Intense Rendezvous: An eye blinks, a muscle shifts, a hand reaches up to turn the page.

~ Live & Learn

arnold smulders

Christian McEwen, World Enough & Time, Chapter Six: Intense Rendezvous – The Joy of Reading:

Compared to drawing and carving, the making of pots, and the weaving of baskets, reading is a relatively recent human accomplishment, dating back no more than fifty-two hundred years. Unlike speech, which is acquired by easy osmosis, reading is not something that comes naturally to most of us. Instead, it must be learned, slowly and painstakingly, by each successive generation. The eye works its way across the page in little jumps, known technically as “saccades,” pausing at intervals like a frog on a lilypad, in order to ingest the next new word. As science writer Simon Ings explains, “The eyes literally cannot see stationary objects; they must tremble constantly in order to bring them into view.” Whereas listening is relatively fast (one needs only a hundredth of a second between sounds in order to distinguish them), looking takes far longer (one needs at least a tenth of a second between two images if they are not to blur), and reading takes longest of all, requiring a full quarter second for each individual word. Reading, then, involves a considerable amount of work. Literate Greeks and Romans preferred to have their books read aloud to them by slaves, and Saint Augustine was actually startled when he first saw Ambrose, the Bishop of Milan, reading to himself in silence. “When he read, his eyes scanned the page and his heart explored the meaning, but his voice was silent, and his tongue was still.”

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Such reading is especially effective in the case of poetry, which by its nature has much to do with slowing down. The poet Mark Strand writes of the pleasure of “reading the same thing again and again, really savoring it, living inside the poem.” Because there’s no rush to find out what actually happens, the reader can luxuriate in the texture of the words themselves. As Strand explains, “It’s really about feeling one syllable rubbing up against another, one word giving way to another, and sensing the justice of that relationship between one word, the next, the next, the next.”

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The real scholar scarcely knows what “study” means, since reading provides such rich uncomplicated pleasure. Lin Yutang describes the scholar Ku Ch’ienli (1770-1839), remembered for reading Confucian classics naked on steamy summer days, and the literary critic Chin Shengt’an (1608-1661), who liked nothing better than reading a banned book behind closed doors on a snowy night. Absorbed in their books, such dedicated readers may appear to be doing nothing at all. An eye blinks, a muscle shifts, a hand reaches up to turn the page.

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“I learned then,” said Lusseyran, “that poetry is an act, an incantation, a kiss of peace, a medicine . . . one of the rare, very rare things in the world which can prevail over cold and hatred. No one had taught me this.” In the weeks that followed, he gave himself over to a daily poetry campaign. He would stand on a bench at midday, just stand there and recite poems. Passersby would stop, press in around him. He could feel their breathing, the relaxation of their muscles. And “for several minutes there was harmony, there was almost happiness.”

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“James Tate explains: While most prose is a kind of continuous chatter, describing, naming, explaining, poetry speaks against an essential backdrop of silence. . . . There is a prayerful, haunted silence between words, between phrases, between images, ideas, and lines. This is one reason why good poems can be read over and over. The reader, perhaps without knowing it, instinctively desires to peer between the cracks into the other world where the unspoken rests in darkness.”

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(Mary) Oliver took to the woods, lugging a private knapsack full of books. Down by the creek or in the open meadow, she read and reread Whitman, “my brother, my uncle, my best teacher,” reveling in his ardor, his enthusiasm, the glorious specificity of his words.

But first and foremost, I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple—or a green field—a place to enter, and in which to feel. . . . I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company. . . . I remember the delicate, rumpled way into the woods, and the weight of the books in my pack. I remember the rambling, and the loafing—the wonderful days when, with Whitman, I tucked my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time.

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Rose Macaulay: “Only one hour of the normal day is more pleasurable than the hour spent in bed with a book before going to sleep and that is the hour spent in bed with a book after being called in the morning.”

Notes:

 

23 thoughts on “Intense Rendezvous: An eye blinks, a muscle shifts, a hand reaches up to turn the page.”

  2. Strongly agree with Rose Macaulay.
    I’m sure it’s not only me that feels this way, that reading is so pleasurable it almost feels like a sin.
    Its so intimate, if someone walks in on me while reading I find myself closing the book, making sure I wipe the reflection of what’s on the pages off my face.
    And it’s a beautiful addiction.
    Yes, addiction.
    Walk in on someone in their world, reading, pull the book out of their hands and watch what happens.

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    1. The Chinese author Lin Yutang (1895-1976) writes beautifully about the joy of reading, seeing it as a great privilege “to be able to live two hours out of twelve in a different world.” There is, for him, no such thing as a classic, no books that everyone should feel obliged to read. Instead, we should seek out an author whose spirit is akin to our own. “It is like love at first sight. . . . The author is just right . . . his style, his taste, his point of view. . . . And then the reader proceeds to devour every word and every line that the author writes, and because there is a spiritual affinity, he absorbs and readily digests everything. The author has cast a spell over him, and he is glad to be under the spell.”

      McEwen, Christian (2011-09-06). World Enough & Time: On Creativity and Slowing Down (Kindle Locations 2017-2022). Bauhan Publishing. Kindle Edition.

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    1. Smiling. That was news to me too. Amazing how complex our bodies are. Reminds me of this passage:

      “Even when you are in serious pain, trillions of things are going right in your body, and every one of those gives cause for hope. Follow that beacon, and you will be out of the woods before long.”

      ~ Gil Hedley

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  5. “Poetry speaks against an essential backdrop of silence…” what a powerful truth that is! And that silence speaks in a different language every time one read a great poem.

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  6. I really have to say that, David: I like your blog. I really do. “Meeting” other people from somewhere in this world, seeing (reading) that they feel the same way about questions and thoughts that I also have… After a long and hard days work, being “here” is always a great pleasure. Thank you :o)

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  8. “The poem is a temple—or a green field—a place to enter, and in which to feel. . . . I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company. . .” Yes beautiful and so true. Great post Mr K.

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  10. Dave, thank you for the thought provoking post…”The eye works its way across the page in little jumps, known technically as “saccades,” pausing at intervals like a frog on a lily-pad, in order to ingest the next new word. As science writer Simon Ings explains, “The eyes literally cannot see stationary objects; they must tremble constantly in order to bring them into view.”… this is interesting…makes me wonder about how some cultures read from the right side of a page toward the left and center of the book inner, spine join or to the outer left edge…does this give the people of that culture an advantage of left brain: toward math and science, toward hard work ethics, toward perhaps being less flexible and ridged in blinding following a leader? Also interesting in this day of small screens & texting and the rapidness of symbols appearing, sometimes flashing what does this do to the eyes and the brain beside causing strain, pulsing of the continual glowing back-light and the natural circadian rhythm?

    I think reading a novel of choice or an adventurous true account piece can be a solitary, pleasurable, intimate and sensual experience.

    On reading poetry, absorbing, savoring…an inward draw, pulling to revisit the words that generate living thought and an understood, connection of emotion make me think of the wonder of being drawn back again and again to peer at a piece of amber which holds the mystery of a life once lived, the bug preserved, caught in a suspension of golden liquid, tempered and now transparent golden light, revealing…curiosity engaged, examination further…much like the test of time of the classic, treasured lines of words penned long ago and more, recently…exposing beauty, depth and truth…resonating contemplation.

    An Intense Rendezvous, indeed..pausing and wandering…discovering.

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