it's a yellow bellied seersucker and I'd believe it. So even with the lack of meadow's I'll accept meadowlark. Thanks, Slick.

Where's Sandy when you need him?

American Goldfinch, Carduelis tristis. During that undulating flight it cries, "potato-chip, potato-chip", but its call is a real whiny sound, hence tristis, the cryer.

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/PHOTO/LARGE/american_goldfinch_glamour12.jpg

(I didn't notice Por beat me to it! The "rollercoaster motion" was the clincher)

I mentioned Emily Dickinson over on baswood's thread, hence a poem:

229

A Burdock—clawed my Gown—
Not Burdock's—blame—
But mine—
Who went too near
The Burdock's Den—

A Bog—affronts my shoe—
What else have Bogs—to do—
The only Trade they know—
The splashing Men!
Ah, pity—then!

'Tis Minnows can despise!
The Elephant's—calm eyes
Look further on!

>74 LisaCurcio: I'm so sorry, Lisa. I guess it's a good reminder for all of us who sail how quickly things can go wrong. Hopefully it helps someone else remember to play it safe.

Y'all living from Austin to Boston (and Taipei too) probably know by now, but here it is again: from tomorrow through Saturday none of yez will be under 90 degrees. That means Chicago, Detroit, New York City, Gaithersburg, Greenville, Knoxville, both Woodstocks, Bethany, Connecticut, and of course Austin, where in fact it will not drop below 100.

Sooooo hot today. Only getting worse as the week goes on. :(

Thanks, Martin. Actually, subsequent newspaper articles indicate that they did everything they should have done under the circumstances--even according to the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard officer said it just goes to show how dangerous the Great Lakes can be.

Weather: We did notice that it was a little warm here. ;-) My favorite part, however, is the Dense Fog Advisory for the lakefront. Visibility less than a quarter mile. Reason: water temperature in the mid-seventies vs. air temperature in the mid-nineties and really high dew points.

I am sorry the rest of my nation is undergoing a heat wave, but I am getting rained out. Today and yesterday rain beat down on us as we went to work. I am carrying umbrellas in July. This is messed up.

However it did clear up enough for me to take an absolutely gorgeous hike in the Columbia Gorge to the Angel's Rest, which is a rocky cliff overlooking the Columbia. A bunch of us went after work, and it was so nice to get the stress of the day out in such a beautiful setting.

888

Well I guess this makes more sense than closing the beaches because it is too hot:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/chi-swim-bans-at-2-near-north-...

Por, maybe we could make all of them sit outside in the 110 heat index until they start worrying about the country instead of themselves?

The Oxford comma, again. This time in The Nation

The Oxford Comma-otion by Maria Kari

And if you're tired of commas, a nature thread beat-the-heat excerpt from Memories of Chekhov, purloined from the New York Review of Books:

http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2011/jul/05/memories-chekhov/?utm_medium=em...

Chekhov told me once, “You know, I recently visited Tolstoy in Gaspra. He was bedridden due to illness. Among other things, he spoke about me and my works. Finally, when I was about to say goodbye he took my hand and said, ‘Kiss me goodbye.’ While I bent over him and he was kissing me, he whispered in my ear in a still energetic, old man’s voice, ‘You know, I hate your plays. Shakespeare was a bad writer, and I consider your plays even worse than his.’”

Good stuff. The "Kevorkian" bit was interesting.

Whut's she mean?

So to all those vainglorious copyeditors out there, don’t be so quick to abrogate the practice of Oxford comma-fying.

I'm a serial commifier, ain't I?

90: You know, there are several mistakes in that article. Do you think her copyeditor was having a bit of fun? Example: They put the comma after "and" a couple of times randomly; they also have "Oxford comma" capitalized most of the time but lower case once.

I thought that might get your goat! You use the comma most effectively. Besides, you are not vainglorious. Vain? Aren't we all? Glorious? But of course!

I think she misuses "seminal", as well. That's a sin, isn't it?

TREE AT MY WINDOW
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But tree, I have see you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

Robert Frost

That one's got it all: plants, poetry and weather.

One nice thing about living surrounded by trees, as I do, is that you don't need curtains on the windows.

But back to commas ...

