Winter of Our Discontent Comparison

I am fascinated by the opening soliloquy of Richard III. Most of it is Shakespeare at his best and a little, Shakespeare at his worst:

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag’d war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass—
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love’s majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph—
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them—
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up—
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.

If you ever want to really get inside a piece of poetry: memorize it. Nothing is like it. In trying to memorize it, you look at it from every possible angle. I have, of course, memorized this exact speech. And so I think that I understand it pretty well. Here is my take, in more or less plain English:

The king has made us all safe and happy—he’s ended the war. All the terrors that haunted us are now gone for good. We have been honored as heroes, put away our weapons, silenced all calls to arms, and rested our aching bodies. War has put on a happy face, and instead of charging his enemies, he seduces our women. But I am ugly, and though I may want love, who would have me? I am a deformed beast! Even dogs bark when I come near. So in this wimpy time of peace, I am not happy. What choice do I have? Stare at my deformed shadow? No. Since I can’t have a life of love, I will have hatred. I will pass my days with villainous deeds. Already, I have spread a rumor that my brother means to murder the king. And soon, I will destroy them both!

Clearly, Richard is not a well-adjusted person. Even more: he is not a believable character. No one runs their life that way, “I have two options: lover or villain.” It’s ridiculous. But that doesn’t make it any less fun.

Henry Irving

As is discussed in the lecture available in And I Won’t Even Complain About Not Much Liking Shakespeare, Henry Irving is the first person to record Shakespeare. He probably did it in 1888. And what he recorded was this opening soliloquy from Richard III. It is a remarkable thing, because his performance is almost unrecognizable as acting. There is almost no emotion: it is all elocution. When he says the line, “That dogs bark at me as I halt by them” he says it as if he were Sweeney Todd in a melodrama. The only way to understand such a performance is to hear it as an aria. And as such it is interesting. But it tells us precious little about the character.

From this lecture, I know that the history of Shakespearean performance over the last 125 years has been one of moving away from this musical style of performance to our modern emotional style of performance. Based upon this, going backwards from 1888, we can assume that performances were even more musical, less emotionally nuanced. And thus, it is surprising to read William Hazlitt in 1814, describe the character in Mr. Kean’s Richard:

The restless and sanguinary Richard is not a man striving to be great, but to be greater than he is; conscious of his strength of will, his powers of intellect, his daring courage, his elevated station, and making use of these advantages, as giving him both the means and the pretext to commit unheard-of crimes, and to shield himself from remorse and infamy.

I agree with all that Hazlitt writes here, but somehow his impressive intellect and erudition seem to fail him in that he misses the one thing that most defines Richard: his anger—at the universe for making him deformed, and everyone in it for not sharing his deficiencies. If Richard is not angry (and perhaps bored as well), I don’t see what the whole play is about.

Laurence Olivier

Here is Laurence Olivier doing Richard the way I see him: angry. Beneath every line is rage and I am right there with him. This is the best performance of Richard I’ve ever seen, even though it is far from the most emotional or human. It is from Olivier’s own star-studded filmed version in 1955. Note that Olivier has taken out the dreadful lines, “And if King Edward be as true and just / As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, / This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up— / About a prophecy which says that G / Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.”

Heartbreak Productions

Here is an interesting take on Richard. According the person who posted it, “Heartbreak Productions Richard III summer 2002. Directed by Peter Mimmack. With Andrew Cullum as Richard III. Filmed at Kenilworth Castle.” He starts off very sarcastic, which I totally approve of, because sarcasm is just a veneer on anger. However, Cullum throws some self-pity in the second half of the speech that I’m not so sure of. Certainly it is a valid take on the character, but like so much of modern Shakespearean performance: a lot is created that just isn’t there in the text.

Kenneth Branagh

Branagh is very good as Richard, but in this scene, he plays it too much like the melodramatic villain. His barely suppressed anger is great, but he jumps so nimbly from it to an all too clear delight that I find it jarring.

Ian McKellen

The 1995 filmed version of Richard III is so stylized, that it is hard to know what to think of McKellen’s understated performance. He is clearly very pleased with himself, but somehow he manages to integrate this with his hatred and frustration so that it works. (It is unfair to do a comparison of a big budget film and basically a book on tape that Branagh was doing.)

Video Not Currently Available.

