Still very difficult to write (especially this late)—
Here
s what it wookes lie without the oautbstaubgug tedus rewrtiing—\\
So each word has to be rewritten over and over endlessly before it's all slowly corrected.
But the reading is rapidly progressing.
All a matter of perspective.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
REDISCOVERY OF "PAINTING" POST BRAIN SURGERY
Things progressing nicely in some areas. I'm able to read more each day, the big challenge being reading silently to myself. Lots of stops and starts, and having to figure out what some things mean etc. but still, my reading skills are definitely on the rebound.
Writing is still very very slow and difficult, with constant correcting, sometimes several corrections for one word, but still a little better.
And now, added to the pleasure I'm getting from food—(I actually cut up, very carefully, some zuchinni (sp?) and carrots and heated up some chicken and potatoes, the most cooking I've done in years—I usually microwave etc.)—and limited one on one conversation, I've suddenly gotten back tenfold the pleasure I find in art I dig.
I got in the mail yesterday two announcements (man this is taking a long time to write and rewrite this simple blog post) for an upcoming show at Tibor dy Nagy gallery, of oil on board paintings by Picabia and Fairfield Porter (the Porter is the lighter, yellowish one) that so overwhelmed me with their beauty I must have sat staring at these reproductions for over a half hour, just savoring the colors and shapes and sensual satisfactions that the very texture of the paint as translated by the reproduction brought to my senses. Too difficult to articulate, but totally satisfying.
So now besides food and conversation, I can add art to my list of deeply satisfying pleasures in these early days of recovering from the brain surgery. Thank God for it all. (Including the half hour or more it took me to figure out how to scan and upload these images!) (Unfortunately the computer doesn't do them justice.)
Writing is still very very slow and difficult, with constant correcting, sometimes several corrections for one word, but still a little better.
And now, added to the pleasure I'm getting from food—(I actually cut up, very carefully, some zuchinni (sp?) and carrots and heated up some chicken and potatoes, the most cooking I've done in years—I usually microwave etc.)—and limited one on one conversation, I've suddenly gotten back tenfold the pleasure I find in art I dig.
I got in the mail yesterday two announcements (man this is taking a long time to write and rewrite this simple blog post) for an upcoming show at Tibor dy Nagy gallery, of oil on board paintings by Picabia and Fairfield Porter (the Porter is the lighter, yellowish one) that so overwhelmed me with their beauty I must have sat staring at these reproductions for over a half hour, just savoring the colors and shapes and sensual satisfactions that the very texture of the paint as translated by the reproduction brought to my senses. Too difficult to articulate, but totally satisfying.
So now besides food and conversation, I can add art to my list of deeply satisfying pleasures in these early days of recovering from the brain surgery. Thank God for it all. (Including the half hour or more it took me to figure out how to scan and upload these images!) (Unfortunately the computer doesn't do them justice.)
Saturday, November 28, 2009
INTERESTING OBSERVATION POST BRAIN SURGERY
I'm still only able to write and read a few sentences a day (with much effort). And even most movies and TV are too difficult.
But several days ago I was able to watch an episode of 30 ROCK and laugh at humor I would have otherwise found too broad and obvious. But that was exactly what made it enjoyable.
Whereas a few days later I tried to watch THE DAILY SHOW and though at first I was laughing and enjoying John Stewart, within only a few minutes it became too complex, full of subtleties and ironies that began to actually hurt my brain and I had to turn it off.
It's too difficult to articulate now, but it feels like these are insights into the way many people's brains work, or don't work.
But several days ago I was able to watch an episode of 30 ROCK and laugh at humor I would have otherwise found too broad and obvious. But that was exactly what made it enjoyable.
Whereas a few days later I tried to watch THE DAILY SHOW and though at first I was laughing and enjoying John Stewart, within only a few minutes it became too complex, full of subtleties and ironies that began to actually hurt my brain and I had to turn it off.
It's too difficult to articulate now, but it feels like these are insights into the way many people's brains work, or don't work.
Friday, November 27, 2009
TWO WEEKS TODAY
I had the brain surgery on Friday, Nov. 13th (and yes, I was very aware of the date but thought it would be pretty foolish to postpone such a serious and necessary operation because of superstition).
I never lost the ability to speak normally, nor my appetite. The two things that have been giving me the most pleasure—conversation (though speaking to more than one person at a time is still a challenge) and food.
I still can't read to myself much (a paragraph a day is the limit and I still stumble over words etc.), but a little more than I could just a few days ago. And writing is still very difficult and slow, almost impossible, e.g. I can only do one or two simple e mails a day.
But fortunately, either because of the way my brain is now functioning (or not functioning) I am mostly very contented with and accepting of what might seem like relatively slow progress. It is what it is and I have no power over it. All I can do is be patient with myself, my brain, and with others. And for the most part, I am.
I never lost the ability to speak normally, nor my appetite. The two things that have been giving me the most pleasure—conversation (though speaking to more than one person at a time is still a challenge) and food.
I still can't read to myself much (a paragraph a day is the limit and I still stumble over words etc.), but a little more than I could just a few days ago. And writing is still very difficult and slow, almost impossible, e.g. I can only do one or two simple e mails a day.
But fortunately, either because of the way my brain is now functioning (or not functioning) I am mostly very contented with and accepting of what might seem like relatively slow progress. It is what it is and I have no power over it. All I can do is be patient with myself, my brain, and with others. And for the most part, I am.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
GRATITUDE
It's been my best day so far since the surgery.
So much to be grateful for. Especially all the family and friends who have been sending me so much love.
It's too difficult to express how much that means. So much at the moment seems so inconsequential compared to the power of love. May I never forget that.