When I turn in an edited manuscript, I'm expected, as some of you know, to turn in a "style sheet" as well. This is a list of all characters in the book; a vocabulary list of unusual or difficult words, words the author consistently got wrong, words that should be spelled one way rather than another (say, theatre, not theater); and also a list of the book's style conventions (some of which I determine) for such as italics, one-em dashes, ellipses, capitalization, use of small caps, etc., and commas

So, herewith, a somewhat typical comma style (taken from a book I'm editing now):

Punctuation

serial comma with and as well as or

comma after intro clause and between ind. clauses, unless latter closely related; after intro adverb if needed for clarity: However, he could see ... but Instead he could see ...

interjectionary comma around internal and before final too, though, then, however, perhaps; NOT with as well, either, and after all

no comma after intro phrase, unless eight words or more; if needed for clarity; and to separate syn. pronouns and proper nouns: Beside him, he saw ...

no comma between compound adjectives if clear without: the steep winding stair

no comma with time continuation clause if meaning clear without (As soon as the weather allowed they would leave …) or following time continuation as: “The guards, too,” she said as six jogged through the crossroads in front of them.

From James Reiss, whose first collection, The Breathers, is worth picking up.
From his 4th collection, Ten Thousand Good Mornings:

My Daughters in New York

What streets, what taxis transport them
over bridges & speed bumps—my daughters swift

in pursuit of union? What suitors amuse them, what mazes
of avenues tilt & confuse them as pleasure, that pinball,

goes bouncing off light posts & lands in a pothole,
only to pop up & roll in the gutter? What footloose new

freedoms allow them to plow through all stop signs,
careening at corners, hell-bent for the road to blaze straight?

It’s 10 P.M. in the boonies. My children, I’m thinking
you’re thinking your children are waiting

for you to conceive them while you’re in a snarl
with my sons-in-law-to-be who want also to be

amazing explorers beguiled by these reckless night rides
that may God willing give way to ten thousand good mornings!

Slap Me Five

I believe in the separation of Church & State
as fervently as our Founding Fathers.
But the five Bible verses that each kid read aloud
before our class recited The Lord's Prayer
in home room every day in Hillsdale, New Jersey
let me learn such ravishing Jacobean
English that today I feel like King James
at my keyboard, writing, "Behold,
it is a high-cirrus morning; the sky is white."

No longer a fifth-grader—my hair's getting white—
I'm not about to launch a theocracy
& turn my college classes into Christian
gab fests, much less Jewish megillahs.
But when I jog at dawn I think, "My God,
five miles lie before me like five hundred
lines of poetry I learned before I knew
I would be running with the poets who
give us this day our dose of old New Jersey."

James Reiss

Oh I loved that New Jersey poem!

Well, it is finally sunny here in Portland! Hope it lasts.

It's been a while since I posted Rumi comparison poetry. Today's entry is short, but sweet, and there are three versions. None are scholarly/literal.

Today, Sunlight offers three interpretations of Quatrain 55: a version by Coleman Barks, derived from a translation by John Moyne, a version by Jonathan Star, derived from a translation by Shahram Shiva, and a translation by Azima Melita Kolin and Maryam Mafi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let the Lover be disgraceful, crazy,
absentminded. Someone sober
will worry about events going badly.
Let the Lover be.

- Poetic version by Coleman Barks and John Moyne
"Unseen Rain - Quatrains of Rumi"
Threshold Books, 1986

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lover is ever drunk with love;
He is free, he is mad,
He dances with ecstasy and delight.

Caught by our own thoughts,
we worry about every little thing,
But once we get drunk on that love,
Whatever will be, will be.

- Poetic version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
"A Garden Beyond Paradise - The Mystical Poetry of Rumi"
Bantam Books, 1992

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All year round the lover is mad
Unkempt, lovesick, and in despair
Without love there is nothing but grief
In love... what else matters?

-- Translation by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi
Rumi: Whispers of the Beloved
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 1999

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took me a few mintues to understand how the poetic versions get where they do.

Heat. Too much heat. No relief at night.

We're all suffering, Peter, except for those who aren't, and Mr. Durick, of course.

Some of us Easterners aren't really suffering yet. Tomorrow, Friday - yuck.