Just the same, it is hard to know if McKellen understands the speech at all, based upon the following clip. Yeah, we get it: “Sun of York” is a pun of “Son of York” and King Edward is the son of the Duke of York. But Richard does not mean these lines as stated: he would prefer it still be winter. I don’t mean to suggest that McKellen really doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Artists are almost always at their worst when they discuss their work. But one does get the impression that he thinks he is speaking to a child of limited intelligence:

There is no doubt that the more recent actors give Richard more depth. My question is whether that is really appropriate.

Kill Your Daughters

Planned ParenthoodAccording to MSNBC (and many other sources), “In a reversal of Susan G. Komen For the Cure’s funding cuts to Planned Parenthood, the founder and CEO of the nation’s largest breast-cancer advocacy agency said Friday that the group would amend the criteria that sparked a firestorm.”

Despite what Komen is saying, their original decision was part of a concerted effort to destroy Planned Parenthood. According to Newsday:

Komen has explained that the defunding decision was due to the foundation’s recently enacted policy to not fund organizations that are under investigation by local, state or federal authorities. That would disqualify Planned Parenthood, which is the subject of a congressional inquiry begun in September by Rep. Cliff Stearns, R-Fla., to determine whether it has used federal money to fund abortions, which is forbidden by law.

What isn’t clear from this article is that Komen made its decision in December—after Stearns’ inquiry had started. So they knew exactly what they were doing.

And they know what they’re doing now. They’ve reversed themselves because of the huge backlash against them that was going to hurt donations to this primarily conservative, and clearly evil, group.

This can’t be said often enough: despite all their platitudes to the contrary, these people hate women—especially young and powerful women. Depriving them of healthcare is just a way of killing them by subtler means than death camps and marches. Kill you daughters![1]

Update

Ezra Klein has an excellent article about Komen’s turn around. He writes, in part:

Originally, Komen said Planned Parenthood was ineligible for grants because they were under congressional investigation. But they quickly abandoned that claim and moved to a more apolitical explanation: Planned Parenthood doesn’t directly provide mammography. “We have decided not to fund, wherever possible, pass-through grants,” said Nancy Brinker, president of the Susan G. Komen Foundation. “We were giving them money, they were sending women out for mammograms.”

If Komen had initially argued that they would no longer fund organizations that didn’t directly provide mammograms, they would, perhaps, have had an easier time explaining their decision. Of course, that might have meant defunding a much larger swath of organizations. It also would have meant changing their recommendations to women.

The likelier explanation, as Kate Sheppard has persuasively argued, is that the shifting rationales behind Komen’s decision imply that the decision to defund Planned Parenthood was based on either political or ideological considerations regarding abortion. But because many of Komen’s funders are pro-choice, it couldn’t be described that way. Hence the hunt for alternative justifications, and the eventual apology and putative reversal.

The core of Kate Sheppard’s argument is the following list:

  • Anti-abortion groups leading the campaign against Komen’s Planned Parenthood funding may have been tipped off to the decision well before it was public.
  • The Atlantic’s Jeffrey Goldberg reported that the decision was about abortion and that Handel was involved. The story has not been corrected or retracted.
  • Komen did not cancel a grant to Pennsylvania State University despite the university being the target of a federal investigation, which was the original reason Komen cited for ending the Planned Parenthood grant.
  • Anti-abortion groups are also declaring victory in their parallel attempts to pressure Komen on embryonic stem cell research, another hot-button issue. Anti-abortion groups have targeted Komen for providing funding to any medical institution that also conducts that type of research (even if Komen isn’t directly funding it). A few weeks ago, Texas Right to Life flagged a Komen press release from late November explicitly stating that they don’t support research that involves “destroying a human embryo” and have never funded that type of research. Both Life News and the National Catholic Register noted the Komen release on Wednesday evening, and Life News reported further that Komen appears to have also ended grants to institutions that conducts embryonic stem cell research. The link to the press release on the Komen site is dead now, and the press release is no longer posted in their media section. The organization did not respond immediately to a request for comment on whether they’ve changed their policy on this topic as well.

[1] Here’s Lou Reed, writing about how the good people tried to help him with electroshock therapy in the song Kill Your Sons:

All your two-bit psychiatrists
are giving you electroshock
They said, they’d let you live at home with mom and dad
instead of mental hospitals
But every time you tried to read a book
you couldn’t get to page 17
‘Cause you forgot where you were
so you couldn’t even read

Don’t you know they’re gonna kill your sons

Here’s the song:

Keep on Truckin’

I was on a highway today and saw the only giant, fuel-guzzling, fume-spewing truck that makes me smile. I’ve seen Kane trucks before, but I’ve been unable to get a photo for fear of driving into the guardrail. After a brief search I found one[1] that’s close.

