I just quoted from one of Williams' poems the other day on this blog because my dog-eared copy of one of his books of poetry is one of my favorites. What synchronicity! What serendipity! What does this have to do with Rush? Well, about halfway through this five million word article, when I was well on my way to a happy oblivion, I read that Williams was notoriously insecure and perhaps even insanely jealous of his more famous poetic colleagues -- the Ezra Pounds and H.D.s, especially the T.S. Eliots. When he left his home of Rutherford, New Jersey (where he worked as a general practitioner, serving a poor and immigrant population) for a visit to Paris with his wife in 1924, he evidently felt paranoid and certain he was being scorned by the likes of Pound and H.D. And still, what does this have to do with Rush? Well, really, not much except that when commenting about his fellow poet T.S. Eliot, Williams wrote Maybe I'm wrong but I distrust that bastard more than any writer I know in the world today. He then compared Eliot's work to moles on a pig's belly instead of tits. I laughed out loud when I read that. I never really got into Eliot's poetry like I did Williams, and I thought how nice it would be if someone out in the ether could say something that perfectly cutting about a person like Rush.
So, there you go. Poetry instead of Rush.
Listen to this:
To a Poor Old Woman
The Widow's Lament in Springtime
and read this:
I By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast-a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen patches of standing water the scattering of tall trees All along the road the reddish purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy stuff of bushes and small trees with dead, brown leaves under them leafless vines- Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches- They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind- Now the grass, tomorrow the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf One by one objects are defined- It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance-Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted, they grip down and begin to awaken
-- from Spring and All
and think about this:
No ideas but in things --
William Carlos Williams, from Paterson