still adrift
in memory
after your visit
in my dreams
once again
drinking bitter coffee
listening to old songs
from those wild begone days
and missing
yes missing
you
old friend
you
memories
away now
there’s cereal floating
in the bowl
coffee cooling
in the cup
a letter unfinished
on the screen
and my thoughts tumbling
in my mind
so far away
away now
from where I used to be
2:50am in Moda: wherever I am
morning noon night
those faces
just won’t let me be
and sleep
once a friend
no longer lives
wherever I am
what was yesterday: for Marion Gittleman
a note
in my inbox
brings memories
of dark eyes
of mystery
then as now
and names
crop up
of crazy times
knowing how to laugh
as if time
was on our side
ah youth
so quickly gone
and now the slow fade
to what awaits
tomorrow
warmed by what was
yesterday
in dreams: for Johnny
you come in dreams
so many nights
reminding me
of our life
together
blueberry pie
Fanner 50s
model planes
Fort Apache
the LIRR
museum trips
Saturday matinees
at the movies
the time we were thrown out
for cracking peanuts
in the shell
the floor littered
around our feet
your closet floor
White Castle
2am breakfasts
at the Golden Coach
your grin
when you had a winning hand
at poker
the boy scouts
Troop 150
those 5 mile hikes
to find potatoes
in a farmer’s field
building your fence
in the backyard
of your first home
the barbecues
Christmas morning
the shaving kit
for hot lather
you gave me
the year I had my beard
and the tears
in your eyes
when you said goodbye
and the tears
in my eyes
upon waking
dear brother
of mine
from Memories and Weeks by Pablo Neruda
II
The weeks creep past,
form clouds, lose themselves,
conceal themselves in the sky,
come to rest there
like light faded.
Time is long, Padro,
time is short, Rosa;
and the weeks, exact
in their roles, exhausted,
pile up like berries,
stop palpitating.
Till one day, the wind,
rumorous, unaware,
opens them, stretches them,
beats them, and now
they mount like tattered
flags which return
to the lost homeland.
That is how memories are.
translated by Alastair Reid
following lines by T’ao Yüan-ming: early morning in Moda, April 15th, 2019
a flowering tree
outside my window
the sky a hint
of rain to come
the coffee laced
with whiskey
the cat asleep
on my reading chair
laughter still fresh
from the night before
and though this mind
no longer restless
my heart still longs
for those left behind
thousands of miles
decades ago
lifetimes apart
in this fleeting world
from lines by Po Chü-i: only memories
a picture
between the pages
of a book
read long ago
when your presence
was near
but now
only memories
and a pain
stabbing my heart
old recipes
something as simple
as reading old recipes
bring thoughts of distant times
of kitchens long ago
of people no longer present
of someone
I used to be
before evolving
into the man in this kitchen
today
somewhat like Lear
that wind
ripping this world apart
and these memories
raging in me
Leonard Durso 