And may I always be grateful for each and every moment of life while I still have it.
So much to be grateful for. Especially all the family and friends who have been sending me so much love.
It's too difficult to express how much that means. So much at the moment seems so inconsequential compared to the power of love. May I never forget that.
And may I always be grateful for each and every moment of life while I still have it.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
MORE POST/POET BRAIN SURGERY + (500) DAYS OF SUMMER
Watched a movie last night.
(500) DAYS OF SUMMER.
Interestingly could follow the simple plot despite jumps in time. Also could appreciate the soundtrack. But many finer points I could not grasp.
Like where it's set. Seemingly a Midwest version of L. A. My mind kept objecting, kept asking, WHERE ARE THESE PEOPLE? And the connections between them seemed false to me too, except for the two leads.
Also could not follow the young girl's story or place in the story.
Plus still the big gaps in perception making much of the film seem almost atomized. As if each scene, each light, each person, etc. were uniquely and separately realized without the usual fluid connection between things that may be is just our minds bridging those gaps for us.
What a strange trip this all is.
(500) DAYS OF SUMMER.
Interestingly could follow the simple plot despite jumps in time. Also could appreciate the soundtrack. But many finer points I could not grasp.
Like where it's set. Seemingly a Midwest version of L. A. My mind kept objecting, kept asking, WHERE ARE THESE PEOPLE? And the connections between them seemed false to me too, except for the two leads.
Also could not follow the young girl's story or place in the story.
Plus still the big gaps in perception making much of the film seem almost atomized. As if each scene, each light, each person, etc. were uniquely and separately realized without the usual fluid connection between things that may be is just our minds bridging those gaps for us.
What a strange trip this all is.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
MORE POET BRAIN SURGERY
Big day yesterday (staples out, meaning trip to the city.)
Pockets of close to normalcy. Not pushing it (honest Suzanne).
Still fascinated by the whole experience/adventure.
Yesterday, able to pay attention to two things at the same time briefly. In hospital was able to surrender to the cacophony of sound without straining to distinguish separate elements.
Noticed in car ride to city, visually things appear almost as in 3D, no smoothing of the whole but rather distinct elements standing out from each other. Sounds too. 'nuff for now.
Pockets of close to normalcy. Not pushing it (honest Suzanne).
Still fascinated by the whole experience/adventure.
Yesterday, able to pay attention to two things at the same time briefly. In hospital was able to surrender to the cacophony of sound without straining to distinguish separate elements.
Noticed in car ride to city, visually things appear almost as in 3D, no smoothing of the whole but rather distinct elements standing out from each other. Sounds too. 'nuff for now.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
SUNDAY POET BRAIN SURGERY
Thought I'd leave that "poet" mistype in!
Tired night so not as much of an improvement as the past few days trying to type. But still what a long way to have come already. (Typing with my left finger is faster). Also was able to read a paragraph out of a TIME to myself for the first time silently (I got back being able to read out loud a few days ago).
Unfortunately (phew, that was a chore to get right), the article was about Sarah Palin. How did it ever come to this. Oh well, out of my control.
(PS: I feel almost guilty for all the concern and worry I've caused family and friends. A kind of survivor's guilt thing, which is interesting. But mostly the calm of not being able to control events beyond the moment. The ultimate spiritual surrender.)
Tired night so not as much of an improvement as the past few days trying to type. But still what a long way to have come already. (Typing with my left finger is faster). Also was able to read a paragraph out of a TIME to myself for the first time silently (I got back being able to read out loud a few days ago).
Unfortunately (phew, that was a chore to get right), the article was about Sarah Palin. How did it ever come to this. Oh well, out of my control.
(PS: I feel almost guilty for all the concern and worry I've caused family and friends. A kind of survivor's guilt thing, which is interesting. But mostly the calm of not being able to control events beyond the moment. The ultimate spiritual surrender.)
Saturday, November 21, 2009
BRAIN SURGERY—1 WEEK LATER
Obviously better typing skills. Still slow and tiring (taking forever), but so improved.
I can't wait to be able to relate some of this in detail, especially the first days, like being able to talk but incapable of passing on a message over the phone. Or unable to multiply a simple number. Or read a series of simple words.
Worn out, but grateful so much is slowly coming back.
I can't wait to be able to relate some of this in detail, especially the first days, like being able to talk but incapable of passing on a message over the phone. Or unable to multiply a simple number. Or read a series of simple words.
Worn out, but grateful so much is slowly coming back.
Friday, November 20, 2009
POST OP 3
Got good advice just now from my old, dear friend Suzanne, whose daughter had brain surgery, to not push the mental activity yet, let the brain recovery from actually being touched my someone, literally. Amazing.
(And again thank you everyone for your thoughts and prayers and love, most of all and always for the love.)
(And again thank you everyone for your thoughts and prayers and love, most of all and always for the love.)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
POST OP 2
an interesting thing is happening. if i write in all lower case it doesn't take me anywhere near as long to type a simple message as it was just yesterday, though i still have to back up an correct alot.
but as a young writer, working on the portable typewriter the police chiefs wife gave me for graduating high school i always wrote in lower case and skipped the contractions as well (you they're automatic) [i meant to write now they're automatic not you but thought i'd leave that mistake in because it's interestingly not about mistyping, which i've been backing up correcting constantly as i go.
phew. this is difficult. much easier if i just use my left hand, well finger actually, (though even leftie, it took me eight attempts to figure out how to write "acutally") [woops] since i taught myself how to those many years ago and ever since to type two-fingered.
Not to worry though. i'm progressing and these are just motor skills that will bounce back.
