previously published 13th May 2014 on Perpetual-Lab, somehow lost in transit
I didn’t explain what happened to the book Wayfaring, which was briefly published under Creative Commons in pdf, before being withdrawn from free distribution. I feel no compulsion to give a reason, but here are two. (a) Uncertainty (b) a decision to postpone publication until other books in the series are completed. They will be of uniform length at approximately 29,000 words each. There is no intention to combine them in a single edition. It might be publisher- or printing-cost-friendly, but wouldn’t be in the reader’s best interests. They are written to be read slowly.
On 18th April, whilst the project was still going ahead, I drafted a post about progress, now overtaken by events & completely superseded. Instead, I published the post titled “32 Answers”. But now, after offering a peek to a keen reader, & receiving a favourable review, I’ve decided to publish it here, regardless. It’s called
I saw this in town yesterday, parked in front of the theatre, decorated all over with scenes from the local countryside, and it reminded me of a word I often heard in the seaside town where my grandparents lived: charabanc, already an obsolete term strictly speaking but used disparagingly on occasion, for example, “What did I see but a charabanc of day-trippers from London, all staring into our sitting-room, bold as you please!”. It was odd to think that this town, which shall always remain nameless to frustrate search engines, is slap-bang in the middle of a designated tourist destination; the more so as it has been listed as no. 9 in a list of 10 “crappiest towns in Britain”. I think its teenagers take a perverse pride in giving it this reputation. Anyway, as an excuse for showing the picture, I thought I would say it illustrated what, in my view, wayfaring is not. For more information on what wayfaring is not, see http://walkfreebreakfree.co.uk/walks-in-the-chilterns/chilltern-walks-and-holidays/.
Valuable feedback on Wayfaring is trickling in. One correspondent writes: “As usual I hesitate to speak but I would like for the final paragraphs to have a little more impact”. My first instinct was to defend my infant production as it stood. Later I saw what a just observation my correspondent had made—understated if anything. The last chapter, “Whithersoever”, ends abruptly, on a flat note, a bubble suddenly burst, a bagpipe suddenly punctured. On certain grounds the sudden ending may have merit; but offers paltry reward for the persevering reader who makes it to the finishing-post. After much brooding I came up with the idea of an Afterword, which would reprise some highlights which I hoped the reader & I would have enjoyed together; make some wise generalizations & finish on a sublime note whilst touting for subscriptions to the next volume.
After further brooding, I realized that some of my ideas for an Afterword belonged more properly in a Foreword, which ought to be brisk & to the point. The Afterword could be composed afterwards. “Have alibi, will procrastinate” is my motto.
The integrity of Wayfaring lies in its being 100% derived from the content of this blog, with no added ingredients. Ergo, the Foreword and Afterword must appear here first, for a tryout by writer and reader: just as a tailor invites his client for a fitting, before the final stitching & pressing. So here we go: now read on.
This little book is drawn from a collection of pieces written between August 2006 and May 2012. Its origins may be traced further back, to a note I recorded on 21st January 2006, at 1:09pm.
Walking the earth
The sun shone this morning and as I walked through town, the words came to me, “I am walking the earth.” The feeling was something like this: “man has always done this, and here I am, doing it too”. I happened to be striding through the car park of a supermarket. All will pass away, I thought, every supermarket & every car park. But since our species began, man has walked the earth, and will go on doing so till we are all extinct. Every human infant strives to learn walking; unless sad circumstances intervene, it will succeed.
It was a strangely powerful and ecstatic thought, arising from my personal situation at the time. Another person, trying to express the same feeling, might have breathed the one word, “freedom!”. Somehow the idea of walking the earth as significant in itself expanded into this book, along with other ideas, such as “I am Everyman”. Let that one, anyhow, be the excuse for writing so characteristically in the first person, as if it were “all about me”. I felt it was otherwise, as I noted on 10th July 2008: “the most personal is the most universal”. How otherwise could poetry ever be shared? The deeper we dig into experience, the more fertile the ground we find, and the more common to all.
