Now we are old

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Donald Hall's Poem and Richard's Response

"The Raisin" by Donald Hall from White Apples and the Taste of Stone. © Houghton Mifflin
Company. Reprinted with permission.

The Raisin

I drank cool water from the fountain
in the undertaker's parlor
near the body of a ninety-two-year-old man.

Harry loved horses and work.
He curried the flanks of his Morgan;
he loaded crates twelve hours—to fill in
when his foreman got drunk—
never kicking a horse,
never kind to a son.

He sobbed on the sofa ten years ago,
when Sally died.
We heard of him dancing with
widows in Florida, cheek
to cheek, and of scented
letters that came to Connecticut
all summer.

When he was old he made up for the weeping
he failed to do earlier:
grandchildren, zinnias,
Morgans, great-grandchildren.
He wept over everything. His only
advice: "Keep your health."
He told old stories, laughing slowly.
He sang old songs.

Forty years ago his son
who was parked making love in the country
noticed Harry parked making love
in a car up ahead.

When he was ninety he wanted to die.
He couldn't ride or grow flowers
or dance
or tend the plots in the graveyard
that he had kept up
faithfully, since Sally died.

This morning I looked into the pale
raisin of Harry's face.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Ri Richard Lafon responded to the poem.....

"That’s exactly what he said…

It was at Camp Egan, where I went for a weekend with my father for the first of the Oklahoma Summer Arts gatherings. I had just had a fantastic afternoon with Daniel Kiatz and the graphic arts (silk-screen) group, seeing examples of work, learning about the 'tools' of the trade, etc. Later, we were given dinner, 'cafeteria' style – with compartmental trays and group tables and such… I think already that I was already overwhelmed and in that 'focus' mode where I just wanted to sit alone. I really did not want to sit with 'musicians', 'actors' or 'dancers', that are always so in need of attention -- or any of the other students that were from Oklahoma City Schools or Tulsa Schools – so, I picked an empty table. Minutes later, a rotund, bearded fellow, a stranger, and an older guy, sat across from me. I had brought a copy of Richard Braughtigan’s, 'Hawkline Monster' with me to read – so, I wouldn’t look so lonely… I was indeed hungry… One of the 'compartments on the tray contained raisins… 'Hello, I’m Richard Lafon', was all I said, looking down. <> 'Very good to meet you, I’m Donald Hall', he replied – and stared right at my face.

And then, and then, I looked him in the eyes. I never -- ever look anyone 'in-the-eyes'. But, I did for some reason – maybe it was because he offered me an 'eye' back…

I swear to God that I had no idea who 'Donald Hall' was – but I told him about my project that would have to be completed within two days. My 'Hand-Scape' deal… Feeling comfortable – and nervous – but at the same time “comfortable”, I showed him the profile of my hand -- and fingers – and hairs that reflected the fading light -- and explained that this is a “landscape” – a 'hand-scape' that I want to explore… I also showed him a crumpled up copy of a 'Hand' by Abrect Durer that I had in by billfold. (I have absolutely no idea why I kept it – or, what the 'idea' was in the first place.) And then, feeling confidant and then through comparison, I explained that Durer’s was not an accurate depiction…. I had no idea of to whom I was talking, squawking -- this inane information. I was just so excited about my own ideas – and it seemed to me – that I had a listening ear for what felt like, the first time of my life. I mean, this guy seemed to be actually interested in my ideas – and at that time, my peculiar and particular vision… After reviewing our “hand-scapes” for a moment, Donald Hall, picked up a raisin, held it between thumb and forefinger, and stated, 'Don’t you think that raisins remind you of faces?' 'The ‘smell of them too? – Mixed with lavender, mold and stale smoke – yeah, that would remind me of 'faces'…. All of them… The ones that do take the time to “look” me in the eye…"h

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Early April

It's been a hell of a time, being so full of hatred. Don's good. I'm not ill. Just mentally. I don't hate people very often, just Dick Cheney occasionally. Then I pray for him and forget it.

This is a sick hatred and nearly gone now. It has made me hurt and feel ill when I'm not. It has made me obsess and leave the meal site "ladies who lunch," early because I feel too ill at ease and sick to my stomach to eat the food they are preparing to celebrate something or other.

I love my husband and my family. I love this place and am grateful for the river-sound and sunshine and the beginning green of spring and so much else.

Blessings, name 12 quickly besides the ones I've mentioned; sweet air, good bed, health, sight, smell, friends, books, food, clothing, bath tubs and showers, water, radio, music, opera, rakes, shovels, coats, gloves, green tea. I could write pages of course, bird song and birds, deer, turkeys, honey and so on.

So being full of hate is a push against all blessings. It is better. I've prayed and prayed. After I read my "Courage to Change: I turned my hatred over to God because I cannot manage it.

I could maybe describe the hating; it wouldn't do any good. It is all pervasive and drips out my pores. It takes me over and feels like a scream inside.

It is real and I accept it and know that it will pass probably.


So accept it.
Pray for God to take it on for me
Drink lots of water
Take a tranquilizer (better than contemplating suicide because I cannot live with hate.)

So there I am.
I washed my hair.
I walked the dog.
I washed and washed in the house.
I'll survive and I do feel compassion, no wrong; I don't feel compassion for that I hate. So I pray for God's compassion.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Back To Business

Neglected the blog for awhile. It will have a change of focus, to relating events essential to this shack in the mountains and the people herein and the families and friends of the people herein and any events important to all of the above.

Reporting that spring is here, the green has begun to engulf us, shack, mountain, people. Blossoms and tender, tender leaves suck up the rain that pours in spurts. Glad to be alive still.

Blaze is alive and sort of well, just quite neurotic and no we will not put him on antidepressants. We have new waste baskets in the shack, with those tops that push open for the trash. Blaze has to give up on his preferred alternative diet of rags and papers, shoes and books. How he loved our underwear and socks.

Zachary has joined the army and is off to Fort Sill in Oklahoma, I believe. We will pray that the structure will be vitalizing and that he will be discovered for his good mind and put to work on codes and intelligence and kept away from shooting or being shot.

Audrey has an email address now, as does Aimee Jean and Victoria.

Paintings of quilts are coming up on the barns of Madison County to make them even handsomer.

We get older and older and wiser perhaps.