As an Easterner, I have to disagree. I went out on my deck to water the twenty or so plants there, which were dry and withered from the heat. I soaked 'em good, but came back in the house afterward more saturated than they were.

*chocmuse hides her fingerless gloves under the desk*

Well, My Yahoo tells me that it is 85° and partly cloudy. I have an electric fan.

Robert

11:10 p.m. CDT 88 degrees Fahrenheit and feels like 97! Even so, glad I am not wearing fingerless gloves!

The last couple of weeks here in the Gers temperatures have hardly gone above 20c (68F). July has been cool and wet so far, most unusual.

111: Same as here in the Pacific NW. I wonder are we in similar latitudes? (we're right around 45 degrees north) Yesterday's momentary sun has been swapped for more drizzle and 60s-ish weather.

We've decamped for NC's outer banks. Sea breezes and such. We've decided to put off the renting of bicycles until later, but the ocean feels wonderful, despite the danger of rip tides and shark attacks.

We're getting a bit of a break today, as it is only supposed to get up to 100. Good thing I keep a leather jacket in my office.

My hiking friend, who comes up from Long Island now and then to hike the Catskills, scheduled a session with a buddy of his for today. Though semiretired, he's worked in offices most of his life, follows schedules, sets his mind toward goals and pursues them, and so, though it's 99 degrees today, or maybe more, he's out there somewhere in the blast furnance now, bushwhacking up a mountain.

Ugh. I just spent about an hour and a half on a construction site. This weather is ridiculous.

But Jane, the good news is that there was a construction site to be on! Looking out my window in downtown Chicago I see no cranes. Several buildings that were under construction stopped and are in foreclosure and receivership.

Sorry. This weather is ridiculous.

Have I ever asked you, Piero, if you ever have gotten a chance to hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire? Those are on my list to check off someday. Or how about any segments of The Appalachian Trail in your neck of the woods? I believe it does run through the Catskills (or am I thinking of the Adirondacks?) It might run through both actually; I haven't looked at a map of it in awhile. Whenever I think of hiking in New York, for some reason I always think of the powerful climax of An American Tragedy, set in the beautiful Adirondacks.

The Trail
http://www.downthetrail.com/appalachian-trail-photos/appalachian-trail-map.jpg
http://dr0j237dchiz5.cloudfront.net/hiking_appalachian_trail_map.jpg

As I understand it, Henri, it's all the Appalachians, from Georgia up through the Green (Vermont) and White (New Hampshire) Mountains, with the Poconos and the Catskills little parts of it. The Adirondacks are indeed something special; not just the mountains, but the whole region, which in many places is like the land time forgot. But usually the closest I get to them is Saratoga, when the ponies are running.

In fact, I'm not a big hiker, like you, but I have been in the White Mountains, as a boy in camp and at the previously mentioned socialist farm for families such as mine, not far from the Old Man in the mountain, whose nose broke off a few years ago, the Flume, the Lost River Gorge, and so on.

HEAT

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/22/us/22heat.html?_r=1&ref=us

I feel terrible for you guys back east.

Below is some cold temperature trivia I found while seeking to find out if the White Mountains of New Hampshire were indeed the possessor of the coldest ever recorded temperature in the forty-eight contiguous United States. My hunch proved incorrect, but I'm posting my research, nevertheless, in the hopes that you all will be vicariously cooled off by it (information was copied from this website):

The contiguous US hit its coldest recorded temperature of -70 °F on January 20, 1954 at Rogers Pass, Montana. The pass sits at 5,470 feet elevation in the Rocky Mountains, northwest of Helena.

Places in U.S.A. where temperatures have dropped to -50 °F (-45 °C) or lower at least once:

Prospect Creek Camp, Alaska -80 Jan 23, 1971
Rogers Pass, Montana -70 Jan 20, 1954
Peter’s Sink, Utah -69 Feb 1, 1985
Riverside RS, Wyoming -66 Feb 9, 1933
Maybell, Colorado -61 Feb 1, 1985
Island Park Dam, Idaho -60 Jan 18, 1943
Tower, Minnesota -60 Feb 2, 1996
Parshall, North Dakota -60 Feb 15, 1936
McIntosh, South Dakota -58 Feb 17, 1936
Tetonia, Idaho -57 Feb 9, 1933
Couderay, Wisconsin -55 Feb 4, 1996
Seneca, Oregon -54 Feb 10, 1933
Old Forge, New York -52 Feb 18, 1979
Vanderbilt, Michigan -51 Feb 9, 1934
Bloomfield, Vermont -50 Dec 30, 1933
Big Black River, Maine -50 Jan 16, 2009
Gavilan, New Mexico -50 Feb 1, 1951
Mount Washington, New Hampshire -50 Jan 22, 1885
San Jacinto, Nevada -50 Jan 8, 1937

On any single day, the mountain town of Stanley, Idaho, is most often the coldest place in the 48 contiguous states.

