the affected provincial’s almanack

TIPULARIA DISCOLOR

2009-12-15T03:13:17Z

Cranefly Orchid, Tipularia discolor. Summer inflorescence in top photo. No leaves in summer, just blooms. In winter, this orchid puts out a single, ground-hugging leaf with a purple underside.

OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE

2009-12-14T17:00:59Z

Let it go, guys. It's over.

"SUNDAY MORNING" BY WALLACE STEVENS

2009-12-14T03:53:13Z

Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkness among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

II
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.

III
Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

IV
She says, ``I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?''
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evenings, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow's wings.

V
She says, ``But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.''
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

VI
Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set the pear upon those river-banks
Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning bosom we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

VII
Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

VIII
She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, ``The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.''
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or an old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

AGRIFOLK

2009-12-14T01:54:44Z

THE TROCADERO

2009-12-13T00:57:26Z

This week I read a filthy poem on this stage.

MALCOLM WELLS

2009-12-11T16:53:59Z

(Photo: NY Times)

Received word last night that pioneer environmentalist architect Malcolm "Mac" Wells has died. The NY Times ran a piece on him:

Bearded, affable, self-deprecating and appalled by the destructive footprint that buildings, roads and parking lots can leave on the earth, Mr. Wells was dedicated to what he called gentle architecture, something that would, as he put it, “leave the land no worse than you found it.”

Writing in Architectural Digest in 1971, he set forth 15 goals that he said all new buildings should strive to meet. Among them were to use and store solar energy, to consume their own waste, to provide wildlife habitat and human habitat, and to be beautiful.

To that end, his designs incorporated the land. He designed some homes (and other buildings) that seemingly burrowed into hillsides, and others whose main living space was subterranean, perhaps with above-ground lean-to roofs or atria and skylights to let in the sun. In general, his roofs were covered with layers of earth, suitable for gardens or other green growth.

It was a philosophy he extended beyond buildings to infrastructure. In a 1994 article for the magazine The Futurist, he proposed — and sketched — underground airports, underground stadiums, even earth-covered bridges.

(Credit: NY Times)

Mr. Wells had local connections: his old offices remain on Cuthbert Road outside of Collingswood, NJ. He also was a patron to local hermit-artist Hugh Campbell (Hugh's shack still stands on a friend's property in a wooded area outside of town). Some time ago, Wells donated his entire collection of Campbell's paintings and drawings to Burlington County, which otherwise would have certainly been ruined by the sooty, damp conditions in Hugh's shack.

Mr. Wells' writing on architecture is worth a read. His tone is humorous, playful, and down-to-earth. You can find his books and essays on his website.

AM I BLUE

2009-12-11T06:28:19Z

Was finally cold enough to don the Duchess dark blue velvet suit last night. Yes, I continue to look like the Cowardly Lion.

ROBO-KABUKI

2009-12-10T04:34:06Z

MATERIALIZING QUEER DESIRE

2009-12-09T21:56:11Z

Materializing Queer Desire: Oscar Wilde to Andy Warhol

How did the queer subject come to occupy such a central, and in many respects, contradictory place in the modern world of the early twentieth century? What role has capitalism played in the development of modern gay and lesbian identities? Materializing Queer Desire focuses on the figure of the dandy to explore how and why gay and lesbian subjects became heroes of modern life. Elisa Glick argues that the gay subject emerged out of the specifically modern, capitalist contradiction between the public world of production and industry and the private world of consumption and pleasure. Boldly bringing modernism into dialogue with Marxist and queer theory, Glick offers an innovative, materialist account of modern queer consciousness that challenges tendencies to oppose “private” eroticism and the systems of value that govern “public” interests. In the process she illuminates the connections between aesthetic, sexual, and social formations in modern life—between modernity’s disruptive, “queer” desires and their unfolding in an increasingly rationalized society.

I was sent this book to review a couple months ago, and have been nibbling at it in fugitive moments ever since. Although I have my own take on it (Gutter Dandyism, Black Dandyism, Pop Dandyism being among the more interesting chapters), it seems unfair to delay getting the word out any longer. As someone who is both straight and outside academe, I'm probably not the ideal person to ask about this book. However, I do think that those interested in dandyism, particularly as it relates to queer subcultures, will derive much from reading this book, whether you agree with its analyses or not. It's good grist for a lively book club discussion.

Link

FOR THE FANCYPANTS WHO HAS EVERYTHING

2009-12-09T20:37:07Z

May I humbly suggest this trifle. Even has Christmassy colors, you know.

GO, DOUGHBOY, GO!

2009-12-09T18:57:36Z

PINE TREK WITH ME

2009-12-09T03:31:01Z

I'm going to Whitesbog on Sunday to finish cleaning up all those asphalt shingles (they're smothering a stand of rare plants). I'm then going off to find that giant cedar--and you can come too. We'll be meeting at the Whitesbog General Store at 9AM. Bring warm gear and work gloves.

DRINKY POOS

2009-12-09T03:28:24Z

My good friend Tom Chadwick has published some cocktail recipes in La Cucina Italiana this month. Check them out. The caffè tropea is getting me excited.

SLEEPY PITCHERS

2009-12-08T21:27:39Z

BERRY NICE BUSH

2009-12-08T06:59:05Z

Ilex verticillata 'Winter Red'. Native deciduous holly. Berries are vibrant, and show up nicely against our green house.

CHRISTMAS CHEER

2009-12-08T06:57:06Z

Hammamelis vernalis 'Christmas Cheer.' Hammamelis vernalis is native to the Ozarks, and blooms in December. Its blooms are smaller than other species, but its blooms have a scent redolent of orange blossoms and jasmine. Gorgeous fragrance.

Most witch hazels bloom around Valentine's Day, and so it's a great time to pick one out for your garden. A witch hazel festival may be taking place again at Rarefind Nursery in February. Keep checking their website for more information.

ICE BOG

2009-12-07T18:14:29Z

GOOD TO BE BACK

2009-12-07T05:21:34Z

Helped clean up a huge pile of asphalt shingles that were smothering a stand of Pickering's Morning Glory, and then helped erect ATV barracades with cut trees (try running over those orchids now, you bastards). Treated myself to an evening stroll in a frozen bog afterwards.

FAREWELL NOUGHTIES

2009-12-06T23:20:37Z

Bader says what a lot of us have been thinking as this decade ends.

BUTTONED UP

2009-12-04T16:50:02Z

Once again, Slate tackles the big issues of our day.

Does anyone else remember a time in the 80's when buttoning up one's shirt was fashionable? (David Lynch does.)

ANYONE HAVE A LIGHT?

2009-12-03T07:37:04Z

WALTON FORD TONIGHT

2009-12-02T18:14:13Z

Walton Ford is in Philly tonight, babies. See you there.

PERHAPS A BIT TOO CLOSE TO HOME?

2009-12-02T05:15:22Z

The Missus keeps laughing and shaking her head in recognition.

GENTLEMEN OF BAKONGO: THE AFRICAN DANDIES

2009-11-24T21:04:58Z

"A new photo book by Daniele Tamagni explores the phenomenon of the African sapeurs, a clique of extraordinarily dressed dandies from the Congo. In the midst of war and abject poverty, these men dress in tailored suits, silk ties, and immaculate footwear."

Buy this book.

CHINESE LANTERN

2009-11-23T22:35:53Z

Found in a marsh, of all places.