This gallery contains 1 photos.
Poetry and I have had an on-and-off again relationship since my days in college. It all started with a class on contemporary poetry, then continued with another class on poetry writing and finally ended (in college anyway) with an independent class … Continue reading
This past week I haven’t done much reading, thanks to a stomach flu that incapacitated me for much of the week. I did begin Down From Troy: A Doctor Comes of Age by Richard Selzer, former professor of surgery at Yale Medical School.
I am not sure how I came across Selzer’s writing. Once I did, I fell in love with his clear and analytical language. The first book I read by him was Mortal Lessons: Notes on the Art of Surgery and then Taking the World in for Repairs.
I must admit upfront that while I have been drawn to medical dramas like ER and Chicago Hope in the past, I was not always enamored of reality medical series on Discovery Channel when we had cable or satellite. Even when ER went in for the closeups, at least, I had the feeling that it was fake, but with the reality shows, it was too visceral, knowing that an actual person was on the other side of the camera.
Yet when I read Selzer, his writing is so sparse and clean, I cannot help but be drawn into the real life stories, and in this case, story:
A childhood spent in the 1930s seems much more distant than sixty years, as though it had taken place a century before that, when the streets of Troy were gaslit. Between then and now, between Troy and New Haven, there is a chasm across which swings only the frayed rope bridge of memory. Besides, like any memoir of growing up, this one is an impersonation. The author, seeking to enact his boyhood, cannot entirely shuck his manhood. The past remains beyond total recall, no matter the exactitude of the writer. If the telling seems to have a certain staccato rhythm, it is because the past remembered is made up of small, random bursts of turbulence and long periods of stagnation. More than once, I have tied dried apricots and paper leaves to the branches of a long-dead tree to give it the appearance of life. Oh, had I the muse for it, I would do as Homer did: wear vine leaves in my hair, strike a lyre with the flat of my hand and sing of Troy– tales of heroism, treachery, vengeance, single combat. Instead, I have only these unbaptized scraps to offer in the hope that, taken together, they will provide a glimpse of that time, that place. Perhaps they will also reveal how one boy grew up to become a doctor who writes. To Troy, then. Troy! Where in October even the dogs in the street pause to admire the foliage. Troy! Unfurling down the hillsides like the grayish pink tongue of a spaniel to lap the waters of the Hudson River.
I wasn’t going to quote the complete first paragraph, but then decided that I couldn’t do it justice without quoting it in its entirety. If that first paragraph seems to end on an incronguous note of a grayish pink tongue of a dog, it is only a foreshadow of the things to come as he doesn’t always paint a pretty picture of Troy or the medical profession (from what I’ve read about the book). Yet how he paints the picture, using the words that he does, is a thing to behold, in my estimation thus far.
Note: I will continue reading this this afternoon in between watching the two NFL Conference Championship games on a large screen TV at a local bar/restaurant. As a Pennsylvanian, I am pulling for the Eagles and the Steelers, but if the two come to blows in the Super Bowl, as someone who grew up on the greats of Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, John Stallworth , Rocky Bleier and Lynn Swann, I will be pulling for the Steelers. I have no choice in the matter. The ghosts of my past are too demanding, and I must obey– not to mention, I am a big fan of Willie Parker and Hines Ward.
Posted in Books, Mind, The Sunday Salon
Tagged 2. The Sunday Salon, Books, Down from Troy, Richard Selzer
Yesterday I finished my first book of the year, The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A.J. Jacobs. For last week’s Sunday Salon, I shared reflections from my reading journal on the book. This week, I do the same. These are from my journal from yesterday and Friday.
Because this people draw near with their mouths
and honor me with their lips,
while their hearts are far from me,
and their fear of me is a commandment of men learned by rote.Isaiah 29:13
Right before the quotes from this Scripture, Jacobs writes
I’m still praying several times a day but when I do, I’m saying the words with as much feeling as I give to a Taco Bell drive-through order.
That, in turn, reminds him of the verse in Isaiah.
He discusses being in a deep valley. Yesterday I learned of a company for which I once worked that is closing several newspapers near where I worked, including the ones for which I worked. For some reason, it sent me into a depression for a long time yesterday. I go through the motions at Mass, but where is my heart? In the winter doldrums.
Finally Moses finished writing the words of all these teachings in a book.
Deuteronomy 31:24
After this verse, Jacobs compares Wikipedia and the Bible in that each has several authors, and editors, at least according to one view. If it is true, it does not invalidate my faith. I don’t think so.
At one point, he writes:
I’m too attached to the idea that everything has untidy origins.
The challenge is finding meaning, guidance and sacredness in the Bible, even if I don’t believe that God sat behind his oak desk in heaven and dictated the words verbatim to a bunch of flawless secretaries. Or maybe the fundamentalists are right, and this is impossible.
I do not believe it is impossible. I believe God works through people, even those who may not believe as I do, for example, A.J. Jacobs. He is editorializing himself on the Bible and I find nothing wrong with that.
