Butterfly and Crab


From my youth on, my personal motto has been the old Latin tag, Festina lente, hurry slowly. Perhaps what attracted me, even more than the words and the idea, was the suggestiveness of its emblems. You may recall that the great Venetian humanist publisher, Aldus Manutius, on all his title pages symbolized the motto Festina lente by a dolphin in a sinuous curve around an anchor. The intensity and constancy of intellectual work are represented in that elegant graphic trademark, which Erasmus of Rotterdam commented on in some memorable pages. But both dolphin and anchor belong to the same world of marine emblems, and I have always preferred emblems that throw together incongruous and enigmatic figures, as in a rebus. Such are the butterfly and crab that illustrate Festina lente in the sixteenth-century collection of emblems by Paolo Giovio. Butterfly and crab are both bizarre, both symmetrical in shape, and between them establish an unexpected kind of harmony.

Six Memos for the Next Millennium (translated by Patrick Creagh, Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 48. (Apparently there’s a newer translation—Guardian review here.)

A few years ago I lay half asleep early on a Saturday morning, as I often do, too tired to get up but too wired to sleep, listening to Mind Over Matters, the excellent public affairs program on KEXP. The speaker was telling about his experience mapping the Pacific Northwest coast from an airplane, taking photographs to produce what would then have been the most detailed map of the region yet made.

In the course of photographing miles of coastline he noticed what appeared to be a highly regular structure just below the water line, a kind of wall or line of some sort that stretched along the coast for some distance. I don’t remember now how long it was or if there was more than one such structure; I just remember it was noticeable enough to catch his attention and pique his curiosity. It seemed to him it must be a human construction: it was far too regular to be a product of nature.

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Yvor Winters on Wallace Stevens

Reading Yvor Winters on Wallace Stevens (In Defense of Reason. Athens: Swallow/Ohio U. Press, 1987). Finding him wrong-headed, but usefully so, since it’s helping me think out what I think of Stevens.

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Harold Bloom, “How To Read and Why”

Harold Bloom, How to Read and Why. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000.

Reading Bloom’s chapter on poetry. Fun but also frustrating, as he makes pronouncements which he does not substantiate. Either you take him on faith, feeling inferior for not being as smart as he is, or you simply wonder how he arrived at his conclusions, or … In any case not a satisfying sense of understanding.

For instance:

He reads “The Unquiet Grave” as concluding with the implication that the dead woman will grant her living lover the kiss he craves. Here’s the poem:
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