Those dreams in which one falls,
Uncontrollably hurtling
Toward what seems like certain death, or at the very least
Grievous injury,
Like a freeway insect making an abstract blotch upon a windshield,
Are supposed to mean something.
You like to dance to the music of your body
Unaware and drowning in bliss,
Certain somehow that all will turn out as it ought to,
If only in a dream.
Today I’m delighted to announce my semi-retirement from writing. It’s been more than 30 years I’ve been doing this professionally, 20 years since my first book. Now it’s time to do something else.
For the people who care about my work, don’t worry. Writing will continue. These essay Thoughts will continue (probably) to be published sporadically. Poetry, too, in various journals and anthologies. And maybe another book or two. (I’ve got one finished and another…
Writer, poet, artist, improviser, lyricist, former television personality, and generally decent person.
The ethereal jazz singer Jeanne Lee would have been 80 this year. A re-release of her duet album with New England Conservatory titan Ran Blake, “The Newest Sound You Never Heard,” more than 40 years after its 1966-7 recording, reveals a thoroughly modern singer unafraid to sound like no one but herself. This vocal individuality...
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