Cecil Day-Lewis (1904-1972)*
Poet, novelist, and father of Daniel, who won an Oscar last night for Best Actor.
I could have titled this entry "Synchronicity, Or How I Spent the Weekend," but I know what purists some of you are. I shall adhere, therefore, to the format.
Detail. Where it all happens. The Nightstand.
I also know there are some of you who did not enjoy "There Will Be Blood," but understandably I did myself, if for no other reason (although I did have other reasons) than the film's focus on subjects with which I have dealt here, including Upton Sinclair, Oil, and the treatment of children. I think it not insignificant, of course, that Daniel Day-Lewis's acceptance speech would include the mention of his father, England's Poet Laureate from 1968 until his death, and also his grandfather, the film-maker Sir Michael Elias Balcon, another luminary in the 1904 pantheon, whose relationships and importance are, however, too convoluted or tangential for a Monday morning.
Please note also that I have finished Patrick Hamilton's "The Slaves of Solitude," whose protagonist Miss Enid Roach finds herself involved with an American soldier, the Lieutenant, who as she and the reader come to learn, hails from and will be returning with a bride to, Wilkes Barre, PA. Attentive readers of these pages will have no trouble appreciating the synchronicity there!
And finally, because I know you care about these things, suffice to say that my friend Nancy and I braved the elements (intermittent showers) on Saturday to see "A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress," at the Geffen, the world premiere of this (essentially) one-woman show by the indefatigable Joan Rivers, who though not born in 1904 (she's "only" 74!) would certainly be able to provide me with material, should I ever need it. You go, Joan!
And so much else, kids, that I'm sure you realize I could just go on and on. As you might have noticed, I keep a picture postcard of "Les Ecrivains du Nouveau Roman" -- Alain Robbe-Grillet, Samuel Beckett and others -- close at hand as inspiration to my dreams -- "I can't go on, I'll go on" ...
Further, (not seen), the Journals of Leo Lerman and The Mitford Sisters Letters. Which should keep me out of trouble, don't you agree?
*The epitaph on Cecil Day-Lewis's gravestone reads:
Shall I be gone long?
For ever and a day
To whom there belong?
Ask the stone to say.
Ask my song.
I could have titled this entry "Synchronicity, Or How I Spent the Weekend," but I know what purists some of you are. I shall adhere, therefore, to the format.
Detail. Where it all happens. The Nightstand.
I also know there are some of you who did not enjoy "There Will Be Blood," but understandably I did myself, if for no other reason (although I did have other reasons) than the film's focus on subjects with which I have dealt here, including Upton Sinclair, Oil, and the treatment of children. I think it not insignificant, of course, that Daniel Day-Lewis's acceptance speech would include the mention of his father, England's Poet Laureate from 1968 until his death, and also his grandfather, the film-maker Sir Michael Elias Balcon, another luminary in the 1904 pantheon, whose relationships and importance are, however, too convoluted or tangential for a Monday morning.
Please note also that I have finished Patrick Hamilton's "The Slaves of Solitude," whose protagonist Miss Enid Roach finds herself involved with an American soldier, the Lieutenant, who as she and the reader come to learn, hails from and will be returning with a bride to, Wilkes Barre, PA. Attentive readers of these pages will have no trouble appreciating the synchronicity there!
And finally, because I know you care about these things, suffice to say that my friend Nancy and I braved the elements (intermittent showers) on Saturday to see "A Work in Progress by a Life in Progress," at the Geffen, the world premiere of this (essentially) one-woman show by the indefatigable Joan Rivers, who though not born in 1904 (she's "only" 74!) would certainly be able to provide me with material, should I ever need it. You go, Joan!
And so much else, kids, that I'm sure you realize I could just go on and on. As you might have noticed, I keep a picture postcard of "Les Ecrivains du Nouveau Roman" -- Alain Robbe-Grillet, Samuel Beckett and others -- close at hand as inspiration to my dreams -- "I can't go on, I'll go on" ...
Further, (not seen), the Journals of Leo Lerman and The Mitford Sisters Letters. Which should keep me out of trouble, don't you agree?
*The epitaph on Cecil Day-Lewis's gravestone reads:
Shall I be gone long?
For ever and a day
To whom there belong?
Ask the stone to say.
Ask my song.
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