No Third Thing

Only so much room in a lifeboat,

half-capacity sixareen.  Bushel basket.

Butcher.  Baker.  Maybe

a candlestick-maker;

the notables cross over

in threesomes.

Synchronicities flutter in threes,

casually.  Historically informed,

hinting at world harmony;

a table of elements

that dissolves on the tongue

like rice paper, moths.

This time it's fresh;

just the northeast wind.  

Ball of string.  Buttermilk sky.

A buoyant list scrawled

on a paper kite:

1.  I am loved

2.  There is solace

There is no third thing.

tk/September 2014

Beautiful read by R.A.D. Stainforth...and a bit of music as well...

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group.

alien meets picasso

You've most likely been losing sleep, tossing and turning, wondering what item I found on my weekly thrift trip.  Actually, this past weekend was the last Scott Antique Show of the season, which is bittersweet, since there won't be another one until the weekend after Thanksgiving, but being the last day, vendors are ready to bargain.

I used my dickering skills, with a bit of extra charm, to land a great deal on this fabulous creamy mod head, with perfect patina, dated 1961, from Ray Mongenas, of Mongenas Antiques, Loveland, Ohio. Funny, his location is on Hanna Avenue, Hanna being my maiden name. He told me the fascinating story, how he found the head while picking at an old house in Cincinnati. Anyway, she's ultra quirky, very "alien meets Picasso".  

Her most delicious feature is her low chignon.  If you remember, I was all about the chignon last week.  Was I remembering the future? These synchronicities seem to come in groups of three for me.  I'll be watching for Chignon No. 3. Maybe this subject deserves a poem. I think it might.

Happiness is when what you think, 

what you say, and what you do 

are in harmony.

 Mahatma Gandhi

same ingredients, similar brew

Lee Miller, WWII

A week or two ago, my illustrious blog friend, Alan Burnett (today revealing his nickname "Ali") left this comment on my recent post on Charles Simic:

There must be something about 

certain characteristics that pool together: 

born collector, notebook-keeper, blog writer. 

Same ingredients, similar brew and a knowledge 

of what you like, I'll probably like. 

Off to look up Simic 

(just written his name down in my note-book).

That day, unbeknownst to me, Alan posted an article on his blog titled "Swaying His Legs Like a Pair of Woolen-Coated Pendulums", about writing a novel in a series, on the back of postcards mailed to a friend (I loved the woolliness of the title, as well as the postcards) and the very same day, I posted my poem "Exposition of Sleep" which also included "pendulum", not exactly an everyday sort of word.

After this series of small synchronicities, Alan proposed an experiment.  We each would choose a postcard which would represent a current thought or interest, add a message identifying the thought, and mail them to each other on the same day, Saturday, February 26, 2011.

I quickly pulled out three postcards from my collection.  One, a girl in WWII military uniform with a tie, a street scene with a vintage bookseller in Paris, and a 1960s era TWA postcard, depicting an American girl with a red bicycle, in Paris.  It was a hard decision, but I finally chose the last.

postcard sent by Alan Burnett

Here is the card Alan sent me.  Upon first glance, I immediately noticed Lee Miller in military uniform with a tie, very similar to one of my unmailed choices. He mentions going to Oxford and buying a lot of vintage postcards all based on book covers; this corresponds with my other card choice.  But, what I didn't initially see, is the fact that the book, The Lives of Lee Miller by Antony Penrose, is about a successful American fashion model  who moved to Paris in the 1920s and established herself as a photographer, producing some of the most powerful images of the century.

So what is the result of our little experiment?  Even though the two postcards are very different, (hop over to Alan's blog and take a look at mine) there is still a wealth of similarities lurking under the surface.

In the body of the written correspondence, we both mention personal adventures and vintage ephemera. He mentions traveling to Oxford; I mention New York.  He talks about the art form drama; I mention poetry. His card shows a talented female artist Lee Miller; I mention Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Among all the similarities, it all boils down to this:  both our cards picture American girls who went to Paris, a fascinating mutual theme. These synchonicites are not surprising in two people with similar interests, characteristics that pool together like doppelgangers. It's amazing how kindred spirits can connect so easily in this digital age of blogging. But, when I told WT the results of our little test, he laughed.  "Does Alan know you're psychic?"

P.S.--Okay, this is spooky.
(click to embiggen)

yes, pablo, i'm listening

I don't believe in accidents. There are only encounters in history. There are no accidents. 

Pablo Picasso 

I said they always come in threes. Thursday I randomly added Picasso's otherworldly Woman With a Helmet of Hair, 1904, to my sidebar and stated in Manor Macro that I had a bit of a crush on Pablo Picasso. Friday morning, I saw an article on Picasso's Weeping Woman: The Life and Art of Dora Maar by Mary Ann Caws, pulled the copy from my little library shelf, and added it to the leaning stack on my desk for another read. Friday afternoon, on my weekly ritual trip to the thrift store, what was in my path, but a big beautiful framed print of Picasso's Mother and Child, 1921, for $18. Perfect, since I collect mother and child images. Okay, Pablo, darling, what are you trying to tell me?

très bizarre

That's the effect of living backwards, the Queen said kindly: it always makes one 

a little giddy at first--Living backwards! 

Alice repeated in great astonishment. I never heard of such a thing!

--but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways.

I'm sure MINE only works one way, Alice remarked. 

I can't remember things before they happen.

It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards, the Queen remarked.

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

illustration from Ces Gens Qui Passent by Andre Gerard

I don't understand synchronicities, but they happen to me quite often, usually visiting in groups of threes.  Do these meaningful coincidences randomly land in our laps, or are we tuned into a certain subject and therefore take note?  I'm not sure, but I think it's fascinating. They certainly grab my attention. Does it mean my memory works both ways? I like to think so.

One morning last week, for instance, it all started at my local Goodwill store, when I spotted a quirky little French conversational textbook, Ces Gens Qui Passent (The People That Pass), 1951, by Alice and Paul Langellier. I loved that it was full of delightful pen and ink illustrations by Andre Gerard. It was only $1.50, so I scooped it up and popped it in my bag.

Later that same afternoon, my daughter texted to say she had arrived safely in Paris for a visit with friends. For dinner, that evening, totally unplanned, mind you, I made a spur-of-the-moment delicious rustic French chicken recipe from my new I Know How to Cook book, by Ginette Mathiot. (Stay tuned for the recipe later this week.)

Afterwards, we turned on Turner Classic Movies and The Lavender Hill Mob, also made in 1951, by the way, was playing. It's a charming little film by Ealing Studios, about a timid bank transfer agent (Alec Guinness) who plans a gold heist and arranges for it to be melted down into Eiffel Tower souvenirs.  There's a fabulously silly film sequence of Guinness and Stanley Holloway, his cohort in crime, dizzily running down the steps of the Eiffel Tower, still spinning when they reach the bottom.

Last, but not least, shuffling through the mail, I spotted a red Netflix envelope.  Inside was a film I added months ago, Shoot the Piano Player (Tirez Sur le Pianiste), 1960, a casual, but magical French film, with lots of excellent acting and a great musical score. Ahead of it's time, I think. I'm adding it to my favorites list.

All in all, I had a very lovely, however très bizarre, French day.