Podcast 24 — For a moment I thought maybe Henry should’ve had a dog to keep him company but a dog would’ve spooked the wildlife he wanted to see, so what’s the point. Loneliness is an asset.
I was in Concord on November 15, walked around the lovely town, and looked for Sleepy Hollow Cemetary on the wrong road. Finally found it and realize what you say is true; it's a huge old cemetary. I didn't find the author's ridge, and am disappointed about that, but I liked visiting the Minuteman statue and read the inscriptions on the base,. And I gave respect at the grave of the British soldiers sadly because I like the British people very much. It is a lovely little town and I wonder if I'll return, now that I've seen the place where the 'shot heard round the world' was shot by some historical Green Beret who believed that a new nation should start. The birth of our revolution was and is in a wonderful place. Sorry I didn't meet you there, Mr. Keillor
I'm from Concord (pronounced exactly like the word "conquered" - usually mispronounced by people on TV) and went to Thoreau (pronounced "Thuh-ROW" by locals, but probably had the accent on the first syllable historically, as in the word "thorough") School for grades K-5. Alcott (pronounced "ALL-cut") School was the elementary school at the other end of town. There was a picture of Thoreau hanging in the lobby of the school - the famous photograph that we are all used to seeing. I thought he looked creepy and didn't really learn who he was until just before I finished my time in that school. Right after I graduated from high school I worked in the post office for a few weeks making first day covers for the Thoreau stamp which came out in 1967 - 150 years after his birth.
I used to ramble around the communities of Massachusetts like Concord, the downtown Boston area, and the outskirts of Cape Cod over two decades ago. I read a lot on the New England male & female poets. Nature has always been a focal point of my own scribes. I've felt a strange connectedness towards Dickinson, Whitman, Emerson, Frost and Kerouac. Aloneness is a gift. Thoreau felt the energy of those rustic fields and wild meadows. I believe that writing the next great novel is not futile. Yes countless do probe their own dark souls in prose. Most do not have that acclaim or stamina to endure the personal rejections. I've struggled with the direction and power of my free verse. Do I follow the light? Will I ever be content with the physical text? Am I only a simple yet deep-hearted fool trying to attain an inner greatness? Poetry is still only synonymous with dead white men like classical music. There is so much richness to be uncovered.
Beautifully said. In Japanese poetry lingo, a nature wal is called a 'ginko.' One walks alone, then writes haiku in response what was seen. Ginko's are often done as a group where a small number of poets meet at a park shelter, then walk for an allotted time, return, write, then share what they have written. Henry needed some ginko buddies. The sharing of haiku helps the loneliness.
I know Thoreau was right - "“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” I'm a big fan of focusing on what you want daily doing the sacrifices it takes to achieve success. Call it manifest destiny if you want - it works!
"If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There's nothing to it
There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be . . ."
- Gene Wilder's "Pure Imagination" from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Back in Southern California, we had an Alaskan Malamute. Like the Burmese Mountain Dog, it had a perennially thick fur coat. In the winters, I’d take it to the mountain resorts and hike along the trails beneath the ski lifts. But what about in the summer? Once I heard that they had had a cold snap in Silverado Canyon, not far from us. I took “Igor” up the creek, and, sure enough, there was few inches of the “white stuff!” I’d never seen a dog go so crazy with delight! He rolled in it, poked his nose in it, tried to lick his whiskers – the whole nine yards! I don’t think it was just because he wasn’t overheated – it seemed more as if “sled dogs” are actually bred to love snow! I imagine they even get snow in the mountains of Burma!
I was in Concord on November 15, walked around the lovely town, and looked for Sleepy Hollow Cemetary on the wrong road. Finally found it and realize what you say is true; it's a huge old cemetary. I didn't find the author's ridge, and am disappointed about that, but I liked visiting the Minuteman statue and read the inscriptions on the base,. And I gave respect at the grave of the British soldiers sadly because I like the British people very much. It is a lovely little town and I wonder if I'll return, now that I've seen the place where the 'shot heard round the world' was shot by some historical Green Beret who believed that a new nation should start. The birth of our revolution was and is in a wonderful place. Sorry I didn't meet you there, Mr. Keillor
an uncanny quotidian hasty heart
Edward Mycue
"As ugly as a mud fence." Now that's rich. I think he looks a bit like Gene Wilder.
I'm from Concord (pronounced exactly like the word "conquered" - usually mispronounced by people on TV) and went to Thoreau (pronounced "Thuh-ROW" by locals, but probably had the accent on the first syllable historically, as in the word "thorough") School for grades K-5. Alcott (pronounced "ALL-cut") School was the elementary school at the other end of town. There was a picture of Thoreau hanging in the lobby of the school - the famous photograph that we are all used to seeing. I thought he looked creepy and didn't really learn who he was until just before I finished my time in that school. Right after I graduated from high school I worked in the post office for a few weeks making first day covers for the Thoreau stamp which came out in 1967 - 150 years after his birth.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_David_Thoreau
I used to ramble around the communities of Massachusetts like Concord, the downtown Boston area, and the outskirts of Cape Cod over two decades ago. I read a lot on the New England male & female poets. Nature has always been a focal point of my own scribes. I've felt a strange connectedness towards Dickinson, Whitman, Emerson, Frost and Kerouac. Aloneness is a gift. Thoreau felt the energy of those rustic fields and wild meadows. I believe that writing the next great novel is not futile. Yes countless do probe their own dark souls in prose. Most do not have that acclaim or stamina to endure the personal rejections. I've struggled with the direction and power of my free verse. Do I follow the light? Will I ever be content with the physical text? Am I only a simple yet deep-hearted fool trying to attain an inner greatness? Poetry is still only synonymous with dead white men like classical music. There is so much richness to be uncovered.
Beautifully said. In Japanese poetry lingo, a nature wal is called a 'ginko.' One walks alone, then writes haiku in response what was seen. Ginko's are often done as a group where a small number of poets meet at a park shelter, then walk for an allotted time, return, write, then share what they have written. Henry needed some ginko buddies. The sharing of haiku helps the loneliness.
plus.. his Mummy brought him dinners!
I know Thoreau was right - "“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” I'm a big fan of focusing on what you want daily doing the sacrifices it takes to achieve success. Call it manifest destiny if you want - it works!
"If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There's nothing to it
There is no life I know
To compare with pure imagination
Living there, you'll be free
If you truly wish to be . . ."
- Gene Wilder's "Pure Imagination" from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Back in Southern California, we had an Alaskan Malamute. Like the Burmese Mountain Dog, it had a perennially thick fur coat. In the winters, I’d take it to the mountain resorts and hike along the trails beneath the ski lifts. But what about in the summer? Once I heard that they had had a cold snap in Silverado Canyon, not far from us. I took “Igor” up the creek, and, sure enough, there was few inches of the “white stuff!” I’d never seen a dog go so crazy with delight! He rolled in it, poked his nose in it, tried to lick his whiskers – the whole nine yards! I don’t think it was just because he wasn’t overheated – it seemed more as if “sled dogs” are actually bred to love snow! I imagine they even get snow in the mountains of Burma!