The one’s I’ve seen have been slightly different and read: BE KIND, BE CAREFUL, BE YOURSELF — KANE is able!

The bizarre play off a particularly gruesome Bible story is oddly amusing, but it’s the unexpected encouragement that I enjoy so much. Random and refreshing. And the thing is, there is absolutely no commercial reason for it! Most companies use their trucks as moving billboards, advertising their own products or services. Kane Trucking uses the backs of theirs just to be friendly.

I suppose it’s a sad statement about our society (or me) that I’m grateful for a simple thoughtful expression printed on the back of a truck.


[1] Thanks to Hank’s Web Site, a celebration of big rigs, for the photo.

Why I Like Romney

Gingrich/RomneyI remember the 1980 presidential election. I remember that liberal-minded people were thrilled that the Republicans had nominated Ronald Reagan. And then he won, and the United States has been on a constant ride to more inequality that I fear eventually leads to some form of neo-fascism (admittedly, pro-Isreal fascism).

So I haven’t been too excited with the prospect of Newt Gingrich getting the Republican nomination. It just stinks too much of 1980. What really bothers me is the Teflon issue. Reagan was called the “Teflon President” because nothing ever stuck to him. The most obvious case was the Iran-Contra Affair where Reagan’s actions were treasonous.[1] Newt Gingrich seems to have the same Teflon coating.

Gingrich has terrible things in his past. And yet: no one cares. That’s all in the past. That was all before he found God. Except… that he was raised Lutheran. Publicly, he has always claimed to be a good Christian. Why should we believe him now? Or more to the point: why should Christians believe him now?

I think the answer is clear. Conservative Christians believe Gingrich now because he is saying what they want to hear. And this has nothing to do with religion. What they want to hear is that abortion is bad, war is good, and the United States is “special.”

It is a common liberal complaint that Jesus was very often talking about the poor, but most Christians in America are only interested in making woman carry their pregnancies to term. But the situation is much worse than this. In general, Christians (the conservative ones and those are the majority of the serious ones) don’t give a damn about the poor. In fact, I think that’s why the abortion (And birth control!) issue resonates so well for them: it is another way to keep the poor down. And they hate women, of course.

So I see Newt being a very dangerous candidate. When enough people say that it is unfair to talk about the man’s long and varied history of personal and private corruption, the media will pick up on it. They will make it so it can’t be talked about. And then, you’re living in Newt’s world.

Mitt Romney, on the other hand, is a terrible candidate. I think that Obama will eat them alive at the debates. I think the campaign will be able to tar Romney as a vulture capitalist, if Romney hasn’t done it for them by the general election.

So I like Romney!


[1] Of course, two Republican presidents after him also committed treason, so what’s the big deal? Bush Sr. was even more involved in Iran-Contra than Reagan. And Bush Jr. had that little Social Security Privatization (Sorry: Personalization!) Tour where he repeatedly questioned the full faith and credit of the nation he was nominally leading. Oh! And Clinton got a blow job: impeach that man!

Death of the Liberal Class

Death of the Liberal ClassI just picked up Chris Hedges’ Death of the Liberal Class. It is an excellent book. He argues that the liberal class—basically, the professional class—has traditionally served as a counterbalance to corporate power. Over the past many decades, however, the corporate class has eroded and corrupted the liberal class so that it is now too small and too beholden to corporate interests to serve this critical function. But Hedges isn’t naive. He knows that the liberal class has always been in important ways dependent upon corporate power. The compelling case he makes is that a system that was always fragile has crumbled to bits, only to be replaced with corporate power alone. It is well worth reading.

Here he is sounding a lot like a reasonable me:

In a traditional democracy, the liberal class functions as a safety valve. It makes piecemeal and incremental reform possible. It offers hope for change and proposes gradual steps toward greater equality. It endows the state and the mechanisms of power with virtue. It also serves as an attack dog that discredits radical social movements, making the liberal class a useful component within the power elite.

But the assault by the corporate state on the democratic state has claimed the liberal class as one of its victims. Corporate power forgot that the liberal class, when it functions, gives legitimacy to the power elite. And reducing the liberal class to courtiers or mandarins, who have nothing to offer but empty rhetoric, shuts off this safety valve and forces discontent to find other outlets that often end in violence.

