…Wherein, I could sure use a day off!
God, I’m tired, gang. Even though it’s all for good stuff this time. But I’d really like to just STOP, you know?
Anyway. I am hoping to retire early next year. Not from writing, but from the other stuff. We shall see how that progresses.
Meanwhile…
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Here’s this!
Just lovely, in my opinion!
Oh, and I forgot to mention that I finished watching the TV docu-series, My Life As A Rolling Stone (2022), the other night. And I think the episodes on Ronnie Wood and Charlie Watts were even better than the episode about Keith! If you can imagine that!
Anyway. I liked the series. I wish it had more episodes.
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And here’s this!
One more photo from the other day in Argentina:
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And here’s this!
A Black Friday Sale is underway at Cave Things!
Including items like this!
50% off!! Now only $128. With FREE shipping — Oops! With NOT free shipping!! Yay!!
Honestly, though, gang, if you purchased this for me, as well-meaning as your gesture would be and as appreciative as I would be to receive it, I would be hard-pressed to find ROOM for it! I have so many darn dishes!!
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Okay, on that Nick Cave note — more thoughts from yesterday, and Nick’s Red Hand File to the girl from Germany who had written a poem…
It reminded me of how incredibly blessed I was when, at age 12, I entered Jr. High School in Columbus, Ohio, and got the most amazing English teacher, ever. And he remained a good friend of mine for decades.
(This will all be in that memoir of my life in the 1970s, once I am able to think straight and actually write it.)
R. Nikolas Macioci. He is still a prolific poet, even though he is well into his 80s now. And back in 1972, when I first met him, he was already a published poet, and had just received his PhD. And without him, it is safe to say that I would not have survived those years in Jr. High School. (Fall 1972- Spring 1975)
It was not Jr. High School that was hard on me, it was everything that was happening to me in my life back then.
One of our class assignments in 1972 was to read a specific book (I can’t recall now which novel it was) and then write a short paper in response to the book.
By then, I was already a prolific writer. I wrote songs and poems constantly, in my room. So, without knowing yet that our teacher was a published poet, or interested in poetry in any way, I wrote a poem in response to the novel. And when he chose me as one of the students that had to get up and read to the class what we’d written about the novel, he was sort of astounded that I’d written a poem.
And he told me to stay after class.
I was, of course, nervous, because I thought I had done something wrong by writing a poem instead of an actual paper. But what happened, then, is that part that changed my life as a writer, forever.
He asked me if I’d written other poems. I told him yes, but that mostly I wrote songs. And he asked if he could read some of them.
Well, I was thrilled by this! The next day, I brought in the 3-ring binder with all my song lyrics and poems in it and gave it to him after class.
HE: “You wrote all these? Do you care if I take this home with me?”
Again, I was just thrilled.
And after he’d read all of them, he asked me to stay after class yet again — and he told me that I was very talented. And that I should stick with it. And he even gave me exercises to work on at home, to specifically make my poetry better.
At that point, my life started to go completely haywire, in all the worst ways, and he was someone I could always go to for moral support. And during the brief time that I moved to Cincinnati (after Greg’s death, the first rape, my nervous breakdown and a couple of overdoses) and lived with my dad and stepmom for a few months, he used to write me letters that literally saved my life.
In fact, when I was committed to the mental hospital, he came to visit me there. (He privately took me aside there and told me, “You don’t belong in this place. Keep writing. Keep fighting.”)
I cannot overstate how much he meant to me, and the influence he had on me as a writer. Even during all the years I lived in NYC, I would send him my writing and he would write back (or sometimes call) with his comments.
The last time we got together was when I came back from doing a reading in London for my novel, Twilight of the Immortal. I had sent him a copy and he read it. He loved that novel. In fact, this is from the very kind review of it that he wrote on Amazon:
“…Twilight of the Immortal is a masterful book, perhaps a masterpiece. Once the first page is turned, life changes for the reader. It’s a book that immerses, educates, entertains, and enlightens. It’s a book that induces laughter and tears. It’s a book that the reader will savor until the last pages and then begrudgingly winnow down paragraph by paragraph to prevent the end from actually arriving because it’s hard to accept that this book won’t last forever.“
You can find a lot of his poetry collections at Amazon HERE. (He was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.)
Here is what he looks like nowadays (although I haven’t actually seen him since I moved out here to the Hinterlands):
And here he is from the school yearbook in 1973!
And here is what he signed in my yearbook in the Spring of 75:
And as I was perusing my 3 Jr. High School yearbooks for this blog post, I thought you might appreciate seeing this great photo of some of the teachers at my school back in 1973!! While they were difficult years in my life, the 1970s were such great years to be alive.
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So, all of that came back to me when I read what Nick Cave had written to the girl from Germany who had shared her poem with him, wanting his advice.
I’m guessing that his generosity toward her (in public, no less), will have a profound and wonderful influence on her future writing.
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I also wanted to go more into the details of my great trip to visit my birth mom and my younger brother in Greenfield on Thursday, but I don’t have time today. I have to head out to see my favorite 95-year-old Japanese man — whose daughter is visiting from Texas starting today!
So I gotta scoot, but I will write more about my trip tomorrow.
Also —
Phil’s Q & A from last night was very good! You can listen to it HERE if you missed it.
Enjoy your Saturday, wherever you are in the world!
Thanks for visiting!
I love you guys. See ya!
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I leave you with this!
Back in English class in 1972, “Mr. Macioci” (who, for most of my life I have called “Nik”) told us about a song he had heard on the radio and that he was very moved by it. He thought it was an incredible song. He wanted to know if any of us had heard it … (of course, I had…)
“Changes,” by David Bowie, the single was released earlier that year, from the album Hunky Dory. Enjoy, gang.
“Changes”
Oh yeah
Mm
Still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild, a million dead-end streets and
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I’m much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, don’t want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time
Oh yeah
I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They’re quite aware of what they’re going through
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, don’t tell them to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, where’s your shame?
You’ve left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can’t trace time
Strange fascination, fascinating me
Ah, changes are taking the pace I’m going through
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, oh, look out you rock ‘n rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strange)
Ch-ch-changes, pretty soon now you’re gonna get older
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can’t trace time
c- 1971 David Bowie
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