Guillaume Apollinaire, “La Jolie Rousse [The Pretty Redhead]”:
Here I am before you all a sensible man
Who knows life and what a living man can know of death
Having experienced love’s sorrows and joys
Having sometimes known how to impose my ideas
Adept at several languages
Having traveled quite a bit
Having seen war in the Artillery and the Infantry
Wounded in the head trepanned under chloroform
Having lost my best friends in the frightful conflict
I know of old and new as much as one man can know of the two
And without worrying today about that war
Between us and for us my friends
I am here to judge the long debate between tradition and invention
Between Order and Adventure
You whose mouth is made in the image of God’s
Mouth that is order itself
Be indulgent when you compare us
To those who were the perfection of order
We who look for adventure everywhere
We’re not your enemies
We want to give you vast and strange domains
Where mystery in flower spreads out for those who would pluck it
There you may find new fires colors you have never seen before
A thousand imponderable phantasms
Still awaiting reality
We want to explore kindness enormous country where all is still
There is also time which can be banished or recalled
Pity us who fight always at the boundaries
Of infinity and the future
Pity our errors pity our sins
Wow, super podcast find — on Apple Hot News, of all places. The Year Was 1959, a series of lectures (w/music) on a single year (but what a year) in the history of Jazz. Georgia State professor Gordon Vernick starts with three of my favorite records ever: John Coltrane’s Giant Steps, Miles Davis’s Kind Of Blue, and Ornette Coleman’s The Shape Of Jazz To Come. (The two other great albums that people usually talk about are Charles Mingus’s Mingus Ah Um and Dave Brubeck’s Time Out.)
When you look at 1959, it’s almost impossible to believe that it would be rock and roll (plus folk and ballad pop) that would chart the musical revolution. Rock was stagnant and jazz was endlessly inventive ten times over. Such a delight to listen — this one year is an education in music itself.
Virginia Heffernan has a blog post up about comments and how generally awful they are, especially on big news websites. I think her observation is fair, and raises a good larger question: What’s the future of comments on the web? I think they’re pretty broken right now, especially at scale. They’re not really conversations at all; they’re a cross between an old-school web guestbook (people merely registering their existence) and a black hole (scraps of text flung into the void, never to be seen or heard from again).
But, let’s not talk about it here.
I left a comment on the post, and I think you should do the same. Snarkmarket readers know something about commenting; I think we’ve got some of the best commenters around, and together we have some of the best conversations.
And there’s something delightfully meta about this post about bad comments having the best comments ever.
Let’s make it happen.
P.S. I believe, broadly, in the value of moderation, but man, it’s annoying that my comment is not posted over on the NYT yet. If you don’t see it, wait a few minutes. Not a few hours, I hope.
If you’ve got twenty-five minutes to listen to two smart + funny people talk about Marcel Duchamp, Ezra Pound, comparative literature, American poetry, and French philosophy, give this podcast a whirl. It’s by two of my teachers (and friends, and readers), the poet Charles Bernstein and literary critic Jean-Michel Rabat