AtD translation: a busy development of small trailside shapes tumbling . . .

[Mike Jing]

Thanks for the reply, Monte and Joseph. That helps a lot.

On Mon, Jan 15, 2018 at 2:13 AM, Joseph Tracy <brook7 at sover.net> wrote:

> Just wanted to say that Monte’s understanding seems just right to me too.
> > On Jan 14, 2018, at 7:39 AM, Mike Jing <gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com>
> wrote:
> >
> > What about this line specifically:
> >
> > "a busy development of small trailside shapes tumbling in what had to be
> deliberately arranged precision"
> >
> > What is it referring to? Is it the herbs, or something else entirely?
> >
> >
> >
> > On Sun, Jan 14, 2018 at 7:26 AM, Monte Davis <montedavis49 at gmail.com>
> wrote:
> > That passage (69-72) is one of my favorite in all Pynchon. I wrote in
> 2007: "Like Annie Dillard in the ecstatic _Pilgrim at Tinker Creek_ and
> _Holy the Firm_, Pynchon here insists that we *look* at every leaf, at the
> bridal secrets in the moss, at evanescent sparks when the iron wheel-rim
> and the rock and the shadow in the rut are all just so. If this be exile
> [from Dally's "princess" memories of the White City], make the most of
> it... And somehow it isn't exile any more, it's a home three states high
> and wide. Years are going by. This density of detail, these undescribed
> exchanges with the wildcrafters, are adding up: they're a childhood, a
> stroboscopic study of the heart of a continent -- and a Dally who will grow
> into a queenly confidence that's all in the details. Where does that come
> from? Right here."
> >
> > The lines you quote are describing the making of an American, from the
> ground up.Call it another version of "Roots."
> >
> > https://i4.imaiges.com/wallpaper/771/464/835/leaves-
> meadow-nature-forest-floor-1920x1080.jpg
> >
> > On Sun, Jan 14, 2018 at 6:59 AM, Mike Jing <
> gravitys.rainbow.cn at gmail.com> wrote:
> > P70.19-29   —flowers in bells and clusters, purple and white or yellow
> as butter, star-shaped ferns in the wet and dark places, millions of green
> veilings before the bridal secrets in the moss and under the deadfalls,
> went on by the wheels creaking and struck by rocks in the ruts, sparks
> visible only in what shadow it might pass over, a busy development of small
> trailside shapes tumbling in what had to be deliberately arranged
> precision, herbs the wildcrafters knew the names and market prices of and
> which the silent women up in the foothills, counterparts whom they most
> often never got even to meet, knew the magic uses for. They lived for
> different futures, but they were each other’s unrecognized halves, and what
> fascination between them did come to pass was lit up, beyond question, with
> grace.
> >
> > What is this sentence describing? Just wondering.
> >
> >
> >
> >
>
> -
> Pynchon-l / http://www.waste.org/mail/?listpynchon-l
>
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