DUNAWAY BOOKS
NEWSLETTER FOR THE MONTH OF APRIL
“The first day of April is the day we remember what we are the other 365 days of the year.”
—Mark Twain
“What a wonderful
day! No one in the village
doing anything.”
—Shiki
Some say the origin of April Fool’s Day had to do with
teasing the old-fashioned followers of the Julian calendar after the Gregorian
version had been introduced (the old New Year’s celebration began on March 25
with the Feast of the Annunciation and ended on April 1, and its practitioners
were mocked, tricked, and sent on “fool’s errands” for their perceived
backwardness). Others have it that it
has more to do with the ancient observance of equinox and resurgence of life
throughout the land, inspiring a festival of topsy-turvy misrule and
merriment. Either way, on that
mischievous day we would all be prudent to watch for exploding flowers, whoopee
cushions, or, if in
***
THREE THURSDAYS IN MAY:
A SPECIAL SOUND-ART CONCERT EVENT
ANCORA IL PIU ESTINTO II
In our shop, we have lately bought many small mixed lots and seen no paper fish outside of aquarium books. The Science, Business/Economics, Health, and Religion/Theology sections have all grown in particular. The literary criticism is almost completely consolidated on the lower level, which is fast catching up with the main floor in terms of organization. We have bought books and sold books and straightened books and watched the days pleasantly pass by in a gentle routine…however, something more out of the ordinary is soon to take place, in the month of May…
Many of you may recall the sound-art event Ancora il Piu
Estinto that took place here last year in April. We are very happy to be hosting it again this
May, during the first three Thursday evenings of the month from 8pm-10pm. The title (for those who may have missed it) translates
to “repeat”, “the most”, and “very quiet”.
Eric Hall is once more bringing together a diverse group of musicians to
softly engage your ears as you wander through experiencing the intersection of sound
and space in the shop. The roster of
performers is impressive: Robin Allen, Jeremy Brantlinger, Glenn
Burleigh, Chris Deckard, Chris Dee, Jamie Gartelos, Robert Goetz, Darin Gray, James
Grubbs, Ben Hanna, James Hegarty, Jason Hutto, Jeremy Kanappel, Ajay Khanna, Sunyatta
Marshall, Heather Oppitz, Joseph Potthoff, Joe Raglani, Tony Renner, Chris
Smentkowski, Dana Smith, Dave Stone, Brett Underwood, James Weber, Jr., Ben West and several others, along
with Hall himself, will all be participating at some point over the three
nights. The artists will set up their varied
equipment in the nooks, crannies, and alcoves of the store and manifest subtle
threads of sound. The song will depend
on where you stand and how you listen. A
footstep, a murmur, the dry whisper of a page turning may twine itself to the
shifting aural web. Careful attention
may result in a greater appreciation of the rhythms of everyday life. This will be a unique way to spend an hour or
two on a Thursday night. We will provide
light refreshment, this unusual sonic experience, and many small surprises: all you need do is bring your open ears and
mind!
***
Since Tower Grove Park is flurrying with ornamental trees and resounding with birdsong, we cannot help but be constantly reminded of traditional Japanese writing, and its circular themes of nature, longing, and transience…for example, is it madness or virtue to bury our noses in a sheaf of paper while the day passes rather than turning our faces up to the sun in the sky? Here are two viewpoints from the same hermit’s book:
“To while away the idle hours, seated the livelong day before the inkslab, by jotting down without purpose whatever trifling thoughts pass through my mind, really this is a queer and crazy thing to do!”
“To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations—such is a pleasure beyond compare.”
--Yoshida Kenko, from “Essays in Idleness,” 1340 AD
For any writer, philosopher, or lover of literature, to be
surrounded by the contrasts inherent in a changing rhythm can be either
inspiring or enervating. We are enjoying
a lovely spring in a time of great transition.
