Luminous Details

Poet Ezra Pound apparently spent time on the lookout for what he called "luminous details." 

For him, these were "any small fact that casts light on larger realities". 

His poems are esoteric, strange, impenetrable even - but they often turn on the dizzying accumulation of many such particulars. 

These could be objects, words, persons, names, but they must have a certain quality that glows and pulsates with a life all their own.

 I find this to be a mesmerizing and joy-filled understanding of language and our world.


In other words, he could see enormous significance in the tiniest of details. 








Like yesterday, when I went out after the storm.

Cold lilac scents, damp sharp chill of fallen pine.

Bedraggled branches broken off for their unbelief. 

The sun fierce and sharp. 

Confetti petals in the street.

Puddle-mirrors back-illuminating the late afternoon.

Like it does in cities with canals, like Venice or Amsterdam. 

Pure light released on my eyes (almost) unmediated. 

Some Things from Spring

An anything-but-comprehensive list of the delights of the past week, which is to say Spring Break.

 

Sunday. We are the Easter morning people. We expand the dining room table by two leaves to fit in family, then friends. Our first snips of chives spice up spring salads, and we try to figure out how many different meals we'll be able to make from the leftover eggs, ham, and fruit. (It turns out there are quite a few.) The feast moves out later to grilling in Minnetonka, with nieces ferreting out eggs impossibly-hid, blooms and sunshine everywhere, and a leisurely white wine on a sunny deck. 

 

Monday. In just two hours, Mom, little bro, and I combine our energies with a burly Lacrosse team from St. Thomas and pack up 95 boxes of food to Haiti. That's over 20,000 meals! Pray for the victims of the cholera epidemic; the situation is still quite grave. 

Tuesday. Cookies and cousins for breakfast. Delish.


Later, the art & food date with my mom-in-law, a.k.a. awesome friend.The Russian Art Museum instructs us in the post-Stalin release of artists to greater creativity, and we celebrate craftsmanship of another kind at Patisserie 46 with tasty French morsels. Miam, miam.

Wednesday. I lose my head and an entire morning to wisteria and sunshine. The perfume of blossoms on the trees out front combines with the musty pages of A Room with a View, and I am transported to early 20th-century Italy and the swoopy, swoony advenutres of a tidy young woman brought into contact with real  

Thursday. I bike all over creation on the bright green bikes and end up at the Midtown market to eat holy gyros of heroic proportions with the taller of the bros. What could be more luxurious than to waltz over on a shiny day to be with someone I just love to hang with?

Friday. Husband comes home from work and we take off for a new Belgian-French movie at the Edina Cinema, Le Gamin au vélo (The Boy with the bike). Breaks then warms the heart.


But who ever wants to stop there? 


Followed by a honest-to-golly jug band ("complete" with washboard, donkey jaw, tap dancer, and fife, among other things...) performing the late show at the Dakota. Como Avenue Jug Band, as generous as they are talented, and I get a free album. Sweet.