Celebrating Poetry: I Worried by Mary Oliver

I Worried

by Mary Oliver

I worried a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up.  And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

From Swan

April is National Poetry Month. I'll share a poem each week to celebrate.

The Sunday Salon: It's All Over

The TBR Dare is history, and even though I didn't get through the huge pile of books set aside, this has been a wonderful experience. It brought me back to Richard Yates, introduced me to Barbara Pym, and prompted me to finally pick up a Eudora Welty novel.  I finished books received as Christmas gifts (in 2009!) and read from several short story collections already on my shelves. It has been an outstanding three months of reading. Thanks so much for hosting, James. If this becomes an annual event, you can be sure I'll sign on again.

So what lies ahead? Although I haven't been reading newly acquired books, the TBR Dare has not kept me from accumulating them. Between my London book haul, our Borders store closing, and a couple of gifts, the TBR dare has actually resulted in a net loss of bookshelf space. Now I must decide where to begin. Pym? Whipple? Contemporary novels? Classics? After finally finishing Wolf Hall (accomplished with a week of blog silence), my next selection will most certainly not be historical fiction.

As I was perusing a stack of possible choices and about to settle in with Barbara Pym, a package from amazon arrived. Along with birthday presents for the twins (18 this week!), was A Tragic Honesty: The Life and Work of Richard Yates by Blake Bailey. It's been some time since I read a literary biography and this was highly recommended by Rachel. After an initial surprise at the 600+ pages, I was totally hooked by the end of the prologue. The first chapter shed new light on both The Easter Parade and Revolutionary Road, so I will read the entire biography before continuing with the rest of Yates' novels.

Did you make it through the TBR Dare? What will you be reading this week?

Wordless Wednesday: London Pub

...for Zelda (my greyhound)

The Sunday Salon: Record Brevity

Four more days until it's over. The TBR Dare comes to an end March 31. In an ideal world, the last 'dare' book would be completed around 10:30 PM Thursday night, leaving me ready to pounce on a stack of new books Friday morning. But this is the real world, and it will probably take longer to finish Wolf Hall. It is rich, complex, detailed, and interesting... but very slow. After nearly ten days, I find myself just past the half-way mark. I'm never dying to pick it up, yet it always manages to hold my attention.

The coffee is poured and Wolf Hall is waiting. Enjoy your Sunday, and I'll be back later this evening to blog hop.

Quote of the Week: The Big Rock Candy Mountain

You had to stay in a place to make it a home.  A home had to be lived in every day, every month, every year for a long time, till it was worn like an old shoe and fitted the comfortable curvatures of your life.
(page 236)

The Big Rock Candy Mountain
by Wallace Stegner
originally published 1943

The Big Rock Candy Mountain is my current audiobook, but with so many passages like this one, I ended up borrowing the paperback from  the library just to reread them.

Wordless Wednesday: Stratford-Upon-Avon

"O Noble Fool! A Worthy Fool!"

"No Pain Whatsoever" by Richard Yates

I'm a hopeless realist, especially when it comes to fiction. That probably explains why I've come to love Richard Yates' writing. His characters are nothing if not real.

"No Pain Whatsoever" opens with Myra smoothing her skirt and pushing Jack's hand away. She is in the back seat of a car, heading toward the hospital TB ward for a weekly visit with her husband. Jack is her boyfriend.

It wasn't that there was anything to be ashamed of - Irene and Marty knew all about Jack and everything; most of her friends did, and nobody blamed her (after all, wasn't it almost like being a widow?) - it was just that Jack ought to know better. Couldn't he at least have the decency to keep his hands to himself now, of all times?

Tension builds as details slowly emerge. After deciding they will go out for drinks, Myra's friends drop her off at the hospital.

All the sheets and the hospital pajamas were dyed yellow, to distinguish them from uncontaminated linen in the hospital laundry, and this combined with the pale green of the walls made a sickly color scheme that Myra could never get used to.

At last we are introduced to her husband, Harry. He has been in the hospital for an undetermined length of time, with no discharge plans in the foreseeable future.

When he bent forward to take the match the yellow pajamas gaped open and she saw his chest, unbelievably thin, partly caved-in on one side where the ribs were gone. She could just see the end of the ugly, newly healed scar from the last operation.

Their visit is comprised of solely superficial conversation. It's obvious Harry has developed a new routine around the rhythm of hospital life. Clearly more anxious to delve into the new issue of Popular Science, he seems only vaguely interested in Myra's conversation. When Myra asks if it hurts, he responds,

"Not at all any more... I mean, as long as I don't go raising my arms too high or anything. When I do that it hurts, and sometimes I start to roll over on that side in my sleep, and that hurts too, but as long as I stay - you know - more or less in a normal position, why, there's no pain whatsoever."

Myra has a brief breakdown after she leaves the ward, but recovers in time to join her friends for one final round of drinks.

This story, like the Yates novels I've read, is very real and slightly sad. Simon (Stuck in a Book) said it perfectly in his post yesterday: "... next time I feel like a bit of American sombreness, I'll turn to Yates."

It's interesting to note that Yates contracted TB and recovered after a brief convalescence. Using the resulting army disability pension, he moved to Europe in 1954, lived there for several years, and wrote stories. "No Pain Whatsoever" is from The Collected Stories of Richard Yates. I was not able to find it online.

Short Story Monday is hosted by John Mutford at The Book Mine Set.