If I were in Meligalas, and you and I were enjoying the sunset amid the vaporous old olive grove, I wonder what we would talk about, or if we would talk at all. Who knows — despite our shared philosophy of no extra words, we might find ourselves blabbing well into the night, a fire between us setting our faces aglow. Here’s a subject for you: “How to cultivate white space in a world gone mad.” Knowing full well, of course, that the world was mad long before either of us arrived.
I’m sorry to say our garden is having a bit of a struggle now, after a stretch of cold wet weather. Did I ever mention that we passed through Raymond a dozen or so years ago? I imagine gardening — at least the kind that we warm-weather people are used to — was even more difficult there than it is here, where one dreams of tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant and is often rewarded with snails.
Maybe I should stay the summer and we can cultivate a plot together — as opposed to hatching one. First thing in the morning, after the ritual dumping of a bucket of cold water over our heads, we could Huck Finn our way out to the garden with hoes over our shoulders and corn cob pipes between our teeth, and promptly put off our work and head for the nearest lake or river.
Or, if this is all too dreamy, as I fear it is, you’ll be glad to know I still keep your poetry books near, and that I page through them every so often. The handmade one, especially, is a treasure, its lace gracing the spines of the volumes it rests upon. It’s not quite within arm’s reach, but if I stand up and take two steps to my left, there it is.
What else? What else can there be? I’d say we’ve seen it all, and of course in some sense we have. Yet there’s still the glorious feeling of seeing one single tiny thing in particular for the first time that keeps us waking up in the morning. That, in a nutshell, is what your poetry is, and what it means to me.
~
[ 2137 ]
Categories: Everything and Nothing
Tags: Letters
William Michaelian 
Ta poésie aussi est un jardin pour moi, même traduite hélas…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, and you must know I feel the same way. And as we walk along together, and listen to each other, I think we gather a little more meaning each day. Thank you, Barbara. I’m grateful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🌹🌹🌹
LikeLiked by 1 person
You outdid yourself this time, old friend but I loved every well-chosen word. Who would have guessed we would still be in hot pursuit–haha–of the ultimate one that would describe our mutual quest amidst the ruins of the King’s English?
Can’t remember if I ever thanked our mutual friend, Joseph for letting me know of your existence in the blogosphere but as they say “It REALLY was a game changer” and that’s putting it mildly.
My comments on your work may not be getting through to you because WordPress is such a stickler with protocol at times but please know I read and admire what you do and have been doing for all these years.
All the best from your namesake in the boondocks of the Southern Peloponnese, Wild Bill.
Vassilis
LikeLiked by 1 person
Many, many thanks.
Good old Joe. A lot of frogs in the pond since those days. However it happened, I’m glad it did. And I’m even more glad it’s still happening.
Love to you, my friend, and please know that I think of you often.
LikeLike
❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Valy! Thank you always.
LikeLiked by 1 person