SOME VISUALS

ANOTHER NEW/OLD LIST!

This one in response to requests from Facebook friends:

Several folks have tagged me in the make-a-list-of-ten-books-that-had-an-impact-on-your-life thing...but as some of you know, before my brain operation in November '09 I made lists compulsively and constantly, in my head and writing and blog and conversation etc. but then found it almost impossible to do after the op, so with the help of my book shelves and older lists I made before the op (and limiting it to English language only books, nothing in translation), I came up with these ten:

1. Laurence Sterne's TRISTAM SHANDY
2. Walt Whtiman's SPECIMEN DAYS/LEAVES OF GRASS (I discovered both of these at the same time when I was a teenager and still reread them and consider them one book, though obviously they are two)
3. James Joyce's PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN
4. Jean Toomer's CANE
5. William Saroyan's THE DARING YOUNG MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE (this collection of short stories was a young junior-high drop out's tour de force blast of original genius into the world and exposed me to more ways of approaching writing than all the college courses I later took...)
6. William Carlos Williams' PATERSON
7. Jack Kerouac's LONESOME TRAVELER (ON THE ROAD had an impact on me as a teen when it first came out, but this collection impacted me more as a young writer (18!) already into mixing styes and approaches and ways of getting my particular perspective onto the page...)
8. Dianne Di Prima's DINNERS AND NIGHTMARES (among the so-called "Beats" she had the most immediate impact on me and my writing and perspective, as her work and her life felt more like mine than anyone, even Kerouac, who I felt I had a lot in common with—and then her memoir RECOLLECTIONS OF MY LIFE AS A WOMAN impacted me many decades later as the best history of the 1950s downtown NYC and "Beat" scene, speaking as one who was on the fringes of it, including later getting to know Dianne...in many ways she was the first "punk"...)
9. Frank O'Hara's LUNCH POEMS
10. LeRoi Jones's TALES [PS: whoops, that should be Amiri Baraka, but my copy is from before he changed his name...]

GERALD NICOSIA'S NIGHT TRAIN TO SHANGHAI

Gerald Nicosia is an old friend, but like many friends made as an adult, I was already an admirer of his work before we became friends (something I misunderstood when I was younger and read a positive review of someone's work who I knew was friends with the creator they were reviewing). I knew him mostly as the author of the best biography of Jack Kerouac: MEMORY BABE.

I not only loved that book but admired Gerald's attempts to secure Jan Kerouac, Jack's daughter control over Jack's archives, not only because she was ill and needed expensive medical care that a freelance writer could never afford, but also because she would not have sold off her father's legacy by taking items from his archive and selling them to the highest bidder (a la Johnny Depp spending some unheard of sum for Jack's raincoat and someone else for a letter signed by Jack etc. etc. etc.).

Nicosia also wrote HOME TO WAR: A HISTORY OF THE VIETNAM VETERANS' MOVEMENT, another worthwhile project and read. And now he's put out a new book of poems, that have the same narrative drive as his prose books, but he precision and focus of his poetry. And the story they tell is of the poet's encounters with China on several visits but mostly the one where he returned with his wife and their other child to the Chinese birthplace of his adopted daughter.

These poems are unguardedly honest and disarmingly poignant. I have never been to China but have read a lot of Chinese literature (in translation) and accounts by Westerners (both English speaking and not) but never have I felt like I was experiencing China personally the way I have reading these poems. And not only do the poems tell an engaging and enlightening story (two words I probably too often use in positive reviews, but that's because that's the kind of writing I'm attracted to and I would guess you too), but the book itself is one of those books I'd want on my shelf just because of the way they look and feel in my hands.

Highly recommended.

ANOTHER ROBERT ZUCKERMAN KINDSIGHT EXHIBIT

Robert Zuckerman is an extraordinary photographer whose work you know even if you never heard his name. You know his work because he is a still photographer for Hollywood movies and his shots have illustrated film reviews and articles and have been used as movie posters so often, if you've seen an ad for a movie in a magazine or newspaper or a poster as you pass a movie theater or enter one, you've seen his work.

