Wednesday, November 15, 2017


Sound Track
(Nothing to see and no words so just let it play while you read on)
Julian Bream plays Lute Music from the courts of Europe
(29 minutes)

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea"
(Sonnet 65)
by William Shakespeare

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall time’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

by Kazuo Ishiguro

Just completed listening to the book on audio CDs having had a most engaging and satisfying experience with it for several days.
"Nocturnes" is a series of novellas that pick up on themes of aging, memory and music. Here, in an ABC Fora first, Kazuo Ishiguro is beamed live via satellite to the Sydney Writers' Festival where he chats about his life with Sandra Yates.
(7 minute Interview)

Kazuo Ishiguro was born November 8,1954 and is best known for haunting, elegiac novels like Remains of the Day (1989), about an English butler working in a big house in the years before World War II, which won the Booker Prize. Ishiguro was born in Japan but moved to England at the age of five (1960). He didn’t go back for 29 years. Ishiguro says: “I grew up with a very strong image in my head of this other country, a very important other country to which I had a strong emotional tie. In England, I was all the time building up this picture in my head, an imaginary Japan.” As a child in England, he pored over comic books and was obsessed with movies about cowboys and the American West, which influenced his later writing.  He spent a gap year after university hitchhiking through America and working for the Queen Mother as a grouse beater in Balmoral, all the while hauling around his portable typewriter and guitar. He says, “I tried to be a songwriter, but the door never opened.” He decided to write a 30-minute radio play called Potatoes and Lovers, about two young people working in a fish-and-chips joint. They are both cross-eyed, and they fall in love. It was an odd plot, but he used it to apply to graduate school in creative writing, and he got in. His first novel, A Pale View of the Hills (1982), was published to international acclaim. Ishiguro’s novels include An Artist of the Floating World (1986), The Buried Giant (2015), and The Unconsoled (1995), a 500-page book narrated by a pianist — a book that one critic said “invented its own category of badness.” It’s now considered a classic. On his writing, he says: “You can think of me like an early aviator before airplanes were properly invented. I’m building some sort of flying machine in my back garden. I just need it to fly. And you know how odd some of those early flying machines looked? Well, my novels are a bit like that. I put them together out of anything I can think of according to my thinking to make the thing fly.”
He was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature this year.
Interview about writing with Charlie Rose
February 2017
(25 Minutes)

Sunday, November 12, 2017


I would explain, but It would involve writing personal history about how I was thrust into the community of yogis and chanters. I simply can't. I just haven't got the energy. It's too long a tale and would require too many words, coherent sentences, time-line details to reconstruct for accuracy and it was too important to me to just toss it off. Suffice it to say, I arrived in psychic despair one day a few decades ago. Now, I just plug back in when they're in town and I can attend. Saturday night, suitably dressed for thirty degree temperatures, I left my apartment and walked uptown, caught this shot of the Empire State  building lit red white and blue for Veterans day...Oh, weary, weary wars we are exhausted...
 ...then walked East to the 'speed-bus' at 26th street on 1st Avenue. Once boarded,  I watched this elder Chinese man read about eight different Chinese newspapers, carefully unfolding and refolding them throughout the whole trip to 86th Street.
Another bus took me across 86th Street and I arrived around 8 O'clock to a full house in various stages of ecstasy at the Church of St. Paul & St. Andrew.
Kirtan is a Sanskrit word that means "narrating, reciting, telling, describing" of an idea or story. It also refers to a genre of religious performance arts, connoting a musical form of narration or shared recitation. With roots in the Vedic anukirtana tradition, a Kirtana is a call-and-response style song or chant, set to music, wherein multiple singers recite or describe a legend, or express loving devotion to a deity, or discuss spiritual ideas. It may include dancing or direct expression of bhavas (emotive states) by the singer. Many Kirtana performances are structured to engage the audience where they either repeat the chant, or reply to the call of the singer.
 "How good it is when Brother and Sisters
dwell together in harmony"
Sometime around 10 O'clock we broke up, mulled about meeting and greeting while the band packed equipment. It was a loving 'family' gathering, as it is all over the world at like events. Friend Wendy Daly and I left together and made our way, she to a new night shift job and me, back to my apartment where I uploaded the fuzzy and clear photos to my computer, downed some fine soup and fell into bed feeling loved and loving, fortunate and grateful.
Live Stream: Heart of Devotion Workshop with Krishna Das
A smaller more intimate venue with more talk and some chanting
(3 hours)

