A Spark On The Wind

Life is the only way 

to get covered in leaves,

catch your breath on the sand, 

rise on wings;

to be a dog,

or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain 

from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,

dawdle in views,

to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance 

to remember for a moment

a conversation held

with the lamp switched off;

and if only once

to stumble upon a stone,

end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;

and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;

and to keep on not knowing

something important.

 *A Note--by Wislawa Szymborska, photos from Amsterdam, 2019

I think poetry isn't easy to appreciate just any old time. But they say people turn to poetry when they're in search of their own histories, to hear their own thoughts and feelings spoken for them. Certainly the lockdown has me feeling up and down, confused, bored and lonely, anxious and afraid; impatient, lazy and mournful all at the same time. It's a mixed bag. But that's how it is right now. And I remembered how reading the lines of this poem for the first time made me feel a kind of gratitude for the poet and the loveliness of her gentle words. And so I hope it'll be the same for you, dear friend out there, or you who may have stumbled upon this here quiet spot I stake as mine. Funny how it's easier for me to tell you these things when on the so-called social media circus I'm sanguine, I'm light, I'm not all freaked out and panicky. But that's where the real theater lies anyway. About my photos--well they've long been sitting on my laptop. I don't know why. But here they are now--I didn't know the world would be so different by the time I'd get around to posting them. 

Don't Raise Your White Flags Yet

My dad (big smile, sitting in front wearing the dark flight suit and flak helmet) with his ROTC buddies, 1945

*

Tonight, the world is an abandoned lot 
enclosed by chain link fences,
and us, trapped,

two helpless birds,
two fish caught in nets,
two knotted napkins.

But I’ll say to you,

Hang on, love,
hang on.

Don’t raise your white flags yet.
Don’t surrender.

I’m sending you
a breeze for your sail,
sweet wind of faith.

I’ll blow a lock of hair
off your pale forehead
and sing to you
from far away.

Don’t give up, mi amor.

Together, we’ll hang on
the wires of the world.

We’ll billow, sway,
and flutter.

Soon, the fence will crumble
and we’ll dance.

“Breeze for your sail” by Claudia Serea from TwoXism. 8th House Publishing © 2018


*

Hello dear friends, I hope this little poem by Claudia Serea finds you safe and sound. Life has changed so much since I last updated my blog(s). It's been hard to concentrate, and a little hard not to feel worried as the virus strikes down people both young and old. But, as this Easter morning slowly starts to dawn (it's very early in the morning as I write) I think of all the people whose connection I feel despite the separation or the distance, including my dad who I miss everyday despite him being gone since April of 2009, and my mother in her house in New York, my two daughters sheltering in their own college cities, and all the people I know and care for, including you dearest blog friends. But I like the hopefulness of the last line, the poet's vision of reunion by the crumbling of the fence and the dancing afterwards. Yes, I'd very much like that. And so I wish everyone a happy Easter-- may the season of renewal and rebirth give us the hope to carry us through the long wait. And then we should all come out from the worldwide lockdown and dance :))

p.s. RIP John Prine, poet, singer and songwriter, and former Chicago mailman, who died a few days ago from covid-19. We miss you already dear John.

Let It Find Us

 

i cannot tell you how the light comes

what i know is that it is more ancient than imagining

that it travels across an astounding expanse to reach us

that it loves searching out what is hidden

what is lost, what is forgotten

what is in peril or in pain

that is has a fondness for the body

for finding its way toward flesh

for tracing the edges of form

for shining forth through the eye

the hand

the heart

I cannot tell you how the light comes but that it does,

that it will

that it works its way into the deepest dark that enfolds you

though it may seem long ages in coming

or arrive in a shape you did not foresee

And so, may we this day turn ourselves toward it

May we lift our faces and let it find us

May we bend our bodies and follow the arc it makes

may we open and open more

and open still

to the blessed light that comes.

--How the Light Comes, Jan Richardson

*photos from Paris, France, April 2019

*these are some of the Paris street photos I took on holiday--Paris is so "much of a muchness", to quote good ol' Alice while she was exploring Wonderland, that it's not easy to absorb and capture all the beauty and splendor, no matter how many times you return. A big thank you to my friend Arnaud for taking us on a magical walk through the hidden parts of Paris, and for the lovely time we shared over drinks --after so many years of visiting and commenting on each other's blogs, meeting in person felt so much like meeting an old and familiar friend--i hope to meet again and, maybe someday to meet all my blog friends :)) p.s. click on the photos to enlarge them. 

This Quiet Joy

I spent some time exploring a little bit of downtown Brisbane, Australia while I was there to visit my brother and his lovely family. 

It was my first time to go and I really loved it--the trip was good for my soul and just what I needed to get out of Chicago's bitter cold. 

It was also very nice being on my own and on unfamiliar grounds--there's a freedom to just take it all in, take one's time, and do exactly as one pleases.

Lately I've been thinking how I waste so much time just mulling over decisions, and then giving up, and hurrying on the next thing. 

It seems the more choices I have, the longer it takes for me to make any kind of decision

 and the more in a hurry I have to be

-and on and on, a never ending cycle. So I tried something else while I was there

I took fewer photos and instead tried to focus on each little moment's quiet joy.

So now these are pretty much almost all of the photos I took downtown.

We did go up and down the Gold Coast of Australia

a very beautiful part of the world, 

but those are for another post. :))

Reason To Believe

If I listened long enough to you

 I'd find a way to believe that it's all true

 Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried

 Still I look to find a reason to believe

 Someone like you makes it hard to live

 Without somebody else

Someone like you makes it easy to give

Never think of myself

If I gave you time to change my mind

I'd find a way to leave the past behind

Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried

Still I look to find a reason to believe...
--lyrics from the song, Reason to Believe by Tim Hardin

****

I took these photos last week while on the road to Texas--a state I'd never visited before. It was a very long road trip through parts of old Route 66 and smaller state highways where bits of the old and forgotten were everywhere. On the trip back, this quiet radio program called Hand Crank Radio in Arkansas played a song written and sung by Tim Hardin and somehow, the passing scenery paired with his sweet sadness stayed with me long after it ended. So I'm including it to go along with this little series.