The top ten spots for the most number of days with the lowest temperature in the contiguous US between 1995 and 2005

Stanley, Idaho 398
West Yellowstone, Montana 337
Gunnison, Colorado 170
Truckee, California 161
Alamosa, Colorado 142
Saranac Lake, New York 128
Jackson, Wyoming 109
Berlin, New Hampshire 92
Fraser, Colorado 91
Wisdom, Montana 91

The coldest climate year-round in the United States is at Barrow on Alaska's north coast. There the normal daily mean temperature is well below freezing, at 10.4 °F (-12 °C).

Out of 250 major weather stations in the contiguous US, these five have an annual mean temperature below 40 °F (4.4 °C)

Mt. Washington, New Hampshire 27.2
International Falls, Minnesota 37.4
Marquette, Michigan 38.7
Duluth, Minnesota 39.1
Caribou, Maine 39.2

Places in the USA outside of Alaska with freezing temperatures, of 32 °F or less, on 180 or more days a year

Mt. Washington, New Hampshire 242
Alamosa, Colorado 227
Ely, Nevada 218
Flagstaff, Arizona 208
Burns, Oregon 205
International Falls, Minnesota 197
Elko, Nevada 193
Marquette, Michigan 192
Kalispell, Montana 189
Williston, North Dakota 189
Caribou, Maine 186
Winnemucca, Nevada 186
Bismarck, North Dakota 186
Sheridan, Wyoming 185
Duluth, Minnesota 183
Lander, Wyoming 183
Casper, Wyoming 181
Missoula, Montana 180
Milford, Utah 180

I hope this cold hard data helps you all brave the heat wave.

Fun facts

Berlin, New Hampshire, is pronounced Bur-lin, not Ber-lin.

Big Bill Heywood was born in Winnemucca.

Minus 40 degrees Farenheit and minus 40 centigrade are the same!

It's expected to get up to 103 today in Paradise (that'd be Paradise, TX.)

The Sun has mercifully gone behind the clouds. The humidity, etc. is low at 31% but expected to rise throughout the afternoon. The temp. is 90. Maybe another 5 or 6 degrees before Friday is done for.

Hell, Michigan, 97 and there will be a thunderstorm.

Do you live near Hell, Por-Man?

There is a Hell, Mi. it was suggested that I go there to live, so far I have not succumbed.
http://www.roadsideamerica.com/attract/images/mi/MIHELhell_vanhoose.jpg

My goodness gracious. Seems a rather insensitive suggestion that you go live there.

Speaking of Hell, I'm finishing up Hell House by Richard Matheson, and though the book is somewhat spoiled by my having seen The Legend of Hell House based on Matheson's novel, it is still an above average freaky read I'd recommend.

Henri, you mentioning Hell House made me think of House of Leaves. Have you read it, and if so, would you recommend it?

A reprieve--at least temporarily--in Chicago after some strong thunderstorms. Only 73 F, although they say it will go up to 90F. I took advantage of the bad weather to go to the Borders to see what I could find. I am able to get there by going underground from my office to just across the street. Just stayed inside until the light turned green, put the umbrella up and dashed. Hardly crowded at all which changed when the rain stopped and noon approached.

Typical liquidation sale--first day has most things just 10% off. I did not get any of the really expensive things I would like. I will wait to see if any of them are still there when I go back after the next increase in discounts. Of course, today I walked out with six books since I was "saving" so much. LOL

130> Hell yes I'd recommend House of Leaves! But Mr. Durick wouldn't! So don't listen to whatever Mr. Durick has to say about it, because he's flat out wrong. If you enjoy concrete poetry and typographical hijinks galore (you literally at times have to turn the book sideways and upside-down and use a mirror to read it), you'll love it. Conceptually one of the most creative books I've ever read. The story, however, doesn't quite match the glory of the print layout, but it's good enough. Creativity = 10; Story/plot = 6.5.

