Searching for Me

Table of Contents

SEARCHING FOR ME poems & photographs

arthur robert goshin

Table of Contents

Table of Contents Other Poetry by Arthur Robert Goshin: One Hundred and Twenty Four Moons Longing Before Dawn Love’s Cloth Both The Harvest And The Seed Time Changes Nothing The Strange Curiosity of Memory Always: Love Poems and Photographs

Front Cover Photograph: Herricks Pond - Herricks, NY Back Cover Photograph: Pond at Roslyn Harbor - Roslyn, NY Book Design: Chris Reilley

Copyright © 2014 Arthur Robert Goshin ISBN 978-0-9843461-1-0

Table of Contents DEDICATION For My Beloved Parents and Grandparents of Most Blessed Memory

Harry & Marion Goshin

Jacob & Lena Goshin,

circa 1939

Oscar & Minnie Weiss circa 1939

All those other pieces of life I’ve lived are gone.

The ones before, gone forever.

I mourn their passing, their innocence, their unexpected wonder, their irretrievability, that they were gifts far beyond my expectations.

My childhood and after, until a now unseen conclusion.

My regret is that my parents, grandparents, and all those others who played such treasured roles, and who have now passed on, are not with me to share the joy and happiness of the recollections from those lives.

To them I offer these poems as a remembrance, a yahrzeit, to their blessed memory.

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the poems I had this impulse when I turned sixty to start writing in some creative, expressive way. My own simple interpretation of the poetic form seemed the most sensible, given what I thought I wanted to say. At first the exercise, the experience, was just for me, but later came to be shared with family and friends. I was interested then, and still am, in having a ‘voice’ that is direct, unambiguous, clear, emotive.

Two years ago I decided that I wanted to produce two books that gather together, each as a compendium, the two broad types of poems that I had been writing. The first was ‘Always’, which included my favorite poems of love and romance. ‘Searching For Me’ includes my favorite poems about memory, identity, time, hope, aging, family, childhood, death and dying, the Holocaust. These are among the topics that are a part of my active inner landscape of reflective interests.

If I had started writing when I was younger, the poems would have been different -- different topics, different content. However, I do derive great personal satisfaction in knowing that, taken together, the poems in ‘Searching For Me’ reveal much about my views about the meaning, joy, and obligations of life.

the photographs I am absolutely fascinated by what I ‘see’ on the reflective surfaces of water. The beauty, the colors, the play of light, the constant movement, the opportunity to incorporate my own impressions. In searching for a way to better express these thoughts I offer the poem, Waters’ Colors : Reflections, Impressions.

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WATERS’ COLORS : REFLECTIONS, IMPRESSIONS They reach out to me from beneath, to reveal their wonders, to share their secrets, calling out to my imagination.

They dance on the waters’ surface, shimmering in magnificent choreography -- the trees, the sky, the grasses, the flowers.

Showing off what they are and what they might be, wanting to be noticed, remembered.

I am compelled to watch, to record, to translate into what it is of them that I see.

The sun, the day, bonds with each leaf, each petal, transforming the seemingly plain and obscured into dazzling multi-colored creations.

The unseen wind, the light, shatter the surface into millions of new pieces, constantly transforming, creating new and spectacular versions every second.

The surface is always, always, in motion with help from a breeze, fish, birds, insects, that create a brilliance of ever changing form and color, a sense of unpredictable movement, a spontaneity, inventiveness.

It is alive, it is hopeful, a never ending wonder.

I feel compelled to try and capture some of what it has to tell me, to observe, to help it speak, to incorporate my impression of what I see.

Like so much of life’s great beauty, it is there coyly hiding in plain sight, waiting to share.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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I WAS A DREAM I was a dream.

A dream of love and hope.

A singular, universal dream most have, embedded within our human code.

Always being passed forward to those who are next.

We are each creations that embody the aspiration for enduring meaning from our lives to what follows beyond us.

It is also our bond to all who came before.

It is a summation.

We are conceived in love, nurtured with love, forever passing that dream forward.

I was a dream.

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTE FE, NM

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‘I WILL DO MY BEST’ For my grandson Oskar Goshin. Born 1.31.09 Behold.

I am finally here.

Out of the primordial wash.

Fully formed, ready.

The first light of the next dawn.

Both the hope and voice of our generations before, and those yet to come.

I am at the divide.

Both the harvest of what was, and the seed for what will be.

I carry the hopes, sacrifices, and struggles of the us before who will continue to live through me.

I am bearer of the hopes and possibilities of what we might yet be, shaping the futures for those still to come.

