almost without metaphor

clouds this morning cross two
adjacent mountains tinged with
bluegrey and pink, they move deliberately
in a swift west wind not like anything
but migrating water vapor
held by hydrogen bonds,
the cooler the better, they glide
over pine, hemlock, oak, and spruce
being networks of misted h-2-o.
the pine, hemlock, spruce, and oak
will drink to satiation if graced by clouds
meeting more frigid air and rain falls
not like anything but clear liquid
that has found itself in a bowl
of gravity

Jim Culleny
© 5/21/19

Huma Bhabha. Carriage, 2014.

Clay, wood, cork, wire, styrofoam, leaf, paper, oilstick, acrylic paint.

More here, here, and here.

Current show at ICA, Boston.

by Robert Fay

The great critic George Steiner in his book Tolstoy or Dostoevsky? (1959) believed the achievements of Russian literature in the 19^th century stand as one of “three principal moments of triumph in the history of western literature, the other two being the Athenian dramatists and Plato and the age of Shakespeare.” Not particularly bad for a largely peasant-filled country whose entire literary tradition to that point was arguably in the form of just one man’s oeuvre: Alexander Pushkin. “His works,” Steiner notes, “constituted in themselves a body of tradition.”

But if the Russians didn’t have the bedrock cultural traditions of the their European neighbors—ancient Greek and Roman Civilizations, along with the unifying force of the Roman Catholic Church—they certainly had God, and God in Russia meant one thing: the Russian Orthodox Church.

In the 19^th Century, the European intellectual and artistic environment was animated by the Enlightenment, whose denouement was surely the decapitation of France’s ancien régime in 1789, and with it, much of the legitimacy of “state, church and people” being understood as a unified, divinely-sanctioned manner of organizing human society and culture.

But by not being definitively western, either in geography or in the totality of its cultural inheritance, Russia had much in common with that one-time bastard of Europe, the United States of America, which in the 19^th Century was still very much grappling with God as is evidenced by the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville, among others. Read more »

by R. Passov

As the clouds of WWII darkened Austria, Kurt Gödel, the greatest logician of modern times, at Einstein’s urging, brought his two magnificent proofs to Princeton. There he would remain for almost forty years, never mentoring a graduate student, rarely lecturing, adding only one substantial but incomplete proof to the cannon of math.

Mildly underwhelmed by the impact of his discoveries, at Princeton he would gradually set aside math in favor of philosophy. Little of this work was published in his lifetime.  But it was enjoyed by Einstein who for the last decade of his life, walked alongside as Gödel discussed a field Einstein once likened to ‘writings in honey.’

________________________________________

Gödel was born in 1906, into a German speaking family living in Brunn (Brno) Moravia, then part of the Austria-Hungary Empire, soon to be annexed by Germany, now part of the Czeck Republic. His father before passing unexpectedly in 1929, had built a successful textile business that would secure his family’s finances.

An early childhood struggle with Rheumatic fever left Gödel forever suspicious of the state of his health. He took his primary education at the local Realgymnasium. Modeled after the enlightened German system, the gymnasium offered “mental gymnastics, developing both mind and body.” Following his older brother, in 1921 he entered the University of Vienna.

Easily establishing his gifts, he studied theoretical physics, enjoyed the life of a student and earned a reputation for sleeping late. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

Alpine meadow in the South Tyrol in May of 2019.

by Bill Benzon

Music has been extraordinarily important to me. I’ve listened to and been moved by a lot of it, of all kinds, polka, jazz, classical, rock, and who knows what else. And I’ve performed in various settings – dive bars, concert halls, the streets of New York, weddings, even a funeral or two. And, as I am a thinker, I’ve tried to understand how it works. To that end I published a book some years ago, Beethoven’s Anvil: Music in Mind and Culture.

This article is adapted from the opening chapter. These are some of the things I set out to understand. Did I succeed? Of course not, but who knows? I’d like to think that I’ve asked some fruitful questions.

Tears for Johnny

On May 21, 1992 Bette Midler was a guest on the “Tonight Show.” She had been on many times before; the show had, in fact, been important in launching her career, as it had been for many performers. But this appearance was special: the next-to-last show for Johnny Carson, the show’s longtime host and star. He had decided to retire from television and the shows that week in May were planned and publicized as a farewell to Johnny.

