Without moving, we travel far time and space collapse as we traipse—everywhere— from chair and couch
and as the virus rages, we turn the pages, hungering for new plots and changes, a denouement, and all comes clear order restored, till the world veers
again, and we can only go forward into what remains to be seen. other plagues brought serfdom down and gathered nations in a league—
attempts made, bells rung, but mostly heroes go unsung and lies coming tripping off a tongue gaining currency as far-flung they’re spread bad news and dread
sell more stories, but check the optics and we’ll see. Perhaps your story holds a key, turn the lock, and make our ratings soar till wiped away by war.
But the lies circle round, and some believe the tales the sad sacks or the haters weave– they choose to believe– but we? We grieve we grieve we grieve
(well, those of us who see it.)
Yet, every dawn is a new beginning and hope wings to the clouds, the moon will shine when I am gone, and waves like a teasing lover will still kiss the shore, to dart away, as far-flung ancient light dances across the sky, always, and forevermore.
We still haven’t gone anywhere because of Omicron. Though we bought a few theater series, and there’s a play soon. . .so perhaps, since everyone is required to show proof of vaccination and to remain masked.
And in other news, an authoritarian minority is taking over our government. 2+2=5
We did have a much-needed, lovely family Zoom on Friday night.
We streamed, A Hero, Asghar Farhadi’s new film. I’ve liked his previous movies, A Separation and A Salesman, so I was eager to see this one, which is available on Amazon Prime now. Like his other movies, situations are not black and white, and no one is totally good or bad. Rahim is in prison for debt, and while on a two-day leave, he tries to make arrangements with his creditor so he can make a payment and be released, but one lie leads to another, and nothing goes as expected. . . It did give us a lot to talk about, and it also gave us glimpses of Iranian life and culture (and prison system). Another excellent film.
We’re watching the final season of the wonderful show The Expanse, also on Amazon Prime. It’s a very complex show—sort of a grittier, less idealistic version of Star Trek, except it’s about human empires and colonization in space, not aliens. Imagine Rome or the British Empire with rebelling colonies, but in space it’s Earth, Mars, and “the Belters,” as well as various other factions and pirates. It’s not a cartoonish sci-fi show. Characters and situations are not black and white here either. As Capt. Holden says of his world-weary crew, we’ve all done things we regret. (Yet we still root for them and their ship, the Rocinante.)
I’m hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, so I’ll be back later today! Cold weather comfort food below. Enjoy!
“The world was filling with ghosts. We were a haunted country in a haunted world.” –Louise Erdrich, The Sentence
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.” –William Shakespeare, from Macbeth (spoken by Macbeth after Lady Macbeth’s death)
Apparitions slip between worlds, linger like words– the spoken and unsaid–each waiting to be seen, heard, read and remembered, infinite
combinations, in every language, past, future meld in the timeless sea where yesterday’s twinkling light haunts and comforts. Does tomorrow
on the horizon give a straight-lined smile? Or false the glimmer of hope? Sound and fury—nothing or all? Candles burn bright, yet mimic stars.
The light comes again reverberations, colored by space-time meandering carrying messages in microscopic dust missives.
Now, winter’s blanket lays etched with sharp lettering– yet beneath, cursive tendrils wait to write new stories spirits and words hover, beckon
with endless stories, whole books, unfinished chapters brief verses, epic sagas, chronicles and reports. The universe shouts and whispers.
I decided to try a wayra again. It forces me to think and choose words in a different way.
We’re bouncing from very cold to warm for January to cold. We had snow last night, but it’s been washed away by the rain, and there’s a wind advisory for later in the day into tomorrow.
It’s soup and blanket weather. I made clam chowder (without bacon) last night, and vegetarian onion soup earlier in the week, served with oven french fries.
Merril’s Movie, Books, TV. . .
I couldn’t quite stay up to finish Louise Erdrich’s new novel, The Sentence, last night, but it’s wonderful—words and books, tribal lore, ghosts, and social commentary.
We watched A Perfect Ending (Amazon Prime), a psychological thriller with Polish actor Tomasz Kot as an architect delayed by a young woman in an airport. It definitely kept me interested till the end. And since I forgot to cancel Apple TV, we also watched The Tragedy of Macbeth, a new adaptation by Joel Coen. Purists may not like the streamlined version, but it’s excellent, filmed in a stark black and white where shadows loom and the Weird Women become birds. The supernatural elements of the play really come through in this version. Denzel Washington plays Macbeth and Frances McDormand is Lady Macbeth. She’s so good.
The book and movies share connections of ghosts, regrets, deaths/murders, and memory.
We’ll be watching the finale of Yellow Jackets tonight, a show that I’ve really enjoyed. (I wasn’t sure I would from the opening scenes.) And I suppose there’s a connection here, too.
“People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it’s quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment.
A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors.” –Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
Follow the shadows through dreams colored with deep-time longing. The seeds nested, specks of hope, driven by time— unleashed cycles, harmonic notes
star-born melodies heard without, but held within blood, skin, and organs—dust of ancient incandescence infinite shades of light from yesterday
merge with tomorrow harmony and dissonance, my parents speak in dream-time enrooted in my mind and heart, we are united
as midnight blue shifts to violet, then golden blaze, an ageless song of light captured, remembered as it passes, every color
in time, of time, time- charged, time-changed by shifts of chance, a crash, a brief encounter, a prism of color light reborn, transformed, transcendent.
I didn’t go anywhere this week or do anything special, but the changing temperatures and weather have made for some incredible skies. Influenced by Jane Dougherty, I decided to try a wayra chain today for my musings.
Merril’s Movie/TV/Book Club:
We saw The Hand of God (Netflix), Italian director Paolo Sorrentino’s autobiographical coming-of-age movie. The movie is set in Naples and full of quirky characters, as well as some surreal images, combining warmth, fate, tragedy—and soccer—in a poignant cinematic memoir.
We watched Anxious People (Netflix), a Swedish series written by Fredrik Bachman based on his novel. (He also wrote A Man Called Ove.) This limited series of 6 short, bingeable episodes (we watched it in two nights) is quirky, but heartwarming. My husband and I both enjoyed how the story was revealed over time. You would see something like a man’s bandaged nose, but not find out how it happened until another episode. The story concerns a failed bank robbery/hostage situation with a father-son pair of police officers who are not used to dealing with such crimes. It’s more Nordic charm than Nordic noir.
I read Lauren Groff’s Matrix, a novel based on the twelfth-century Marie de France. Little is known about her, so Groff is free to invent her life, which she does, in this beautifully written book.
New Year’s Eve Day is foggy and warm. My husband and I eat Chinese food for dinner, our decades-old tradition. We drink champagne while we talk to our children and their spouses on Zoom. Our son-in-law’s parents join us, and it’s good to see them, too, after so long. We light the Shabbos candles and speak of what we’re grateful for—that we’re together, healthy, and that our pets are with us, too. This is what we celebrate—life going on, light in the darkness. Later, we say goodbye to 2021. Though 2022 seems scarcely better, who know what the future brings? The sun and moon still rise and set. And there is champagne.
fog-obscured river a mystery— beckoning
For dVerse. Earlier today, I couldn’t get WP to work, and now there’s no problem. Oh, there are definitely WP gremlins!