Mixtape: The Time of My Life
Here is today’s mixtape in the effort to live the words of Goethe, “One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.”
1. A Song
Today’s song is from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life.” This is a movie I plan on rewatching in the near future.
I was reading about the writing of the song that when Franke Previte was asked by Jimmy Ienner to work on a song for the movie he said he didn’t have time and Ienner replied, “Make time. This could change your life.” It’s the luck of the thing which happens only occasionally in an artistic career. Mainly, one has tiny bits of luck that one has relentlessly worked for but then sometimes there’s that big time miraculous lucky moment and the stars align. Most of us look over at those who have experienced that kind of luck, in whatever artistic field, and appreciate all the talent and hard work that went before. In retrospect it seems like no one else could have written a song so perfect for this movie. But who knows, maybe they could have.
The link to the video for those reading in the newsletter is here.
2. A Poem
The song above has been swimming around in my head since I read the poem by Henri Cole in The New Yorker titled, “One Vessel.”
One Vessel
by Henri Cole
I’ve had the time of my life, friends,
living quietly like a snail in a pocket.
It’s a rather simple tale, really,
as elegant and amoral as a Latin poet’s.
I loved the sailboat and airplane rides.
I loved the fossil of a mouse.
The sweetness of growing
into a man whose dreams—
like leaves or a bird’s nest—
came to life.
But times have changed,
and the snail now lives
in a single-dwelling unit
with pillows and lamps.
The woe is gone,
and the demons of the woe.
On the front lawn, a queen lays
eggs to build up the bee colony.
A crow pecks at an orange.
My breast is strong from morning swims.
I take unto me new things
to keep in the vessel,
and let go of others.
April is poetry month and it’s a good time to discover a new-to-you poet. I try and squeeze as much poetry as I’m able to in this space, but always want more. Where are your go-to place for poetry these days? Browsing an indy bookstore, or library is often so fruitful. There’s a new-ish space in CanLit called the Woodlot run by Chris Banks. And there are lots of Insta accounts sharing poetry.
3. A Picture
The snail in the poem above had me thinking about same in terms of still lifes. A quick search led me to this one by Willem van Aelst from 1675:
A few years back, snails and slugs were all the rage in art circles. In an article on Canadian Art, Christiana Myers muses:
“It seems to me that while the symbolism of snails and slugs has been used to portray a variety of concepts, it has largely come down to three distinct themes: impotence, power and gender; observation of the natural environment; and the act of slowing down, enduring life and inevitably dying. Each of these three motifs can be traced throughout art history and is now being revisited and expanded upon by contemporary artists.”
She ends the article by saying:
“When so many people are chasing power only to leave others to scavenge for what’s left, when the health of the planet to which we are intrinsically tied is in peril and when we are all moving so quickly that we deny or dismiss any semblance of vulnerability in favour of progress and instant gratification, it makes sense that we would turn to snails and slugs for guidance. Their strange ancient forms make them seem almost extraterrestrial. In an age of information they are a welcome reprieve of mystery, weirdness, humility and absurdity, making it easier to think about heavy topics without the crushing existential dread. Their spinelessness is not a weakness but rather a symbol of flexibility and resilience—they’ve been getting stepped on for millions of years and they’re still going strong. Personally, I like to think these wondrous little animals persist in our public consciousness to remind us all to slow down, think about the longevity of our species rather than ourselves, appreciate our differences and protect our environment. But, with an ominous wriggle of their antennae, they aren’t about to let us forget that ultimately it will be them who get the last laugh.”
Still lifes remind us of transitoriness, the passing of time. Memento mori! they say. Amid all the cut flowers and perishing fruit, along with the short-lived butterflies and houseflies, you sometimes find a snail. And they are rather like alien beings, extraterrestrial. Things are quantifiably terrible right now, politically, environmentally, etc. Still, no one can stop us from stepping off that battlefield and having the time of our lives. Everything is always happening amid everything else and always has. There are horrors going on, evil machinations, no doubt about it. I’m not at all blasé about any of it. I’m awake for a couple of hours every night worrying. Regardless, for an interval every day I attempt to have the time of my life.
