Because it’s August and because it’s hot Inspiration doesn’t seem to like the heat. Or maybe that I’ve been writing my blog since 2019. And sometimes I feel I don’t have anything new to say. Yes, it’s hot. But it was also hot when I was a child. Probably not quite as hot but thenContinue reading “August’s Heat”
Tag Archives: prose
A Bouquet of Summer
Someone left a bouquet of field flowers by my door. Flowers picked along a country lane. Years ago, my granddaughter picked a fistful of English daisies that insisted on growing on the lawn. They were not weeds for me, and for a day they smiled at me from the glass where I had put them.Continue reading “A Bouquet of Summer”
A Poet
One who seeks an answer to the eternal why of life. One who loves words and the sound of words, the meaning and the structure, the way in which they inter-relate, attempting with words to build something finite where nothing can be added and nothing can be subtracted. But what then are words? They areContinue reading “A Poet”
More Thoughts: Seven
At times I do get into philosophical thought. While I’m not into philosophers, occasionally something does make me think more deeply. When I was at NYU, we were told to write an essay about our philosophy of life – I remember thinking – but do I even have a philosophy of life? Perhaps that wasContinue reading “More Thoughts: Seven”
More Thoughts: Six
The importance of memory. I’m not sure where I read this piece by Borges. Knowing that the author was blind, made it particularly poignant. While it didn’t apply directly to me, I now realize how, as we age, memory will be our life. Borges – L’Artefice “He (Hector) had never lingered over the pleasures ofContinue reading “More Thoughts: Six”
More Thoughts: Five
Then there was the guard at MOMA where I worked as a student when I was attending NYU. Before becoming secretary to Monroe Wheeler, my job was basically simple – working in the ticket booth or selling books. That didn’t stop me from looking at the paintings whenever I could, or looking down from the rooftopContinue reading “More Thoughts: Five”
More Thoughts: Four
Since Augustine did not become a saint till later in life, this may very well be by him. Dancing with your whole body and mind is after all surrendering yourself to life. I’m not sure, though, whether his mother, Monica, would have approved. I would have left the angels nonplussed, for I never really learnedContinue reading “More Thoughts: Four”
Arches
Once upon a time there were small towns where the buildings, the people, communicated with each other. But this is after all Italy where even now one lives surrounded by the past. Stairs used to be outside – now they are almost all inside. Houses still touch each other as they march along the street,Continue reading “Arches”
Doors — Who Knows
You never know what lies behind a door. That’s the point. A door may conceal what was never meant to be seen. The odds and ends, the remnants, of some magnum opus. The mundane residue of what once was grand. An open door may suddenly reveal three levels of brick arches, piggyback one on theContinue reading “Doors — Who Knows”
The Last Rose
It was the last rose. The deep red blossom had not opened all the way or perhaps had no intention of opening. Still I found it beautiful. That was weeks ago. Even now the rose sits there in its vase. The petals brown and withered. Yet even so I find it beautiful. Not simply theContinue reading “The Last Rose”
Unpurchasable Memories
There’ll be a box somewhere in your house – in the movies it’s often under the bed or up on a high shelf in the closet – with treasured letters and cards, keepsakes (nice name). I have several packets of letters, but I’ve written about them before. They and the cards are part of peopleContinue reading “Unpurchasable Memories”
Yellow
Shades of yellow Hues of yellow Lemon amber chrome gold Burnt umber, bronze A yellow butterfly Escaping from the ghetto A patch of yellow wall in Vermeers View of Delft Proust Van Gogh Rembrandt The Jewish Bride Slashes of yellow satin sleeves The little prince Daffodils and sunflowers A host of golden daffodils Your hairContinue reading “Yellow”
Erika Bizzarri 