… Mike asked me why I was reading all these books on the ’60s. Simple, I told him: we’re seeing a renaissance similar to that one, where the arc of experimentation, youth, ego, sex, and money gave way to the constant change, the evolution as Jason called it, of those artists. The book I’ve been working through recently, Bob Spitz’ The Beatles, grinds relentlessly through the familiar (to me) story, adding layer of rhythm, pathetic floundering, and missed opportunities upon layer, to the point where you look back and suddenly remember how miraculous it was that they accomplished anything, let alone the breadth of their work.
Flying out of L.A. last night, the view was unusually clear, and stayed that way. I could see to San Diego from over L.A., to Phoenix from over Flagstaff. I finally got myself to sleep after Albequerque. Woke up over Missouri somewhere. It was clear there too. Then I woke up over Chesepeake Bay, and could see ahead to the southern end of New Jersey. As we passed across Monmouth county and out north of Sandy Hook, The shape of Long Island was a lacework of tiny lights. Dawn, breaking over the Atlantic far to the east, was an edge of light over a scallop of distant clouds. As we began our descent over Providence, the cloud layers began to slide close beneath the plane.
As we punched down through the clouds, streaks of rain appeared in the plane’s headlights. When we reached ground just before dawn, it was rainy and gloomy. But I loved it, because, well, this end of the country is my homeland.
Susan Kitchens – There is Music:
These are the reasons why I insisted on making the playlists and putting together the iPod and speaker dock for my boyfriend’s mother. Because there is music. Especially when so many other things are gone, and words are too few.
She died in the wee hours of Thursday morning. Her lungs failed.
The genius of poetry is the imagery of life scenes, important and unimportant, milestones or just another day in the life.
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