[lit-ideas] Sunday Twofer
- From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 13 May 2012 11:46:11 -0700
When "off" and "on" blur together, sometimes I wonder whether a well-defined
job delivering the mail would be a fine thing. And then I remember Charles
Bukowski on the subject and my own experiences as a consumer. For want of
seven cents recently--there was a rise in price I missed--the post office
confiscated my letter, held it ten days, returned it to my box. By this time
my brother-in-law's birthday was two days away, and since he lives half a world
away and doesn't "do" e cards there wasn't much possibility that he'd be amused
or cheered on the right day. I thought of creating a fuss in my local post
office, but when I got there a couple were having a loud argument in the
parking lot, one fit for t.v. (which may have been where they learned the
moves), and that was enough to put me off. I paid the missing seven cents;
they re-sent. The card arrived in nine more days, which was first class.
Meanwhile, I ordered some nineteenth century books and an up-to-date, backlit
reading device. The first were to come by "media mail," the second was
regular. None arrived on time. My current theory is that our guy leaves
packages for his relief, allows them to cluster. Why do all that heavy lifting
when you have seniority? Sure enough, these two packages and another all
arrived on POET'S day, Friday, which is I believe when our guy goes fishing, or
writes laconic stories. (Piss Off Early, Tomorrow's Saturday).
An exercise proposed by a candidate for a job teaching writing at our college
consisted of tearing a hole in a piece of paper to create a window on the
world, a point of view, a frame for observations. We were asked to take a few
minutes then to write what we could see and what we thought about what we could
see. Here's me, "My point of view is not still. When I am god-like and above
the top of the frame I see stains and smudges on the table, marks, variance in
value. These do not mean much to me. What a crap pen this is. Now I scrunch
down. Another of these crap pens comes into view, or rather the black and
round end is what I see, also about a quarter of an inch of whiteness. When I
really get low, I see Arvie [African-American] eating his lunch from a white,
ceramic container. None of this is accidental. I choose the point of view,
and in that selection I refuse other possibilities. So now I wonder about
connections. I spy a white slip of paper, a white stain on the table, possibly
left over from an attempt to use white-out. Ah, in the distance, yet more
white. My points of view and what I see..., it's all really quite white. He's
asking us to put our pens down. No more might for me, or this pen."
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off,
digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html
Other related posts:
