Profesora Loca comments on the resonance of my last post with one's increasing sense of exile in the USA. You must be younger than I; in my generation we were internal exiles and *then* we got Reagan!
Exile is a deep theme, of course. In Psalm 137 (and the reggae versions of it too), we read:
By the rivers of Babylon,
there we sat
sat and wept,
as we thought of Zion.
...
How can we sing a song of the LORD
on alien soil?
And, there's Ovid's wonderful book of poems written from the exile to which Augustus banished him for life,
Tristia. It's exceptionally beautiful, full of Ovid's smart-ass brilliance along with his deep feeling of distance from all in the world that matters.
But, to me, the expression of exile that means most to me is by Hugh of St. Victor, and it turns the subject on its head altogether. If I didn't know better, I'd think Hugh was a Kabbalist (all of creation is exile in the mind of the great 16th century Kabbalist, Isaac Luria).
We'll get to the Kabbalah later. Meanwhile, here is what Hugh wrote:
It is good for the mind to experience change in all visible and transitory things, and later to leave them altogether behind. A man who finds his homeland sweet is still a tender beginner. One who is at home in every land is already strong. Perfect, however, is he to whom the whole world is exile.
"...perfectus vero cui mundus totus exilium est."
I just finished Edward Said's posthumous book on Late Style in literature and music. As always, it is brilliant and highly recommendable. Poignant in being a work drafted as he was dying (and finalized by a friend - tho all the writing is Said's).
I usually like best his writing about music, and this volume is no exception, especially the treatment of late Beethoven. I could listen to that music day in and day out. The late piano sonatas, the late string quartets esp.
He also writes about the wonderful poet of Alexandria, Constantin Cavafy. Like Cavafy, Said is a subtle, brilliant Egyptian. Unlike him, he was also a thoroughgoing American, with his political commitments, his careerism, and his aggressive use of his extraordinary mind. Of course, Said's great claim, and his great identification, is as Palestinian. But, his father was a Cairene, and that's where Edward grew up.
He looks Egyptian, and he thinks like an Egyptian. I'm a huge fan of his work -- even his intense, political writing and his unabashed support of the Palestinian cause (of which, in great part, I'm a supporter too). Cavafy, on the other hand, was lucky enough to live in a time before this particular conflict. He was Greek by birth, but lived the greatest part of his life in Alexandria and became closely identified with the city. Here is one of his best-known poems:
The God Abandons Antony
At midnight, when suddenly you hearan invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive - don't mourn them uselessly:
as one long prepared, and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, to Alexandria who is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen - your final pleasure - to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
A new book of mine will come out this Fall from Atelos. I have been correcting proofs. It's been interesting and rewarding to see this work in retrospect.
A project on the back burner is a volume of Selected Poems -- it's been about time for that for quite some time, and I've started on it.
Sounds like a lot of looking back, eh? And that is really a seductive perspective. I've been lucky enough to lead a long and various life, giving me lots to think about. But, I have a couple of new projects as well. A collective memoir written by a group of ten friends who grew up together as poets decades ago in San Francisco -- uh oh, that's a backward glance as well!
Hmmmm -- hey, I have a long poem just getting underway. All new I swear it!
