Category Archives: Diversions

The stuff that didn’t fit elsewhere.

Didn’t leave me feeling magnificent

The Magnificent AmbersonsAre “The Magnificent Ambersons” the most irritating family in all of literature? Probably not, but young George Amberson Minafer* and his mother drove me batty straight through this book. It’s well written, and it’s a very good The Times, They Are a-Changin’ story. But let me tell you: All these tragedies have me questioning my commitment to my Modern Library 100 project.** Here’s hoping the next book is a bit more light-hearted.

*I haven’t seen the A&E adaptation, but it looks like they nailed the casting.
**But not, of course, to Sparklemotion. My commitment to Sparklemotion is above reproach.

How many times this week have I said ‘rings’ instead of ‘flies’? Four or so.

I had neither seen the movie nor read William Golding’s “Lord of the Flies” before starting my Modern Library 100 project. After reading the first chapter, I said to Rockford — and I don’t think this is a major spoiler — “Well! They didn’t kill the pig. That’s a good thing, right?” And he laughed at me.

“Lord of the Flies” is a nightmarish, horror of a story. I wish I’d read it earlier. Specifically, before I had children. I know (or, rather, I understand via the ever-so-helpful Sparknotes) that this is a lot of allegory. But still. The very thought of those little fellas lost and gorging on fruit and ultimately run amuck in the very worst way just cut me to the core. That said, I was entirely engrossed in the book. The last chapter is one of the most gripping, tense scenes I’ve read.

A lovely poem for a quiet evening

American Life in Poetry: Column 266
by Ted Kooser, US Poet Laureate

The great American poet William Carlos Williams taught us that if a poem can capture a moment in life, and bathe it in the light of the poet’s close attention, and make it feel fresh and new, that’s enough, that’s adequate, that’s good. Here is a poem like that by Rachel Contreni Flynn, who lives in Illinois.

The Yellow Bowl

If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,

if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,
and the yellow bowl on the table

rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,

and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.

Poem ©2009 by Rachel Contreni Flynn, whose newest book, “Tongue,” is forthcoming from Red Hen Press. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.