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Dear Jack - | Dear Jack - | ||
Yes, we're still here in Deerfield...though Josh (who'll be 26 in Dec.) is now living near Portland, Oregon and Becky, who got married last Oct. (and is teaching in the same Deerifled [sic] grammer [sic] school she attended as a youngster) has an apt. in Evanston, leaving only Naomi, who'll be 18 next month, at home. . and chances are if we can manage the funds she'll be off to college someplace next year. I can appreciate what the loss of your daughter must have meant to you, and especially the suffering she went thru, and therefore what you and Gladys went thru'...cause we lost our youngest to cancer in Feb. '73, a week after her 12th birthday, after a leg amputation at the hip. You learn to live with that, but you never get over it, and the visions of her suffering still haunt. | Yes, we're still here in Deerfield...though Josh (who'll be 26 in Dec.) is now living near Portland, Oregon and Becky, who got married last Oct. (and is teaching in the same Deerifled [sic] grammer [sic] school she attended as a youngster) has an apt. in Evanston, leaving only Naomi, who'll be 18 next month, at home. . and chances are if we can manage the funds she'll be off to college someplace next year. I can appreciate what the loss of your daughter must have meant to you, and especially the suffering she went thru, and therefore what you and Gladys went thru'...cause we lost our youngest to cancer in Feb. '73, a week after her 12th birthday, after a leg amputation at the hip. You learn to live with that, but you never get over it, and the visions of her suffering still haunt. | ||
After having two jobs shot out from under me in one year, I'm now working as a sales rep. for a manufacturer of corrugated box machinery, covering a territory from Winnipeg to Little Rock, Manitowoc to Western Nebraska...so yes, Missouri and Kansas are included. If I can make it to Moberly on one of my jaunts I'll phone in advance to determine if a visit would be comfortable for you. And thanks for the Foolkiller; I enjoyed your reminisce of Thomas Benton and Dellinger's piece on H.H. Lewis, who (would you believe!) had escaped me. | |||
Did you know Vincent Ferrini? A different kind of poet than Bergman, he hammered at you with images out of his experiences as a factory worker--vivid, unusual, imaginative with a boldness that sometimes took your brath away--during his porletarian days. A differnet kind of tenderness than what I find in Bergman, who is the most poignant poet I can remember. Hard tenderness. Does that sound like a contradiction? Then how about a love poem (WINE OF THE HEART) that ends: | |||
"We shall be together so long | |||
It will seem like yesterday | |||
For the blood of the tenement stopped | |||
And ours were the hands removing the blade." | |||
Or this one to his son, weeping at a photograph of an Italian lad, blinded and handless from the War, learning to read Braille with his tongue: (DISCOVERY) concluding like this: | |||
"be not bewildered | |||
by midnight | |||
O child | |||
weeping among | |||
the weeds | |||
Revision as of 18:54, 25 May 2023
1429 Central Ave. Deerfield, Ill. 60015 Nov. 21, 1976 Dear Jack - Yes, we're still here in Deerfield...though Josh (who'll be 26 in Dec.) is now living near Portland, Oregon and Becky, who got married last Oct. (and is teaching in the same Deerifled [sic] grammer [sic] school she attended as a youngster) has an apt. in Evanston, leaving only Naomi, who'll be 18 next month, at home. . and chances are if we can manage the funds she'll be off to college someplace next year. I can appreciate what the loss of your daughter must have meant to you, and especially the suffering she went thru, and therefore what you and Gladys went thru'...cause we lost our youngest to cancer in Feb. '73, a week after her 12th birthday, after a leg amputation at the hip. You learn to live with that, but you never get over it, and the visions of her suffering still haunt.
After having two jobs shot out from under me in one year, I'm now working as a sales rep. for a manufacturer of corrugated box machinery, covering a territory from Winnipeg to Little Rock, Manitowoc to Western Nebraska...so yes, Missouri and Kansas are included. If I can make it to Moberly on one of my jaunts I'll phone in advance to determine if a visit would be comfortable for you. And thanks for the Foolkiller; I enjoyed your reminisce of Thomas Benton and Dellinger's piece on H.H. Lewis, who (would you believe!) had escaped me.
Did you know Vincent Ferrini? A different kind of poet than Bergman, he hammered at you with images out of his experiences as a factory worker--vivid, unusual, imaginative with a boldness that sometimes took your brath away--during his porletarian days. A differnet kind of tenderness than what I find in Bergman, who is the most poignant poet I can remember. Hard tenderness. Does that sound like a contradiction? Then how about a love poem (WINE OF THE HEART) that ends:
"We shall be together so long
It will seem like yesterday
For the blood of the tenement stopped
And ours were the hands removing the blade."
Or this one to his son, weeping at a photograph of an Italian lad, blinded and handless from the War, learning to read Braille with his tongue: (DISCOVERY) concluding like this:
"be not bewildered
by midnight
O child
weeping among
the weeds