The inability of the liberal class to acknowledge that corporations have wrested power from the hands of citizens, that the Constitution and its guarantees of personal liberty have become irrelevant, and that the phrase consent of the governed is meaningless, has let it speaking and acting in ways that no longer correspond to reality. It has lent its voice to hollow acts of political theater, and the pretense that democratic debate and choice continue to exist.

I am Rita

The Pleasure of HatingThere is a librarian who, on seeing me, is fond of yelling out, “Frank” in the Liverpudlian accept of the title character in the film Educating Rita. I find this charming. What’s more, I would only be too delighted to think of myself as the erudite and emotionally wounded Frank Bryan. I’ve always been fond of his big plunge into the dark side, and his vicious comment, “Found a culture, have you Rita? Found a better song to sing? No, you found a different song to sing, and on your lips it’s shrill and hollow and tuneless.”

What a cruel remark. But also: how true. At least, I always thought so.

This evening, I was reading William Hazlitt’s The Pleasure of Hating, a collection of essays, including that for which the book is titled.[1] And Hazlitt is nothing so much as a revaluation. First, he is a wonderful writer. As a 19th century British essayist, he commonly writes thousand word paragraphs. This is such a delight in a time when most magazines will only accept stories that are less than 2000 words. But more than the pure joy of the writing, Hazlitt is a radical thinker—both in his time and ours.

I have a new hero. And you are likely to hear much more about this great man from me.

Reading through these essays in an almost religious ecstasy, a thought came crashing into my mind: you are not Frank. Frank Bryan, that is. Certainly, I accept this song that I now sing is in no objective sense better than the song I was born to. But that isn’t the point. It is a matter of perspective. For Bryan, this was the song he was born to. For Rita and me, it is a song we’ve worked very hard to sing in key. Love is never objective, but that doesn’t make it any less fundamental. And those who feel that our song is shrill and hollow and tuneless have sunk to the point where all songs sound that way.


[1] Just to give you a taste of what Hazlitt is like, I offer you some quotes from the essay The Pleasure of Hating, which he wrote when he was exactly my age. Here is the essay in brief:

Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust: hatred alone is immortal.

Here he could be writing about Frank Bryan, but then, I expect that Hazlitt knew more than a few of them:

We hate old friends: we hate old books: we hate old opinions; and at last we come to hate ourselves.

I marked this one because I thought it worthy of Dorothy Parker:

For my own part, as I once said, I like a friend the better for having faults that one can talk about. “Then,” said Mrs. —, “you will never cease to be a philanthropist!”

There is no question that Hazlitt liked the plays of Shakespeare very much. However, if people today were as broad minded on this subject, I would never feel the need to complain about That Bard:

To cry up Shakespeare as the God of our idolatry, seems like a vulgar, national prejudice: to take down a volume of Chaucer, or Spenser, or Beaumont and Fletcher, or Ford, or Marlowe, has very much the look of pedantry and egotism. I confess it makes me hate the very name of Fame and Genius when works like these are “gone into the wastes of time,” while each successive generation of fools is busily employed in reading the trash of the day…

The essay itself is an indictment of the writer and the reader:

As to my old opinions, I am heartily sick of them. I have reason, for they have deceived me sadly. I was taught to think, and I was willing to believe, that genius was not a bawd—that virtue was not a mask—that liberty was not a name—that love had its seat in the human heart. Now I would care little if these words were struck out of the dictionary, or if I had never heard them… Seeing all this as I do, and unraveling the web of human life into its various threads of meanness, spite, cowardice, want of feeling, and want of understand, of indifference towards others and ignorance of ourselves—seeing infamy—mistaken as I have been in my public and private hopes, calculating others from myself, and calculating wrong; always disappointed where I placed most reliance; the dupe of friendship, and the fool of love; have I not reason to hate and to despise myself? Indeed I do; and chiefly for not having hated and despised the world enough.

A Jewish-Italian Fairy Tale

Broadway Danny RoseI watched Woody Allen’s movie Broadway Danny Rose this morning, for the first time since I was a kid. It may well be his best film. Regardless, it is perfect: it never makes a wrong move.

It is a comedy, of course. And very funny. But Allen usually makes funny films. I don’t actively seek him out any more, but I’m generally very pleased when I do stumble upon something. Recently I saw The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, and I thought it quite good. But it isn’t really about anything; it is just a romp. Broadway Danny Rose, on the other hand, is deep. By the end I was sobbing. (What else is new?) What major filmmaker writes about trust and forgiveness?