Whatever you do, bubba, stay the hell away from his godawful follow up, Only Revolutions. Easily the most anticipated-turned-out-anti-climactic, reading experience of my life.

132: Just read your review of it.
"Pseudo-literary bowel movement"
Ha!

Lucky RidgewayGirl (#113). I don't believe I have been as hot in my life, except when I was sick with a fever when I was maybe twelve or thirteen. The only thing better than the Outer Banks would be the North Pole.

Here's something that might make you hot under the collar, if you ain't hot enough already:

Death of a Bookstore Chain

http://www.salon.com/books/bookstores/index.html?story=/books/feature/2011/07/22...

Well, there have been shark attacks both here in a Avon and down the road in Okracoke. We did have to run the AC last night instead of falling asleep to the sound of the surf last night. Still, it's a fantastic location to live through a heat wave.

New York City: 104 degrees

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/23/nyregion/in-new-york-a-wretchedly-hot-day-for-...

Overcast here in Detroit. Though I am some 35 miles N. of our fair city. And contemplating heading to the Upper. Up there where Mi. & Wisconsin are near neighbors.
http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/united_states/michigan_90.jpg
Up there in Lake Superior country - Heaven on earth. When I was younger and limberer I'd go a walking way up there and take a look-see. Lots to see, alright.

Ok, Peter-man, now I will admit it is hot in the East.

Ha ha, it was fourteen degrees in Vancouver yesterday.

it's super hot here. 36 degrees, but normal for time of year.

TOMORROW’S WEATHER

A national holiday in Australia tomorrow, to mark the victory of Cadel Evans in the Tour de France, in honor of which we present the predicted highs and lows for selected locales in un-American form; and also because it makes it seem cooler; and also because our non-Americans have been hinting that the forecast has been a bit, shall we say, parochial.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Austin, Texas 38/23
Taipei 33/25
Atlanta 32/24
Greenville, S. Car. 32/23
Gaithersburg, Md. 31/22
Chicago 30/18
Knoxville, Tenn. 29/24
Detroit 29/23
New York City 29/22
Los Angeles 28/17
Bethany, Conn. 27/19
Woodstock, N.Y. 26/18
Boston 26/18
Ljubljana, Slovenia 24/13
Portland, Oregon 23/14
La Pine, Oregon 23/7
Vancouver, Canada 22/13
Oxford, England 22/12
Gers, France 21/16
Ghent, Belgium 20/13
Utrecht, Netherlands 18/12
Sydney 17/6

Wow, Piero, it worked. I feel cooler already. Which really helps since I will be going out to play miniature golf and have a picnic with my daughter. Better take a coat, I think.

So far only 23, but thunderstorms and wind again. Once it stops, heading up to that 30 with lots of extra water in the air. A wild and crazy weather summer, isn't it?

Yes, I do love these "cold" fronts.

888

Had a little afternoon shower, which if nothing else made me feel better about things.

Friday I made shrimp remoulade and cold cucmber and peach soup. Both excellent hot weather foods.

Rained cats and dawgs for the last 35 minutes. Paella night this week.

It's been raining and raining here, all week. It snowed in nearby Mittagong last Wednesday (causing a minor sensation). The sun came out today for the first time in forever, but we still got a chilly sunshower in the middle of it, with a glorious rainbow. Now it is 3:38pm and the shadows are long and evening-ish.

My chooks are tired of having wet feet.

Piero, the centigrade temperatures are refreshing.

Here is nature + poetry. It kept on knocking on my brain last night until I had to drop everything and go look it up properly. I kept thinking of the nine bean rows for some reason.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Yeats

Here's a painting from the great N. landscape painters:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hans_Gude--Vinterettermiddag--1847.jpg

Summer Rain

A break in the heat
away from the front
no thunder, no lightning,
just rain, warm rain
falling near dusk
falling on eager ground
steaming blacktop
hungry plants
thirsty
turning toward the clouds
cooling, soothing rain
splashing in sudden puddles
catching in open screens
that certain smell
of summer rain

Raymond A. Foss

No more summer rain please. It's wet here again today with temperatures barely touching 18C. It's been miserable for over two weeks now and last night we were sitting around in the house in sweat shirts and fleeces.

