Blogs and Bartenders

In a copy of the New York Review passed on to me by a friend, I came upon an account of three books about Julius Caesar. Maria Wyke, the author of one of these books, Caesar: A Life in Western Culture, was described by the reviewer, Mary Beard, as “one of the leaders of the recent turn toward the study of the later ‘reception’ of the classics, which now forms a significant and popular element in many university classics courses in the US and the UK. Her 1997 book, Projecting the Past: Ancient Rome, Cinema and History, is a central text in many of these sources.”

Thirty years before, I was at work on my doctoral dissertation, a study of the way the representation of ancient Rome in American popular culture changed during the nineteenth century from identifying with the Roman republic to identifying with the Roman empire (coupled with the confidence that, as a Christian empire, that of the United States would not fall). In the dissertation, I looked at popular novels—some famous, like Ben Hur, some best left on the microfilm where I found them. I also looked at neo-classical sculpture and early film. Not only not encouraged, but actively discouraged, by members of the English Department, I never did anything with dissertation, once completed, but put it in a box. Who knew?

I learned a lot about expository writing doing my dissertation, having to turn my intuitive, inductive style head over heels to produce top-down, deductive prose. This came in handy when I worked as a technical writer, and informs (to use some of the old academic lingo) my current teaching of argumentation for public speaking. But tonight it feels like there’s been a waste. Back in Boston, years after finishing my degree, a friend at a Quaker residence told me that a Stanford grad student in English would be staying for a few days as a guest. I don’t remember whether I told him, or just thought, that I didn’t want to meet her, but the dinner table made avoiding her impossible. In fact, I enjoyed talking with her, and found she shared many of the issues I had had with the department. Of course she asked about my dissertation, and when I told her both about the topic and its less than enthusiastic reception, she said, “You were ahead of your time.” I didn’t believe her, but maybe she was right. Who knew?

Back to Bach

The life of a car-free adjunct teacher can feel like an endless sequence of train and subway stations linked together by plodded miles, office on one's back. So I've found myself unable to muster the energy to go in town this afternoon to hear a program that includes Bach's cello suite in D Major. As a partial antidote to fatigue of all kinds, including political fatigue, I'd like to invite everyone to listen to (or play) some Bach.

For all that the Bach suites don't require pyrotechnics, I've found the one I'm studying (the first, in G Major) far more daunting to work on than later, physically more challenging pieces by flashier composers. With Bach, the music is there, and you're there, and you have to get going, but what do you do? One pattern begins as another ends in a sequence whose pulse is elusive, and which could mean anything or nothing. According to my teacher, someone once called Bach a "perpetual motion machine". With the caveat that Bach breathes--finding where is the difficulty--that feels right. My teacher also talks about adult students, amateurs like me, who want to do nothing but sit in a closet and play Bach suites. For an amateur musician, it makes sense to look at the Bach suites as a meditation. The great and good players of this world will find something in them to say that others will benefit from hearing. The rest of us can study and learn and explore endlessly. A good antidote for much that ails.

Another antidote is spring, in which I'm finally starting to believe. The crocus and snowdrops are out, daffodil stalks standing tall, waiting for a little warmth, and the light has begun to fill the sky. All of this helps.

A Time for Beauty

After writing my last post, I went into the kitchen, turned on the radio, and was entranced to find the graceful, familiar melodies of Beethoven's Sixth played by the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia (www.chamberorchestra.org). A lovely performance, but what sticks in my mind is the relief from anger. Writing about politics, about the financial mess, about so much in this world, feels like an exercise in controlled (or not so controlled) anger. Yet here was beauty, and a chance to breathe. Beauty has been unfashionable for a long time, culturally incorrect. Without wishing to encourage prettiness, cuteness, or any of beauty's near enemies, I think it's time to bring beauty back.

Say What?

One of the pleasures of blogging is being able to sound off along with everybody else. So here goes:

According to both the New York Times and www.talkingpointsmemo.com, AIG CEO Edward Liddy said that recently disclosed bonuses to the executives of the firm's financial products division--the division responsible for a huge part of the firm's (and our) financial mess--were necessary to retain the "best and brightest talent". David Halberstam, in his book on Robert McNamara and Vietnam, apparently used the term "best and brightest" with irony; but the irony seems to have gotten lost.

Rules of the Game

While I'm provisionally making this blog accessible to all, I'm limiting the privilege of posting to friends and others by invitation only. That's because my experience as a reader of blogs has caused me to view with skepticism the proposition that reader posts add value to a democratic, open online community. Most posts I've read have been hostile and tedious, adding nothing but a certain poison to the atmosphere. So to spare myself and anyone else who happens upon this space, I'm not permitting posting by all and sundry. If that turns out to be impossible, I'll fold my blogo-tent and steal away.

Hello World

Launching myself at last into the world of blogging, I couldn't help think of any words I might write as a message in a bottle. Who knows who will read them, if anyone? I tried to name the blog "bluebottle," catching both the color of the sea, the bottle floating on its surface, and the annoyance of a fly that won't stop buzzing. But that name had been taken, so I decided on "seaglass," hoping that some of these words will come to shore and be found, perhaps valued by someone, perhaps occasionally even to be thought beautiful. 

For right now, in the parlance of early computing, Hello world!