{P.S. post: I am writing this for my dad to say that he can speak normally and can read The New Yorker out loud but interestingly, is having great difficulty reading it to himself. Typing is the hardest. He finds all of this fascinating!}
but as a young writer, working on the portable typewriter the police chiefs wife gave me for graduating high school i always wrote in lower case and skipped the contractions as well (you they're automatic) [i meant to write now they're automatic not you but thought i'd leave that mistake in because it's interestingly not about mistyping, which i've been backing up correcting constantly as i go.
phew. this is difficult. much easier if i just use my left hand, well finger actually, (though even leftie, it took me eight attempts to figure out how to write "acutally") [woops] since i taught myself how to those many years ago and ever since to type two-fingered.
Not to worry though. i'm progressing and these are just motor skills that will bounce back.
{P.S. post: I am writing this for my dad to say that he can speak normally and can read The New Yorker out loud but interestingly, is having great difficulty reading it to himself. Typing is the hardest. He finds all of this fascinating!}
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
POST OP 1
The good but slow news is no cancer! I'm home! More soon. (It took me several attempts just to write this.)
Thursday, November 12, 2009
THE NIGHT BEFORE BRAIN SURGERY POST
After I dropped my twelve-year-old off at his mother's (he wants to be there tomorrow so he's taking off school and his mom and him are heading over before I go into the operating room), I went to the gym and did a workout to get myself tired enough to go to sleep early.
Afterwards I picked up a few things at Whole Foods, including some mashed potatoes and yams and cranberries, nice and warm to eat with some leftover chicken a friend made for me and my boy a couple of nights ago. While I ate I listened to the messages on my phone from friends all over the country wishing me the best, and vaguely tuned in to the TCM movie on the TV, a black-and-white '40s flick with Bette Davis flailing her cigarette around a little less than usual, a more or less restrained performance for her in a movie I'd never seen before (one of my favorite things TCM and '40s black-and-white movies, which I know I've said before, recently).
I called as many people back as I could, spent some time on the phone with my older boy and my dearest friend (I talked to my daughter earlier, she's been kind enough to change her schedule around to be the one to take care of my in my first week of recovery) and now I'm writing this to say poetry saved me again, as well as black-and-white movies and the love of my children and family and dear friends. The day I got home from the hospital after a long stay (longer than usual) after they took my prostate out and the cancer in it with it, my friend Harry Northup's book REUNIONS arrived in the mail and when I felt up to it I started to read it and it brought me so much joy it instantly renewed my love of books, my love of poetry in particular, and my love of the honest creative expressions of others that seem so vital when we're going through tough times.
Today in the mail I received a little book of poems and artwork, all by my friend Geoff Young, and all so full of life and intelligence and experience and unique ways of using language to get at the important stuff while seeming to be making light of it all. Just what the doctor ordered. A little book called NOT TWICE ENOUGH he printed at Kwik Print in Great Barrington in a run of just 100 copies. It's beautiful in every way—the art, the poems, and the spirit behind and moving through it all.
I'll have to do a post on it when I get back from the hospital, but here's a taste:
"WHEN YOU GET THAT
Love how your bow's nothing but a blur
when you get that geothermal thing going
on Paganini's "24 Caprices"
and the way you toss your hair
like Midori at a bus shelter
closing a cell-phone with her chin.
I'm all ears when you ask me to trim
your short hairs; intimacy is a pair
of scissors. The art world may have swept
the painter of the moment off her feet
for painting "Fred As A Bee-Hive"
but we're closing in on the spot
where words fall silent and breath's so warm
we're laughing inside to feel this alive."
I've been reading a poem in it every now and then since it arrived in the mail around noon and made me smile when I read the first poem. I'm a happy man. I had some quickly passing worries that I hadn't written that book to my little guy where I wanted to tell him everything I've learned, or the one about my good friend Hubert Selby and all we shared, or my Hollywood adventures, or....
But then I was reminded by my friend Terence of all I've already done, and that I'll have plenty of time to do all I'm still planning to. Finally I said goodnight to my younger son and his mom and now it's time to slip between the sheets and go to sleep—one of my favorite things, getting into bed at night and feeling the comfort of clean sheets and the weight of the cover and quilt etc. Once a young woman I was seeing in L.A. remarked, when I expressed how happy it made me to get into a nice warm clean bed at night (especially since I'd spent time sleeping in lots of not so clean or warm or happy places in my life), she said "That's why you're not more successful, you're too easily satisfied!").
Thank God for that.
Afterwards I picked up a few things at Whole Foods, including some mashed potatoes and yams and cranberries, nice and warm to eat with some leftover chicken a friend made for me and my boy a couple of nights ago. While I ate I listened to the messages on my phone from friends all over the country wishing me the best, and vaguely tuned in to the TCM movie on the TV, a black-and-white '40s flick with Bette Davis flailing her cigarette around a little less than usual, a more or less restrained performance for her in a movie I'd never seen before (one of my favorite things TCM and '40s black-and-white movies, which I know I've said before, recently).
I called as many people back as I could, spent some time on the phone with my older boy and my dearest friend (I talked to my daughter earlier, she's been kind enough to change her schedule around to be the one to take care of my in my first week of recovery) and now I'm writing this to say poetry saved me again, as well as black-and-white movies and the love of my children and family and dear friends. The day I got home from the hospital after a long stay (longer than usual) after they took my prostate out and the cancer in it with it, my friend Harry Northup's book REUNIONS arrived in the mail and when I felt up to it I started to read it and it brought me so much joy it instantly renewed my love of books, my love of poetry in particular, and my love of the honest creative expressions of others that seem so vital when we're going through tough times.
