From: "Clifford Duffy" <cwduff-AT-hotmail.com>
Date: Sat, 07 Jul 2001 06:57:37 -0400


My Philosophy of Life
                    John Ashbery




                        Just when I thought there wasn't room enough
                        for another thought in my head, I had this great 
idea--
                        call it a philosophy of life, if you will.  Briefly,
                        it involved living the way philosophers live,
                        according to a set of principles. OK, but which 
ones?

                        That was the hardest part, I admit, but I had a
                        kind of dark foreknowledge of what it would be like.
                        Everything, from eating watermelon or going to the 
bathroom
                        or just standing on a subway platform, lost in 
thought
                        for a few minutes, or worrying about rain forests,
                        would be affected, or more precisely, inflected
                        by my new attitude.  I wouldn't be preachy,
                        or worry about children and old people, except
                        in the general way prescribed by our clockwork 
universe.
                        Instead I'd sort of let things be what they are
                        while injecting them with the serum of the new moral 
climate
                        I thought I'd stumbled into, as a stranger
                        accidentally presses against a panel and a bookcase 
slides back,
                        revealing a winding staircase with greenish light
                        somewhere down below, and he automatically steps 
inside
                        and the bookcase slides shut, as is customary on 
such occasions.
                        At once a fragrance overwhelms him--not saffron, not 
lavender,
                        but something in between.  He thinks of cushions, 
like the one
                        his uncle's Boston bull terrier used to lie on 
watching him
                        quizzically, pointed ear-tips folded over. And then 
the great rush
                        is on.  Not a single idea emerges from it.  It's 
enough
                        to disgust you with thought.  But then you remember 
something
                           William James
                        wrote in some book of his you never read--it was 
fine, it had the
                           fineness,
                        the powder of life dusted over it, by chance, of 
course, yet
                           still looking
                        for evidence of fingerprints. Someone had handled it
                        even before he formulated it, though the thought was 
his and
                           his alone.

                        It's fine, in summer, to visit the seashore.
                        There are lots of little trips to be made.
                        A grove of fledgling aspens welcomes the traveler.  
Nearby
                        are the public toilets where weary pilgrims have 
carved
                        their names and addresses, and perhaps messages as 
well,
                        messages to the world, as they sat
                        and thought about what they'd do after using the 
toilet
                        and washing their hands at the sink, prior to 
stepping out
                        into the open again.  Had they been coaxed in by 
principles,
                        and were their words philosophy, of however crude a 
sort?
                        I confess I can move no farther along this train of 
thought--
                        something's blocking it.  Something I'm
                        not big enough to see over.  Or maybe I'm frankly 
scared.
                        What was the matter with how I acted before?
                        But maybe I can come up with a compromise--I'll let
                        things be what they are, sort of.  In the autumn 
I'll put up jellies
                        and preserves, against the winter cold and futility,
                        and that will be a human thing, and intelligent as 
well.
                        I won't be embarrassed by my friends' dumb remarks,
                        or even my own, though admittedly that's the hardest 
part,
                        as when you are in a crowded theater and something 
you say
                        riles the spectator in front of you, who doesn't 
even like the idea
                        of two people near him talking together. Well he's
                        got to be flushed out so the hunters can have a 
crack at him--
                        this thing works both ways, you know. You can't 
always
                        be worrying about others and keeping track of 
yourself
                        at the same time.  That would be abusive, and about 
as much fun
                        as attending the wedding of two people you don't 
know.
                        Still, there's a lot of fun to be had in the gaps 
between ideas.
                        That's what they're made for!  Now I want you to go 
out there
                        and enjoy yourself, and yes, enjoy your philosophy 
of life, too.
                        They don't come along every day. Look out!  There's 
a big one...


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