Current Immersions

Distractions from the dumpster fire

Reading

I reread The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran. I checked out the audiobook from the library, and I’m not wild about my version’s narration. Narrators can seriously make or break an audio experience. Generally I prefer to not really notice the narration - no bog voice changes or accents for characters, etc. I know sometimes it makes sense for the book, but I don’t love that listening experience. Which is weird, because I do in fact enjoy the real accents of people very much.

I’m also reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, and it feels like the perfect time for it. It’s a call to the creative life, and a treatise on what that even means. How can we all fulfill the human drive towards making, towards creating? What does that look like in practice? In practice - actually doing the work, engaging in the process. Not asking AI to generate regurgitated garbage.

Watching

I started My Brilliant Friend. So far, it feels very true to the book. Watching the relationship develop between these two little girls is fascinating, as is the depiction of post-war Naples. In other news: my Italian is really bad. I can pick out some words here and there, but I am relying heavily on the English subtitles.

Additionally, someone recommended this 20 minute documentary on Augusta Savage. I now join that recommendation. PBS has some really great documentaries. Last year during Black History Month I watched one about Zora Neale Hurston, a simply fascinating woman.

Listening

Nothing like listening to a 2010 discussion of two poems: After the Night Years: On "The Sun Came" by Etheridge Knight and "Truth" by Gwendolyn Brooks. It’s so lovely to hear people delve into works or literature and discuss and maybe argue a bit and have strong opinions and just show their appreciation. I often listen to The New Yorker: Fiction podcast for more of this dynamic.

Gwendolyn Brooks (left) and Etheridge Knight (right)

Here’s one of the poems discussed:

The Sun Came

By Etheridge Knight
                                                        And if sun comes
                                                        How shall we greet him?
                                                                    —Gwen Brooks

The sun came, Miss Brooks,—
After all the night years.
He came spitting fire from his lips.
And we flipped—We goofed the whole thing.
It looks like our ears were not equipped
For the fierce hammering.

And now the Sun has gone, has bled red,
Weeping behind the hills.
Again the night shadows form.
But beneath the placid face a storm rages.
The rays of Red have pierced the deep, have struck
The core. We cannot sleep.
The shadows sing: Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm.
The darkness ain't like before.

The Sun came, Miss Brooks.
And we goofed the whole thing.
I think.
(Though ain't no vision visited my cell.)

On deck

I’m thankful for my commitment to writing this weekly wrap up, as I then have to make sure I’m reading/writing/listening, and not doom scrolling. There’s pretty much always too much doom scrolling. I’ve been desperate to get back to salsa dance lessons, especially inspired by the new Bad Bunny album. My new job is getting in the way of that, but I’ve found a few classes around town that may fit my schedule. Crossing my fingers I can make it work this week.