Non è forte chi non cade mai, ma chi cadendo trova la forza di rialzarsi.
Yes, Robert, essential! And here I could pretend I was once more on your side of the pond. Happily, I am well aware of how green the grass can be on my side (or am determined enough to find an emerald patch here or there), and my companion led me to the most delightful, pale specimen (possessed of a subtle and divine scent). The heat is oppressive here, hence the haze.
If one lacks seating, find that which is already built-in. Similarly, if one is without window treatments, choose full folding wooden shutters. If one misses bookshelves, add three more massive, deep windows to these pictured four - and one has seven ready nests for tomes. If one hasn’t a dresser and other storage means, select a built-in armoire with mirrors. If one has lost personal belongings with which to decorate, secure a carved fireplace and mantel (albeit bricked up). If one longs for a garden, an impressive wrap-around porch surrounded by wild roses, yellow irises, etc. will certainly do - the perfect place to nurture the chocolate mint, basil, tomato, and parsley that have begun to thrive indoors. If one still seeks final touches to make a place rightly home…well, one can finally open those boxes of clay and christen the patient armatures. For diversion, add a house full of future doctors next door. A dangerous city, yes…but I’m finally home.
Through strange cities and obligations I now travel. There is a quiet contemplation of each open door encountered - apertures found, not sought. Soon I will be wholly occupied with the gathering of strong, golden twigs for a nest reinforced with clay.
My companions take me along to Camden to hear Rachel Hadas, and we are delighted to encounter Hermes. Beyond the hall of poets there are garbage-choked moats around bronze islands - one looks up to find herself surrounded by shattered or boarded entryways, where drifting sheets of debris mock the memories of pigeons. Given a moment, one recognizes the power of this place - of any place - that houses whole and gleaming things despite a broken backdrop.
Article in The Oconomowoc Enterprise (not available online)
My thoughts on the project, Oconomowoc Focus
It takes but ten minutes, two toothpicks, and a pinch of clay to map out our protagonist. Accuracy is not the key at this stage - life is. Without said spark, the relief I promised you…it cannot burn as brightly as I should wish.
I saw the grey miner descending,
waking with carbide and beam.
I waited for the wild transfusion,
for you to bleed a vein of wealth into me,
for us to discover how speech
becomes intractable in fiber.
You greeted your dog like a lover or praised
some Dorothea Brooke. I grew green.
While you bit passive generosity and thieved,
the crowd’s ignited retort splashed down to you:
what brightness out here doesn’t burn within?
I waited for a lyric explosion so keen
the earth would slough into sky.
Nothing but mucked reserves. I wanted
to follow the drift, but kept reading your eyes -
Danger: Individual. Do Not Enter.
Bite my heels, Cynic, and bark at poverty.
I am watching your lantern swinging
from a street-side rail. It’s high noon.
Are you an honest man?
Listen; the canary has stopped singing.
One cannot breathe for two - can they?
I think your courage is sometimes
the most yellow thing of all.
- J.M. Archbold
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