Sunday, February 27, 2011

Torn Mind

From D's journal, March 2003.
______________________________________________

Help me to be calm.  Help me to hold the rudder.
Help me affect these students.  Help me be a comfort to my wife.
I beat up my body and mind daily.  It's a wonder I'm alive.
Help me realize that it's not shameful to care about your health.
Why do I think this?  It's like some sort of flagellating christian mixed with a self-destructive rock star.  I enjoy wit only. I like to look at things and laugh.  I like to stupefy myself.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

dandelion

I have a new friend
whose name softly lingers in the room when pronounced.
She is a kind of person who keeps teardrops in her empty teapot.

I visited her in her apartment the other day
She lives among beautiful things,
things that watched us eat and listened to us talk.

As I left she lent me her precious book,
a book with creased pages, sticky notes, and some water stains
a book that had breathed her smiles and sighs (and perhaps sobs)
in between its pages.

I cup my hands around this fluffy ball
that resembles dandelion seeds.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Yuri Gagarin

From D's journal,  February 20, 2003.
_________________________________________
Heaven, says Yuri Gagarin.  I've already seen it.
God is a stone buried deep in a riverbank.
Slingshot over the sky and then
Only the noise of machines, Yuri Gagarin
Listens to the hisses and shudders and blips
Of the Sputnik and eyes gaping crosses each
Sound out one by one until the last sound
Is his heartbeat.  God is the water
Running, beating, pooling,
Subsiding into earth and stone.
Yuri Gagarin is walking along the towpath.
The river is dry, the chalky sound of bones is God.
Kashmar. Ochin plochka.  Uzjets.
The universe expands like a candy wrapper
Think of the continuous sound of the earth.
Yuri Gagarin jumps into the air
Hangs himself from a cold front gasping.
A crow attaches its red claws to his lapels.
Don't listen to the silence, it says.

________________________________________________
If you have seen Heaven, send me just one word "yes,"
maybe by jotting down, or even a check mark, on the surface of the moon.
Then I will not bother you any more.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

5:15 pm

I used to be so afraid of it - 5:15 pm.

The fear was so intense that when 5 o'clock approached every day, I felt like a piece of ice was pressed against the back of my heart; often I couldn't stay still, literally.   I had to fiercely find something to get my mind off of the time -some kind of shelter or at least something to hang onto, to protect myself from the approaching tornadoes.

It is now a story of the past and almost a funny one, remembering how serious and desperate I was when in the midst of it.

Now I know that everything fades away - if you, someone out there, are in the middle of something like that, please know that it will end.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Shut Doors

From D's journal, January 1996.
_______________________________________
Lord, I wish I believed in something.  I can't even stand my body is so heavy, weighing me down, an encumbrance I wish I was rid of.  K. said tonight: when you remember something, you see a picture, but where do you see it?  Not through your eyes?  Sometimes gems come from her, though she's closed to me, as I am from her.  But that's the nature of human beings, they can't ever really know each other.
_______________________________________

I had always envied him for his sharp eye for the truth; this was sadly true, probably, I was closed to him and he was to me.   I don't know how I can make it up to him for things he couldn't tell me,
all the thoughts and worries he kept to himself even though I was right there the whole time.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Friendship Revisited

An art gallery that D's old friend owns (or his family owns) was mentioned in The New Yorker.  When I read that - it was Thursday - I called him up and visited.   I was surprised by my own action, calling someone out of the blue and asked if I can stop by (although his place is just ten blocks away from my work)!

The last time I saw him was at D's memorial service, about which I don't really remember much.  Since then he sometimes left messages on my phone, checking in on me, for quite a while, and then the connection seemed to get lost, totally because of my self-pittying, hide-in-a-hole behavior.  I'm glad that I got to apologize to him about it.

He showed me pictures of his handsome wife and two boys, now seven and three, on his Blackberry.  Looking down at the tiny screen of his phone, he looked older, confident, and so happy.  We sat for a while and talked.  When D was mentioned, I could see his thoughts drifting to his past, and I was sure he saw mine too.

My heart was warm when I got outside into the cold February evening, and everything around me looked beautiful.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Unfolding?

From D's notebook. (written probably in 2003)
________________________________________

I had a love affair once
tragically hip
I stole the break-up line 
from "Breathless"
I looked into my heart
trying to decide if I was 
in love with you
Christmas carols all around. 
________________________________________

Am I opening a Pandora's box? 
Well, whatever it is, it sounds beautiful, I have to admit. 




Friday, February 4, 2011

Threesome

Insomnia, my old friend, has decided to move back in with me.
Every night it sits cross-legged in the middle of my bed and stares.

I sip chamomile tea after dinner, try not to watch TV or open my laptop before bedtime.  Slipping in between the sheets, I try to show my insomnia how relaxed I am.  The room is equipped with whisper-quiet humidifier, books are piled high on the night table ready to be picked up, my cat is sleeping at the edge of the bed within my reach.

None of these works.  The nasty thing is back in full power, as if it has just returned from a long and perfect vacation, wherever it was.

I lie awake - my pillow is soft under my ear.  I think of some "comrades," blinking in bed like me, somewhere in the city.  I look out the window.  Sometimes the moon comes into the frame for a while.  An airplane silently flies across it with flashing lights.

The square vessel, with the three of us on it, is floating down the river of the night.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

If I were...

If I were to die now, what would happen to things in this apartment?   I have so much junk.  How can a person die clean of such mess?  (D was lucky to have me still here. )

All the things so dear to me now will turn into meaningless rubbish the instant I stop breathing. Some will embarrass me to death.  (I will have to die twice) Gosh, I should start doing something about it. 



I have many slides of his paintings (including lost + sold ones) packed with other photographs, somewhere in the closet.  I will dig them out soon, when I can stand looking at him.  

We'll then have a slide show, with all the curtains down in this room.  Coffee and chocolate will be served.