The challenge is always finding meaning, guidance and sacredness in life even if one doesn’t believe in God in the way everyone else believes. Who are we to put God in a box?
_________________________
Give thanks in all circumstances…
I Thessalonians 5:18
After this verse, Jacobs explains how he is being an extremist with gratefulness and that he can’t stop.
He admits:
It’s an odd way to live, but also kind of great and powerful. I’ve never been so aware of the thousands of little good things, the thousands of things that go right every day.
Sometimes my thank yous are directed at no one in particular. It’s more of an appreciation than a thanks. A reminder to myself: “Pay attention, pal. Savor this moment.” But other times when I’m in a believing phase, my thanks have an addressee. I’m thanking God or the universal laws of nature — I’m not sure which it gives the act of thanking more weight.
I agree with Jacobs in this regard. Whatever our belief system, we should be thankful, even if to remind ourselves to pay attention and savor this moment.
Too often we go through life grumbling when we should be, or could be, looking at the bright side of life. Not that I believe we should ignore the tragedies of the world or stick our heads in the sands, but I am reminded of a fellow blogger’s advice: Worry less, laugh more.
Posted in Books, Mind, The Sunday Salon
Tagged 2. The Sunday Salon, Books, The Year of Living Biblically
“O God, thou art my God, I seek thee…”
Psalm 63:1
I am reading The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow The Bible as Literally as Possible. It has been on my shelf for a few months and I decided what better day, at least for a Christian to read, than on a Sunday.
Distractions in prayer: even Jacobs, an admitted agnostic, confesses that just because a prayer is beautiful, sometimes his mind wanders. After reading Psalm 63:1:
O, God, thou art my God, I seek thee,
my soul thirsts for thee,
my flesh faints for thee,
as in a dry and weary land where no water is.
he says this:
It is a beautiful prayer. It’s got two powerful metaphors at work: first, thirsting, for God, and second, loving God like a man loves his wife. And yet despite the prayer’s power, my mind wanders as I read it. ‘I have to charge my cell phone…We need more quarters for the laundry room.’
As one who underwent The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, I can relate — even now in my prayer life, I experience too many similar moments. As I’m reading this book this afternoon, I have two other blog entries besides this one I need to write…I should be cleaning my offfice…I should turn off the radio (listening to the NFL playoffs) so I can properly focus.
____________________________________
“You shall not make for yourself a graven image or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water beneath the earth.”
Exodus 20:4
During his musing on this Scripture, Jabobs confesses to liking avoiding images.
First, he says, it suits his job at the magazine, Esquire, where he works and “where images are taking over, and writers are a dying breed.”
Second, I think that there’s something to the idea that the divine dwells more easily in text than in images. Text allows for more abstract thought, more of a separation between you and the physical world, more room for you and God to meet in the middle. I find it hard enough to conceive of an infinite being. Imagine if these original scrolls came in the form of a graphic novel with pictures of the Lord? I’d never come close to communing with the divine.
I am reminded of William Blake who used graven images and text to illustrate God. Perhaps in Blake, Jacobs’ ideas on text and images fall apart because reading and seeing Blake, I still think the abstract thought is there. However, for the most part, I believe Jacobs is correct.
For example, when I am at Mass, I close my eyes during the Scripture readings to listen to the words, to not be distracted by the people sitting across from me (our church is a modern church, in the round). I sometimes start into the pebbles of the linoleum as if staring into stars of sky, and fade out and let the words seep into my being.
____________________________________
During a second musing on stealing in the first 140 pages of this 332-page book (not counting notes and index), Jacobs relates about his father refusing “to pull over at any old Holiday Inn or McDonald’s to use the bathroom.” If something was bought, then it would be all right, they could then then steal the establishment’s soap and paper towels.
I don’t know if my father ever put that rule to paper. It was unwritten and unspoken, but was ingrained into me. In recent years, I have transgressed that rule after banning eating at McDonald’s. The way I look at it is that places like McDonald’s have stolen years of my life with their life.
Holiday Inn? It might could be argued that they have extended my life the times my wife and I have stayed there. After all, it was the first place we consummated our marriage. I might have a more difficult time pulling into a Holiday In and using their bathroom wantonly.
____________________________________
A Shabbos well spent
Brings a week of content.
Like Jacobs, I agree with the sentiment, if not the grammar of this ditty used by one of his religious guides, Mr. Berkowitz, on his journey. Berkowitz is telling him how to prepare for the sabbath.
I am hoping this day of reading, most of the day away from the computer (not technology as I continue to listen to the Eagles/Vikings game in the background) will assist me in bringing a week of content.
Amen.
Posted in Books, Mind, The Sunday Salon, Uncategorized
Tagged 2. The Sunday Salon, A.J. Jacobs, Books, The Year of Living Biblically
 |  |
 |  |