Today in the mail I received a little book of poems and artwork, all by my friend Geoff Young, and all so full of life and intelligence and experience and unique ways of using language to get at the important stuff while seeming to be making light of it all. Just what the doctor ordered. A little book called NOT TWICE ENOUGH he printed at Kwik Print in Great Barrington in a run of just 100 copies. It's beautiful in every way—the art, the poems, and the spirit behind and moving through it all.
I'll have to do a post on it when I get back from the hospital, but here's a taste:
"WHEN YOU GET THAT
Love how your bow's nothing but a blur
when you get that geothermal thing going
on Paganini's "24 Caprices"
and the way you toss your hair
like Midori at a bus shelter
closing a cell-phone with her chin.
I'm all ears when you ask me to trim
your short hairs; intimacy is a pair
of scissors. The art world may have swept
the painter of the moment off her feet
for painting "Fred As A Bee-Hive"
but we're closing in on the spot
where words fall silent and breath's so warm
we're laughing inside to feel this alive."
I've been reading a poem in it every now and then since it arrived in the mail around noon and made me smile when I read the first poem. I'm a happy man. I had some quickly passing worries that I hadn't written that book to my little guy where I wanted to tell him everything I've learned, or the one about my good friend Hubert Selby and all we shared, or my Hollywood adventures, or....
But then I was reminded by my friend Terence of all I've already done, and that I'll have plenty of time to do all I'm still planning to. Finally I said goodnight to my younger son and his mom and now it's time to slip between the sheets and go to sleep—one of my favorite things, getting into bed at night and feeling the comfort of clean sheets and the weight of the cover and quilt etc. Once a young woman I was seeing in L.A. remarked, when I expressed how happy it made me to get into a nice warm clean bed at night (especially since I'd spent time sleeping in lots of not so clean or warm or happy places in my life), she said "That's why you're not more successful, you're too easily satisfied!").
Thank God for that.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
AND AS FOR OTHER NEWS OF THE DAY(S)
Guess there might be more than one post before I get brain surgery. This one's just to send kudos to my friend RJ Eskow for his post on his blog A Night Lite and today's Huffington Post (here) that nails the way the right misleads and misinforms whether intentionally or not. Keep up the good work RJ.
FEELING FINE
Another beautiful day. Cloudy now, but still gorgeous, like everything seems to be these days.
It was sunny this morning driving to the first of many appointments to get various tests and talk to docs to make sure everything's kopesetic for the operation. About a third of the trees around here are bare already, but the other two thirds on some streets were so lushishly vibrant with Autumn colors I felt like I was inside of some heavenly gift made just for me, especially since Autumn is and has always been my favorite season and one of the reasons I finally moved back East after seventeen years in the L.A. wilderness.
The tests and the docs say I'm fine and they expect the operation to be easy and my recovery to be swift. So from their mouths to...
Meanwhile, it's Veteran's Day, and being a vet myself (of The Cold War mostly, though Vietnam was heating up as I was getting out) I just want to give another shout out to the Democrats for passing the New G.I. Bill. They may not be great at some things, and they may be susceptible to the vices of power and access and all that jive. But in the end, they're the ones that made the first G.I. Bill happen, and kept it going so that I could benefit from it by partially paying for a college education. And after the Republicans cut it and then neglected the veterans of the two wars they started which we're still in, it wasn't until the Democrats got back in power in the Congress that they passed the new G.I. Bill (with the help of the few half way "moderate" Republicans left).
I heard three veterans of combat in Afghanistan and Iraq on WNYC this morning, all recipients of the benefits of the new G.I. Bill and attending Columbia University. They were articulate and moving, and so grateful for these benefits that were helping them to avoid the veteran under the bridge fate.
Veterans are just people like everyone else, and only a relatively small percentage actually face the kinds of dramatic war events immortalized in movies and books, but still, for even putting themselves in a position to make that kind of sacrifice, they deserve our gratitude, and our help.
Anyway, this space may be inactive after tomorrow's entry for at least a few days. After which I plan to run a more revealing account of what it was like to go through this whole process, from the perspective of the subtitle, or description, or whatever you call it up there under the name of this blog. So stay tuned.
[PS: Oh, I meant to thank everyone who has left such supportive and loving mesages on my past few blogs or sent me emails or phone calls. I'm hoarse from talking to people making appointments or looking for lab results or giving insurance information etc. etc. as well as family and friends—my voice gave out entirely by 8:30 last night—so thank you everyone for being so loving and kind to this old hipster activist poet actor jazz musician...etc.]
It was sunny this morning driving to the first of many appointments to get various tests and talk to docs to make sure everything's kopesetic for the operation. About a third of the trees around here are bare already, but the other two thirds on some streets were so lushishly vibrant with Autumn colors I felt like I was inside of some heavenly gift made just for me, especially since Autumn is and has always been my favorite season and one of the reasons I finally moved back East after seventeen years in the L.A. wilderness.
The tests and the docs say I'm fine and they expect the operation to be easy and my recovery to be swift. So from their mouths to...
Meanwhile, it's Veteran's Day, and being a vet myself (of The Cold War mostly, though Vietnam was heating up as I was getting out) I just want to give another shout out to the Democrats for passing the New G.I. Bill. They may not be great at some things, and they may be susceptible to the vices of power and access and all that jive. But in the end, they're the ones that made the first G.I. Bill happen, and kept it going so that I could benefit from it by partially paying for a college education. And after the Republicans cut it and then neglected the veterans of the two wars they started which we're still in, it wasn't until the Democrats got back in power in the Congress that they passed the new G.I. Bill (with the help of the few half way "moderate" Republicans left).