Trees stretch out of the bone-filled earth and bloom. The petals fall into pools of rusty water,
ripple brightly, and sink. So also are
our thoughts put into words and written down, our fragile communiqués through
time, throughout generations echoing and repeating. We know not where those echoes may go. Journals and letters may rot or be burned,
and inner lives’ evidence sink into earth or fume up into air. Brilliant novels have been known to languish
for lifetimes in tiny print runs before being rediscovered and recognized: how many more simply lay and lie hidden? Even great works famous for centuries may go
forever: witness
“The falling leaves
fall and pile up; the rain
beats on the rain.”
--Gyodai
There is a struggle, also, between experience and reflection within the singularity of a life. If anything is loved, decisions must be made, paths must be taken, things must be left behind.
“Frog-school competing
with lark-school at dusk softly
the art of song.”
--Shiki
There are no answers, but many choices of practice. A life mindfully lived leaves its polish on things lovingly and repetitively used. Such a life can be lonely yet transcendent. The universe may speak so softly that mundane concerns may need to be severely trimmed away, and much human interaction within a complex society must of necessity be that. The cup must empty itself in order to be filled.
“That duck, bobbing up
from the green deeps of a pond,
has seen something strange.”
--Joso
A hermit’s hut may hold but a few physical objects: straw broom, ragged blanket, iron pot, rice bowl and tea bowl. These things acquire a quiet luminosity from gentle handling, and the little chips and tears and cracks add the character that is proof of life lived. A visible repair can be very beautiful as it shows an object was worth using, and is worth keeping. Our bodies, too, our temporary homes, acquire these wrinkles, spots and scars. In this they also acquire the beauty of imperfection and transience, in their mappings of real stories made flesh, in their consummate individuality, their is-ness.
A term for this quality is wabi-sabi, two words often paired
but once separate, meaning the loneliness of a hermit’s path and the aesthetic
quality or appearance of age, respectively.
It is related to Shinto, Taoism and Zen, and to the way of tea that
became a spiritual path unto itself in both
“The blossom and then
we gaze, and then the bloom
scatters, and then…”
--Onitsura
Kakuzo Okakura, in his “Book of Tea,” wrote approximately one hundred years ago:
“The heaven of modern humanity is indeed shattered in the Cyclopean struggle for wealth and power. The world is groping in the shadow of egotism and vulgarity. Knowledge is bought through a bad conscience, benevolence practiced for the sake of utility. The East and the West, like two dragons tossed in a sea of ferment, in vain strive to regain the jewel of life. We need a Niuka again to repair the grand devastation; we await the great Avatar. Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things.”
Ultimately it is all cricket-song and ripples, and the value system of the external world may completely cease to be relevant in the face of the eternal moment of genuine, unvarnished experience. In that moment is joy, if a little room can be spared for it amid what we call modern life. A book can be held, then, without grasping; a pen be held without madness; and the sun enjoyed in the sky. When the focus is on song rather than self, it is no grief to be just a petal fluttering through time, and the scholar’s industrious love of posterity gives way to the mystic’s cry of ecstasy.
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in…”
--Leonard Cohen
“After the bells hummed
and were silent, flowers chimed
a peal of fragrance.”
--Basho
“Violets abound
within the rigid fences
of prohibited ground!”
--Yaha
So by all means, do take the time to read and write, listen and sing, enjoy the flowers, and have yourself a nice cup of tea while you’re at it. Until next month…we hope to see you during the special May evenings of music, if not sooner…
DUNAWAY BOOKS
3111 S. Grand
dunawaybooks@sbcglobal.net
Wabi-sabi, origin and context:
http://www.hermitary.com/solitude/aesthetics.html
http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/index.htm
Haiku:
http://www.litkicks.com/BeatPages/page.jsp?what=HistoryOfHaiku
A delightful interview with Robert Bly from the Utne Reader touching upon all these things and more:
http://www.utne.com/web_special/web_specials_archives/articles/667-1.html
“It is nice to read
news that our spring rain also
visited your town.”
--Onitsura
“My horse clip-clopping
over a field…oh ho! I’m
part of the picture!”
--Basho