Carson, himself a skilled drummer, liked swing-era jazz and popular music. The band he maintained for “Tonight” was a fine swing band. Midler was at home in that repertoire and was able to cajole Carson into singing a duet with her on a song she knew to be one of his favorites, Jimmy van Heusen’s fine ballad “Here’s That Rainy Day.” Carson was certainly more proficient as a drummer than as a vocalist, but his difficulties on this performance were more emotional than technical. The strain on his face was that of a man holding back tears.

The duet starts at roughly 7:16.
Read more »

“The stars are raining down upon me. I know this is not true,
but it is the truth.” —Michel Foucault

But it Is

the stars are raining down on me
I know this is not true, but there are so many,
as many as every drop in a deluge,
as many as if the earth had been upended
and the sands of every beach of every sea
were falling into my hair—  I know,
I know this is not true ….. but,

as if the multitude of all words ever spoken or written
had been heaved into the sky and were falling back
as they always are upon my head—
I know this is not true  ….. but,

as if their vertical boomerang effect
were returning them to their source,
as if Logos were doing it again, beginning,
stuttering as it does with each year . day.  minute.  second
nano or otherwise, drenching me with every drop of time—

I know, …I know this is not true

but it is
.

Jim Culleny
5/17/18

by Anitra Pavlico

In Louise DeSalvo’s introduction to a 1991 edition of Virginia Woolf’s first novel, The Voyage Out, she describes Woolf’s childhood incest and how she incorporates it into the novel. DeSalvo also discusses an earlier incarnation of the novel, Melymbrosia, which is much more overt in its references to incest. The Voyage Out, on the other hand, can easily be read without guessing at any of its author’s tragic history. DeSalvo, a scholar who spent seven years assembling Melymbrosia from Woolf’s papers in the archives of the New York Public Library, points out that it would have been illegal for Woolf to render incestuous experiences in print.

DeSalvo discusses Woolf’s half-brothers, Gerald and George, and their disturbing misdeeds. They were the sons of Woolf’s mother Julia and her first husband Herbert Duckworth, who died when Julia was pregnant with Gerald. Woolf described only many years later how Gerald had manually fondled her “private parts” when he was seventeen and she was five. George’s actions are harder to pin down. It seems he was someone who wanted to push boundaries, veering into flirtation and overly physical displays of affection, but still wanted to come across as the lovable, amiable older brother. Viviane Forrester notes in her 2015 biography of Woolf that Virginia and her sister Vanessa ruthlessly denounced George for the rest of their lives, but Virginia kept to herself the details of Gerald’s assault until only three months before her death. Read more »

Camille Hoffman. Here We Land. 2019.

“The current migration crisis on the U.S.-Mexico border factors heavily into Camille Hoffman’s work. The artist created collages from leaked photos from the border with images of America’s lush natural landscape. These collages are part of the exhibition ‘Here We Land,’ on view at Wave Hill through July 14.”

More here, here, and here.

Current show.

by Thomas Manuel

Born in France in the mid-14^th century, Christine de Pizan wrote possibly the first work of women’s history that was by a woman for women. She remains one of the era’s most fascinating writers but considerably less well-known than other writes of her time like travelling scholar and professional complainer, Ibn Battuta, or Christian fan fiction writer extraordinaire, Dante Alighieri. Her father was a kind of royal astrologer to the King of France and growing up at the court, she probably received an excellent education. But, in her own words, she only really experienced the “sweet taste of learning” when her husband died. Widowed in her twenties and with children to raise, Christine de Pizan began a remarkable literary career which gave us among other works, Le Livre de la Cité des Dames (‘The Book of the City of Ladies’).

City of Ladies is a reaction against the rampant misogyny that so deeply permeated Christine’s time. In the book, she laments that every book by a male writer that she opens has some sexist generalization about women. Amidst all of this, the specific instigating factor was an extremely popular romance that had been published called La Roman de Rose (‘The Story of the Rose’). This romance was an epic poem of two parts. The first part predates the second by about half a century and is all about chivalrous love. The second (and much larger) part, written by a different author, takes a much more cynical view of love, essentially labeling all women as cruel seducers. (Clearly, the universe is crying out for a 600 page History of the Incels.) Christine publicly lambasted the book and wrote City of Ladies as a counterweight, becoming in the words of Simone de Beauvoir, the first woman to “take up her pen in defence of her sex.” Read more »

by Brooks Riley