My wife and I have taken in a family of young kittens and their momma. I stepped onto the back porch of our home in Philadelphia one morning and saw a little head, with the two little wedge ears, poking up from the woodpile in the neighboring yard. Then another. Then another. Two little black kittens and a runty tabby. The mom seemed personable enough, a tough black bruiser cat. We have “rescued” and found homes for quite a few cats before, and spring is always the time. As Lynn and I sat out drinking Lord Chesterfield Ale on the porch yesterday, we were treated to the sight of two cats doing it right in the middle of the sidewalk. I thought of John Lennon’s “Let’s Do It in the Road.” Shameless! The kittens are all healthy so far: negative for FIV and Leukemia, no fleas, no infections, but lots of ear mites. Our vet thrills to show us the mites under the microscope, where one sees clumps of them breeding in the ear dirt. We now take the kittens up one or two at a time from basement to our living room (we have two cats we don’t want mingling with them), and socialize them by petting them and letting them watch whatever is on TV, such as Lethal Weapon, interpolated by commercials for fiber products and life insurance. Since they’re Philly cats, they’re used to the sirens and gunshots. I’d like to take this opportunity to draw readers’ attention to some worthy new online haunts I’ve taken to recently.
First, there is a new online critical review called, of all things, The Critical Flame. It debuted this month. The review is the brain-child of four young and dangerous Boston critics, Daniel E. Pritchard, Jonathan Wooding, Katherine A. Evans, and Michael Healy. The first issue features Daniel E. Pritchard on Geoffrey Hill's Selected Poems, Nora Delaney on Andrew Motion's The Mower: New & Selected, and April Pierce on Emily St. John Mandel's novel Last Night in Montreal. The magazine’s mission, according to Pritchard, who also writes for me at the Contemporary Poetry Review, centers on the notion that "a life of constant education is a life lived well, and the heart of our continued education is a public discourse that is free from small-minded influence, sanitation for the sake of weak wills, and cowardly censorship. With that in mind, we at The Critical Flame seek to clear a space in this wilderness that is the internet for articulate discussion and learned debate." Head on over and visit them at The Critical Flame. Another blog I visit every day is Snacks n’ Shit, a straight-faced (therefore ironic) analysis of the worst lyrics to appear in commercial hip-hop. For instance, on Bumpy Knucles’ lyrics from his song "Poetry," "I won't let you let him tell them that Bumpy ain't spittin' that hardcore phlegm," they remark: "This is so roundabout that it's just plain weird. Like, how about instead of this . . . you just make sure that the person who's thinking about saying how you 'ain't spitting that hardcore phlegm' doesn't say it. There's no reason to involve four or more people here. It’s good fun. Stop by and say hi at Snacks n’ Shit.
Finally, here’s a fun one: Awkward Family Photos. We've all been there, or know someone who has, and it's forever displayed on the mantle for all and sundry to see. It’s one of those blogs that spread like wildfire or, I guess, a virus, as in “viral,” the term Paul prefers I use. A coworker of mine (you saw her on Jeopardy! last year) forwarded it to me. The next day, my brother, a research scientist in a lab in the neighboring state, forwarded it to me. I forwarded it to Steph, who works for my publisher. She responded “oh, yeah, I know the guy who started this blog. I’m seeing him at a book party we’re hosting tonight.” So, chalk it up to small world, etc., but do check it out. It’s quite funny. Here are a few more of Mr. Auden’s thoughts on America and that strange breed, Americans:
- Every American poet feels that the whole responsibility for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary aristocracy of one.
- It’s frightening how easy it is to commit murder in America. Just a drink too much. I can see myself doing it. In England, one feels all the social restraints holding one back. But here, anything can happen.
- You know there are no secrets in America. It’s quite different in England, where people think of a secret as a shared relation between two people.
- God bless the USA, so large, so friendly, and so rich.
- A tremendous number of people in America work very hard at something that bores them. Even a rich man thinks he has to go down to the office every day. Not because he likes it but because he can’t think of anything else to do.
We’ll close today with a reading of a cheery Philip Larkin poem. Incidentally, anyone who hasn’t heard the recently discovered Sunday Sessions of Larkin, available from the BBC, should consider picking up a copy. It’s wonderful.
Posted by Ernest Hilbert
Wonderful Larkin poem. Good luck with the kitty-cats.
Posted by: Ernie Wormwood | May 26, 2009 at 09:35 AM