Monday, June 29, 2020

Mourning the loss of Kim Bridgford



Kim Bridgford died yesterday at the age of 60, of stage 4 cancer.  She was diagnosed in March, and so this cancer killed her quickly... as a cancer survivor of invasive cervical cancer, I would like to know what kind of cancer this was. Not that it would do anyone any good.  Cancer continues to be a cruel illness,  mysterious even as we know so much more about it than we know of COVID19.

She was a wonderful , gracious person, and this is a big loss to poetry world.

Here is a poem she wrote about Emily Dickinson.  Thanks to David Katz, who posted it on his blog:







In the sixteenth week of the Quarantine


Art    "Backyard Quiet"  by Katheryn Stott Buxton



I share these wise observations from novelist and friend Josephine Humphreys:

How we move ahead.This plan is not for everyone. 

It's just the way we two old people see the future unrolling before us.


Things are not going to get better for a long long time. Years. Things will be getting much much worse. We will not see a return to that condition we used to call "normal." 

So we will each seriously guard against depression, anger, fear, disappointment, etc., and we will even more seriously guard each other against those things. We'll help family and friends guard themselves as well. We'll look for new ways to connect with people, nature, music, literature, dogs, ideas, justice, history, art, vegetables, memories, wit and humor. And we'll have fun along the way.



Art by Daria Petrilli

Sunday, June 28, 2020

Just some captivating images


Great Spangled Fritillary     -   I have seen two in my garden!





Art -  Pool with two figures  - David Hockney      Wish I was in it



Art - Tim Storrier -  The Passenger, into the Evening



And a poem by Richard Wilbur:


June Light
Richard Wilbur - 1921-2017

Your voice, with clear location of June days,
Called me outside the window.  You were there,
Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare
Of uncontested summer all things raise
Plainly their seeming into seamless air.

Then your love looked as simple and entire
As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face
As legible as pearskin's fleck and trace,
Which promise always wine, by mottled fire
More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.

And your gay gift—Oh when I saw it fall
Into my hands, through all that naïve light,
It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight
As must have been the first great gift of all.





Tuesday, June 2, 2020

There is a road




In the midst of the continuing virus and now the murder of  George Floyd and subsequent protests and then the riots, and the continuing chaos caused by Trump,  here's a song from the Grateful Dead that captures me today:

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?
It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Jerome J. Garcia / Robert C. Hunter
Ripple lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group