November 28, 2024
There is a place I want to take you to
a small quiet building
old
in a corner of the city
~ New York City ~
that no one notices anymore.
The staircase and the floors
are made of polished wood,
the walls hung with paintings
that you walk amongst
as if amongst holy things.
Vivid blues
other strong colors
but the blues are the ones
you can’t forget.
The paintings
take you into huge barren mountainscapes
where the wind howls
and you are alone to make of the world
what you will.
.
November 15, 2024
Yesterday
I had a hard time
making up my mind
A tenacious struggle
between two options
of what was the right thing to do.
And when it became clear
towards the end of the afternoon
it was like the sun had come out
my burden lifted
and I went outside into the last of the light
because I was happy now, light and free
and wanted to investigate
that new Antiques sign that had just gone up
almost next door.
The front door
of the big Victorian house was open
so I walked up the steps
and called out into
the first room
a call answered by a bright man
stepping out promptly from the back
in about his fifties
a little shorter than me,
a little stout,
but with a happy welcoming look.
“I’m Steven,” he said
extending his hand.
There was a wooden table in
the center of this first room
on which sat a number of smaller items
each clearly from another time,
while on the wall above
a vivid modern painting caught my eye,
but only for a moment.
I reached for a box on the central table
opened it
a unique jagged design
“I just got that today,” said Steven
stooping over it with me
as if he was seeing it for the first time
his interest equal to mine
and then we looked at the old high desk
in the corner.
“I just found a note hidden inside
a few days ago,” he said.
“Look, I’ll show you,” and he opened
a small inner drawer
and pulled out a piece of lined
stenography paper
with the ragged torn top
from the spiral binding.
I read the first few scribbled lines
a note from a girl in 1960
who wanted to leave a surprise
for someone to find,
her lines followed
in later years by the additions
of everyone who came after
and found the surprise.
October 31, 2024
As I leave
you, facing the window,
your back towards me,
raise your hand in a wave.
It is so beautiful
this stirring sign of life
from the pool of pain.
“You never see me wave good-bye,”
you call, “but I always do.”
I don’t care if this is true or not.
“Do it again,” I say,
pulling out my phone because
although I don’t care for staged photos
I must capture this pose
you, your back to me,
your arm straight up and true
giving that wave of yours
full of spirit.
October 26, 2024
Fred in his wheelchair
the last two visits
Saturday and Monday
curled up
like a leaf drying
it is the pain
Saturday he was curled
but not so grimly in the pain
gentle and sweet
we walked a little outside
pausing to face the sun
he thought the large yellow leaves
were golden plates
scattered in the grass.
“I’m seeing things that turn out
not to be there,” he said thoughtfully
then paused.
“For instance, I doubt you saw
the bird on roller skates just now.”
Then and Now. Twice.
October 17, 2024
“I’m sorry to encroach on your space,”
I say with a smile
slithering into the last space
at the counter,
the last space in the house
packed as it is
with festival visitors.
The Woodstock Film Festival
and the streets
and eateries are full
and I am here because
I don’t feel well
and Leah will give me
hot miso soup and a small Caeser salad
without my having to glance
at the menu.
I’ve brought
a volume of poetry.
I wanted something easy
and this book raised its hand
and now I begin to read.
These are Hungarian poems
translated into English
from different writers
and one does not expect much
from translation
but quickly I am drawn in.
The poet is writing to his dying friend
a fellow poet
urging him to remember
the first time they met
conjuring up
images of Gaugin ~
perhaps they had been
in a gallery.
In his poem he calls up
their high moments
when they both swam in their art
a time that is not now
when the dying poet
lies unconscious in his bed
with no thought
of memories such as these.
And my eyes fill
there in the
lunchtime crush
because it could almost be me
writing to Fred
who is not,
I hasten to add,
lying unconcscious anywhere,
but this week has been in grievous pain
and I have visited twice in 3 days
and brought home sadness.
Yesterday we sat in the
campus café
he and I
and by wondrous chance
a poem he had written
7 years ago swam across
my phone screen
and I read it out loud
a long poem
beautiful
and I’m not just saying that.
It was one of his best.
When Fred was at his best
it was breathtaking
and this was one of those.
I read it out loud
and he listened
like a bird
not moving
taking in every single word
I have tried reading other things
to him out loud
and he shakes me off
after a couple of paragraphs
saying, “I can’t follow this.”
his mind unable to make the jumps
you need
to follow someone else’s writing.
But yesterday in the cafe
he caught every word
neatly as in a butterfly net
and afterwards said
yes
that had been good.
Mermaid
October 10, 2024
I was so happy
in the darkness
listening to the silence
thinking
this silence
must be here all day long
I could stop anytime
and listen to it
but perhaps it is louder
here in the dark
in this early morning
I was so happy
with the image
that came
of being a mermaid
underwater
in a river
letting the river take me
where it would
smoothly sometimes
sometimes snagged
in eddies
tangles of weeds
then getting free again
I am so sleek
as a mermaid
able to go anywhere
smooth as silk
So,
being so happy,
why did I get up
to get this computer?
I had to.
So many
songs coming up inside
so beautiful
as they appear inside me
It is hard letting them all go
I want to catch them
My chin is pointed up
tilted
I can see the pink cloud
over the mountain
that is a dark shape
against a pale sky
that has just a hint of baby blue
and look
another pink cloud
It’s time to go out
I must go.