Posts Tagged "cancer"

My Wobbly Bicycle, 53

Posted by on Dec 11, 2013 in Archive | 7 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 53

 “Many years later I understood that because of the privations and the poverty of their lives, Russians in general liked to entertain themselves with misery: they played with it like children, and they were rarely ashamed to be wretched.” That’s from Maksim Gorky’s Childhood, that has just come out in a new translation. This is from the end of Chapter X.  He goes on: “In the endless tedium of daily life, grief becomes a holiday; a fire’s an entertaining show. On a blank face, even a scratch is a beauty mark.” Gorky’s childhood was full of yelling, abandonment, drunkenness,...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 50

Posted by on Nov 19, 2013 in Archive | 18 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 50

I could change the name of my blog to Doctors, Ad Seriatim. I’m posting this early because today we’re heading downstate, to Ann Arbor, having a pre-op consultation for Jerry’s very-big-deal back surgery on Dec. 3. He’ll be in the hospital for about a week, rehab after that. About six months’ recovery time. Another winter of hunkering down and getting better. How will this be for us, after last winter? A friend wrote to say how glad she was to see that I feel like relegating cancer to a much lesser position in my posts. The last two, it’s hardly been there. True. I think...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 49

Posted by on Nov 13, 2013 in Archive | 12 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 49

I am supremely glad to have Keats’ letters. Hemingway’s. Even T. S. Eliot’s. Soon there’ll be no letters from writers to illuminate their work, their thoughts about it and about other writers, and their lives. Saul Bellow’s letters were published a couple of years ago, William Styron’s last year. Maybe the dying gasps.   I was reading a book review by Mason Currey in the NY Times. He’s more concerned with what the dearth of letter-writing is doing, not to its faithful followers and researchers, but to creative writing itself. He says “Letters were not only a way to stay in...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 47

Posted by on Oct 30, 2013 in Archive | 1 comment

My Wobbly Bicycle, 47

Some people have told me that the poems in my new book, No Need of Sympathy, feel like premonitions. Did something in me know, when  I wrote those poems, that I was in danger already? But consider how much poetry is about love and death. Okay, I’m not dead. But the very word cancer sounds the echo of mortality. All thoughts, all images, if you stay with them long enough, hit bedrock. Love and death. We’re drawn to bedrock. We almost can’t help ourselves from slowing down or stopping at a car crash, even when we can be of no use there. We’re looking for something we probably...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 45

Posted by on Oct 16, 2013 in Archive | 10 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 45

The hair thing.  I can pinch my “bangs” between thumb and forefinger. At the back, hair’s about twice as long. I try a hairbrush and see a slight difference. Not much, but it’s coming along. It feels like healing. That’s the wonderful thing about hair. The more of it, the better I am. From the front, it’s cute, but from the sides and back—of course I stand with a mirror and study it—it’s still plastered to my head in a way that isn’t flattering. [None of MY hair in these photos. They’re all from the book launch. I wanted you to see them.] Upside: my hair may grow...

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