I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Saturday, January 7, 2023

Some words hide in books

 

January 7, 1998   (I was 53) 

 

Some words hide in books

that hide themselves on less accessible shelves

in the darker parts of the library

Some words arranged in difficult combinations

seem never intended to find their way out of the dark

Beads of nearly foreign dna

rosaries of dead religions

non-sequential twists of syllables

Snakes of obscurity whose lairs are unknown

to even the chronic habitue of the stacks

and never once re-shelved by the oldest librarian

(whose only hobby is to make rice paper rubbings

from the tombstones of the unknowns

on her visits to small town cemeteries)

Risking the disrespect of their dead authors

I speak of their existence

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