new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
This one is so very very sad.
what an elegy V. !every one knows the score now
At first I thought it was just me -- old, cold, late, the wrong time, the wrong place, the headache that hit in the windy bus stop at midnight. But no.Elisabeth's right. I think it's that open ending into the void does it.
Echoes. I've not actually heard suchbut I've seen it in some old Greek eyeswhere they couldn't find the words.Beyond sad.Tom's right.This void hits like a gut punch.Thanks, Vassilis!
A composite portrait, partly imagined, partly true but based primarily on my recollections of the old Greeks I found upon my coming to America; at that time there were few left in the Willapa Harbor area, most of them unmarried and unable to fulfill their dream of returning to Greece as reasonably well-off Greek-Americans or “Brooklides”--what the ones who did manage to return were called because of the belief that every European immigrant entering America had to cross over the Brooklyn Bridge!Thanks to you all for commenting.