June 12, 2011

Relatively hellish day at the studio stroll yesterday; nevertheless, the fact that duties at church will keep me largely away from today’s round fills me with disappointment and anxiety. The hope of selling one piece at my ludicrously deflated prices is so tempting, such a seal on otherwise invisible effort, that I can barely resist abiding for hours in heat and boredom to allow it. Some interesting visitors–mostly kids, and Ed K, and Erica–but mostly hours of furtive painting and glancing out of my windows toward the real action. Did revise Michael Furey. Our parking lot was taken up with vendors, which infuriated me. This one weekend there should be no vendors but us.

Linda home with happy tales of the Caribbean cruise with the boys. Both found girlfriends, who themselves were best friends. They were love sick all day yesterday, the day of the parting from their new friends. It is dear and sweet only from this perspective. I remember it, and from that perspective it is agony. It is the first agony. I remember coming home from camp with that feeling, the two prongs of love and bereavement, only it was over a boy, and could not be spoken of, and all that emotion had to sink down inside and remain–but for poetry–mute. And in fact, that same week, lovesick and inarticulate, I wrote my first poem.

They won’t need take such a life-determining step.

The more I steep in the words just written, the more I understand one of the pivotal moments of my life– from the perspective of vocation. THE pivotal moment. Like Apollo plaiting Daphne’s branches, I came to art through thwarted love. My situation was more complicated that Apollo’s, though, for though he could sing directly of the thing lost, it would be decades before anyone could sing outright my song, and decades before I would know how to do it. All those pages of ancient poetry prepared one for something different. Whether the needful indirection was glory or tragedy cannot now be known. I think both.

Andy took the very day they returned to slap Linda with a subpoena to appear in court, where he intends to cut child support for his sons. He is an envious, warped, hypocritical creep, always going on mission journeys but damaging anyone who is actually within his grasp. Linda’s nature is excessively merciful. I heard myself hissing over the phone like some demon, “take the bastard for all that he’s worth.” But some do deserve to be taken for all they’re worth.