Turning My Desk Around Again
The last time I turned my desk around I quoted this poem:
If I turn my desk around
my thoughts will take a different tack;
the path to the sofa will be slower.
Before when I was stuck
I'd go to sleep without warning.
I'd plunge into the cushions and my thoughts,
dreaming themselves free, would graze
here and there among countless blades of grass.
– Patrizia Cavalli, in My Poems Won’t Change the World
Last time I turned my desk around I didn’t have my beautiful card catalogue that Rob’s aunt and uncle gave to me. I think of them so fondly every time I gaze upon it!
When thinking of writing desks, the poem by Marina Tsvetaeva comes to mind. I have the Penguin Selected translated by Elaine Feinstein. This is the first section (of three) of the poem:
My desk, most loyal friend
thank you. You’ve been with me on
every road I’ve taken.
My scar and my protection.
My loaded writing mule.
Your tough legs have endured
the weight of all my dreams, and
burdens of piled-up thoughts.
Thank you for toughening me.
No worldly joy could pass
your severe looking-glass
you blocked the first temptation,
and every base desire
your heavy oak outweighed
lions of hate, elephants
of spite you intercepted.
Thank you for growing with me
as my need grew in size
I’ve been laid out across you
so many years alive
while you’ve grown broad and wide
and overcome me. Yes,
however my mouth opens
you stretch out limitless.
You’ve nailed me to your wood.
I’m glad. To be pursued.
And torn up. At first light.
To be caught. And commanded:
Fugitive. Back to your chair!
I’m glad you’ve guarded me
and bent my life away
from blessings that don’t last,
as wizards guide sleep walkers!
My battles burn as signs.
You even use my blood to set out
all my acts in lines —
in columns, as you are a pillar
of light. My source of power!
You lead me as the Hebrews once
were led forward by fire.
Take blessings now from me,
as one put to the test, on
elbows, forehead, knotted knees,
your knife edge to my breast.
The second section can be read here.
Sure there’s a lot of grand technology out there, but give me a pen, paper, a desk, a book anytime. I guess I’ve been wondering a lot about being a dinosaur in the world these days. I’ve always embraced technology, happy to learn new things. Social media, until lately, has been a great way to connect and stay connected. A great way to share things I love. I’ve enjoyed the heck out of writing this blog, this odd little labour of love that I pretty much only ever break even on. Ed Zitron’s latest is long but worth reading especially if you’ve been wishing for technology to get back to trying to make your life better instead of worse.
You know how I’ve often wondered what happens when we consider the opposite? It’s a bit of a thought exercise. And while whatever is the opposite to what you normally take for granted in your personal belief system, might not be the answer either, often pondering this might take you down other paths you wouldn’t ordinarily consider.
So this past week I asked myself, what if all of this appreciating beauty, and finding pockets of joy, and having walks where we cultivate awe, and listening to birds, and looking at paintings and sculptures, and touching grass, and looking at the sky, and breathing like a yogi, and counting our blessings, and keeping gratitude journals, and trying to save the environment, and eating our fruits and vegetables, and practicing random acts of kindness, and trying to do good in the world, and actually giving a shit, and feeling empathy, and listening to music, and cultivating compassion, helping others, and sharing your beautiful things, what if, what if, what if, that makes everything worse? What if we could forget about all these activities and ways of being and just get angrier and angrier and protest or disrupt or demand more and better from the powers that be?
So yes, like you, probably right now, I rejected that. (Not the idea of standing up for the rights of all people to live, to thrive, to have their basic human rights respected and needs met). Because we can’t live there, our minds will break down. We need beauty to help us weather out the storm.
It’s hard to think about how we could make a better good life for ourselves and others when we live in the traumosphere.
How do we want to communicate with each other? I was thinking about Jane calling out to Rochester over the moors. Or the flower phone in Frost, or Kerouac’s line, “Don't use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.”
The Telephone
by Robert Frost
'When I was just as far as I could walk
From here today,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head again a flower
I heard you talk.
Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say—
You spoke from that flower on the window sill—
Do you remember what it was you said?'
'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.'
'Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned on my head
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word—
What was it? Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say—
Someone said "Come"— I heard it as I bowed.'
'I may have thought as much, but not aloud.'
"Well, so I came.'
I’m in the midst of figuring out whether Substack is the best way to continue to send out my posts (because MailChimp is now charging). I started playing around over there, and just keep running out of time and energy. I shall persist. But it got me thinking about how social media is such a drag these days — so full of ads and fake accounts and gross AI slop. (Even Pinterest is increasingly fake AI stuff — I mean, who wants to chance making a recipe blended by the super fallible AI bots?) How much time have we all spent jumping from one social media platform to another, losing all sorts of real contacts along the way? Hoping and trying to become “popular?” I think back to my days on Flickr and how it was so pleasant. Then everyone I knew jumped over to Instagram, and eventually I followed. I still have a lot of my Flickr contacts there! From back when we just wanted to look at lovingly made photographs and say interesting and kind things about what we saw. It was an objectively much better experience than Instagram. But we can’t really go back? Or can we?
