--- "K.Silem Mohammad" <immerito@HOTMAIL.COM> wrote:
>has anyone heard from Rebecca Wolff, Tom Devaney,
Brendan Lorber? Kasey
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Rebecca Wolff --- I hope this isn't a breach of
confidentiality --- e-mailed me on Mon. the 10th
that she was leaving on one of her selfless extended
poetry-fundraising business trips outside the city (to a
place with a name that could be in Massachusetts,
Cornwell UK, Colchester Nova Scotia, or Australia,
she didn't specify which).
And, yes, J ffr y J ll ch (who?) is still alive
(un-dead), Mrs. Jackson (Thanks for the touching "my
love and hope to all of you -- even, yes,
those I've had tiffs with -- on this list" . . . like
the media moment when Rudolph Guiliani and Hillary
Clinton embraced) (though a name nowhere to be found
on the 8/25/01 3:43 a.m. "100 NYC Poets" posting,
oddly). Sorry epithalamium I was composing has
been temporarily interrupted.
{Tinkling music box music coming from next dug-out,
touching, . . . like film score in opening moments of
Live Home Video The Bell Jar movie version, starring
Marilyn Hassett as Sylvia surrogate, twirling in
circles in cardigan in opening moments, not at all
soil-bespattered, Julie Harris
(formerly of Belle of Amherst Emily Dickinson
fame, just to confound everything) as Mama Plath,
and Anne Bancroft, a must-see (especially in
solarium converted by night into in-patient "Entertainment
Night," all pathos).}
We're hoping to be back from Antilles in time for
the Jackie O. Best Beloved Poem unveiling, Sept.
24th. You know how beautifully they read
"Ithaka" by Cavafy & "Memory of Cape Cod" by
Millay
at her funeral.
Tears, literacy, ahimsa,
that's
---*MS.* Laura RJ wannabe
to you, thank you
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Memory of Cape Cod
The wind in the ash-tree sounds like surf on the shore
at Truro.
I will shut my eyes . . . hush, be still with your
silly bleating,
sheep on Shillingstone Hill . . .
They said: Come along! They said: Leave your
pebbles on the sand and come along, it's long after
sunset!
The mosquitoes will be thick in the pine-woods along
by Long Nook, the wind's died down!
They said: Leave your pebbles on the sand, and your
shells, too, and come along, we'll find you another
beach like the beach at Truro.
Let me listen to wind in the ash . . . it sounds
like surf on the shore.
-
And as happy as possible a new TOPH-SHIN-SAMEKH-BETH
to all (how thoughtless of me).
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