In the fall of 2008, I spent ten days wringing every last drop out of a Eurail pass, sleeping on trains each night and walking around a different city each day. Day two found me in Bucharest. There the sky kept threatening rain, packs of wild dogs glared from weedy patches between the blocks, and a child tried to steal my camera from my pocket. For two days I hadn’t said anything but “please” and “thank you” to waiters and clerks, and I wasn’t sure I’d pronounced even those simple words correctly. The ornate buildings around me were covered in graffiti I couldn’t read. I was lonely. I was too [...]
A really beautiful poet has passed away at the age of 87, one day after some of us cried helplessly at this LA Times profile:
The visitor holding his arm is the most important person in his life, one of his three great loves, the poet Linda Gregg. Now 70, she has visited regularly from Manhattan since Gilbert's declining health required his move west in 2009 from Northampton, Mass. Away from him, she speaks of Gilbert alternately in the past and present tense. "Well," she says, "there are ways in which Jack is not here." Still, Gregg and others closest to him say his mind and personality, if only [...]
"For a year and a half, I tried to figure that out. I had lived all of my youthful dreams, but I couldn’t think of many adult ones. I finally realized that we don’t have many dreams for adults because historically people have always died much younger than they do today. People died at forty-two. They died young. I think I’ve only found two other adult dreams."