Curiosity

All posts tagged Curiosity

SOME PEOPLE LIKE GOSSIP…

Published June 4, 2021 by Nan Mykel

I confess I like excitement, but of the curious kind—the true kind.

I don’t make this material up…it worms its way to end in my lap. I don’t subscribe to the New Yorker–but the May 24th issue, from the sister of a friend who passed it on to me–gave me quite a bone to gnaw on, about Francis Bacon. No, not the earlier Francis; this one was an artist (1909-1992). Unbelievable, but I believe the New Yorker, so it must be true. Read the article by Joan Acocella based on the new book The Life of Francis Bacon by Mark Stevens and Annalyn Swan and tell me what you think.

I’ve been coming across other pieces of writing such as the above recently. This week my excitement was additionally ignited by a couple of shorter pieces in the June 4 The Week magazine. Both were on the Health & Science page, 23.

The first was headlined “Writing by Thought Alone,” and described an experimental neural interface that has “allowed a man paralyzed from the neck up to compose sentences on a computer simply by imagining himself writing on a piece of paper.”

The second article in The Week was equally startling. Since the intestines of mammals are capable of absorbing oxygen, it was found that oxygen deprived mice and pigs completely recovered after the insertion of a doctored oxygen compound via the anus. They “completely recovered from very, very severe hypoxia.” (A medical researcher from a Tokyo university plans to begin clinical trials on humans as early as next year.

Perhaps it was the mental images that formed after reading all three articles that made an impact–on me, at least.

And oh, also the statement that Ohio was once below the equator also made an impression… (GeoFacts No. 17, Ohio Department of Natural Resources-Division of Geological Survey).

Words Won’t Do the Dishes, Though

Published July 18, 2019 by Nan Mykel

(I know it’s not a poem but it sort of looks like one, doesn’t it?)

 

A Transitional Object

is a beloved and reassuring

item that stands in for Mom

when she is out of sight.

 

A  late bloomer, I still crave

nurturance, but I get comfort

now from books.

 

The books I most like  are those

that make me scratch my head

and wonder why and how and who,

 

Like reports of the flying monk

who flew around the church wearing

no underpants and became a saint.

 

Graves, Yeats, Mann and Leibnitz

believed in the monk, as he is

described in Wilson’s  The Occult.

 

In  An Experiment with Time, Dunne

suggests we dream of  both future and

past events equally.

 

Hillman’s Dreams and the Underworld 

scared me out of my Jungian analysis

with hints of archetypes come to life.

 

Wilhelm Reich knew that his patient

had an abortion when she reported a

dream of a book standing upside down.

 

Strangers to Ourselves, The Whisperings

Within,  and Sam Harris’ Free Will all

hotwire my curiosity.

 

Wilson’s Consilience stirs my mind

and my heart, even though the friend

of a friend says he’s a misogynist.

 

Intellectuals  alerted me to the fact that

Rousseau placed his five newborns in

baskets and left them, unnamed.

 

Discovery of the Unconscious tells of

a fox who possessed a sick woman and

refused to leave without a fine meal.

 

The journals we pen ourselves of

dreams and doodles and wonderings

devour loneliness and stir the pot.

 

I save pure escape reading until bed

time,  when I reward myself  for making

it through another day, with mysteries.

 

Did the header say something about

dishes?  I prefer reading, writing

and paper plates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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