I heard three veterans of combat in Afghanistan and Iraq on WNYC this morning, all recipients of the benefits of the new G.I. Bill and attending Columbia University. They were articulate and moving, and so grateful for these benefits that were helping them to avoid the veteran under the bridge fate.
Veterans are just people like everyone else, and only a relatively small percentage actually face the kinds of dramatic war events immortalized in movies and books, but still, for even putting themselves in a position to make that kind of sacrifice, they deserve our gratitude, and our help.
Anyway, this space may be inactive after tomorrow's entry for at least a few days. After which I plan to run a more revealing account of what it was like to go through this whole process, from the perspective of the subtitle, or description, or whatever you call it up there under the name of this blog. So stay tuned.
[PS: Oh, I meant to thank everyone who has left such supportive and loving mesages on my past few blogs or sent me emails or phone calls. I'm hoarse from talking to people making appointments or looking for lab results or giving insurance information etc. etc. as well as family and friends—my voice gave out entirely by 8:30 last night—so thank you everyone for being so loving and kind to this old hipster activist poet actor jazz musician...etc.]
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
GOOD OMEN
PS to yesterday's post. After I made the decision to have the operation at Weill Cornell Medical Center, I was walking toward their entrance on 68th Street to go sign the papers etc. and spotted Kieth Olberman walking out and getting into a town car. His window was down as I passed, so I said "Keep up the good work" and kept walking, thinking, okay, this is the place for guys like me.
Monday, November 9, 2009
THANK GOD FOR MEDICARE (AND THE DEMOCRATS)
Republicans tried to stop Medicare when LBJ made his big push for it (they'd already successfully helped block earlier universal healthcare proposals, Truman's etc.). Once they saw he had the votes though, some of them jumped on the bandwagon of course.
But in the following years they tried many times to kill it, or at least cut it or cripple it. Thanks to LBJ and the Democrats who followed him, they were unable to do that. And thanks to that reality, I'm not declaring bankruptcy and my family won't be in debt for the next ten or twenty years just because a health situation has come up that called for tons of tests and doctor conferences this past week and will result in brain surgery on yours truly this Friday.
Thank God for LBJ and the Democrats who made, and continue to make this possible.
As for the surgery. The "mass" or "growth" or whatever it is (they're not sure but leaning toward tumor) is close to the surface and in a part of the brain that shouldn't impair anything (maybe lose a little sense but we all know that's been an ongoing process anyway, just as we all know there's always been some peculiar things in my brain).
I'm completely hopeful and confidant, so anyone reading this should be too.
I've been through this before, eight years ago I had prostate cancer, so I knew that the hardest part was the week of testing before they discover if it's already too late. I didn't want to burden anyone, or as few as possible, with that ordeal, so I waited until everything else was declared clear and we could concentrate on just that one little deal in the brain.
I rarely think of myself as "a cancer survivor" but obviously I have been for the past eight years. And I'm aware that is so much more common than back in the day when it seemed to be the worst diagnosis anyone could have. Thank God for modern medicine too and the advances in techniques and knowledge that make it possible for this to almost be a "routine operation"!
But in the following years they tried many times to kill it, or at least cut it or cripple it. Thanks to LBJ and the Democrats who followed him, they were unable to do that. And thanks to that reality, I'm not declaring bankruptcy and my family won't be in debt for the next ten or twenty years just because a health situation has come up that called for tons of tests and doctor conferences this past week and will result in brain surgery on yours truly this Friday.
Thank God for LBJ and the Democrats who made, and continue to make this possible.
As for the surgery. The "mass" or "growth" or whatever it is (they're not sure but leaning toward tumor) is close to the surface and in a part of the brain that shouldn't impair anything (maybe lose a little sense but we all know that's been an ongoing process anyway, just as we all know there's always been some peculiar things in my brain).
I'm completely hopeful and confidant, so anyone reading this should be too.
I've been through this before, eight years ago I had prostate cancer, so I knew that the hardest part was the week of testing before they discover if it's already too late. I didn't want to burden anyone, or as few as possible, with that ordeal, so I waited until everything else was declared clear and we could concentrate on just that one little deal in the brain.
I rarely think of myself as "a cancer survivor" but obviously I have been for the past eight years. And I'm aware that is so much more common than back in the day when it seemed to be the worst diagnosis anyone could have. Thank God for modern medicine too and the advances in techniques and knowledge that make it possible for this to almost be a "routine operation"!
"JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED"
At least this doc.
Got up in the dark with my 12-year-old to catch the Jersey Transit train to Manhattan's Penn Station Saturday morning, where we caught another train—Amtrack's Adirondack—up the Hudson to Hudson NY.
A bright sunny Fall day, the trees still vibrantly colorful, the sun reflecting off the river, little islands and tug boats pulling barges. Couldn't have been more delightful. Some of my favorite things: trees, trains, rivers, Autumn.
And to share it all with my 12-year-old boy without the distractions of driving, couldn't have been better. We've traveled before by train, my favorite means of transportation, and always enjoyed it immensely.
In Hudson we were met by my daughter—my oldest—for an equally beautiful ride to Great Barrington, Mass. Good talk, great company, delightful drive.
We stayed at my older son's home, where I got a chance to rest while my 12-year-old played with his 11-year-old nephew, more like a brother, even twin, which always delights me as well. And the next day, after the best night's sleep I'd had in a week—maybe the busiest week of my life in some ways—me and my older son jammed a little—him on guitar (his main instrument is base) and me on his little 1960's electric piano.
Mellow and at times deeply groovy, it capped a difficult week with even more delight, filling me with gratitude for the beautiful things in life, and the beauty in those things we at first take for not very beautiful, even sometimes scary.
