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Damian Gorman, Devices of Detachment, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Mass shootings, Orlando, The Troubles, Themes of childhood
blood on my hands and yours . . . from sea to shining sea
Since he took office, President Obama has had to publicly address sixteen mass shootings in these United States. Sixteen times he has stared into a camera and uttered the best words for the worst of times knowing he will probably have to do it again. Each time, we listen to him, we ask why, and we shake our heads and shed tears in disbelief. And each time, when the media abandons the story and the families of the victims, we go away too. We abandon them too. When it happens again, as it always does, our revulsion returns. For a day or two, maybe a week, we are forced to confront the reality…
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Ali – you shook up our world. No mercy.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. The hands can’t hit what the eyes can’t see. It’s the summer of 1987. I have no job and no clue where I’m headed other than toward some vague notion of America. I arrived at Kennedy airport, complete with big hair and a backpack full of nothing useful except a Sony Walkman and a handful of cassette tapes. Were it not for Nils Lofgren filling my head most days, I might have just caught the next plane back home. “No Mercy” resonated with me, a song that told me Nils Lofgren understood something about a boxer’s experience that had as much to do with…
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Aging, Art, Bob Dylan, Daniel Kramer, Dispatch from the Diaspora, It's Not Dark Yet, Michael Gray, Photography, Positively 4th Street, Street Legal, Tangled up in Blue, Where Are You Tonight? Subterranean Homesick Blues
Bob Dylan – Someone You Want To Photograph.
May 24 2016: Happy 75th Birthday Bob Dylan Bob Dylan has always been almost as old as my parents. He has also always been forever young, staring up at me from the cover of the book that has graced my coffee table for decades. I don’t remember when what he sang first mattered to me, yet I can’t remember a time when it didn’t, a time when I wasn’t tangled up in blue. In 1979, my high school English teacher let me borrow his Street Legal LP, an album that was crucified by a handful of critics who might consider themselves more qualified than I to measure the success of a Dylan song. (Not Michael Gray, mind you, who writes that…
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Act Two, Castledawson, Family, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Mother's Day, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland Culture, Ordinary Things, Poetry, Rites of passage, Rituals, Seamus Heaney
still we dance – on mother’s day in america
This weekend marks another Mother’s Day without the man who made a mother out of me, the man who loved me so well and for so long. Our girl plans to take time off work to spend the day with me, and we know – but we keep it to ourselves – that looking forward to a special Sunday together will lead to looking back to the way it used to be, to once upon a time when she, her father in tow, set out on the annual quest for a gift for me. Every antique store in the greater Phoenix metropolitan area was their stomping ground as they searched for something bijou, something that would bring whimsy to…
