Maybe the "friend" is symbolic of something for the poet? Or perhaps a real person? IDK. In any case, I can tell you that the wife and I lost a lot of "friends" over our position re: the jabs. At the time, they drew a line in the sand saying "we can't get together until you're vaxxed." And now, 3 years later, they change their tune and wonder when we're getting together. We said (in so many words) "No thanks, we're done". If I did this as a poem based on this theme, I'd say better to have no friends, than to get together with friends who shunned you.
And I've realized that there were always "sticking points" with each of those long-time friends; issues like elephants in the room that couldn't be addressed. I'm 71 (years young) and the friends I have now, I can honestly say are better friends than even my "best friends" were from back then. As for my sisters, we were never close anyway; this still bothers me, but now at least I can know "why" on a deep level. My only child, and my ex, now, that's a whole other category of grief.
I'm glad you have new friends to replace the old ones. Family doesn't "do it" for me either. I always say "blood is sicker than water" i.e. dysfunctional. Life's too short to put up with family who don't like/love you for who you are (ask me how I know, lol). Keep building your soul family, whether IRL or virtual. It's the only one that matters.
Mine is mostly virtual as well between Twitter and Substack. In a way, it's unfortunate we're somehow unable to make connections in real life as easy as in social media. I wish it were different, too, but I really don't know where to begin to cultivate friends IRL, especially given the brainwashing that's taken hold of most people. I'm glad we've connected, though.
Yes. You know, I've found anyway that it takes more than just being "on our side" to find real friends. So what soc med gives us is the necessary much wider pool to draw from. Do you follow Sage Hana? She's also very clever with words: cryptic and sarcastic and darkly funny ... the comments section always buzzes. Maybe that's how I found you!
O golly, it gets confusing sometimes... apologies, Celia, it was clearly from you that I found victory palace (thought I was making the above comment on his stack.
I miss my dear friends that I have had to move away from over the years, especially the last one, Donna. It takes a long time to grow an old friend. I am now 70, and deeply feel the lack of a close friend.
Thank you for your kind words. So true. I just had my 70th birthday, and those close, lifelong friends remembered, and sent cards full of love. I count my sister and my husband's sister as part of that group. We followed our sons to Idaho and left friends and relatives, some of whom have moved away also. Aging is something you only truly understand as you experience it. I'm still a kid inside, wondering what happened. How did it sneak up on me so quickly. Now it's time to build up a history here- a new adventure. Sorry to ramble. May your journey be full of joy.
Unasked, a kind young man helped me take my store purchases out to the truck the other day. I didn't need the help, not really, but I was deeply touched by his action, and the actions of many other youngsters that I encounter every day.
I grinned at him as I said thank you, and told him how much it meant to me to see that small acts of kindness are still being done, and that his help, given so freely, made me wiser.
He paused and looked at me, a question in his eyes. I told him that getting old isn't like I thought it would be, and that I didn't have the least idea fifty years ago how much the kindnesses I did for my elders meant to them.
I said that no one had told me how it works, so I'm passing it on to you, how getting old comes slowly and then suddenly, and in steps. you tire more easily as the years go by, I said, but you don't really notice because it's so gradual. Then one day you try to do something you've always been able to do, and you can't do that thing any more.
He thanked me for the clue, and I thanked him for just being his own kindly self.
These are the little things, Dawn, these small interactions that warm my heart. I get smiles from pretty young ladies who work in banks and stores, when I tell them that if I were forty years younger I'd be asking them for their phone number and that I hope their admirers realize how fortunate they are.
I lost one of my closest friends, about forty-five years ago, and I can sometimes still hear his voice in my mind, and see his grin. About twenty years ago, just before his own passing, another friend who'd been part of our little group admitted to me that he, too, had never been able to drive past that little rural cemetery where our boon companion lay at rest, without a misty eye.
Such is the love we have and we hold.
I bought a tired old home in a senior community, about five years ago. As far as building restoration goes, it was my last rodeo. It needed a lot of work, and then came the day to lay the flooring. Five people appeared, two young and vigorous men, two older than I and one in a wheelchair, all with construction experience.