In the middle of another gorgeously bright and sunny, and now even warm, Sunday, my older son drove us to Hudson for the train ride back to cap a short but sweet visit and weekend. Back home, another good night's rest and now I'm off to the city for some more appointments to determine my next move.
More on what's going on soon.
Got up in the dark with my 12-year-old to catch the Jersey Transit train to Manhattan's Penn Station Saturday morning, where we caught another train—Amtrack's Adirondack—up the Hudson to Hudson NY.
A bright sunny Fall day, the trees still vibrantly colorful, the sun reflecting off the river, little islands and tug boats pulling barges. Couldn't have been more delightful. Some of my favorite things: trees, trains, rivers, Autumn.
And to share it all with my 12-year-old boy without the distractions of driving, couldn't have been better. We've traveled before by train, my favorite means of transportation, and always enjoyed it immensely.
In Hudson we were met by my daughter—my oldest—for an equally beautiful ride to Great Barrington, Mass. Good talk, great company, delightful drive.
We stayed at my older son's home, where I got a chance to rest while my 12-year-old played with his 11-year-old nephew, more like a brother, even twin, which always delights me as well. And the next day, after the best night's sleep I'd had in a week—maybe the busiest week of my life in some ways—me and my older son jammed a little—him on guitar (his main instrument is base) and me on his little 1960's electric piano.
Mellow and at times deeply groovy, it capped a difficult week with even more delight, filling me with gratitude for the beautiful things in life, and the beauty in those things we at first take for not very beautiful, even sometimes scary.
In the middle of another gorgeously bright and sunny, and now even warm, Sunday, my older son drove us to Hudson for the train ride back to cap a short but sweet visit and weekend. Back home, another good night's rest and now I'm off to the city for some more appointments to determine my next move.
More on what's going on soon.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
WHAT'S GOIN' ON?
I've been a little busy this week, but I did notice that the Yankees won yet another World Series, and for the first time since the Dodgers left Brooklyn I wasn't that bugged by it. I like some of these guys and find them a lot easier to take than some of the old impossible to defeat super Yankees thumbing their noses at any team with less money and therefore less clout etc. I mean, who can object to Derek Jeter? Not me.
Then there were those pesky elections that a lot of Republicans, including many of the rightwing variety, meaning most, took great pride in. But if we look closely, which others have done quite well (one of the most entertaining being Gail Collins' column in today's NY Times) what you discover is a rightwing Republican ran for governor of Virginia as a very moderate Republican, holding his own past at more than arm's distance to try his best to disassociate himself with anything smacking of anything close to the tea-baggers etc., beating what appears to be a totally inept Democratic campaigner (though maybe his main problem was he was from the rural part of Virginia that's dominated by rightwing Republicans who reject his more centrist politics and the urban and suburban voters who vote Democratic didn't see him as one of their own, etc.) and a closet rightwing Republican who made his reputation as a DA prosecuting Democrats positioned himself in the New Jersey gubernatorial race as a moderate against a Democratic incumbent who came originally from BIG BUSINESS and because of previous Republican mess ups in the state capital, and even bigger ones in Washington under the last administration (Republican) and Congress (Republican) faced a financial crisis that obviously requires some spending and some taxing which is political suicide....etc.
Oh, and then there was that little election in upstate New York where as I hear it a Democrat won for the first time in a hundred years running against an out rightwing Republican who wasn't ashamed to come on like a tea-bagger and was supported by all the big rightwing Republican muckamucks who came from far and wide to push for his election, as did the normally more moderate Republicans who are so in awe of the true rightwingers awesome power and political acumen they too urged the more moderate Republican to drop out of the race so that the real "conservative" (I haven't see a "real conservative" since I was a kid, all I see is faux conservatives more interested in personal and party power and serving as lackeys for whatever corporate interests are paying the bills, etc.) could run and apparently get his butt whupped.
So the Republicans are declaring the end of their long drought in the wilderness of etc. (the not-even-a-yea-since-Obama-took-office one) as a great "turnaround"! What cartoon network do our political pundits and commentators and politicians and media and...oh yeah...the scared-to-death-of-Fox-News-ratings universe.
But as I see it, what happened in these elections is the rightwing Republicans lost big time (first Democrat in a century anyone?!) and moderation, even if faked, seemed to win the day. Hmmmm.
As for why I've been so busy this week...stay tuned.
[If you had trouble with the"cartoon network" analogy, just put the word "universe" after that phrase and that paragraph may make more sense.]
Then there were those pesky elections that a lot of Republicans, including many of the rightwing variety, meaning most, took great pride in. But if we look closely, which others have done quite well (one of the most entertaining being Gail Collins' column in today's NY Times) what you discover is a rightwing Republican ran for governor of Virginia as a very moderate Republican, holding his own past at more than arm's distance to try his best to disassociate himself with anything smacking of anything close to the tea-baggers etc., beating what appears to be a totally inept Democratic campaigner (though maybe his main problem was he was from the rural part of Virginia that's dominated by rightwing Republicans who reject his more centrist politics and the urban and suburban voters who vote Democratic didn't see him as one of their own, etc.) and a closet rightwing Republican who made his reputation as a DA prosecuting Democrats positioned himself in the New Jersey gubernatorial race as a moderate against a Democratic incumbent who came originally from BIG BUSINESS and because of previous Republican mess ups in the state capital, and even bigger ones in Washington under the last administration (Republican) and Congress (Republican) faced a financial crisis that obviously requires some spending and some taxing which is political suicide....etc.
