"Because I know I shall not know"

I have read poetry most of my life, it seems. I was a quiet Danish teenage girl who read Lord Byron and Rupert Brooke in the school library, swooning over the bold romanticism of the poets' words and lives. When I was sixteen or seventeen, I bought a slim volume of poetry. Away from school, I discovered Sir Philip Sidney, Lord Tennyson and DH Lawrence. Poetry became an escape from the clutter and clatter of my everyday life. And, yes, I romanticised poetry. Then I began University and one morning between classes I was catching up with my reading. That is when I encountered The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by TS Eliot and, although I normally try to avoid hyperbolic blanket statements, that poem effing changed my life. It was like language streaming straight in my veins and I felt drunk on poetry for the first, but not the last, time.

Let me confess: I have a special place in my heart (and brain) for High Modernism. Earlier I described High Modernism as

"that vast array of strange and deliberately disconcerting art forms which emerged in the Western part of the world around 1908-ish and which petered out towards the end of the 1930s. Shklovsky’s definition of остранение (ostranenie or ‘defamiliarisation’) describes my favourite art works so splendidly: they unsettle the readers/listeners/spectators by forcing them to acknowledge the artifice of art (and thereby making a clean break with the naturalist tradition of art)."

This is an intellectual sort of enjoyment: I enjoy the game of making meaning; I derive pleasure from understanding patterns emerging from seeming chaos. I really like poets like Ezra Pound and Gertrude Stein for these reasons. I have to work to get at the ideas behind the poems. TS Eliot fits in with all this, of course, but I also derive a very raw emotional pleasure from his poetry.

For me, Eliot's poetry is about understanding life. It is about finding your own way between one word and the next, between one moment and the next. It is about being intellectually curious, acknowledging how that is both a gift and a curse, and finding methods of dealing with this. It is about fragments and meta-narratives. It is about hope and loss of hope. It is about being human. It is tough, raw, almost unbearable and yet so .. beautiful.

My favourite Eliot poem is probably Ash Wednesday (from which the title is taken). An odd choice for an agnostic woman, perhaps, but it marks the transition from Eliot the High Modernist to Eliot the Religious Poet. I have always been drawn towards liminality.

One Small Step or One Giant Leap?

Yesterday marked the first time I could vote in Scotland. I clutched my polling card, brought ID with me and walked down to the polling place fully expecting to queue for maybe five or ten minutes.  I was the only voter, of course, and in no need of  ID either. I told the poll official that this was my first Scottish election and that I was very excited. She laughed and asked if I had brought my camera as she'd be happy to take my photo. Then I walked into the wrong room through sheer excitement, but finally managed to vote.

Excitement? Quite apart from the joy I always get from seeing democracy at work, I think that yesterday marked the day when I felt I finally have a voice here in Scotland. I'm that tiny bit more Scottish now. A bit more 'home'.

And then I visited a handknitting pirate who showed me how to needle-felt. The technique involves sharp, barbed needles  and obviously I stabbed my thigh a couple of times. I ended up with a little pin cushion which looks quite like a Microsoft icon circa 1996, but I don't really think needle-felting is my thing.

However, then the Pirate showed me how to use a drop-spindle and - holy caramel - I was instantly hooked. I was so hooked that I immediately found a good deal on eBay UK for a drop-spindle kit complete with fibre. It'll arrive tomorrow with any luck. Again, as with knitting, I think it is the feeling of connecting with tradition and history which hooks me.

Knitters' Picnic - Worldwide Knitting in Public

This year's Worldwide Knitting in Public event in Glasgow is going to take place on Saturday the 13th of June in the Kelvingrove Rockery, Kelvingrove Park at 1pm. We'll be having a picnic, so bring blankets, water, sunscreen(!), knitting/crocheting projects and something to nibble on.  In case of rain, the tentative backup plan is to meet in the main hall of Kelvingrove museum. Non-knitters are encouraged to show up and be assimilated.

Facebook Event link

(The other week I remembered Glasgow knitters idly chatting about a picnic months and months ago. I revived the topic on Ravelry and, yes, I've somehow ended up "hosting" this event. Let that be a lesson to you all)

Not Quoting Sixth Sense, Not Quoting Sixth Sense

Dead Ronald Reagan appears to wife, Nancy:

She told Vanity Fair magazine: "At night time, if I wake up, I think Ronnie is there, and I start to talk to him... And I see him."

(..)

And she mentioned that the present First Lady, Michelle Obama, called for advice on running the White House.

Mrs Reagan's suggestion was to hold more state dinners - the Reagans held more than 50, compared to just six while George W Bush was in office.

"Just have a good time and do a little business. And that is the way Washington works," she told the new first lady.

Pioneers

Robert Cornelius. This photo was taken in 1839 making it one of the earliest known self-portraits in the history of photography. I have looked at it often. He feels so alive, so human. It is a far cry from the stilted portraits which were to follow in the decades to come.

I was reminded of this when I came across First Sounds, a website set up "to make mankind's earliest sound recordings available to all people for all time."

Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville recorded phonautograms around 1860 and although the sound is distorted, it makes for facinating listening material. Scott's recordings predates Thomas Edison's far more famous recordings by some seventeen years, although there is arguably a significant difference in sound quality.

Last year the re-discovery of a young girl singing Au Clair de la Lune - a recording made by Scott in 1860 - made the headlines. Thanks to Mefi I just realised that experts are now thinking that Au Clair de la Lune was being played at twice the speed and the actual singer is Scott himself. While somewhat less romantic than a young girl's voice being heard after 150 years, it made me think of how inventors and pioneers are often left on their own as they try to make their ideas reality.

Remembrance of Things Past

When You Get Ticked - a blog entry by Lolly - made me stop in my tracks this morning. It made me think back to October 14, 1996 when I woke up, went to brush my teeth and stared with horror at my reflection in the mirror. A partially paralysed face is not something you expect to stare back at you when you look in the mirror. The paralysis was the culmination of several months' fatigue, cognitive confusion and persistent neck/ear pain. My best friend took me to see my doctor. Within two hours of waking up, I was in a hospital bed with brain scans and extensive blood work lined up.

Lyme Disease is a real bitch, boys and girls. It has been almost thirteen years and, although treated at the time, LD is still with me in tiny, unexpected ways. When I move my mouth, the weakened muscles around my left eye twitch.  My body is slightly more susceptible to stress than most people. And I wear a lot of hats because an ear infection can affect the nerves controlling the facial muscles (ask me how I know).

So check your body for tiny black dots if you have been walking in the woods or through tall grass. Some get the famous bullseye rash after a few weeks of being bitten (I didn't). If you start getting flu-like symptoms, a persistent neck/ear pain and what can best be described as "a cognitive fog", then go see your doctor.

Thank you, Lolly, for reminding me about all this because some things need to be remembered, some things need to be shared.