27 janvier 2010

J.D. Salinger died on January 27.

J.D. Salinger, people.

Now, to give myself a little credit, let me just say that I thought about writing at least a short tribute to the good 'ol author here in my blog, but obviously I never did. Then I thought it was too late, overdue ya know? Like everyone already knew, it was news spread over the dew of a few days; overdone, in the sum of a few days .....

but I'm not going to let a few days conquer me!

These past few weeks I've been trying to keep my head around French, but I'll be honest, I've been longing for some good 'ol American literature. Craving some Kerouac - some Jack (not the Daniel's), some Steinbeck even, or Hemingway ... but they're all so seemingly far away.

The thing is, though, having J.D. Salinger pop up in the news made me fondly think of Catcher in the Rye, a book I re-read one summer strictly because I had earlier declared it as my "favorite" book and felt that I needed to be well equipped to answer any questions that might come up about it. When really, it was my favorite book because it gave me that feeling of truly understanding Holden Caulfield, and admiring the sentences of Salinger's style simply in one read. Once would have been enough. That's what makes it extraordinary. Of course, a second, third, or fourth read won't hurt, but it's that first read that touches home. And I must say, I fondly remember picking up Franny and Zooey from the shelf of a family friend one summer in Indiana and finishing it in a mere two days (despite it's small size, that's fast for me!).

So, I gave up all this American literary 'anxiety' that I've been trying to suppress (because of being in France and all, you know... 'live in the moment,' 'focus on your goals,' etc, etc) and turned to the internet for a haven of American quotes and excerpts.

In this deep internet-bound literary plunge (and in my attempts to write a poem about Chicago) my mind reeled toward Carl Sandburg. One of my favorite poems written by Sandburg is "Mamie" (which, I must say, I heard and saw miraculously performed by Marc Smith at Green Mill Jazz Club in Chicago). The poem is simply about always wanting something more, something bigger, something better - locationally, aesthetically, and physically. Don't we all, if even a little bit, want more, want what we can't have, wish we were somewhere more exotic, exciting, more oh....exacerbatingly fulfilling?

Holden Caulfied said (not J.D. Salinger, but his most famous character, an important thing to note, because GOSH the quoting websites really need to get it right and start distinguishing between the artists' quotes and those contained in their works! how annoying!). Anyway, Holen said:

"That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write 'Fuck you' right under your nose." - Catcher in the Rye

The above (unfortunately convincingly bleak) idea can relate to Sandburg's "Mamie:"

Mamie beat her head against the bars of a little Indiana

town and dreamed of romance and big things off

somewhere the way the railroad trains all ran.

She could see the smoke of the engines get lost down

where the streaks of steel flashed in the sun and

when the newspapers came in on the morning mail

she knew there was a big Chicago far off, where all

the trains ran.

She got tired of the barber shop boys and the post office

chatter and the church gossip and the old pieces the

band played on the Fourth of July and Decoration Day

And sobbed at her fate and beat her head against the

bars and was going to kill herself

When the thought came to her that if she was going to

die she might as well die struggling for a clutch of

romance among the streets of Chicago.

She has a job now at six dollars a week in the basement

of the Boston Store

And even now she beats her head against the bars in the

same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place

the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe

there is

romance

and big things

and real dreams

that never go smash.

-Carl Sandburg

And alas, here I cannot HELP but to turn to another favorite line of mine, taken from the popular artists Jump, Little Children :

"In the cathedrals of New York and Rome / There is a feeling that you should just go home / And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is" - Cathedrals

And there you have it, my literary thoughts of the day. I suppose I oughta turn back to appreciate where I am here and now and let my American bookworm desires wait until I get back to a place where they speak English....

But hey there READER, do you have opinions on these excerpts??? --

What do you think? Do you see the link? Do you sniff the stink?

vaporous vendredi wanderings

I slept at Julia’s last night and I had to ride my bike to get home this morning. It felt so wonderful; it's nice to wake up and know that there's a place to get to at the starting hours of the weekend. There were cigarette butts on the pavement as I rode out of centre ville. They were matted and flatted down from the rain that fell the night before. I wondered who they belonged to and what the night had been like--if the smokers meant to leave a trace, if they hope to leave a indication of who they are. Everyone smokes here, even the most gorgeous girls. It’s true that French women make smoking look sexy.