Oh, and then there was that little election in upstate New York where as I hear it a Democrat won for the first time in a hundred years running against an out rightwing Republican who wasn't ashamed to come on like a tea-bagger and was supported by all the big rightwing Republican muckamucks who came from far and wide to push for his election, as did the normally more moderate Republicans who are so in awe of the true rightwingers awesome power and political acumen they too urged the more moderate Republican to drop out of the race so that the real "conservative" (I haven't see a "real conservative" since I was a kid, all I see is faux conservatives more interested in personal and party power and serving as lackeys for whatever corporate interests are paying the bills, etc.) could run and apparently get his butt whupped.
So the Republicans are declaring the end of their long drought in the wilderness of etc. (the not-even-a-yea-since-Obama-took-office one) as a great "turnaround"! What cartoon network do our political pundits and commentators and politicians and media and...oh yeah...the scared-to-death-of-Fox-News-ratings universe.
But as I see it, what happened in these elections is the rightwing Republicans lost big time (first Democrat in a century anyone?!) and moderation, even if faked, seemed to win the day. Hmmmm.
As for why I've been so busy this week...stay tuned.
[If you had trouble with the"cartoon network" analogy, just put the word "universe" after that phrase and that paragraph may make more sense.]
Friday, November 6, 2009
QUOTE FOR TODAY
"Happy the man who fails to stifle his vision." —Teilhard de Chardin
(I read this back in the '60s, I think in THE DIVIE MILIEU, but don't remember the translator)
(I read this back in the '60s, I think in THE DIVIE MILIEU, but don't remember the translator)
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE NEW YORK SCHOOL POETS
This ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE NEW YORK SCHOOL POETS—written and compiled by Terence Diggory—is my new (or one of) favorite book(s).
Yes it's an expensive hardcover reference book, that could also be used as a textbook, part of the FACTS ON FILE LIBRARY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE series.
But it's also one of the best alphabet lists I've ever encountered (and as anyone who has read this blog for more than a few days knows, I love alphabet lists). And I find it totally engaging and—despite my widespread experience in this scene and connections with many involved in it as well as my deep reading of most of the works referred to in it—enlightening.
And yes I'm an entry in it (first in the "L"s at last). But that doesn't change the fact that it's a well-written and instructive guide to all the major, and many of the minor, figures in "The New York School of Poetry"—including many of the overlaps and obvious connections and not so obvious connections with other poetry "groups" (or scenes as I saw and experienced them) of the period when their labels were originally applied and the decades that followed (i.e. the 1950s thru the '80s pretty much, though there are several entries for more recent poets the author connects to the concept of "The New York School" and to the real origins in the 1940s).
Some of the entries may have a few things off (I noticed the misspelling of one name in a list of L.A. poets), some obvious missing links (the DC scene of the 1970s that had some deep connections with New York School poets is touched on and represented by a few poets, including me, but a glaring absence is Terence Winch), and sometimes some things are emphasized that seem only partially relevant while more obviously relevant facts are missing (a few of the entries on some of the more recent poets included read more like resumes).
But those caveats aside (and having had my own experience with a poetry anthology I edited that I left some people out of etc.) this was obviously an enormous undertaking and Diggory not only deserves our gratitude and respect for doing it, but for doing it in a way that makes this much more than a mere encyclopedia.
Most encyclopedias have so many entries that are either boringly written or of little relevance to anything a reader might really care about, they can become pretty tedious pretty fast. But not this one.
ENCYCLOPEDIA OF THE NEW YORK SCHOOL POETS is a terrific history of the ideas and major figures in what came to be classified as first generation and second generation "New York School" as well as many of their important works, not just books but individual poems as well.
And it makes not just the obvious connections with "The Beats" and "Black Mountain" and "Deep Image" and "The Language Poets" etc. but also more subtle ones. And it's all very well-reasoned and written, without the usual jargon that seems to be so rampant in academic studies and textbooks in recent years. Any reader will find it accessible as well as informative. Someone who knew nothing about "The New York School" would have the equivalent of a college course on the subject after reading this, and not just one semester's worth.
And if that reader were to look up some of the poems or books of poems mentioned, or works of art or dance or music etc. or just the poets and others mentioned and read their poems or prose or viewed their art or etc. they would have the equivalent of a degree in the "American" avant-garde (or alternative if you prefer) art and literary movements of the second half of the 20th century.
As someone with connections to many of the various artists and scenes referred to in this book, I have more than an academic understanding of what Diggory is writing about and the connections and cross references he's making. And despite the fact that I would maybe have emphasized a few things he doesn't, or drawn different inferences or connections, I can say if I were a young poet coming up and wanted an understanding of the avant garde antecedents to what's happening now, this would be one great book to get a hold of.
[PS: That's John Ashbery, Anne Waldman and Ted Berrigan in the photos in case you didn't know, and another caveat I might have is why the photos of Ashbery and Waldman represent them at extremely attractive moments in their lives, i.e. when they were much younger, and Ted's represents him toward the end of his life, not the younger, healthier handsome image those of us who loved him remember.]
Monday, November 2, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
ANOTHER FILM LIST
Among some of my favorite things are black-and-white films from the 1940s and ‘30s. I can watch any black-and-white movie from that period and no matter what’s going on in my life feel truly satisfied.
They soothe me I guess by bringing me back to a time that, despite the obvious struggles and upheavals—The Great Depression, World War Two, not to mention racism, sexism, etc.—at least in terms of style and art and story telling, I find reassuring.
Maybe they remind me of my parents and older brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles (even though they rarely depict the real world of these people), and I find that lost world a pleasant place to lose my own self in for a few hours. They’re like comfort food for my soul.