We want our summer back. The big jazz festival starts on Friday and the weather forecast looks as though summer might be returning.

Tell me about the winter, bas. I'm seriously considering southern France in February 2012. Probably closer to Marseille than Toulouse, but still ...

If only I could tell you about the weather. It would seem that weather in this part of the world has become more and more unpredictable. Old hands here tell us that summers were always hot and long, spring was wet and mild and winter started in December and was all over by the end of January. Not so now if it ever was.

What still remains true however is that generally the climate East of Toulouse is Mediterranean and therefore the mildest in France. However it is more windy than here in the South West of France. Particularly it is susceptible to the Mistral winds that blow down the Rhone valley and while they are dry winds they feel damn cold, but everything's relative and might not feel so bad to someone from the New York area of America

Here in the South West (and South East of France) the sun feels warm when it shines, even in February and so we can sometimes find it is warm enough to have meals outside. The lowest temperatures we have experienced here are -10C at the beginning of February and the warmest are 20C. Just bring clothes for all seasons and you will be OK

Baswood, you can have, say, 10% of my summer weather. It'd make things just about perfect on my end.

On the other hand, who cares about hot weather when I can jump in the ocean. I've got The Graveyard of the Atlantic at my disposal for a few more days.

A Retrospect of Humidity

All the air conditioners now slacken
their hummed carrier wave. Once again
we’ve served our three months with remissions
in the steam and dry iron of this seaboard.
In jellied glare, through the nettle-rash season
we’ve watched the sky’s fermenting laundry
portend downpours. Some came, and steamed away,
and we were clutched back into the rancid
saline midnights of orifice weather,
to damp grittiness and wiping off the air.

Metaphors slump irritably together in
the muggy weeks. Shark and jellyfish shallows
become suburbs where you breathe a fat towel;
babies burst like tomatoes with discomfort
in the cotton-wrapped pointing street markets;
the Lycra-bulging surf drips from non-swimmers
miles from shore, and somehow includes soil.
Skins, touching, soak each other. Skin touching
any surface wets that and itself
in a kind of mutual digestion.
Throbbing heads grow lianas of nonsense.

It’s our annual visit to the latitudes
of rice, kerosene and resignation,
an averted, temporary visit
unrelated, for most, to the attitudes
of festive northbound jets gaining height--
closer, for some few, to the memory
of ulcers scraped with a tin spoon
or sweated faces bowing before dry
where the flesh is worn inside out,
all the hunger-organs clutched in rank nylon,
by those for whom exhaustion is spirit:

an intrusive, heart-narrowing season
at this far southern foot of the monsoon.
As the kleenex flower, the hibiscus
drops its browning wads, we forget
annually, as one forgets a sickness.
The stifling days will never come again,
not now that we’ve seen the first sweater
tugged down on the beauties of division
and inside the rain’s millions, a risen
loaf of cat on a cool night verandah.

Les Murray

Liked that quite a bit more than the Foss.

Ah, an Australian poet.
Lovely stuff.

Money

Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me:
"Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
You could get them still by writing a few cheques."

So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don’t keep it upstairs.
By now they’ve a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life

--In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can’t put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave.

I listen to money singing. It’s like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.

Philip Larkin

Brilliant Les Murray that.

888

A BOUNDLESS MOMENT
He halted in the wind, and - what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

'Oh that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
Had we but in us to assume in March
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last years leaves.

Robert Frost

Alex Austin
reviews
Peter Weissman's, I Think, Therefore Who Am I?

Read the review

It's cool.

To go along with the roadrivertrails thread:

A DRUMLIN WOODCHUCK
One thing has a shelving bank,
Another a rotting plank,
To give it cozier skies
And make up for its lack of size.

My own strategic retreat
Is where two rocks almost meet,
And still more secure and snug,
A two-door burrow I dug.

With those in mind at my back
I can sit forth exposed to attack
As one who shredly pretends
That he and the world are friends.

All we who prefer to live
Have a little whistle we give,
And flash, at the least alarm
We dive down under the farm.

