Geography Of The Heart / Fenton Johnson

This memoir by Fenton Johnson chronicles his three year relationship with his lover, Larry Rose. It is a relationship that slowly deepens over time despite the fact that Rose was already HIV positive when the two men first met. The year was 1987, and at that time a diagnosis of HIV was a likely death sentence. In this poignant memoir, the author interweaves the story of his upbringing as the youngest of nine children in Kentucky, and that of Rose, the only child of German Jews who had survived the Holocaust. Johnson explores his initial feeling of doubt about the pairing, and how he resisted fully committing himself to the relationship. But as the two of them became closer, and Rose’s health began to deteriorate, the author slowly begins to learn of the transformational power of love. Even though he at first feared he would be unable to carry out his role as caregiver, in the end he felt honored to nurse his partner through his final days. There are numerous memoirs that chronicle the personal impact of the AIDS epidemic. What makes this one special is Johnson’s talent as a writer—he is a master of the craft. He has created a lyrical love story, using humor and brutal honesty, to put a human face to being Gay in America at a time when many people felt that AIDS was a punishment for such relationships. I could have done without the final chapter where the author tries to sum up the impact that love had on his life. It is unnecessary because the story he so aptly presented had already done that job for him.

Master Of Your Own Clock

May you be master of your own clock
with time left at day’s end

Blessed with the energy to wrestle
a headwind into submission

And the wherewithal to appreciate
the gift that silence bestows

To be aware that each breath taken
is as unique as a snowflake

And cognizant of the subtle shading
in dusk’s rich blend

To have the provisions for sharing
with guests at the table

And later, a spare hour set aside
for drowsy contemplation

With the tome in your lap, a friend
you can always turn to

Postponing The Inevitable

Door to door,
coming home those Sunday nights,
from farm to town,
the commute was all of four miles.
Just time enough
to dread the approach of another
school week ahead.
How I wished for super powers,
the ability to turn
twilight back into full sunshine.
Closing my eyes,
I’d settle for a car ride that had
no destination
if I could not conjure the clock’s
backward retreat.

Drowsiness alone
changed that ten-minute car ride
into an escape.
When Father finally turned into
our driveway,
the crunch of gravel failed to be
a wake up alarm.
I did not stir even after the rest
had climbed out
and a shut-off engine began to
tick as it cooled.
Heavier than a sack of potatoes,
I was determined
not to meet another Monday on
my own two feet.

A Blizzard Of Falling Apples

The wind rises with the dawn
and a blizzard replicates an April shower.
But today’s precipitation from
a neighboring orchard isn’t pink petals.
Rather, it is the steady thud
of apples, rotted and worm-burrowed.
How could a season so ripe
and flourishing come to such a sad end?
But perhaps this forsaken meal
wasn’t meant for the likes of you or me.
An overgrown orchard requires
no tending hands to fulfill its purpose.
The absence of footsteps does
not mean that there won’t be visitors.
These crisp October mornings
will give way to sun-filled afternoons.
And to a drunken hum as
others feast on its intoxicating nectar.
A blizzard of falling apples
favors the discriminating sweet tooth.

The American Way Of Death Revisited / Jessica Mitford

Drawing howls of protest from the funeral industry, and acclaim from consumer interest groups, The American Way of Death was first published in 1963. This updated version, completed by Mitford just before her death in 1996, was published in 1998. It contains several new chapters and updated facts and figures to supplement the original material. While published just sixteen years ago, its overall tone seems quite dated. Throughout, Mitford references numerous journals from the funeral industry, titles that I would hazard to guess no longer exist here in the digital age. Even though the book has a Sixties feel to it, the questionable funeral practices that the author reports on still plague us today. In her muckraking report, Mitford shows how funeral directors and cemetery owners have sold Americans a bill of goods by claiming their extravagant funeral practices are a treasured tradition handed down from the earliest days of this country. In truth, the tradition was created out of whole cloth by the funeral industry itself one hundred years ago, driven by a desire to extract as much money as they can from grieving families. The situation has only gotten worse now that multi-national corporations have begun to dominate the profession. Since all families at some point will need to plan a funeral, this book serves as an excellent primer to alert consumers about the questionable practices that they might encounter when burying or cremating a family member. While the topic might seem like a grim one, Mitford leavens the material with a gleeful energy as she debunks the industry’s self-serving proclamations and exposes their lobbying efforts to insure fair practice legislation rarely sees the light of day. It is a book I wish I had read before helping to plan my parents’ funerals. Better late than never, it helped to spark a conversation with my wife on what I want done (and not done) to my body after I die. Since death never goes out of style, The American Way of Death will continue to inform consumers for a good many generations to come.

The Dearly Departed

Never fear, the graveyard’s
dust is not their final resting place.
For the grieving heart’s sake,
the dearly departed are content
to play cameo roles in
the labyrinth of nightly dreams.

Inhabiting our memories,
ground into celluloid film stock,
they are not drawn to
the light cast by a heavenly sun.
Their essence resides in
the black powder of a former one.

Captured on a single frame,
the shock of recognition haunts.
In a breathless moment,
it is the residue of their breath
that speaks volumes.
The script has no need for words.

In a camera’s slow pan,
as walk-ons not central to the plot,
alive again, but not exactly,
they munificently smile on cue.
Their faces animated
only when there is no light at all.