While my brother in the wheelchair stayed at the chop saw to do the cutting, the rest fanned out and laid the planking while I stayed ahead of them preparing the subfloor and showing them how to handle the doorways and transitions from room to room.
Those two young men had full lives of their own and many things to do. They had ladies seeking their attention and plenty of other obligations.
But they came to help a tired old man finish his last rodeo with head held high.
I'm sharing this with you because your comment struck a chord in my heart. The sound of that strumming is faint, but the song is yet clear and bright. We are two disembodied hearts and minds speaking to each other with electrons, but we are not alone.
I'm happy for you, that you have your family and a new community to which you belong. The youngsters around you cannot take the place of old friends, but you will make a place in your heart for new friends.
They never told us how that works, this growing old, and you and I are each of us learning it for ourselves.
Enjoy the adventure, Dawn, and all the best to you.
That was beautifully written. You need to write a book. You write from the heart and your words flow effortlessly. May others who read this be blessed.
Thank you, Dawn. I'd like to think that it was the beautiful soul of the muse that inspired the anecdote. Your husband should count his blessings. You can tell 'im I said so.
Thank you for bringing that name up again. I wrote out Yevtushenko's poem on birch trees as I recall, some decades back. Poetry was an art form the Russians brought to an Olympian height to both assert resistance to tyranny and to reveal the greater spirit of the human being.
Unlike today, where poetry's lost that power. I guess I'm trying to humbly bring that spirit back in my own way through my poetry. Although I think I'm kidding myself...
Doubt can be good. Unamuno said - There can be no true faith without doubt.
But know when it's necessary to acknowlege your gift and calling.
I find now that I cannot write prosaic prose. The imagery, analogies, assonance, alliteration and most importantly - rhythms find their way in through what I once read is called 'aflatus' (I think) where you find these elements happening and wonder how they appeared on the page.
A far greater power than the little everyday you is at work.
Thanks GS. It is and was for a long time. I thought it was a noble thing to be a great poet, despite my father's berating me for this ambition. Mind you, I'm Italian; you would think he'd be like "Oh, you want to be like Dante. Thatsa beautiful thing!" But no, he was kinda of a street kid from the old country. He thought that stuff was crap. *shrugs* oh well...
You usually can't have a good poem without elliptical ambiguity.
On another note, I just learned that Michelle Obama revealed her two daughters were conceived by in vitro fertilisation -- which begs the question, who was the father? I'm guessing it might have been David Crosby...
Another possibility -- not sure if the article allows for it -- is that what she meant was not that she herself used her own womb but they found some surrogate. It would be clever sophistry because saying "I decided to do IVF" doesn't necessarily mean she has to be the carrier.
I suspect few, in this country I know, have been privileged to have friends and perhaps even a single friend grown so close in risking their lives and futures together and suffering for it. There aren’t sufficient years in one lifetime to so knit hearts together. But, at some level, most of us long for it, or used to long for it.
The subhumans the elite desire to produce won’t have the capacity for such giving and receiving which precludes expressions like this poem being produced.
I agree. Better one such old enemy than a new friend.
After more than five decades of life, it has become apparent that hating something or someone requires that the entity in question become threatening. Deeply held feelings soiled through circumstance, that is the usual suspect. Laughter becoming tears....
Maybe the "friend" is symbolic of something for the poet? Or perhaps a real person? IDK. In any case, I can tell you that the wife and I lost a lot of "friends" over our position re: the jabs. At the time, they drew a line in the sand saying "we can't get together until you're vaxxed." And now, 3 years later, they change their tune and wonder when we're getting together. We said (in so many words) "No thanks, we're done". If I did this as a poem based on this theme, I'd say better to have no friends, than to get together with friends who shunned you.
I've heard this from others as well. Totally understandable!
I agree 100%.
And I've realized that there were always "sticking points" with each of those long-time friends; issues like elephants in the room that couldn't be addressed. I'm 71 (years young) and the friends I have now, I can honestly say are better friends than even my "best friends" were from back then. As for my sisters, we were never close anyway; this still bothers me, but now at least I can know "why" on a deep level. My only child, and my ex, now, that's a whole other category of grief.