The precision of those dates is possible because the thoughts were journalized, not merely in notebooks but electronic media—published on the Internet, where they can still be seen. “Walking the earth” was published in a forum, now neglected but still live, called destinydiscussion.com, months before I started my own blog, “A Wayfarer’s Notes”, from which the pieces in this book derive.
As a form of literature, blogging has peculiar advantages: instant publication, and a ready interaction with readers. A blog can be improvised day to day, each piece starting from scratch, addressing itself to any new reader who happens by, while mindfully cherishing regular readers, whose influence is subtle but precious. Their commenting is a delight, almost a literary form in itself, opening up discussions ranging from profound to hilariously absurd.
A newspaper column operates under pressure of deadlines and editorial policy. A blog has no such strings attached. It can go on long voyages of exploration, fancy-free, via criss-crossing paths, venturing through almost impenetrable thickets. The most intrepid reader will be daunted and handicapped by the sheer scale of verbiage, and its uneven quality.
Time for decluttering. The improvisations can be improved. The verbiage can be culled. The quality can be edited. The reader needs an anthology. Welcome to the first volume.
One more thing, before letting you move on to the first chapter. Well, two more things.
a) How does one become a wayfarer? —One starts at an early age. See chapter 2, which condenses my life up to the age of 11, into 3 pages which address this question in detail.
b) What is “wayfaring”? What does the author mean by it? —The reader will decide, but I could suggest many definitions. Here’s one, suggesting it is a way of seeing, taken from chapter 5, “beginnings”:
What struck me was not the beauty of anything in particular but a perfection inherent in the moment: or perhaps an embrace between subject and object, man and scene.
There is more to say on the subject, best covered in the Afterword.
(followed by chapter 1)
a wayfarer’s notes 
Yes, we are living dinosaurs, we need to tell them what we know, because when we’re gone, they won’t be able to learn much from our bones. We (I mean you, David H— and I and other elderly readers of our respective hallowed sites) need to inscribe our Testaments for posterity, consisting of our descendants their spouses and cohorts, unto the last generation.Would to God that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit upon them! (Moses, in Numbers 11:29)—quoted by William Blake beneath his verses beginning “And did those feet in ancient time”.Or again (not Blake this time) I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above, Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;etcNon-sequitur? Who cares?
The testimony the world gives us is of transience not of permanence.I grew up in New Orleans on the west bank of the Mississippi which would be something like the south bank of the Thames. When I was young the river had not been bridged at the city; it was too wide and deep and swift for the engineering of the day. The were many ferries to cross the river, and I lived near the landing for the one that crossed to Canal Street, the most important shopping area of the city. So there came a point in our lives when Mother allowed my sister and I to go ‘across the river’ to shop along Canal Street. The stores we visited were mostly ‘dime stores’ of which there were several. So this is part of my experience of walking as a child – a short walk to the ferry, crossing the mile wide river on the boat, traversing the multitude of railroad tracks on the ‘viaduct’, walking up the wide boulevard with street cars in the ‘neutral ground’, searching through the stores for whatever trinkets we coveted, buying a hotdog and coke at a lunch counter on the way home and returning with our treasures. The only transcendence in these experiences was that of taking a few steps on our own beyond the protected envelope of our neighborhood. We were left with dim memories of a matrix of space and time which is long lost.
Ellie, reading your comment many months later, I wonder why I never thanked you for it. In my mind it corresponds to the previous post addressed to Lawrence Ferlinghetti, in which I quote the first lines of a poem he wrote about one of his memorable childhood experiences The pennycandystore beyond the El is where I first fell in love with unreality. Somehow I connect his “unreality” with your “transcendence”, and merge the two expeditions in one: You and your sister crossing the ferry, going to the candy store. He even mentions you later in his poem:A wind had blown away the sunA girl ran in Her hair was rainy
Such is transience. Sic transit gloria. Thank you for your lovely reminiscence.