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Friday, June 30, 2017

Finished reading Galileo's Daughter today.  The ending was fantastic in every sense of the word.  Of course he dies, but just before that he goes blind.  The irony was that Galileo was a man who saw much, much farther than anyone else at the time.  For one like him to go blind could be devastating.  The irony was not lost on this amazing man.  We all owe him a great debt.

Here a poem for Galileo:

Some looked through your telescope
And were blind
They saw only darkness of dogma
And missed the light.

Now you are blind
But see clearly
To the edge of the universe.
It is those who condemn you
That cannot see.

Death walks by your side
And tenderly holds your hand
While your darkened eyes look up
To see the jewels of night
Lighting up the crooked pathways
To eternity.


Words

Words are handy
Things to have around.
I always keep a good supply
In my back pocket just
In case my credit card bounces.

You can do so much
With words
Write a song
Compose a poem
Develop a concept for a movie.
Write a check
A Journal
A Book.

That’s why I keep them
Close
For emergencies
Like
This.




Thursday, June 29, 2017

Riding Around Buffalo With Walt Whitman

I was riding round Buffalo with Walt Whitman.  
I drove. He observed. The grey poet sat
quiet for a long time marveling at the invisible forces that pulled my car in all directions.
"Show me where my people live," he said.
I waved my hand and stuttered:"They are all around."
Walt shook his head.  "I heard America," he sang.
"Go on..,"
"That's all," he answered.
"That is all..."

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Endings

There are no real rules as to how to write an ending.  So I will make some up.

1.  The definite ending.  You know you love this one.  Everything is neatly wrapped up at the end.  Loose ends all tied.  Conflicts all resolved.  The story is over.  Nothing more to think about.  Think of the classic fairy tale ending:  And they all lived happily ever after.  I hate this kind of ending.  So contrived.  So unrealistic.  So boring.

2.  The up in the air ending.  No resolution at the end.  They did not live happily ever after.  The reader asks, "That's it?  Is it over?"  This can be frustrating.  The reader is left to his or her own devices.  The story continues on after the writer stops writing.  This is the kind of ending Ralph Waldo Emerson had in mind when he wrote: "'tis a good reader that makes a good writer."

I advocate for this kind of ending to my students who usually resist.  But as we all know "Resistance is futile." to quote the Borg.

The Wallet

 There are twelve inches in every foot, and 5280 feet in every mile. As I looked at the moon last night I was sure we were separated by 240,000 miles and Neil Armstrong’s footprints are still sitting right where he left them. These are the facts,and facts are the bricks in the walls of reason. They are strong, sure and comforting. I have always relied on them. That is until I brought a new wallet.

 It all started so innocently. I was planning a trip to Italy. My wife Meg, a seasoned traveler, was an immense help preparing my journey. The wisdom of her experience poured from her heart and transformed my suitcase into an efficient pack made light for travel. And for this I am eternally grateful. But that all ended when she looked at my wallet and sneered,”You need to replace this miserable lump of leather.” My wallet was quite old, stretched and warped beyond its years. Still, we had travelled so long together it had become a familiar. Something more than just a wallet. Something I was reluctant to dismiss. I gave her my puppy face. “OK. Take that old money bag with you, but promise you will buy a new one in Italy. I ceremoniously placed my hand over my heart and promised I would.

Three days later I was walking the crooked streets of Assisi, enjoying the music of the language, the spectacular architecture, the wine, the song. This is probably as close as you can get to the magic of a medieval city. My head was spinning with the joy of the place. Then I reached for my wallet to pay for a cappuccino and remembered my solemn oath to purchase a new one. Walking in the afternoon light down Via Santa Croce I spotted a leather shop . The door creaked after I twisted the burnished knob.. An old woman sat knitting in the corner while a younger man greeted me in the half light: ”Bene sera” he said. Right there I knew it was FATE that brought me here as those were the only words I knew in Italian. “Bene,” I replied. He smiled. “Americano?” “Si. Yes.”

He had closely cropped brown hair and thick glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes out of all proportion. “Then we shall speak English so that you will be comfortable.”

 “Yes. Thank you. I am here to replace my wallet.” I pulled my old one from my back pocket. “You have come to the right place.“ He pointed to a nearby shelf. His mother sat silent at her sewing as as I sorted through the merchandise. “Take your time,my friend.” The way he said friend rang with the sound of sincerity. Yes. We were friends Finally I pointed to the one I wanted.

“You have good sense,” he smiled handing it over to me. “It has been waiting a long time for you.” It seemed just right. “May this wallet be always full and your heart ever generous.” “Yes,” I laughed thinking of Chaucer’s poem to his purse. Ever since that day his words come back to me like a chant. The wallet is light and thin. and I never keep more than a few dollars inside. Even so, every time I open it, there always is just enough cash to cover my purchase. Always. It just defies logic. Of course there are reasons my wallet remains full. It could be my wife is slipping in some extra cash. It could be I put more money inside than I remember. Still. There are 12 inches in a foot and 5280 feet in a mile. But when I reach for my new wallet I enter the boundless realm of generosity spun with the ancient warmth of a late Italian afternoon.