So to help me fall back to sleep after waking in the middle of last night, I started making another alphabet list of my favorite black-and white films from the ‘40s and ‘30s (I put them in that order because they’re mostly from the ‘40s):
ALICE ADAMS, ANNIE OAKLEY (the one with Barbara Stanwyck), ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES, ALONG CAME JONES, ARSENIC AND OLD LACE, ADAM’S RIB
BEAU GESTE, BRINGING UP BABY, THE BISHOP’S WIFE, THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES, THE BLUE DAHLIA, THE BIG SLEEP, THE BELLS OF ST. MARY’S, BODY AND SOUL, BOYS TOWN
CASABLANCA, THE CLOCK
DINNER AT EIGHT, DEAD END, DARK VICTORY, DOUBLE INDEMNITY, DESTRY RIDES AGAIN
E?
FOOTLIGHT PARADE, THE FIGHTING 69TH, FORT APACHE
GUNGA DIN, THE GRAPES OF WRATH, GOING MY WAY, GIRL CRAZY, THE GLASS KEY, THE GREAT MCGINTY, GOLDEN BOY
HIGH SIERRA, HOLIDAY, HIS GIRL FRIDAY, HERE COMES MISTER JORDAN
IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, I WAS A MALE WAR BRIDE, I MARRIED A WITCH, THE INFORMER
J?
KEY LARGO
LITTLE WOMEN (obviously the black-and-white ‘30s one with Katherine Hepburn), THE LADY EVE
MORNING GLORY, A MAN’S CASTLE (early Spencer Tracy Depression realism), MY MAN GODFREY, THE MALTESE FALCON, MISTER DEEDS GOES TO TOWN, MISTER LUCKY, THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER, THE MIRACLE OF MORGAN’S CREEK, MY DARLING CLEMENTINE
NOW VOYAGER, NOTORIOUS
ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS
PORTRAIT OF JENNIE, THE PUBLIC ENEMY, THE PHILADELPHIA STORY, THE PLAINSMAN, THE PALM BEACH STORY, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE
Q?
RED RIVER
STAGECOACH, STAGE DOOR, SERGEANT YORK, SINCE YOU WENT AWAY, SO PROUDLY WE HAIL, THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA, STRIKE UP THE BAND, SULLIVAN’S TRAVELS, THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER, SHADOW OF A DOUBT
TOPPER, TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT, THE THIN MAN, THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, THIS GUN FOR HIRE, THE TALK OF THE TOWN, THE THIRD MAN, A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN
U?
V?
THE WOMEN, WOMAN OF THE YEAR, WHITE HEAT
X?
YOU CAN’T TAKE IT WITH YOU, YANKEE DOODLE DANDY
ZIGFIELD GIRL
They soothe me I guess by bringing me back to a time that, despite the obvious struggles and upheavals—The Great Depression, World War Two, not to mention racism, sexism, etc.—at least in terms of style and art and story telling, I find reassuring.
Maybe they remind me of my parents and older brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles (even though they rarely depict the real world of these people), and I find that lost world a pleasant place to lose my own self in for a few hours. They’re like comfort food for my soul.
So to help me fall back to sleep after waking in the middle of last night, I started making another alphabet list of my favorite black-and white films from the ‘40s and ‘30s (I put them in that order because they’re mostly from the ‘40s):
ALICE ADAMS, ANNIE OAKLEY (the one with Barbara Stanwyck), ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES, ALONG CAME JONES, ARSENIC AND OLD LACE, ADAM’S RIB
BEAU GESTE, BRINGING UP BABY, THE BISHOP’S WIFE, THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES, THE BLUE DAHLIA, THE BIG SLEEP, THE BELLS OF ST. MARY’S, BODY AND SOUL, BOYS TOWN
CASABLANCA, THE CLOCK
DINNER AT EIGHT, DEAD END, DARK VICTORY, DOUBLE INDEMNITY, DESTRY RIDES AGAIN
E?
FOOTLIGHT PARADE, THE FIGHTING 69TH, FORT APACHE
GUNGA DIN, THE GRAPES OF WRATH, GOING MY WAY, GIRL CRAZY, THE GLASS KEY, THE GREAT MCGINTY, GOLDEN BOY
HIGH SIERRA, HOLIDAY, HIS GIRL FRIDAY, HERE COMES MISTER JORDAN
IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE, I WAS A MALE WAR BRIDE, I MARRIED A WITCH, THE INFORMER
J?
KEY LARGO
LITTLE WOMEN (obviously the black-and-white ‘30s one with Katherine Hepburn), THE LADY EVE
MORNING GLORY, A MAN’S CASTLE (early Spencer Tracy Depression realism), MY MAN GODFREY, THE MALTESE FALCON, MISTER DEEDS GOES TO TOWN, MISTER LUCKY, THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER, THE MIRACLE OF MORGAN’S CREEK, MY DARLING CLEMENTINE
NOW VOYAGER, NOTORIOUS
ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS
PORTRAIT OF JENNIE, THE PUBLIC ENEMY, THE PHILADELPHIA STORY, THE PLAINSMAN, THE PALM BEACH STORY, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE
Q?
RED RIVER
STAGECOACH, STAGE DOOR, SERGEANT YORK, SINCE YOU WENT AWAY, SO PROUDLY WE HAIL, THE SANDS OF IWO JIMA, STRIKE UP THE BAND, SULLIVAN’S TRAVELS, THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER, SHADOW OF A DOUBT
TOPPER, TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT, THE THIN MAN, THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, THIS GUN FOR HIRE, THE TALK OF THE TOWN, THE THIRD MAN, A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN
U?
V?
THE WOMEN, WOMAN OF THE YEAR, WHITE HEAT
X?
YOU CAN’T TAKE IT WITH YOU, YANKEE DOODLE DANDY
ZIGFIELD GIRL
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