Upon returning to the short piece Dream Baby, I am pleased to see how recounting a simple dream, which was pleasant enough itself, leads to a passage of memory, which then transforms itself into a kind of poetic, universal love story. While I am the hairy old uncle and grandfather, I also embody the uncles and grandfather of my childhood, their whiskery familiarity and smell. In a sense, the dream […]
We’ve seen the man in the wool cap two or three times in the past six or seven years; the last, I think, was about two years ago. But we saw him at the grocery store, rather than where books were being sold. He was still wearing his cap, and was a bit grayer, with the same kind face, and he had only one or two small items in his […]
If our yard weren’t overwhelmed by the neighbor’s fir trees, and used as a playground for squirrels, raccoons, skunks, opossums, and owls, I wouldn’t mind at all having goats and chickens again. But this is not to be. We do have ants, though, which invade the house each winter; we have flickers and crows, juncos, sparrows, scrub-jays, finches, towhees, robins, wrens, and red-tailed hawks; and only a few days ago, […]
Am I my own best, most attentive reader, or am I like so many others who write, and who somehow remain strangers to their own words, as if they are embarrassing and awkward to be around? Haste is the great enemy. If, while reading, I do not engage all of my senses and weigh each line on a scale of personal and universal truth, while being sure that, as it […]
Blessed to forget the rest — why, I wonder, do so many of my phrases read like epitaphs? And these stock words and images: who can count the number of times I’ve written the word peach, joy, waterfall, or blessing? Surely this means something, as do multiple allusions to madness, which seem almost to signify some kind of code, or shortcut way of proclaiming I am one with the universe, […]
Taken literally, each word of the short poem that is Long Train is a sturdy, useful brick; and so I might say, if there is something you hope to build, it always pays to begin with good materials. Such materials are most readily found in nature, but there are times and places where the harsh, rough emblems of the city are just as useful, and even beautiful. I have employed […]
Season is one of those words that goes to our origin in language; as we ripen, so do the words and the languages we use. At the same time, we are the words and languages we use. And, for better or for worse, the words and languages use us, and we are thereby revealed. This is how they change and grow, how they disappear or slowly crumble into proud obsolescence. […]
I gave up on Leopardi’s Zibaldone long ago. I’ve read thousands upon thousands of pages of other things since, so it was not because of its length, which I still regard as one of its saving graces. I stopped because I found it too generally negative in tone. My friend and fictional alter-ego, Stephen Monroe, was also negative, but his negativity was leavened with humor; also, he knew he was […]
The sunflowers aren’t quite to the skeletal stage, but with the frost upon them, their flesh is rapidly melting away. The birds still come, the scrub jays, nuthatches, and finches. It’s a talkative town, but in stark, fleet moments there’s a blackening sense of the approaching end of conversation, and of new beginnings that must wait their turn in the ground. . If I’m discovered to be mad, what of […]
How does a child learn to lie? It’s in the air, it’s in your eye. Word-drift. Intonation. Body language. Sigh. And when, a short time later, is disbelieved, is brought to deceive, little by little, by and by. . We were on a first-name basis. Now we just smile and nod when the wind blows. . Read the thirty-seventh chapter of Middlemarch. Moved daffodils from the plastic pot they’d bloomed […]
William Michaelian 