We allow some time for guile
And don't come out for a while
Either to eat or drink.
We take occasion to think.

And if after the hunt goes past
And the double-barrelled blast
(Like war and pestilence
And the loss of common sense),

If I can with confidence say
That still for another day,
Or even another year,
I will be there for you, my dear,

It will be because, though small
As measured against the All,
I have been so instinctively thorough
About my crevice and burrow.

Robert Frost

Humid and hot. Rain last night. More in store tonight. It hasn't been this hot since 1988. I had to forgo my usual Wednesday used book store adventures. Is there anything worse than a boiling hot and humid used bookstore. Doesn't smell any too good, either.

How was your visit to the DIA, Por?

Could've been a good opportunity for you, Por-Man, to bookshop in the nude.

For starters it was in cool air. That was nice. I spent most of my time in the 'Dutch' section. Grabbed a bite to eat at Kresge Court, a stunningly beautiful place and drove home in a thunderstorm that brought no cooling with it. All in all quite nice.

As for your suggestion EF, any and all sufferers there were spared a display of that unseemly sort.

Cool. I plan to take a day off work and go to the NSW art gallery next week. Haven't been there yet. They've got a Pre-Raphaelite exhibition which looks like it might be interesting. Maybe I should go there in the nude. They might mistake me for an exhibit.

http://www.artchive.com/artchive/b/burne-jones/burne-jones_merlin.jpg
An early sample

169> Maybe you should.

170> Hey! That's the cover of Byatt's Possession.

Can't fool you EF old boy.

Reflective

I found a
weed
that had a

mirror in it
and that
mirror

looked in at
a mirror
in

me that
had a
weed in it

A. R. Ammons (1966)

So, as I was telling you, Henri, I don't have an air conditioner, I have a second floor ceiling fan that sucks cool nighttime air into the house, after I close all but a few windows to create a sort of wind tunnel effect. This works pretty good, since I live in the foothills of the Whatchamacallit Mountains, where it's usually cool at night. But for a few weeks each summer it isn't that much cooler then, and then all I have is a fan. As with cell phones, iPads, and 4D television sets, it seems I'm a throwback:

http://www.slate.com/id/2299844/

That's clever that wind tunnel you've created. I'm 'fraid I've got that newfangled air conditioning, Piero, but we try and use it sparingly: open every window at night, shut windows/curtains during the day, and find that as long as the outside temp. doesn't exceed 90 degrees, we can keep it comfortable, under 78 degrees inside the house.

Off to gymnastics-camp and then the beach ...

"Stand still like the hummingbird."

--Henry Miller

My squeaky little hummingbirds love their sugar water.

Loss

When the sun
falls behind the sumac
thicket the
wild
yellow daisies
in diffuse evening shade
lose their
rigorous attention
and
half-wild with loss
turn
any way the wind does
and lift their
petals up
to float
off their stems
and go.

~ from Corsons Inlet (1969-70)

by A. R. Ammons

Nice one. Here's another:

Identity

1) An individual spider web
identifies a species:

an order of instinct prevails
through all accidents of circumstance,
though possibility is
high along the peripheries of
spider
webs:
you can go all
around the fringing attachments

and find
disorder ripe,
entropy rich, high levels of random,
numerous occasions of accident:

2) the possible settings
of a web are infinite:

how does
the spider keep
identity
while creating the web
in a particular place?

how and to what extent
and by what modes of chemistry
and control?

it is
wonderful
how things work: I will tell you
about it
because

it is interesting
and because whatever is
moves in weeds
and stars and spider webs
and known
is loved:
in that love,
each of us knowing it,
I love you,

for it moves within and beyond us,
sizzles in
to winter grasses, darts and hangs with bumblebees
by summer windowsills:

I will show you
the underlying that takes no image to itself,
cannot be shown or said,
but weaves in and out of moons and bladderweeds,
is all and
beyond destruction
because created fully in no
particular form:

if the web were perfectly pre-set,
the spider could
never find
a perfect place to set it in: and

if the web were
perfectly adaptable,
if freedom and possibility were without limit,
the web would
lose its special identity:

the row-strung garden web
keeps order at the center
where space is freest (intersecting that the freest
“medium” should
accept the firmest order)

and that
order
diminishes toward the
periphery
allowing at the points of contact
entropy equal to entropy.