What’s really amazing about the film is how Allen ends it. Tina Vitale has come to Danny’s apartment to ask for his forgiveness. He can’t do it. She leaves. But Danny’s the kind of guy who can’t not forgive. He runs after her and catches her right in front of the Carnegie Deli. He leads her back to the party at this apartment. And then we hear the comedians who have been telling the stories.

“You know that only six months ago, they gave him the single greatest honor you can get in the Broadway area? Look at the menu: at this very delicatessen they named a sandwich after him. The Danny Rose Special!”

“Probably a cream cheese on a bagel with marinara sauce.”

What a great way to say, “And they—the Jew and the Italian—lived happily ever after.

Oh my God, I think I’m going to cry.

Caffeine’s Like Mething Around

Starbucks Awake TeaMost people are not aware that the United States tried to make caffeine illegal in the 1930s. They found that it was impossible. It was already in so many products and the United States of Commerce has a government of the corporations, by the corporations, for the corporations. But you didn’t need to know that to figure out that a drug’s danger had nothing to do with its legal status. According to the CDC, “Each year, an estimated 443,000 people die prematurely from smoking or exposure to secondhand smoke.” This is far more than the number of people who die from all illegal drugs combined. But who cares? We’re talking profits!

I am not, as they say, a coffee achiever. Why people keep buying me Starbucks cards, I can’t say. But last Sunday, I went over to Starbucks. Normally, when I go there, I get their Earl Grey tea, because they don’t have English Breakfast. But this day, I decided to try their only other black tea: Awake. What a mistake! I had to rush home and hide under my bed while I waited for the effect to subside. After a few hours, I passed out either from the sudden disappearance of the caffeine or an anxiety overload. Thank you so much, Starbucks!

I am used to ingesting 50 mg of caffeine per day—up to 100 mg if I’m feeling cocky. I know what these levels of caffeine feel like and this was not what my Awake experience felt like. I figure there must have been 200 mg of caffeine in that damnable cup. But it’s strange. It is hard to find data. Starbucks proudly displays the number of calories on their pretend bagels. But they don’t provide caffeine content. You would think they would. What is it that they sell, anyway: caffeine.

According to Ask.com, 12 oz. of Awake tea only has 100 mg of caffeine. Of course, they also claim that it has the same amount of caffeine as their Earl Grey tea. Sorry. When it comes to caffeine, I’m like one of those really expensive thermometers: very sensitive.

So all you coffee achievers out there: if you’re looking for a tea, Awake is for you. But you should know: that caffeine is killing you. Stress kills.

Speed kills: don’t meth around!

Lou Dobbs: Ignorant and Evil

Lou DobbsLou Dobbs (You know: the bigot!) was on The Daily Show last night. I frankly don’t understand why Jon Stewart gives vile people like Dobbs the platform. All he did on the show was defend Fox News and attack Obama. But that didn’t surprise me. It did, however, surprise me when he said this:

It’s a little like the way Obama goes after billionaires and millionaires when he wants to tax them, not understanding the order of magnitude different between a millionaire and a billionaire.

Last time I checked, that was three orders of magnitude. But ignorant in one thing, ignorant in all. You don’t get to Dobbs’ position without becoming completely divorced from reality.

Innumeracy in Rocky

XXXThe original Rocky is a great film. You probably find that strange because I’m such a pretentious arty kind of pedant. But that’s the whole point. You see, Rocky is not a boxing movie. The film has little to do with boxing. It is about a man who finally takes charge of his life. And this, perhaps more than anything else, is why the later film range from okay to horrible. Let’s see, if I had to order them from best to worst: II, V, VI, III, IV. [Note on Rocky VI]

Another thing that makes the film great is the love story between these two fragile, beaten souls. The seduction scene is the sweetest of its kind I’ve ever seen.

“I always knew you was pretty,” Rocky says.

“Don’t tease me,” Adrian says as if the thought had never occurred to her.

“I’m not teasing. I ain’t teasin’ ya,” he says, staring into her eyes. “I wanna kiss you. You don’t have to kiss me back if you don’t want. But I wanna kiss you.”

Dialog like that could go all wrong, of course. It is only because both characters are so clearly and deeply wounded by the world that we know these two are meant for each other, both objectively and in their minds.

It is best, however, not to watch the film too often. Because if you do, your mind will start to wander. Like after the opening fight scene where the fight promoter comes in the locker room to pay Rocky.

