Do We Ever Stop Revisiting the Past? trick question.
Plus Michael Biegner Book Party and Reading May 21
Dear writers,
To the question about revisiting the past: Well, no, of course not, especially if one is a writer. Or a human. “The past is never dead. It’s not even the past,” says Faulkner––probably yesterday, given this logic.
But it’s true, isn’t it? Don’t we always see the situation so much more clearly in the rearview mirror? A piece I wrote about my son’s infatuation with my own project-of-the-past––”Jack the Giant Killer”–– tries to get at this. It took me over ten years to see that essay come to publication in (the extremely dreamy) The Los Angeles Review. (Wee excerpt below...)
My four-year-old is obsessed with my ex-husband.
“That is David Nields,” says Johnny pointing at a circle with dots for eyes, a big U for a smile, and two stick legs coming down from the circle’s bottom. He draws two more sticks coming out from the sides and attaches one to a smaller but similarly drawn figure to the right. This circle gets a tuft of Ernie-and-Burt hair. “That’s you, Mama. You are holding David Nields’ hand because he likes you.”
Johnny says, “DavidNields” as one word, like “Madonna” or “Bono.” He doesn’t seem to recognize the last name as the hyphenated part of his own. For that matter, he does not know that before I met his father––Tom––I was once married to this stick figure. He only knows that David Nields was one of the three Daves in my band in the 90s: The Nields, a folk-rock family band. For ten years, we toured the continent in a fifteen-passenger van, pulling a small trailer full of our gear, our bodies packed alongside our guitars, duffel bags, notebooks and used paperbacks. Loading in and out of rock clubs around the country was like moving into and out of a small apartment twice a day, 340 days a year. (…read the rest of the essay here.)
When I looked through my photos to try to find an image to pair with the essay, I found this video, which made both Tom and me sob. We remember this little boy so well, even if today he is bigger than I am and has absolutely no interest in playing guitar.
With each passing year, I am so glad to have the past with me, to remember the people I love who are no longer on this earthly plane. I still speak with them, ask for their counsel, hear their voices, remember their smiles. Yes, it hurts to live without the more direct avenues to communication. But just like with everything (and everyone) worth knowing, their physical absence means I have to work a lot harder to keep them in mind.
Michael Biegner's Just a Handful of Honesty
Which brings me to this much awaited collection of poetry by my dear friend Michael Biegner. After many months of choosing, sorting, editing and planning, Christine Biegner and Sarah Sullivan have brought into the world this beautiful collection of a mere fraction of his two thousand poems. Just a Handful of Honesty is beautiful inside and out: its cover is one of Michael’s paintings, a muted vision of purple trees joining their branches. Inside is a true treasure trove of the very best work of an indefatigable poet who continuously brought beauty and thoughtfulness into the world.
We will be celebrating the book’s release here at Little Blue Studio on Tuesday May 21 at 6:30pm. Those of us who knew Michael and loved him and his poetry will be doing a reading of poems from the book, and light refreshments will be served. In other words, A PARTY! Come on down! If you don’t know where Little Blue is, please write me at Nerissand@gmail.com for directions. And if you can’t make it but still want to purchase a book, please contact Christine Biegner at cbiegner@charter.net. List price is $15.
Things I Have Been Loving
The documentary In Restless Dreams about Paul Simon.
The Bee Sting by Paul Murray
This song by World Party (yes, still obsessed): “When the Rainbow Comes”
Adirondack Retreat June 21-23, 2024
The weekend retreat in Keene NY will be June 21-23. Come write with me in the high peaks! Retreat includes delicious home-cooked meals, the best views in the world, and lots of time to write. Six spots available.
big yellow
for nerissa, who created this charmed space
big yellow is a homeless shelter for wayward thoughts
for images & ideas for songs made of slippery voices
for patchwork stockings-stories that need the boxy space
the rooms provide under the gaze of delicate window moldings &
immersed in the whispery shadow of victorian lamplight
big yellow squeezes juice from every syllable
juice that bounces off its preposterously high ceilings and pea-soup wall paintthese spat-out bones are lucky enough to spend the evening
lucky enough to warm hands over open hearts
to be taken in & desired
to embrace & be embraced
before leaving for the open road once more
where all wild things eventually end upbeneath stars in campgrounds by rivers & on grainy beaches
among a maze of hanging laundry near open fires
our spat-out bones dream of big yellow
we bathe in muddy rain and river waters, watch our breath
& crouch under highways and in the tall corn
near dumpsters and concrete truck docksdreaming still of big yellow
-Michael Biegner