Web Site

Thursday, November 9, 2017



Monday night with my writing group downtown,
I wrote these lines in response to a prompt.
I wept when I read them aloud.
(Screen Shot--1st Baptist, Southerland Springs, Texas)
This Child
(for Anabelle Pomeroy)

Motionless now
                under the conflicted sky.
Blood drying
                 tears receding
Along the sharp line
                 where an emerging
Golden sun rising
                 dropped purple shrouds
Falling back into the sea
                 back before we
Swam up on  to land
                 before we took to flight
Before this child,
                  just fourteen, dreamed
She was roller skating
                  right to the edge of somewhere,
Spread her arms, then floating
                  off her mattress
Sailed up through the roof of a country church
                  which dissolved completely.
You know, the way dreams do,
                  she felt the thrill of
Unexpected ascension, so much holier
                  than Holy Mother Mary.
Entirely without shame this child, bursting,
                  sang out loud.
While the choir applauded in unison
                  white light spread
Everywhere, until that's all
                  there was to see--
Till even the brightest stars could
                  not outshine her.

The Story

Tuesday it was off to get an x-ray of my right ribs.
an accident at home: in a stupid moment reaching down over a wooden arm chair to retrieve a fallen pen and -crack-but it took a few days to really exhibit it's effect and I suddenly couldn't breathe.
(reading available while I waited)
 Kids camping out at the subway entrance
 Then I crossed through the park to
Dr. Robert Schiller
where the x-ray pictures were read and interpreted:
Not a fracture, just a badly bruised intercostal sheath which will take an estimated three weeks to a month of care, warmth and consciousness to heal. Okay.
Then the rains came, a regular deluge pouring from City skies.
Soaked when I reached my first location...
(Baruch College used to be the Childrens Court)
 ...where they couldn't find me on the books!
Trudged on to the right location a few blocks away to vote a straight Democratic slate.
My valiant struggle through the cold rain to register my vote did manage to push democrats over the fat heads of Republican punishers and was a definite mandate expressing rejection of the current National Administration, not that this Democratic gang are pure or perfect, but it's as good as we can manage for the moment,
a restraining wall at least.

At the Zendo Wednesday night
A loss Commemorated
Beloved 12 year old Cat
Carol and I walked together after the meditation

Sunday, November 5, 2017


My 'Front Yard'
Walk to Union Square
(color altered)
At night it lights up like a Ruby
Magnificent Maple
Listened to this wonderful musician
Union Square

Walking up Fifth Avenue, I stumbled upon this Google Pop-up store
displaying apps to explore and more
You can plug in to their Virtual Reality screens and ride for free
The front window decorated with an Eighties theme

Further on up Fifth Avenue
Victorias Secret
 displaying gifts for the Holiday
(seems the corset is back in a modern incarnation)

The light of sunset illuminates parts...
...against a storm threatening sky

Turning toward home, observed this
Shameless Hubris
 Long shot on East 21st Street
Home, with my street rescued discarded bouquet

This tree well feeder accommodates hungry doves

 Onward past an Irving Place small Hotel
 Buildings Shrouded in construction nets
  to the farmers market
Recycling food scraps...
...and wearable goods at Union Square
 What was once a famous Bank is now a Performance Space
Dappled clouds sweep across the sky
Vintage ford with Bicycle
I had a long conversation with a very nice man who survived two heart attacks. He was part of the crews setting up for a model shoot at the "Irving Plaza" - The Theater located at the southwest corner of Irving Place and East 15th Street in the Union Square neighborhood of Manhattan was built in 1888 and it served as a German language theater, a Yiddish theater, a burlesque house, a union meeting hall, a legitimate theater and a movie theater. Now, besides rentals, it's a live Music venue for rock and pop shows.

Cornerstone of the Welfare building
(someone left an unreadable message)
The Shrouded building again, against sky
One residential apartments building still has rose blooms
Across the street from my apartment
the School of Visual Arts new windowed atrium
One of the farmers I've known for years gave me an edible pumpkin I plan to halve Monday, clean seeds for drying, place halves face down in a pan of water to bake and then fill with seasoned rice and berries (yum)--Meanwhile it was movie night - "Ruby in Paradise" is the video we watched...see link.
with Ron Sherbet my neighbor of forty years.

Rainy day at home resting, playing with images on the leaf letters project with the TV on to marathon images without sound.
The starting line for the race began at the Western end of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge on Staten Island. The finish line was in Central Park, just outside of Tavern on the Green. Later, the terrible news from Texas reached me. This light will burn all night in my front window for every grieving being.


Google Pop-up Store

"Ruby In Paradise"