Keepin' Emily company

[malignd at aol.com]

I didn't see the beginning of this thread so someone might already have mentioned it, but you can sing the Dickinson lyrics to the melody of the weight.  A perfect fit.  Thanks for this.



-----Original Message-----
From: bandwraith <bandwraith at aol.com>
To: pynchon-l <pynchon-l at waste.org>
Sent: Wed, Jan 2, 2013 10:50 pm
Subject: Keepin' Emily company



The relationship between Robbie Robertson and Emily Dickinson
didn't strike me right away. It came circuitously.  And then, all
of a sudden, there it was- time to leave. By then, it was too late to
admit that I'd gotten the lyrics wrong and heard "Emily" for "Annie
Lee," and "Fanny" for all the  "Annies."

   "...Go down, Miss Moses, there's nothin' you can say
   It's just ol' Luke, and Luke's waitin' on the Judgement Day.
   "Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Emily?"
    He said, "Do me a favor, son, woncha stay an' keep Emily
    company?"


So, most likely, there really wasn't a connection between Robbie
and Emily Dickinson. But the way I figure, Robbie probably didn't
write more than part of "The Weight" anyway, yet he claimed it all
for himself, so what the heck.

It all started with my contemplation of Semantic Closure- the ultimate
connection between a symbol and what it symbolizs.. Some call it
semiotic closure. There is always some vanishingly small gap
between a symbol and its referent. I realized that only lifeforms are
capable of bridging that gap and making it meaningful. In fact, the
act of symbolic representation is probably a defining condition of
animacy from the molecular to the social.

Only the living are capable of discriminating between a Symbol,
which is relatively immaterial, and The Symbolized, something
grounded in material reality. From the default position of inanimacy-
the absence of light for Monk- the two are indistinguishable. All
associations are by chance. There is no difference between a
symbol and the symbolized, nothing to represent, no need to bridge the 
gap.

For some reason, then, it occurred to me that death is a necessary
consequence of (or at least co-conspirator in) the mysterious
process of beholding meaning in an otherwise random sequence
of events- from a day to an epoch. One might claim that death makes
life meaningless, but without death, life might be just a pointless
video game symbolizing nothing but sloth.

Likewise, only the living can mistake the meaningless for the
meaningful, which, on any level, can sometimes be fatal.
Occassionally however mistakes turn out happy.
-------------

 Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –








 
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