A. R. Ammons

Passion about the heat, which for some reason appeared on another thread, maybe because tempers have been short, so you spew wherever you happen to be. An angry missive. I like it:

As for the weather, well, I don't think everyone takes into consideration that there's this thing called "humidity," you know, heavy moist air that raises the heat index (heat's equivalent of cold's wind-chill factor) and takes a, say, 95, and makes it feel like forty degrees warmer, and that people actually die in HOT weather like that and that it does suck one's energies dry, as it does mine, as I'm out in it half the goddamn day long sweating my ass off, not having the luxury, like some, of constant air-conditioning.

Brent Higgins

Interesting quote, Piero. Who's this Brent Higgins? I noticed you'd posted a poem of his awhile back on this thread also.

Another excellent A. R. Ammons poem there, "Identity". Just discovered his poetry myself. Pretty profound, philosophical poet, I'm discovering.

Maybe it will get better. We had high 80s here today, but the humidity was not nearly as high as it has been. A really lovely clear blue sky all day and nary a drop of rain in sight. Of course, spoiled brat that I am, I kept heading back into the air conditioning.

We are hoping for no more rain in July. Everything is a bit waterlogged here. Even the high ground in the park has had some standing water. A couple of days without rain ought to take care of it.

Interesting thing--a flock of geese has sort of settled in here. Are they heading south already? If so, I wish they would keep on keepin' on. My dogs either want to eat what they expel or roll in it. I don't like either option!

8

Who doesn't need a vacation now and then? Come back refreshed, Peter ... Anna, RidgewayGirl ... and Jane, Thea, Gene, Tani, citygirl, and other missing persons.

Two Campers in Cloud Country

(Rock Lake, Canada)

In this country there is neither measure nor balance
To redress the dominance of rocks and woods,
The passage, say, of these man-shaming clouds.

No gesture of yours or mine could catch their attention,
No word make them carry water or fire the kindling
Like local trolls in the spell of a superior being.

Well, one wearies of the Public Gardens: one wants a vacation
Where trees and clouds and animals pay no notice;
Away from the labeled elms, the tame tea-roses.

It took three days driving north to find a cloud
The polite skies over Boston couldn’t possibly accommodate.
Here on the last frontier of the big, brash spirit

The horizons are too far off to be chummy as uncles;
The colors assert themselves with a sort of vengeance.
Each day concludes in a huge splurge of vermilions

And night arrives in one gigantic step.
It is comfortable, for a change, to mean so little.
These rocks offer no purchase to herbage or people:

They are conceiving a dynasty of perfect cold.
In a month we’ll wonder what plates and forks are for.
I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I’m here.

The Pilgrims and Indians might never have happened.
Planets pulse in the lake like bright amoebas;
The pines blot our voices up in their lightest sighs.

Around our tent the old simplicities sough
Sleepily as Lethe, trying to get in.
We’ll wake blank-brained as water in the dawn.

Sylvia Plath

8

Jeez, Peter. Now I have to do just about all the poetry posting.

Just kidding, of course. You're got to do what you feel you gotta do. But I will miss our tandem poetry presentation, our different but mutually appreciated offerings. Poor Robert Frost, Auden, Dylan Thomas, and all your other boys. They'll get short shrift now.

Then again, you did leave the door open to slip in now and then, which I hope you will; here, and on the sports thread during the basketball season, if there ever is a basketball season.

8

Urania hardly ever visits here, but that don't mean I can't poach from her. Take a look at this bit of nature:

http://www.librarything.com/topic/121175#2839558

186> I did not block you, Porius. I archived my messages. Are you that inept you can't even figure that out?

Actually, Porius, you quit the salon because you're a big baby, and I'm shocked at just how infantile your conflict-resolution "skills" truly are. A pathetic post, Porius. And a pathetic exit.

8

8

At this point, the nature thread seems to have been hijacked. Fortunately, a lot of people are on vacation. For those who aren't, we will resume our regularly scheduled program when the scirocco passes. Or Jane can post a recipe.

Can we have a new thread, Piero?

THREAD SWITCH

http://www.librarything.com/topic/121385

You've got good instincts, Sheila.