mmm-mm-m-m, ah-aahh-h, r-r-Sh-sh-h-shh-ah-h-h, Say it slow. It's for that one.
"The women studied the men's faces secretly, for the corn could go, as long as something else remained. The children stood near by, drawing figures in the dust with bare toes, and the children sent exploring senses out to see whether the men and women would break. The children peeked at the faces of the men and women, and then drew careful lines in the dust with their toes... After a while the faces of the bemused men became hard and angry and resistant. Then the women knew that they were safe and there was no break. Then they asked, "What'll we do?" and the men replied, "I don't know". But it was all right. The women knew it was all right, and the watching children knew it was all right. Women and children knew deep in themselves that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were whole. The women went into the houses to their work, and the children began to play, but cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became less red. It flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the door-ways of their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The men sat still--thinking--figuring." I guess there's a disadvantage to being a voracious reader. I read Grapes of Wrath in high school, and in the ever expanding quest to read every book ever written, sorta crossed it off my list whenever I'd consider what next. Done that. Been there. But something about the recent adventures with Banks and mortgagees, made me want to revisit. Also, the idea popped into my head as I formulated the the Q'm" - something about making society as realities fundament and mammalian development as the basis of social patterns. The Grapes of Wrath ends with the most startling and provocative image I could possibly conceive, so much so that it stuck in my head all these years, even though I'd forgotten most of the book, I remember how it ended. How could anyone forget. So re-reading the old thing, but with wizened and older eyes (Now I'm just about the age of the man Rosasharn nurses back into life) and a renewed interest in the source of being, I've got a whole level of understanding and appreciation I couldn't have had before. What a book. What a writer. Parts of it just blew me away. I mean, look right there at the first chapter. The tension in the dust. The children waiting to find out what's gonna happen. Drawing in the dirt with their little monkey toes. And then, when the tension is settled like the dust, the men go to figuring with sticks and stones, manipulating inorganic materials absent-mindedly in their attempt to work out solutions. Thinking. Figuring. I quoted the first chapter's ending. That's how the book starts. But that's not how the book ends. By the end of the book, the men are reduced to children, and it is the women who are the vital focus. The last sentence of the book says it all, when Rose of Sharon is no longer the confused and whimpering girl child who lost a baby and a husband and home, but the seed of a strength that will bloom again. Sure as shootin'. Speaking of shootin'. That was something I realized in the book, that isn't emphasized so much today with liberal advocacys touting Steinbeck, every one of those men had a rifle and knew how to use it and wouldn't let go of, even if the family was starving. And the men knew it and society knew it and thus the techniques of collectivisation that worked on Pol Pot's people, and Mao's people, and Stalin's people, didn't work on America and Hoover's people. They had to be accommodated somehow, allowed to live because each and every one held onto the means of dealing death. I also realized what collectivisation was all about. It's when you don't need a bunch of farmers living on their plots and inefficiently feeding their families from what they grow as it's more efficient economically to get them off the land and do it with one guy driving a tractor. The big worry was seeing them rise up collectively. It was a near thing. A lot of it had to do with their religious outlook on life. They were born of that same scotch-irish clan that doesn't collectivise so easy. I lived and worked amongst 'em for about a year. My first wife came from them and they can be tricky. They're clannish, distrustful of intellectualism to a degree you wouldn't believe - it was down in the southern valley framing that I got cussed out for using the term "parallel". And they have a culture of stealing, especially from outsiders and they absolutely hate cops. So a lot of that being branded as "oakies" and treated like crap formed reactions that have persisted through three generations. They still speak with a strong "oaky" accent, to this day. I have the vestiges of a Tennessee accent still under my tongue from my dad, but he worked hard to leave it behind and it don't bother me none today. But those people! Hunter Thompson talks about them. He refered to "the Linkhorns" and saw the Hells Angels as having roots in that culture and those people. They persist. There's a lot to reflect upon today's capitalistic dilemmas and how it's all going to play out, considering there isn't much self-reliance or strong moral independence built into the American character anymore. But that wasn't the main point of my essay today. Today I wanted to talk about the must fundamental linguistic component of all human societys - ma. Make an 'mmmm" vocalization in your throat, then open your mouth and say "ah-h-h" to receive the titty and you have the fundamental commonality of language right there. I think there are a few languages where "ma" isn't understood as the one that bears children, but not many. Most of 'em just do. Isn't Hindu "ah-ma"? I think so. Pretty much the same thing. "Reality" is just a word for a social agreement. Social agreement is the fundamental essence of everything. "Ma's eyes passed Rose of Sharon's eyes, and then came back to them. And the two women looked deep into each other. The girls breath came short and gasping. She said, 'yes". The sweetest sound in the universe, that 'yes", that ongoing agreement. I didn't notice all of what was going on when I read this as a teenager, but after siring 5 kids - all home birthed, btw - I realized that Rose of Sharon's earlier whispered consultation with her ma was because her breasts were full and aching, after giving birth to a stillborn child, and they needed relief. Part of the reason the family had to leave the boxcar they were staying in was at ma's instigation and to get Rose of Sharon off to help her express some milk from her swollen bosom. Thus Rose of Sharon's 'yes" was an act of mercy, but it was also a pragmatic solution. "There!" She said, "There." Her hand moved behind his head and supported it. Her fingers moved gently in his hair. She looked up and across the barn. Her lips came together and smiled mysteriously." She smiles because now she knows where the real power of life is, and it ain't in the thinkin' and the figurin' in the dust. Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