I'm glad you have new friends to replace the old ones. Family doesn't "do it" for me either. I always say "blood is sicker than water" i.e. dysfunctional. Life's too short to put up with family who don't like/love you for who you are (ask me how I know, lol). Keep building your soul family, whether IRL or virtual. It's the only one that matters.
Now you mention it; I think that (my "soul family") is mostly virtual. Substack fam, specifically.
I don't know exactly what to make of that.
Mine is mostly virtual as well between Twitter and Substack. In a way, it's unfortunate we're somehow unable to make connections in real life as easy as in social media. I wish it were different, too, but I really don't know where to begin to cultivate friends IRL, especially given the brainwashing that's taken hold of most people. I'm glad we've connected, though.
Yes. You know, I've found anyway that it takes more than just being "on our side" to find real friends. So what soc med gives us is the necessary much wider pool to draw from. Do you follow Sage Hana? She's also very clever with words: cryptic and sarcastic and darkly funny ... the comments section always buzzes. Maybe that's how I found you!
O golly, it gets confusing sometimes... apologies, Celia, it was clearly from you that I found victory palace (thought I was making the above comment on his stack.
I miss my dear friends that I have had to move away from over the years, especially the last one, Donna. It takes a long time to grow an old friend. I am now 70, and deeply feel the lack of a close friend.
Ditto.
😢
You are not alone in this, Dawn.
We move away, they move away and they pass away, but they live in our hearts forever.
We cannot touch their hand any longer, but we can still feel their touch in our soul.
The love doesn't die, it is only banked like the coals in a hearth.
Hold your hand out and you will feel the warmth that radiates from their love and yours.
It can still warm our tired old hearts.
You're not alone, Dawn.
Thank you for your kind words. So true. I just had my 70th birthday, and those close, lifelong friends remembered, and sent cards full of love. I count my sister and my husband's sister as part of that group. We followed our sons to Idaho and left friends and relatives, some of whom have moved away also. Aging is something you only truly understand as you experience it. I'm still a kid inside, wondering what happened. How did it sneak up on me so quickly. Now it's time to build up a history here- a new adventure. Sorry to ramble. May your journey be full of joy.
You're not rambling, Dawn.
Unasked, a kind young man helped me take my store purchases out to the truck the other day. I didn't need the help, not really, but I was deeply touched by his action, and the actions of many other youngsters that I encounter every day.
I grinned at him as I said thank you, and told him how much it meant to me to see that small acts of kindness are still being done, and that his help, given so freely, made me wiser.
He paused and looked at me, a question in his eyes. I told him that getting old isn't like I thought it would be, and that I didn't have the least idea fifty years ago how much the kindnesses I did for my elders meant to them.
I said that no one had told me how it works, so I'm passing it on to you, how getting old comes slowly and then suddenly, and in steps. you tire more easily as the years go by, I said, but you don't really notice because it's so gradual. Then one day you try to do something you've always been able to do, and you can't do that thing any more.
He thanked me for the clue, and I thanked him for just being his own kindly self.
These are the little things, Dawn, these small interactions that warm my heart. I get smiles from pretty young ladies who work in banks and stores, when I tell them that if I were forty years younger I'd be asking them for their phone number and that I hope their admirers realize how fortunate they are.
I lost one of my closest friends, about forty-five years ago, and I can sometimes still hear his voice in my mind, and see his grin. About twenty years ago, just before his own passing, another friend who'd been part of our little group admitted to me that he, too, had never been able to drive past that little rural cemetery where our boon companion lay at rest, without a misty eye.
Such is the love we have and we hold.
I bought a tired old home in a senior community, about five years ago. As far as building restoration goes, it was my last rodeo. It needed a lot of work, and then came the day to lay the flooring. Five people appeared, two young and vigorous men, two older than I and one in a wheelchair, all with construction experience.
While my brother in the wheelchair stayed at the chop saw to do the cutting, the rest fanned out and laid the planking while I stayed ahead of them preparing the subfloor and showing them how to handle the doorways and transitions from room to room.
