| || cameo, lilac, duplex, lately, all-tolled.
Image from the Internet.
The opening poem contains all the words (or variations of them) from today's Jumble.
Comments are welcomed!
Do not explicitly reveal any of the actual answer words until after closing time, but embedding them surreptitiously in comment sentences is encouraged.
6 comments:
We are the Invisible People, tho we're seen everywhere.
The World knows not our names, nor even deigns to care.
We're the ones with normal lives, celebrity passed us by.
No one knows us while we live, remembers when we die.
Our home is a trailer, or duplex, or a residential street.
We seem like normal folks to neighbors that we meet.
But they're like us, Invisible, no fame will come their way.
No, not even a cameo in civilization's complex play.
History sees thousands to remember each generation.
Billions will be forgotten each lifetime's iteration.
We're like the lilacs of the field, we may have our day,
But then that day is over, in the wind we blow away.
Homeless are about us, lately "incels" join their ranks,
All are unseen; life takes their tolls, but gives no thanks.
Far more are Invisible People, who plod thru normal lives,
The silent mass of extras who flourish, yet do not thrive.
Eric the Bald will have to wait a day, I was simply unable to fit any of today's words into his story. But Invisible People were on my mind again, and today's words fit them better. Ironically, not everyone here is Invisible. Keith, you've made a name on the stage, and Misty, you've had books published. You will be remembered and remarked on a century from now. The only one who will know I lived might be a genealogist looking up a family tree.
Have you ever noticed, in biographies of famous people, they almost always grew up with someone else who also became famous? Fame isn't entirely random. I don't think it preordained or contagious. But I do think there is some as-yet undiscovered law of the Universe that controls it somehow. Not a single one of the people I grew up with has become famous, and I wasn't a small-town boy. And so I haven't become famous either, and almost certainly never will.
My goodness, Owen, you seem very depressed today. Or are you? I'll never be remembered either, but that's ok with me. I think about my grandparents' progenitors. I know a few names, a couple of stories, but that's all. And that's ok. We live in the now. It's good to learn from the past, but it doesn't have to be our personal past.
Well, enough of that. Your poem, somber it may be, but also moving. It certainly gave me lots of food for thought.
Oh yes, the jumble. Not difficult, semi-clever solution that elicited a weak laugh.
All- eodtle
Wow.
This is a serious meditation on a complex topic. If I'm not mistaken, Owen, most such poetry eases the impact by tossing in a sop about how even the lowliest, most anonymous among us contribute their mite to a larger entity, whether it be to the nation, to victory in wartime, or to general "human progress."
But I accept your unrelieved message as a clear and honest vision.
You are addressing a condition that belongs to our modern era. I doubt that fame had much allure before movies and the vast reach of media made a very few of us well known to just about everyone else. I think of fame as a strange kind of addiction. All of us can experience it vicariously, so it sets its hooks. If we get a direct taste of it, it can be hard to shake it off.
I have a hunch that many of those who achieve it still think they aren't really getting enough of it. The only cure for them, of course, is the same as it is for the rest of us: let it go. Forget about it. Shake the curse.
Fame is not the same as substance, of course. Owen, you give us and the Corner folk major insights, both serious & humorous, on a daily basis, and we all know you and appreciate you for these. You mean more to us than a good many of the "celebs" on the nightly talk shows. I don't say this to sweeten my message with some sentimental uplift, but to remind us that fame, broadly speaking, is both a drug and an illusion. It is what we give one another that matters.*
~ OMK
____________
* 'Cuz, anyway, the sun will burn out in about 5 or 6 billion years.
As to the jumble cartoon:
Is that a steering wheel or a bowling ball in the lap of the driver? It reminds me unfortunately of the last time I went bowling. I say "unfortunately" because our team was on the verge of winning the game when on my very last turn I let go clumsily--and could only watch helplessly as my ball rolled slowly into the gutter.
~ OMK
Post a Comment