Balboa, you get winner’s share: six-five dollars. Less fifteen dollar locker and corner man, five dollar shower and towel, and seven percent tax comes to forty fifty-five.

Let’s see now: 65 minus 15 minus 5 equals 45. Seven percent of 45 is 70 cents times 4 plus 35 cents. That’s $3.15. So the total is $41.85. That can’t be right.

The 7% must be off the gross. So 7% of $65 is 70 cents times 6 plus 35 cents. That’s $4.55. So the total is $40.45. Ten cents too much!

There are three possibilities here. The best one is that Sylvester Stallone is such a great writer that he knew that the promoter of this little hole in the wall boxing joint would make such a mistake, and it was put there on purpose. It seems unlikely, but he wrote a great script, so it’s possible.

The second possibility is that Billy Sands, the actor who played the promoter, flubbed the line. Either no one noticed or the best take was the one with the wrong amount. “It’s just ten cents! Only a freak would notice that!” Indeed.

The third possibility is that Stallone did the calculation wrong when he was writing.

And yes, I am perfectly aware that none of this matters. But now that I’ve cleared up this issue, my mind is clear. Of course, there is that whole issue of math in Shakespeare in Love—although they got it right, but it is interesting. Stay tuned!


Note: After Rocky IV came out, Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki was so annoyed that he made a short film parody of it called Rocky VI. He said of the film, “My revenge on Mr Stallone, who I think is an asshole.” Enjoy!

All is Clarity

All is VanityA long time ago, I wrote poetry, just like too many sensitive young people. But I was marginally successful, reaching the height of my art with a couple of things published in Andrei Codrescu’s Exquisite Corpse (now just known as The Corpse). But in looking back at my work, on balance, I would have to say it was all crap. (I didn’t put the image on the left because it was a skeleton. I put it there because it is the painting All is Vanity — What a card those artists are! — and the title of this article is a play on that.)

Recently, I wrote a love poem of sorts for one of my many passing fancies for librarians and bank tellers — the only women I come into physical contact with. So I sent it off to my friend Kristen McHenry. Now she’s an actual poet. And, well, great. Her first book is The Goatfish Alphabet. It is very good and will appeal to most people. It has some amazing moments like her poem “Museum,” which I don’t think she will mind me reprinting here:

For Dolly Arthur, Resident of 24 Creek Street, Ketchikan

They took the furtive jouney all alone,
Up the dank path, heads bent, ashamed and thrilled.
Feeling their blind way through the drenched black pines
Into her thick arms and opulent hips;
To remember themselves lost in pleasure,
Weakended with the ache of want and release.

They smoothed out their fivers like ironed shirts,
Laid down their sore bodies for the giving.
Dolly rocked them in her pillow thighs
As the rain spread on the swaybacked ceiling,
And the house slumped inch by mouldering inch,
Towards the soft enchantment of gravity.

It splays there still now, sunken and silent
In all its perishing pink and pearl.
And we fish out our damp five dollar bills
To gawk at the remnants of the floozy—
This corpulent blonde audacious whore
Redolent with bright tarty birds and bras.

I forage for clues to which ones she loved,
Who she conjured in her last loneliness.
Two miles uphill at the hatchery
The salmon writhe in their florescent tanks,
Sniffing out the rank scent of their birthplace:
the fluid, forgiving bed of home.

Wow. I could write thousands of words about that poem. But what would be the point? What could I possibly say that would begin to get at the power of the work itself. It is, quite simply, perfect and better than anything I’ve ever done.

The truth is, however, that not all the poems in The Goatfish Alphabet are this strong. They are all good, but they are culled from years of writing over which McHenry refined her craft. And so, it is not surprising that her most recent book, Triplicity, is this good throughout. I plan to write about it in detail, but I’ve only read it four times and I’m still not ready. But you don’t need me to walk you through the book; she does an excellent job herself.

Triplicity is combined with Chella Courington’s Paper Covers Rock, which is also quite good, but I’ve only read it once and can’t say much more. Together they are well worth the $16 cover price. You really should buy it now!

So I sent this horrible poem off to Kristen and she worked it over and sent it back to me. It was amazing. What she’d done was kind of like an etching: she’d removed all the crap and left only what was good. Frankly, it was humiliating. She told me that all she does when she works on other people’s stuff is to try to make it as clear as possible.

That sounds simple enough, but it is so profound. It is a truth that any halfway decent writer knows, but which we all forget. So I am forever thinking back on it. Clarity is all.

Unless you’re five:

Calvin