I was riding over cigarettes butts and trailing in the exhaust of the city buses,
I was following grafitti tracks and buried railroad plaques,
I was zooming past too many chilled SDFs* and sleepless boulangerie chefs,
But all the time I was rolling upward, my movements unheard.

There were tractors riding all through the center of town yesterday. Hundreds of tractors. It was a manifestation, a grève, a strike. It is the first I've seen in Besançon. I was in the midst of a conversation with Sibylle (a new friend) when all the tractors began honking and blowing their noise-makers and flashing their lights and making their way toward…toward change I suppose. Sibylle said that they were "fed up with the government." "What did the government do?" I asked. "Nothing, really," she said with a chuckle. But then she explained how the farmers are upset because there had been cuts in goverment aid because of too much milk production. So the farmers are upset. All I can say is that the French like to manifest (and they like milk-products). Here, the police block off the streets and protect the manifesters. If this happened in the States, there'd be cops out there pushing the people back and if it got really crazy, maybe there'd be guns!
Guns.
Guns.
Guns.
Foreigners associate America with guns (thanks, Michael Moore). I've already had two French people ask me about guns and violence in the U.S. They are curious to know the truth from a real American. I have to tell them that yes, people have guns in the United States. The laws are different according to each state. I explain that Texas’ gun laws are scary in theory, but I was never afraid of someone pulling a gun on me.
I lived in Texas for half my life, eleven years, but I lived the first half of my life in Chicago. So, I just get to choose to say where I’m from. I usually tell people that I studied in Texas, but I am from Chicago. This way I get to mention both states, as they both are a part of who I am. I also get to gain perspective and am asked questions about both places. So far, here are some observations I have made from personal interaction and experience**:
When the French hear “Texas,” they think of:
- George Bush
- “Dallas” (the TV show)
- deserts
- Houston
When the French hear “Chicago,” they think of:
- Barak Obama
- gangsters
- The Bulls
So that’s that.

Yesterday I had a true French lunch chez M. Bassenne petite ‘bricolage’ apartment, the man who gave me Jiddu’s book (see previous entry). It was absolutely amazing and I think I may very well become good friends with this sweet old man…he’s so generous and just wants a friendly face around. He eats all “bio” (organic). We ate:
- BRUT Champagne
- salad with mixed greens, sunflower seeds, beets, radishes, and citron-based dressing
- raw corn on the cob
- Ratatouille! (yummmmmmm…completely organic and phenomenal!!!)
- fresh grain bread and three kinds of “chèvre” (goat cheese): moist, semi-dry, and dry
- “infusion” – the absolute BEST tea I’ve ever had in my life, ever.
- a spoonful straight of fresh honey from the forest not far away
- small pieces of chocolate
I brought him a baguette but he wouldn’t accept it and made me take it back, along with an ear of corn and a “bio” muffin from his favorite “bio” boulangerie. heehee.

Later I met Sibylle at Bar de l’Université for a language exchange. She is 18, her first year the “fac” (university) studying English. She told me she thinks I’m better at French than she is at English. I told her the same thing but vise versa. She’s a keeper.

It was cold and rainy so instead of trekking it all the way back home, I rode over to Julia’s and she introduced me to a program called ‘garage band’ on her Mac. Amazing. How I have never seen or played with it before?!? She also showed my her boyfriend’s poetry. I slept in Estelle’s (Estelle is Julia’s roomie) sleeping bag. Estelle looks like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. She’s an artist, very loving, and giggly. We all love Estelle. Also, Estelle smokes.

--------------------------------------------------------------
*"SDF" stands for "sans domicile fix," which means 'homeless'
**these are generalizations....and I'm no sociologist....so that's that.

Music: The Helio Sequence:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wF01UyuV5xk