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.


Comments Welcome!

Thursday, February 2, 2023

Every tender sparrow…+

 

from this week in February 1975  (I was 30) 

 

   Every tender sparrow…

those final flutterings

where hopes are denied

dreams resolved

 

the day is brightest

the air is clear

the stone will not fly

 

it wants the soft earth

the warm sun

the seed left in the clay

             *

 

The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is small

Hell my Uncle Nick could have painted it

It would then of course be entirely green

and up close smell of alcohol

Posted by at
Labels: ,

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)