Three months ago, on the spring equinox, I was just leaving Rome. There I’d visited some friends, and then went on to London, for a very short stay, before heading on to the USA: Boston a handful of days, with cousin Holly and a dinner with friends who could make it. Then NYC with Jane a few days, and then on to Chicago, also just briefly, though was able to see a few old friends.
Then went to Weyauwega, small town of 1,800, where stayed a month at invitation of Kathy and Ian. Thought to make a film and made a few steps and then the town seemed to wall itself off. I got 550 video shots of houses, working on them. 8+ hours of houses. I’ve adjusted them all, and have them waiting, figuring out what to do with them – some kind of installation seems most likely. Whether I can make something of it, hanging in the air; if so I suspect some literary something to go with the images. I tuck it in the back of my mind for now and see if it tells me what to do.
The Great Weyauwega Tractor Pull
While in Weyauwega I was setting up to shoot a video shot outside passenger side of Ian’s car, and stretching and twisting to do so, I heard a little clunk, which at first I thought might be the car seat as I was sitting on a hard ridge of it, but immediately a muscle in my right side seized up, and nope, was my back – just about same place as my 8-years-ago operation/disc removal. It has been less than kind since the clunk, though slowly seems to be sorting itself out, but I doubt it will return to my prior “normal.” The little steps towards decrepitude before The End.
Anchorage Alaska from Earthquake Park
Went back to Chicago on train and promptly flew to Anchorage, Alaska, guest of friends Chris and Jessie. Been here near 3 weeks, another two to go. My first time in Alaska, which ticks off all 50 states for me. It is much like PacNW/Montana, with which I am familiar but is also different. The day after I got here Chris and I were sitting at his dining room table, and he said, “Turn, look” and about 15 meters away a moose was sauntering in his neighbor’s yard across the street. Showed up the next day too. They, and brown bears, are regular city visitors. And a few days ago, taking a walk along the Knik arm, an estuary leading to Gulf of Alaska, saw a pair of Sandhill cranes tending a young one in marsh-land, and then saw several bald eagles perched on a limb 25 feet up in a tree. Again, maybe working on some kind of video thing – nature things. Have some nice stuff, not sure if it will make something or not. I feel under no compulsion to make anything, just my usual gotta-do-something to amuse myself. Painting. Lots of little poems burbling up, many of them cheerfully dealing with the aging/aged reality. I have so many now I must organize another poetry book, which I think I’ll title Dancing with Death. Sounds morbid but the poems are not – really like dancing.
.
everything was going haywire
nothing worked
that’s the way it went
like your back, time-bent
memory back-tracked
recalled an old friend’s name
first time in decades
but forgot to take the keys
dead friends
at any time they might saunter in
reminding me of lives i’d lived
entangled then with them
we’d danced and talked
loved and fought
drifted on
away
now they came as ghosts
wisps of memory coiled in the eddies of my mind
shadowed
glimpsed as a name
the curl of a smile
a sudden movement
the one that caught me live
snared by a lure
maybe real maybe not
they died, then glided on
tucked in the electric spark
which is us
.
.
finding my feet
.
each morning offers a bright reminder
as first steps find me stumbling
aches in back and hips
faltering balance
tapping me on the shoulder
whispering
you’re older
which recalls a song long-stamped inside
but i was so much ..
i’m…
well, you’re not
and neither is the old jewish man
sitting at the piano playing songs of youth, long gone
about to tip-toe to the grave
it’s not dark yet, but…
.
i read the obits, noting ages
71, 67, 92
the dice roll of the scythe guy as arbitrary as the lotto
so it seems
after some minutes i find my feet
coffee-up and write a poem
this one
.
come seven/eleven
the end is always snake-eyes
i look in the mirror
and there they are
Recent piece by Danila Rumold
Speaking of which, belatedly got news that friend/artist, Danila Rumold, had died, March 18. Breast cancer, at 48. She was really hitting her stride artistically and getting exhibited and all. Two young children. Here’s a piece I did with her:
Pswd: MOUNTAINS
And other friends and family, whether they acknowledge it for themselves or not, mince towards their ends. I prefer, as in most things in life, to be direct about it. At 81 now (had my birthday in May), making assumptions about any tomorrows is a bit, uh, presumptuous: we can go anytime.
Upcoming for me is a short stay in Vancouver, BC, with screenings of The Bed You Sleep In, nice restored digital copy from EYEfilm, Amsterdam, and Blue Strait, shot not far away in Port Angeles WA. July 5th. Then to Portland to stay with Jane and Mark for a month or so, and then still unclear just when/how long etc. to Minneapolis to drive to Butte for a stay of week or two; and then to San Francisco and LA, to visit friends and family, then to near Austin to make some large prints of collages; and then to NYC and Boston to get Oct 13 flight to Europe. A busy 3 months. Plan is to then go back to India for another 6 months.
Here tonight the sun will barely set, near daylight until close to midnight, then back again a few hours later. Has fun with your internal clock.
Until, inshallah, the autumn equinox, be well and if inclined, write me a note or a letter.
Jon Jost's Blog (Vol 2) 