Milne's Birthday

Today is A.A. Milne's birthday (1882), the creator of Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre Wood. How do you measure the influence of someone like Milne? Here are a few of my favorite quotations from him . . ,

“If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.”

“You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. I'll always be with you.”

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”

“"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way."”

“"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”

Happy Birthday, Bill

Today is William Blake's 250th birthday. He was a strange guy, prone to visions and odd behavior, but he wrote the first poem that opened up for me the multiple layers and unknowable depth of what poetry can be. He also produced wonderful and strange engravings for much of his work.

The Sick Rose

O Rose Thou Art Sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Is this poem about the loss of innocense? Is it about sexuality? Is it about corruption and secrecy? Is it about safety and pleasure? Is it about a rose?

Funniest Saturday Night Live Skit Ever

The funniest Saturday Night Live skit ever was Jimmy Stewart on Sprockets. Here's the transcript - consider it my gift of mirth after a long, long week. Happy weekend, everyone!

Here's an excerpt to give you the flavor:

Dieter: Mr. Shtewart. Critic Graus Greck, in the latest issue of "Verdkunst," described your book as an asylum, vhere man meets his Creator and screams.

Jimmy Stewart: Well, uh, thank you, Dieter. That's, uh... Y'know--y'know, Gloria and I are big fans of YOURS.

Dieter: In your poem, "Old Rocking Chair," you write: "You sit in the corner/Old rocking chair/It makes me feel good/To know you are there."

Jimmy Stewart: Yeah...

Dieter: I feel emotionally obliterated.

Jimmy Stewart: I'm glad--glad--glad to HEAR that, y'see, good poetry is about DESTRUCTION.

Dieter: Under vhat conditions does a man experience such raw truth?

Jimmy Stewart: Well, Dieter, it's no picnic, I can tell you that right now. I was holed up in a Mexico City slum. I hadn't eaten in weeks, and what few pesos I had, I'd spent on alcohol. Some cheap crap called chocho. I was down and out. That's when I wrote "Good Old Rockin' Chair." You see, you've gotta go through the PAIN.

Wordsworth's Birthday

It's Poetry Month, and if you enjoy poetry, send a blank email to sub_knopfpoetry@info.randomhouse.com and sign up for a poem a day from Knopf. Good stuff.

Because it's poetry month, and Wordsworth's birthday, I'm sharing one of my favorite poems, written 201 years ago, and it still describes the world as I see it some days when I'm in my car boxed away from a beatiful morning.

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON"

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.