I read something in Sardinia that hit the button. In the right time, in the right place. I was sitting on a terrace in an agriturismo, hiding from a hot sun, idling, whilst Karin slept in preparation of a night eating sundry hams and cheese and half a suckling pig.
It was in Nicholson Baker's novel “The Anthologist” which I loved to pieces, but which I can only recommend if you like poetry as, at heart, that's what it's about. (If you do love poetry, the book is near perfect. And I forgive him for appropriating the only 'original' thought I've ever had about poetry, which is that those in charge of teaching metre and scansion have always, stupidly, overlooked the pause at the end of the line).
Anyway, that's not what I'm on about tonight. I'm on about Carpe Diem – that phrase from the Horace poem that has had such an impact on modern pop philosophy. You all know the phrase. Once the title of a Saul Bellow novel, used ironically by a narrator unable to do so; then the clarion call of Robin Williams as he minced about in front of impressionable posh kids in such a way as to make Alan Bennett sharpen his pencil and write the History Boys.
Then capitalism got involved. It was all advertising and aspirational this and that, and internet start-ups and privileged twenty-somethings quoting Ayn Rand, and Nike shouting “eat my dust” and gap year kids bungee-jumping and, oh, fuck it, I'm too tired to go on...
Well, according to the poet in Nicholson Baker's novel, the above paragraph has got it all wrong. I quote:
“But here's the thing. Horace didn't say that. 'Carpe diem' doesn't mean seize the day – it means something gentler and more sensible. 'Carpe diem' means pluck the day. Carpe, pluck. Seize the day would be 'cape diem' if my school Latin serves. No R. Very different piece of advice.”
Isn't it just? Tease it, not squeeze it. Let it ripen, don't shove it down your gullet like a bloke who hasn't eaten since his last empty experience. Life is not a tick-box of shallow consumerism. It is not a bucket-list. It's slow food. Mindful. Especially if you're sitting on a terrace, sipping a beer, reading a book, allowing the day to bloom all around you, enjoying the moment and looking forward to an evening with people you love and who are as accepting of life and its inevitable end as they reasonably can be...
It was in Nicholson Baker's novel “The Anthologist” which I loved to pieces, but which I can only recommend if you like poetry as, at heart, that's what it's about. (If you do love poetry, the book is near perfect. And I forgive him for appropriating the only 'original' thought I've ever had about poetry, which is that those in charge of teaching metre and scansion have always, stupidly, overlooked the pause at the end of the line).
Anyway, that's not what I'm on about tonight. I'm on about Carpe Diem – that phrase from the Horace poem that has had such an impact on modern pop philosophy. You all know the phrase. Once the title of a Saul Bellow novel, used ironically by a narrator unable to do so; then the clarion call of Robin Williams as he minced about in front of impressionable posh kids in such a way as to make Alan Bennett sharpen his pencil and write the History Boys.
Then capitalism got involved. It was all advertising and aspirational this and that, and internet start-ups and privileged twenty-somethings quoting Ayn Rand, and Nike shouting “eat my dust” and gap year kids bungee-jumping and, oh, fuck it, I'm too tired to go on...
Well, according to the poet in Nicholson Baker's novel, the above paragraph has got it all wrong. I quote:
“But here's the thing. Horace didn't say that. 'Carpe diem' doesn't mean seize the day – it means something gentler and more sensible. 'Carpe diem' means pluck the day. Carpe, pluck. Seize the day would be 'cape diem' if my school Latin serves. No R. Very different piece of advice.”
Isn't it just? Tease it, not squeeze it. Let it ripen, don't shove it down your gullet like a bloke who hasn't eaten since his last empty experience. Life is not a tick-box of shallow consumerism. It is not a bucket-list. It's slow food. Mindful. Especially if you're sitting on a terrace, sipping a beer, reading a book, allowing the day to bloom all around you, enjoying the moment and looking forward to an evening with people you love and who are as accepting of life and its inevitable end as they reasonably can be...
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