I've been reading more lately, books of course, but also magazine articles, journals, the news on the internet, in the bathroom. I must have more time on my hands, but perhaps just less anxiety in my mind. Anyway, here's an
interesting reveiw in the
New York Times about Tony Hoagland's poems, his new book, and his approach to cynicism and romance. This is my favorite quote:
'
At his best, Hoagland rejects both the cynic’s lie that everything superficially beautiful must be rotten underneath, and the romantic’s lie that everything apparently ugly must possess some essential nobility.'
I was also
reading an obit for J.D. Salinger in
Rolling Stone this week, where these same themes of romanticism, cynicism, mockery, etc. were in focus. Here's what I took away:
'
One reason Holden finds phonies everywhere, Salinger ever-so-quietly insinuates, is that he's unable to find pleasure anywhere.'
Wow - that stopped me cold. That a cynic might be a person who has given up on pleasure?
And what about this, which I found in the bowels of Mary Karr's
Lit, when she's discussing the differences between happiness and joy:
'
Never have I felt such blazing focus for another living creature. I can't stop looking at him. Joy, it is, which I've never known before, only pleasure or excitement. Joy is a different thing, because its focus exists outside the self--delight in something external, not satisfaction of some inner craving.'
Karr is talking about the moments after giving birth to her son. I remember that feeling. I also know something about self loathing, self importance, self pity, giving up on romanticism, fear of cynics, and a lot of other stuff. Today, Bob bought me flowers, beautiful pink blooming cyclamen from the Farmers' Market. There was a day when I would have felt gyped because they weren't cut flowers, what a real romantic husband would give his wife, but today I felt joy joy joy -- unexpected and welcome. And now I have to wash his underwear while he pays the bills. Joy joy joy.
