On the pleasure of taking up one’s pen … or GPS device

I love these videos of visits to Malcolm Guite’s library. Like a little hobbit, he smokes his pipe while telling us of his delight in various things in that lovely room. In this video, he reads from “On the pleasure of taking up one’s pen” by Hilaire Bolloc (what a name, right?!).

The words and phrases are very British so it feels absolutely apropos that Malcomb Guite reads it aloud to us with his charming accent.

…which is quite another matter.

So much for that.

…something devilish pleasing

…at a farthing a square yard (and I am not certain it is not pleasanter all diversified and variegated with black wriggles)

Less assertion, please, and more humility.

…dreadful and commanding…

…a jolly little ship…

…peculiar among all pleasures…

Quite. The part where Bolloc talks directly to his pen is delightful.

God bless you, pen! When I was a boy, and they told me work was honourable, useful, cleanly, sanitary, wholesome, and necessary to the mind of man, I paid no more attention to them than if they had told me that public men were usually honest, or that pigs could fly. It seemed to me that they were merely saying silly things they had been told to say. Nor do I doubt to this day that those who told me these things at school were but preaching a dull and careless round. But now I know that the things they told me were true. God bless you, pen of work, pen of drudgery, pen of letters, pen of posings, pen rabid, pen ridiculous, pen glorified. Pray, little pen, be worthy of the love I bear you, and consider how noble I shall make you some day, when you shall live in a glass case with a crowd of tourists round you every day from 10 to 4; pen of justice, pen of the saeva indignatio, pen of majesty and of light. I will write with you some day a considerable poem; it is a compact between you and me. If I cannot make one of my own, then I will write out some other man’s; but you, pen, come what may, shall write out a good poem before you die, if it is only the Allegro.

I have felt the emotion of “God bless you, pen!” toward inanimate objects many times. Haven’t you? One example for me is years ago when my daughter lived in San Diego and I drove to her house for the first time by myself. (To be honest, it would not have mattered if it was the first or the hundredth time; typically I cannot retain directions no matter how often I go places.) It was one of my earliest uses of the GPS feature of my iPhone. I had always said that I needed not just a map or written directions, but a voice telling me “turn left here, turn right there” as I was driving. And here it was! My phone told me where to go, when to turn, how far ahead to stop or go, and lo and behold, I arrived at my daughter’s house with no U-turns, no backtracking, no stress! I drove into her driveway, turned off the engine, and loudly kissed my phone — “Mwah!” God bless you, GPS! GPS of directions, GPS of reassurance, GPS of destination, GPS of joyful arrival!