Skip to main content

Them Memphis Notions

Image
By
I believe that the minds of men. . . will change. . . that all the old pictures will fade out, and new ones will take their place. . . that what we have in our heads now is only one of millions of possible seeings; I believe that the man animal got started on the wrong foot.
—K. Patchen, Albion Moonlight, 298

For J-Y


In Memphis I saw plainly that for all these years I’ve been travelling with an indifference that now leaves me feeling incredibly ashamed.

I tell myself that I should know a place well before visiting it, and so I prepare by picking up bits from books here and there. But being interested in the idea of what other people have found a place to be like has blinded me from seeing what is actually in front of me. I get hung up on history and aesthetics and the like, which are arguably only of academic or cocktail-party use. Because of this I’ve been content to let someone else take care of the suffering I see.

I had been wanting to visit Memphis for a long time. Last year, when we moved from Oregon to New Orleans, I was obviously a few steps closer. Then my friend Clarence came to visit Iphigenia and me, and so I had a good excuse to make the trip.

I had discarded my notions of Memphis months before the move, when it seemed as though I’d never get out of Oregon. By doing this I unwittingly cleared my mind of preconceptions and so was able to see things in a new light when I arrived. (By the way, this also kept me from boring the life out of Clarence with oddities which any schlub can glean from a quick glance at a map or Wikipedia, but which I like to pass off as knowledge gained from months of deep study. No doubt Clarence, bless his heart, is already well aware of this and has, graciously, let it go uncriticized in earlier instances.)

Two particular wanderings on this trip affected me: first, a stop in Vicksburg to take in the impressively steep bluffs, a contrast to pancake-flat New Orleans. In strolling through the town, however, I quickly forgot about the views because we were stunned by how quiet everything was. Buildings were boarded up left, right and center; a few workers tinkered with some scaffolding against a time-worn brick edifice; stray cats paused in the middle of the street to clean themselves; and, most depressing of all, on South Washington Street, the town’s thoroughfare, a driver of a horse and carriage dozed off in his seat, looking as though he hadn’t seen a customer for aeons. I could scarcely imagine a more lonesome cityscape.

Second, in Memphis, driving from Sun Studio to the Cooper-Young neighborhood, I took a wrong turn and we ended up in a run-down residential neighborhood. I spotted a skinny little Jack Russell with his ribs showing. I usually travel with big-hearted Iphigenia, who doesn’t subscribe to the saying ‘you can’t save them all.’ Thinking of what she would do in this situation, I pulled over and tried to grab the little guy. But he was too wary and, though he wouldn’t run away entirely, kept retreating from me. It was all I could do to toss him some leftover chocolate chip cookies. Though I'm not sure whether he ate them, while driving away, all I could think of was how I hoped he could fill his belly but not get sick from the trace amount of cacao.

A few minutes later we made it to Cooper-Young, which was an obvious contrast to the other neighborhoods we had seen. I felt that this contrast in my surroundings compelled me to consider my actions, that is, enjoying myself when not ten blocks away others were in need. I couldn’t get the dog out of my head, who, if he wasn’t sick, was probably roving the overgrown disused lot wondering how cold it might get that night.

And, for the anthropocentrically inclined, I also thought of the housing-projects we had walked by the day before. In one block of flats some kids were playing in a yard strewn with debris. On the gate there hung a sign that read keep our community clean.

For too long I’ve been stumbling through this life like a half-witted ape aiming only at making himself comfortable while those around him have to eat scraps of cookies and play in trash. On the next trip I take—even if it’s just down the road to the store—if I see a creature that I can help, I will think of Iphigenia and the Delta trip with Clarence and do so.


* * *
I have stolen these phrases and ideas from the following authors. (The actual page numbers fail me, I’m afraid. . .)
- ‘them Memphis notions’—Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury;
- ‘half-witted ape’—Patchen, The Journal of Albion Moonlight; and
- the idea of a mind willfully cleared of preconceptions—Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Beijing The Behemoth

By
Beijing the behemoth. At the airport I’m beat from being up some thirty-odd hours, but too sentient to think of sleep, the hotel be damned. Throw me instead into this sea of concrete, bemused smiles and unabashed stares. In the taxi with Chris, the school’s recruiter, Iphigenia and I watch the towers of concrete repeat themselves for miles. I command myself to take in every detail, no matter how small. But I’m fading fast and when the city center at last comes into view, she’s too late. The fatigue has unfortunately set in and I can’t make out much but the obvious: taxis, bicycles, rickshaws. . . . And so the hotel it is for us, because anyway I’m just too damn worked up. I don’t have a map, I don’t speak Mandarin, I haven’t changed any money yet. I promise myself a good random stroll the next morning, one which will enlighten me as to the way of the street, the dao of the hú tòng.  But the morrow brings nothing so edifying. Only a short walk with killjoy Chris, who cl...
Post a Comment
Read more

Portland Flashback

By
“Put this under your tongue,” Josh said, handing me three small circles of thin white paper. The club’s owner, a dubious character, not because of his whittled-away teeth or the stringy, wet hair plastered to the sides of his head, but because of the sheen over his dark pupils, had offered the goods to Josh. I hesitated, but then this sickly looking man gave me a friendly salute. And so, already three sheets to the wind, I placed not one but all three under my tongue. They were tasteless and dissolved in seconds. While I waited for the fun to kick in I scanned the room. Halloween: goth kids dressed up as vampires. Or — wait a minute — were they vampires disguised as humans? The room was changing. I looked over at Josh to make sure he was still there. The pudgy motherfucker, with a serene grin on his face, was lost in the screeching music. All of a sudden I caught the hungry gaze of a vampire, its eyes comically wide open. Don’t look at me! Averting my eyes I watched as the wal...
Post a Comment
Read more

‘ho, vitsi’

By
When they think that they know the answers, people are difficult to guide. When they know that they don't know, people can find their own way.  — Tao Te Ching , chap.  65, v.  2, ll.  4–7 Teaching English was a good way for me to earn extra cash in my spare time in Tbilisi. Passionate and eager students of all ages would get in touch each month to seek my infinitely vast and untapped knowledge of The Bard’s tongue. But surprisingly, all of my students secretly turned out to be know-it-alls, often having a grasp of English far beyond mine. During our lessons they would indicate such knowledge in Georgian by saying ‘ ho, vitsi ,’ which means ‘yes, I know.’ Now, this may sound harmless enough, but let me tell you why I often had to fight off the urge to reach across the desk and administer a swift smack upside the head as if it were 1805. Ho, vitsi ’s literal translation does not convey the meaning in its truest sense. In partic...
Post a Comment
Read more