Sum : Forty Tales From The Afterlives / David Egleman

Eagleman works as a neuroscientist at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, and his background is put to good use in the stories in Sum, a vividly imagined collection of forty possible afterlives that might follow our deaths. While his day job deals with neuroscience, he is first and foremost a writer who excels in the craft of writing short stories. The vignettes he presents here are funny and creative, with delightful twists that brought a smile to my face. But better still, he also delivers a twist on the twist itself, making each a thoughtful examination of how we define ourselves as human beings. The stories are compact, running from two to four pages, without a wasted word throughout. In one afterlife, God is the size of a microbe and unaware of our existence. Another finds that each of us is forced to live with annoying versions of the better people we could have been if we had only tried harder while alive. While the stories are rooted in science, one does not need a neuroscience background to fully enjoy these witty and sometimes unsettling tales. Deftly offered by this first time fiction author, these captivating vignettes are a delight to read. The book is short enough to finish in a single sitting, but it is best savored in small doses. I found myself reading many of them a second time just to marvel all over again at the author’s creativity. Highly recommended.

Suspect

Sometime after midnight,
rumor has it, the moon rose and found
our town fast asleep;
that every street softened in its glow.
Feeling a gentle tug,
dreams drifted back to happier times.
Challenging the sun,
with a splash bright enough to read by,
its broad paintbrush
bleached house exteriors bone white.
An intruding presence,
it crept through each chink and keyhole;
tracked its light across
hardwood floors and stained linoleum.
Visiting upstairs and down,
it even tickled a sleeping dog’s nose.
But how can this account
of such an impish moon be trusted?
The culprit that Morning
has detained is not a credible suspect.
Straining all credulity,
this transparent ghost doesn’t match
the supposed trespasser.

A Tale For The Time Being / Ruth Ozeki

On a remote island in the Pacific Northwest, Ruth, a novelist suffering from writer’s block, comes across a Hello Kitty lunchbox that has washed ashore. Tucked inside is the diary of a sixteen-year-old girl. Once Ruth begins to read the diary, she is quickly drawn into the story it imparts. I was soon captivated by the fascinating tale as well. Nao Yasutani, the girl in question, is a loner, a troubled adolescent trying to deal with issues she has no control over. While Japanese, she has spent years living in California, moving back to Japan as a teenager after her father lost his high-tech programming job. Things have not gone well for the family upon their return. Her father is unemployed, depressed, and suicidal. In school, Nao is violently bullied by the other students and has decided to end her life. But before she does, she decides to recount the story of her great-grandmother, a 104-year Zen Buddhist nun. But while that is her intent in writing the diary, what she focuses on are herself and her father. Ozeki masterly weaves together three separate stories in the book—Nao’s, her great-grandmother’s, and Ruth’s. It is a spellbinding tale, but the book is not without its faults. While the author does a fairly good job of capturing the voice of a sixteen-year-old girl, there are times when it does not ring true to my ears. Ruth’s husband, Oliver, seems merely a convenient font of knowledge, used to drive the plot forward. I found Ruth’s musings on quantum mechanics and the theory of the infinite number of simultaneous universes to be unnecessary additions. And so too is the crow with possible magical powers. These minor quibbles aside, the story itself captured my full attention. Ozeki takes on big themes in this novel, and for the most part succeeds in the task. It is a book that I believe will be equally enjoyed by adolescent and adult readers alike.

Cocoon For One

Tiptoe. Carefully close the door.
Somebody is trying to sleep the winter away.
She sleeps so she will not notice
yesterday’s cold forecast repeat itself today.
She sleeps because if she did not,
this Sunday afternoon would be impossible
to get through without screaming.
All the curtains are drawn and every clock
is turned back to the zero hour.
Replacing their constant tick, the ice drips.
As winter’s attitude hardens,
she refuses to stir, even when with a boom,
the house shudders and contracts.
Who would dare be discourteous enough
to wake her from such slumber?
Not today’s ineffectual sun, no matter how
brightly it struts and dazzles.
And surely not the wind, rattling the pane;
its urgent whisper is unable
to penetrate her nest beneath the covers.
Even a prince offering a slipper
could not thaw her heart’s frozen strings.
Trying to oversleep the winter,
she’s snuggly wrapped in a downy cocoon,
oblivious to the spark of my kiss.

The Blazing Heather / Colm Toibin

What a fortuitous discovery. Knowing nothing more about this 1992 book by Colm Toibin other than it had won a prestigious literary award, I picked up a copy at my local public library. His second novel, it tells the story of Eamon Redmond, a judge in the Irish High Court. Reconstructing his relationships with his wife and children, it includes the memories of a childhood where his father raised him after the death of his mother in childbirth. These memories provide a clue to his future dealings with his own family. He is a man who from his earliest days has found comfort in the black and white world of the legal system. It is in the gray areas of relationships that Eamon has difficulty connecting with other people. He is not an unkind man or one incapable of feeling love, but expressing it seems beyond him. His thoughts are consumed by the legal cases he is dealing with. The novel also plots the politics of Ireland becoming an independent country. But its focus never strays far from the detailed portrayal of a marriage and the strained relationship with his two adult children. The description of his wife’s stroke and incapacity is stunningly delivered.   His grief and loneliness following her death tugs on the heart strings. It is a story that is beautifully written, filled with the private moments of joys and sorrows all of us have experienced. While the reader might be frustrated by Eamon’s remoteness, his humanness will win their sympathy and affection. I recommend this novel to anyone interested in the intricacies of the human heart. It possesses a stately grace that will charm and involve the reader from beginning to end.