Saturday commute cxvii: Au revoir, désespoir

   The overstayful
   too unplayful
   alley cat
   though a trayful
   grew betrayful
   only sat.

François Truffaut
  director
  writer
  actor
La nuit américaine
  Day for Night
Les Films 
  du Carrosse, 1973©

Perks of the midweek holiday

      all day,
      low tide

















André Kertész
Budapest
1912

Cornelia lost her pearls, and I've got mine

It'll be one's birthday,

with any luck, within a

few hours; and as much

as I don't think I could

assimilate another gift,

I know where my treasures

are. This takes practice,

but as many times as I've

watched the junior Miss

Bullock, taunting her sis-

ter for misplacing an un-

insured treasure, I see

no more than the sport of

sibling rivalry, in which

the tables turn too often

to expect ever to see what

nobody wants - a winner.

Of the many things a pure

delight cannot repay to Car-

ole Lombard, surely her re-

siliency in that sometimes

very dusty struggle defies

every barrier scattered, to

split the classes and gen-

ders, the wages and sages  

as losing squads. Treasure.

Be good. I'm off to dine.

Gregory LaCava

  director

Morrie Ryskind

  and Eric Hatch

  screenplay

My Man Godfrey

1936

op. cit.

Hustler

To revisit the lectures of Auden
on the plays of Shakespeare is e-
nough to make anyone wonder, if
we devote enough time to the lit-
erary opportunities of everyday 
life. A thank-you clavicle, a 
billet-doux groin, and the corpus
of our output seems reduced to a
redundant cycle of hi, it's me. 
But apart from everything else
there is to recommend it, a gift
for explaining things can be
thrilling, for making us aware
of our reach.

The most percipient analysis

I've read of the present tussle

among the Republicans, for the

nomination for the Presidency,

lies in the lecture Auden gave

at The New School, April, 1947,

on Coriolanus (1604). I've ad-

dressed this play before, as 

being among those power plays

that almost make one aggrieved

to be so indebted. Like any par-

tisan, then, I like sharing my

time with someone who's of the

same opinion, and Auden is al-

most as irritatingly good as a

companion as Shakespeare is as 

an irritant.

He helps me understand the dif-

ference between Donald Trump

and his rivals, timid as they

are to be seen as his detract-

ors. And I regard this differ-

ence as not covering them with

glory, which is to say, with

much chance of stopping him.

We read this difference less

in their features than in the

responses of the crowd; and it

is particularly telling of the

rivals of Mr Trump, that they

have shaped themselves in the

image of the crowd to whom he

appeals. They "demand the priv-

ilege of rule before they have 

learned to rule themselves," 

and of course the first and

the most exposed of these

chameleons has been the one

draped in the loudest protes-

tations of being his own man.

He calls for war first, mere-

ly to be first; he calls for

religious discrimination in

that war and in its disposal

of the displaced, merely to

be first, and as Shakespeare

says, has "licked the sweet

which is their poison."

Eerily, his detractors have

not noticed a blinding dis-

tinction between Mr Trump,

and all their imitations of

his followers. He wants to 

build things. He proffers a

vision one can visualise. He

palpably rewards their reach,

giving focus to its energy.

"They loot," Auden writes,

"act constantly out of fear

and greed .."  Above every-

thing else, "they're associ-

ated by appetite and passion,

not, mind you, by desire."

Yet nothing is more glaring,

than that Trump is disdain-

ful of fear and greed, and

is singularly the voice of

desire. It gives his vulgar-

ity an authentically lustful

ring. They revel in the af-

firmation of his insults. Of

all the pack, he is the one

who will feed their hunger, 

even to humiliate, and makes 

a palace of their need. 

It isn't necessary to ques-

tion his methods - fortress-

es here, forces there, vic-

tories everywhere - to be

quite drenched as it is, 

in the overspray of their

spittle. He has found a way

to tranform the impulse to

destroy by making it grandi-

ose. Everyone else in his

train is a piker. He will

build towers to gladden the

most hideous of fantasies.

And all his rivals do, is 

complain of the climb.

Donald Trump has discerned

the difference between au-

thority and desire, and he

is winning because there is

no such thing as being wrong

in a fantasy, no validation

stronger than denunciation.

He's a cynic, to be sure; 

but he is no con man, nor 

even a negligent ideologue. 

He's a hustler, and he's hot.

W.H. Auden

Lectures on Shakespeare

Princeton University Press, 2000©

Maxims of de Winter i

    After Manderley
    I learned there
    was no limit to
    where a haircut
    might take one.
   
    My own counten-
    ance inhabits a
    curious shelter.

    Must I think of
    Donald Trump? O
    now I am sorry,
    because, splash
    Mr Cruz yellow,
    and he returns,
    only lacquered.  

Daphne du Maurier
Rebecca
1938
op. cit.

Richard Hughes
The Fox in the Attic
1961
op. cit.

Where do you run, Phidippides?

When Phidippides arrived

in Sparta, having run to

the city for help at Mar-

athon, he was refused be-

cause the Spartans claim-

ed religious constraints,

in omens of the heavens.

That was 490 BC; but who

needs precedent, when we

have such light as ours? 

He might as well have run

to the Republicans, skip-

ping Paris on the way. No

shame attaches to a super-

stition recited by power,

at any peril of sacrifice.

Athens achieved victory a-

lone. It can be done, but

again, not without saving

superstition, its Sparta.

Hearing no objection

   Thornhill
   slept in.

   

Caoimhin O'Brien
  x Pablo Saez