L'aura del Campo

Anniversaries

Winter: 1 Ayyám-i-Há (February 26)

TREASURE OF THE DAY

I found you in a trunk,
musty old cedar,
filled with tangy memories.
Inside you were young,
laughing, a beer in your hand,
sitting
in France,
in Germany,
relaxed between wars.

from:

Invalid Item  This item number is not valid. #441640 by Not Available.

2006-02-26
noon, 44 degrees. 27 in Bellefontaine, OH. 59 in Tel Aviv, Israel.

Also, 27 in Stockholm and feeling no pain. 10 in Helsinki and suicidal. Ah, the Swedes and Finns. Sweden won 3-2 in hockey over Finland in the Olympics today. I wonder if AL is celebrating?

My friend Lee turned 70 today. She lives in Ohio, but should be in Tel Aviv or Haifa. Not a bad way to celebrate one of the big ones.

Celebration.

Interesting word. I think I remember the high and low points of life best; although, there are those small moments of clarity when I learned something I'll never forget.

Anniversaries.

Do some days haunt others? They do me sometimes. Today is a good example.

When I was 8, my mother was due today. Diane, however, came a few hours late. Her birthday is tomorrow. Now, Diane is always on time. (And she has a lead foot on the accelerator to prove it!) I wanted another sister and got one. Later, I wanted a brother. But they couldn't send her back. Oh well.

My dad died today in 1999. He was 82. I'd visited the night before and could tell he was ill. He had an appointment the next day, which my brother-in-law was going to take him to. They called the ambulance instead. He deteriorated quickly. Was gone by evening. I showed up 10 minutes late. My sister in Seattle called about the same time, too late. Mom and Diane were there though and that was good. Mom took his wedding ring and that was that.

Three years ago, all hell broke out in my personal life. I was ill to begin with on the night of the 25th. Stayed at a friend's house. And upset, not sure what to do. Looking back, I probably zagged when I should have zigged.

My fist chapbook, "Foo Foo Wars" was done. I never got to present it to people like I wanted to. It was an Ayyám-i-Há gift. Some years, I'd done parties. It took one boss 7 years to figure out I was a Bahá'í. Knowing your employees wasn't part of anybody's job title there and mostly they truly didn't care.

In any case, this was a present. I'd been writing a few sketches now and then again and thought that a booklet would be a nice gift. But most of my stuff wasn't appropriate for an audience that was not into poetry. So, I interviewed my co-workers to write something about them and did! Made 200 copies. Ivory linen, about 36 pages. Burgandy covers for 50 of them that I gave to those who had personal poems written in them. Signed of course. I did an appendix of who each poem was written for and/or why. Made a list of birthdays according to the Bahá'í calender. Mine is the day of Will (as in the Will of God) of the month of Glory, by-the-way . Even did a cento at the beginning from lines gleaned from included poems. Cost me about $450. Which isn't bad for 200 gifts.

Haven't seen some of those folks since.

Odd to think that this year I know of no party today. I have no gifts to give. I'll receive one though. Have a ticket for the Salzburg Chamber Soloists this afternoon. After, I'll go to the bell concert. As always. Today is Sunday.

And there is the gift of sunshine.

A poetic sketch from the 13th of December, 2003 that I wrote in Oklahoma. Not sunshiny at all:

Letter to Robert French

Dear Bob, I'll weave you a story with the only words I can find. I hope they reach you among the pines and find you rested, eager to live again.

For the pine gathered itself to meet the day. For 18 years it had grown in this same spot, slowly at first, each Spring a time to stretch out towards the brightness. New green needles, young and pliant among last years stiffened prickles that had seen the Winter come and go, grew now.

Here it stood, a myth under Summer heat with limbs yearning towards the sky, its feet wiggling fine roots between the rocks, grasping meager soil and moisture.

One day a foot went numb. The dryness had reached its pith. The needles barely noticed at first under a bare moon, that beckoned the tree to move closer to the spring. Soon brown crept into older spines and this year's lost their lustre. The numbness spread under the Autumn's breeze. Where beauty and hope once had lived, it was dead.

Branch after branch weakened then fell. Lichen lurched from the realms of heights to rest among the moss. Beauty reduced to a skeleton. No nourishment even for bugs, it fell. Broke off in one Spring wind. No one heard its demise, now forgotten by all but me.

Who still sees the face of a youth who graced this sunlit forest for some eighteen years so many years ago. Me and the Autumn rains remember you, dear Bobby French, my friend. [160.675]

2006-02-26
vespers, 49 degrees. 23 in Salzburg, Austria.

Went to a concert of the Salzburg Chamber Soloists (Lavard Skou-Larsen, director) this afternoon. They performed three pieces of Mozart: Divertimento in D major, Concerto for piano and orchestra in C major, Quintet for Strings in G minor. There were two encores, but the tango they did as a finale was awesome! You could tell by the animation of the musicians that it was one of their favorites.

The carillon concert today included a Dirge by Samuel Barber. Not a pretty piece, but I guess dirges aren't supposed to be.

SENSED

Shriveled ginkgo fruit; green moss; yellow bunch of crocuses; one yellow dandelion; red metal roofs of the Union parking lot; yellow hair; black and yellow backpack.