April 20, 2015
Remember The Secret? Maybe it’s 6°s of separation, or precognition, or something? But…
Go back a couple of Sunday’s to when Yevgeniy Yevtushenko was the Sunday Guest and then I’ll tell you about this past Sunday, yesterday.
When I introduced Yevtushenko I mentioned that I first experienced his poetry through a Saturday Evening Post article in a 1963 edition. When I wrote that my youngest son and I were going to go to a huge outdoor flea market called The Elephant’s Trunk in New Milford the following Sunday. But, the ground was still too wet so that market, the opening one of the year, was postponed until yesterday. And our trip yesterday resulted in this.
We’d just started down the many rows of vendors and were looking at a young woman’s eclectic collection of tools, antiques, knick-knacks, and a box of magazines… Saturday Evening Post? The sign taped to the box said it contained 1960 editions. What were the odds? I squatted down and began to work through the copies. Half way, flip, flip, flip, flip back… Lift the upper ones. There it was! POST, The Saturday Evening Post August 10 – August 17, 1964 20c.
Banned in Russia:
A Soviet poet’s brilliant story
of his life and fight for freedom
under Stalin and Khrushchev
So maybe I’m making more of this than it just being a strange coincidence that right after I write about a poet who impacted my view of poetry and need to create poetry I’m reunited with the spark that ignited the fire.
dull breaking day
high scudding skies of grey
promise of rain
I don’t feel I can adequately introduce Mr. Pound. He and I have only just met. But, I feel that we’ll be getting along splendidly since what he’s said so far, strikes a cord within me.
And The Days Are Not Full Enough
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass
In A Station Of The Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
petals on a wet, black bough.
Excuse me now, I’m going off to have some quiet time and conversation with Mr. Pound. Before I go, let me tell you, don’t let his sour looks deceive you, he’s an intense fellow and intensely interesting. An expat you know, buried in Italy in ’72. Yes a long life from 1885 into and nearly through an entire century. He’ll say something that stops you short, rocks you back in wonder, if you’ll just take a minute to get to know him.
(And a very sincere “Thank you” to David Lanoue, HSA President, for waking me from my nap – surely, I must have been asleep at the switch to have missed the poetry of Ezra Pound up until now.)
Yes, I post in the past. Every so often I open a sketch book, old journal, etc., and find a haiku or other bit of doggrel laying there. So I use the scheduling tool in WordPress, just one of the many reasons I love WordPress, as a time machine and post that find in the time it would have gone on one of my earlier but now long defunct blog sites.
Just in case you were wondering, ‘Why am I just getting this notice now?’.
Another voice crying in the wilderness. So right but so ignored. We’re only asked to do one thing, “Love one another as you love yourself”. So simple, so hard.