Those two young men had full lives of their own and many things to do. They had ladies seeking their attention and plenty of other obligations.
But they came to help a tired old man finish his last rodeo with head held high.
I'm sharing this with you because your comment struck a chord in my heart. The sound of that strumming is faint, but the song is yet clear and bright. We are two disembodied hearts and minds speaking to each other with electrons, but we are not alone.
I'm happy for you, that you have your family and a new community to which you belong. The youngsters around you cannot take the place of old friends, but you will make a place in your heart for new friends.
They never told us how that works, this growing old, and you and I are each of us learning it for ourselves.
Enjoy the adventure, Dawn, and all the best to you.
That was beautifully written. You need to write a book. You write from the heart and your words flow effortlessly. May others who read this be blessed.
Thank you, Dawn. I'd like to think that it was the beautiful soul of the muse that inspired the anecdote. Your husband should count his blessings. You can tell 'im I said so.
Love it.
INTERESTING
So is the poet saying present day enemies who were once a friend to be honored?
Glad the poet can make it all work out in his dreams.
Is English the ultimate betrayal?
? Can you elaborate?
Vaxxxine is the word for death shot.
Harmacide. Scamdemic
.
Use real words and speak lies.
Needlerape.
Viruganda.
Womanity.
Russia.
Good ones!
Thank you for bringing that name up again. I wrote out Yevtushenko's poem on birch trees as I recall, some decades back. Poetry was an art form the Russians brought to an Olympian height to both assert resistance to tyranny and to reveal the greater spirit of the human being.
Unlike today, where poetry's lost that power. I guess I'm trying to humbly bring that spirit back in my own way through my poetry. Although I think I'm kidding myself...
Doubt can be good. Unamuno said - There can be no true faith without doubt.
But know when it's necessary to acknowlege your gift and calling.
I find now that I cannot write prosaic prose. The imagery, analogies, assonance, alliteration and most importantly - rhythms find their way in through what I once read is called 'aflatus' (I think) where you find these elements happening and wonder how they appeared on the page.
A far greater power than the little everyday you is at work.
Keep writing!
Thanks for the encouragement.
I just read your poem ImagiNation: the only Nation... brilliant!
Thanks a million Joanie! You're too kind :-D
Appreciative, not kind!
Haha...je comprends. Grateful for all your appreciation.
Thanks GS. It is and was for a long time. I thought it was a noble thing to be a great poet, despite my father's berating me for this ambition. Mind you, I'm Italian; you would think he'd be like "Oh, you want to be like Dante. Thatsa beautiful thing!" But no, he was kinda of a street kid from the old country. He thought that stuff was crap. *shrugs* oh well...
Do you have a favorite you can remember?
You usually can't have a good poem without elliptical ambiguity.
On another note, I just learned that Michelle Obama revealed her two daughters were conceived by in vitro fertilisation -- which begs the question, who was the father? I'm guessing it might have been David Crosby...
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-46154857
Equally important - who was the mother??
wow...this begs a lot of questions.
I didn't read the bulk of the article -- it might say why.
Another possibility -- not sure if the article allows for it -- is that what she meant was not that she herself used her own womb but they found some surrogate. It would be clever sophistry because saying "I decided to do IVF" doesn't necessarily mean she has to be the carrier.
I suspect few, in this country I know, have been privileged to have friends and perhaps even a single friend grown so close in risking their lives and futures together and suffering for it. There aren’t sufficient years in one lifetime to so knit hearts together. But, at some level, most of us long for it, or used to long for it.
The subhumans the elite desire to produce won’t have the capacity for such giving and receiving which precludes expressions like this poem being produced.
I agree. Better one such old enemy than a new friend.
Beautifully written and translated.
Thank you Celia.
Beautiful!
After more than five decades of life, it has become apparent that hating something or someone requires that the entity in question become threatening. Deeply held feelings soiled through circumstance, that is the usual suspect. Laughter becoming tears....
I always said that moments and memories are all we have. Now I realize that we also have dreams and fantasies.