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STRANGE NIGHT
It was a most unusual nightin the city, and a surprising numberof its residents took note of thatwhich in itself was unusual. By 2:00 A.M., those awake andthose who had awakenedstrained to hear it, but therewas nothing at all, no sounds to which they had becomeso accustomed, and some imaginedthey had been transportedfrom the city…
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POETS GATHER
One deep and abiding beauty of dreamsis that it is entirely logical forMarina Tsvetaeva to be engagedIn an animated discussion withCorso and Ginsberg where none willacknowledge that the world theywrote and imagined is a total mess. Over in the corner, Mandelstam andReznikoff have agreed that for eternityevery game of chess they play willresult in a…
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MIRROR IMAGE
Each morning when I lookinto the mirror I imagineI see me, but of course thatis impossible, for in that momentonly the mirror sees meand I see the mirror. How deluded I must beto assume that I look at alllike the mirror, but it is,I know, just such delusionsthat enable my sense of self,and that is…
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A STEP TOO FAR
He knew, the minute he stepped off, that it wasn’t going to end well. He should have realized it two steps earlier, but hindsight was of little use to him now. He knew he had to keep looking up, to focus on the sky. He knew he had to hope it would be like entering…
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SONGWRITER
Bob Dylan is, to the best of my knowledge,the only songwriter to successfully rhymeoutrageous and contagious, which doesn’texplain why I knew I could never bea successful songwriter in this life. The explanation is far simpler, it was whenLeonard Cohen served me tea and apricots,said he hated the river even living in Montrealand said I should…
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WINDOW VIEW
He knew she had a specialmeaning for him the first timehe saw her, from his usual seatby the window in the diner, waitingfor his bagel and cream cheese, and she at the table alongthe window of the Starbucks acrossthe street, which might as wellhave been an ocean, so unlikelywas either to make a crossing. By…
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SONNETS AND SALADS
I would love to know the precise momentwhen the consensus of critics reachedthe tipping point, that lettuce wasno longer a green, but some lesser vegetable. That would be around the time thatArugula and romaine declared themselvessomething other than lettuce, leavingiceberg and Bibb as produce outcastswhile spinach, kale and chard openly declared their superiority over allof…
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THINGS TO COME
One morning last week I decidedto plant myself at a busy intersectionand begin reading poetry, mostlymy own, I have to admit. I was generally ignored, my usualstate, and that sadly of most poets,when a scruffy, bearded young manset up easel and paint next to me. The morning seemed to relishthe stillness of this urban way…
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WHAT’S IN A NAME?
He only wants to knowmy spiritual name, “your falseworld name is of no matter.” I tell him I have only one name,the one my parents gave me,and it has worked to this point quite well, and no one has eversuggested I might need another,although my Jewish friends have two. “No,” he says, “your spiritual nameisn’t…
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MEOW
Again today I am inside this so calledbox, unchanged perhaps, but whois to say, not you, still Schrodinger’s cat. Don’t bother to ask if I am deador alive, for like the Master Daowu, youcan bet that I won’t say, so there. And do not assume I know what I am,for if I were dead, I’d…
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an old writer and his words 