But he should be a household name, at least in the households of artists, as well as spiritual seekers and any goodhearted person, because of a series of photo essays that has been ongoing now for many many years and a small portion of which can be found in his book KINDSIGHT, which is the name he came up with to describe what he does.

What he does is engage anyone he comes in contact with in a way that is not only all embracing and accepting but usually gets that person to reveal themselves in such a deep and significant way that normally in life would either never be discovered by a stranger, or if it was would take a skilled novelist to articulate. But Robert does it in one photograph and one paragraph, and does it so well, anyone who encounters his work is moved.

Tonight my two sons and I attended a reception for the latest exhibit of some of these works at the art gallery in the 92nd Street Y in NYC where Robert and his work was lauded by several speakers, but more importantly where the work stood for itself, and so powerfully that I told my older son when he arrived after my youngest and I had already been there a while, that after picking only three images to look more closely at and read the paragraphs with them my eyes were tearing up so much I had to stop. I said this just as my oldest finished reading one of the works and turned to me with his eyes wet saying, it only took one for him.

There was the usual mix of humanity at the reception, including the famous and the unknown, the old and young, the light skinned and dark skinned and everything in between, the conventionally beautiful and the unconventionally beautiful, the holy and the profane, from all kinds of backgrounds and walks of life. I didn't recognize Debra Winger until Robert was just about to introduce her to me and then remembered we'd met many years ago, though I'm sure she didn't remember me, but how could I forget her?—one of the—I want to say toughest but that's not the right word, maybe most straight forward is close, but a total delight the first time I met her back in my Hollywood days and again tonight, and she flattered my sixteen-year-old as he towered over all of us by guessing he was twenty-five.

But mostly it was just great to see Robert again. Robert is a very tall man who always came across as a gentle giant. I would often describe him to friends as having the kind of presence people who are practicing Buddhists wish they could achieve but seemed to come naturally to him. But several years ago he developed a limp and eventually had to use a cane for what was an undiagnosed illness. They finally figured out what it was, a degenerative disease that is very rare and the name of which I am at a loss to remember, but you can find out at his web site, and which has now put him in a wheelchair.

Which has not stopped him a bit, neither from doing his professional photography jobs nor from continuing his art with more KINDSIGHT works. He has been an example to me since I first met him over two decades ago when he came to take some photos of me for a magazine article and as he always does, with everyone he encounters, became an instant friend—as well as someone who I aspired to be as kind and gentle and helpful as. His spirit is undaunted and inspiring, as always.

If you're anywhere near NYC in the next few weeks, go see this exhibit.

[We're all bending over Robert, my oldest son, Miles, my youngest, Flynn, and me getting as close as I can to one of my heroes...]

TIME GOES BY SO SLOWLY...UNTIL IT DOESN'T

me in my married student housing WWII quonset hut in Iowa City 1969

me in my Church Street loft rental NYC 1979 

me in LA 1989 (I'm pretty sure) [could be later, but no earlier]

JERSEY ROOTS

So I took part in a story telling event tonight in Orange NJ, the city where I was born. When I was a boy, Orange was one of the towns on my hometown's border, and I had cousins who lived there and later in-laws, and I was born in a hospital there that unfortunately isn't a hospital anymore, just an empty building, or really building complex (though when I was born it was only one building).

It was great to hear stories from people who had grown up there and others who had moved there, and to be a part of the growing diversity of the city. The event was not just to raise awareness and money for The University of Orange, a "free" university, that serves the community, but also meant to be an Orange University classroom experience, which it definitely was, taught mostly by women with a few men, including my contribution.

The amazing thing was that just as we finished in one part of a firehouse turned into an arts center, another event in the bigger room next door was starting with Danny Glover as the main speaker. e started with a history of his family roots and their connection to his activism and then went on through his entire life making it clear how his activism came early and intersected perfectly with the acting he eventually took up. A beautiful articulation of inspiration and commitment and evolving awareness.

And double amazingly, earlier in the day there was a rally in another location for teachers and their return to their schools in Orange where the main speaker was Bill Cosby! What a day for Orange, and for which I am totally grateful to have been one small part. I urge anyone with an extra buck, or hopefully more, to check out the U. of Orange site and contribute what you can to helping this worthwhile project continue. Every little bit helps.

LABOR DAY