I am guardian of our precious coded helix of life that stretches from before the before out to the far reaches beyond the beyond.

All of this is no burden, it is a gift.

I hear your whispers and know how infinite is your love for me, and your hopes of me.

With your help, I will do my best.

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EACH DAY’S FIRST GIFT I wait.

Just before the morning, in the dark.

Watching while the world is still unformed.

Instead of being warm, dreaming, nested in night’s womb.

It is before the sun, before there is light.

Before the birds’ sweet song. before life moves.

I sit, I watch, I wait.

Time seems suspended, hovering in mid-air, trying to decide what to do.

I wait.

Finally, the light, pale blue.

Each day’s first gift.

I sense hope, excitement, the grandeur, the majesty to come.

That there is a next, that tomorrow is now today, that another genesis begins, that once again there is a new start.

So, each day I wait.

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McCauley Hot Springs - Jemez Mountains, NM

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WE ARE WHAT IS IN BETWEEN We are what is in between.

The link, the intermediary.

Between then, now, and to be.

Our life, our time, is borrowed, on loan, a gift from the past.

We are not here just for ourselves.

But for what was, and what will be.

Obligations to ours just before, and all before.

Obligations for ours who are next, and for all beyond.

A responsibility, not a burden.

An exchange for the privilege of life, for all the moments, the time, the opportunity.

It is a promise.

It is ‘the’ promise that we must fulfill to our long line of ‘what was’, and the future of our ‘what might be’.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTE FE, NM

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FOR ALL THIS WE GIVE THANKS For all we’ve had, for all we have, for all we still hope for.

For the opportunity to remember and honor those who gave us the breath of life, and all those from the before who enabled us to reach this season.

For the unconditional love and trust of our family and friends, and for all those who wish us goodwill.

For the sweet, treasured, memories of those so dear to our hearts who are no longer with us.

For the chance each day to make the lives of those in need better.

For the joy, wisdom, and enlightenment we experience.

For the presence of beauty and wonder in our lives and in the world.

For all this and so much more, we offer our thanks and our fondest wish for the universal end of hunger, poverty, and sadness, and that the days for all, now and beyond, will always be filled with bounty, love, hope, peace, happiness, and fulfillment.

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AS HOPE YIELDS TO FATE Each of my days seem to happily cleave into its next.

With that next lovingly saying farewell to the one filled with wonders just before.

But I have become increasingly aware that that there is only an end, not a forever.

That my days will run out.

I find that there is so much to remember, and so little to forget.

I now see how hope yields to fate.

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Stow Lake - Golden Gate Park, San Franciso, CA

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Niagara Falls - Niagara Falls, NY

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A BROKEN PROMISE? So, when did my body start to turn on me?

I thought we were friends.

That we had a bargain.

That I would be a good caretaker.

I began with pretty good genetics, then made sure to have plenty of rest, lots of exercise, no smoking, no drinking, no drug abuse, decent nutrition.

OK, not perfect, but who is?

In exchange, my body would be a good and loyal partner and last, without much deterioration, for a long time.

Be around and in optimal working order, for its age, when needed.

Instead, I now get the vague sense that maybe it wants to move out sooner, that it’s beginning to fray at the edges, even, perhaps, abandon its promise, sneak off in the middle of some night and go elsewhere.

But, where would that be?

I mean, don’t we have to stick together?

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WHERE I WAS MEANT TO BE They were all there.

Waiting for me.

My beloved parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and the others I missed so.

I knew them all, but some I had never known. ‘Shalom aleykhem!!’ All so happy to see me, so happy to be with me.

Finally.

There to celebrate, to welcome my arrival back to our village.

All the candles creating this wondrous golden glow.

Singing, dancing.

I wept so in happiness.

We continued on and on, through that night and everyone after.

I had longed so deeply to see them, to talk to, and to be with them again.

Here, where I always knew I was meant to be.

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Alabama Swamp at the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge - Basom, NY

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Alabama Swamp at the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge - Basom, NY

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HOW? How do we become so possessed by indifference?

How does the failure to respond to terrible human suffering seep into our being?

How does our conscience so easily disappear at moments when it is most needed?

How do our hearts become so readily hardened and frozen?

How is it that our humanity is so often just a thin veneer?

How do such things happen?

How?

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Fenton Lake – Jemez Springs, NM

DON’T LET ME DIE AGAIN Please, once will be enough.

Promise me that.

That you won’t forget.

To tell the stories of me, to remember me, to include me in your dreams, to include me in the stories of you as you pass them forward.

Who I was, what I thought, what I cared about, what I did, how I made you laugh, why you loved me.

So in that way I will remain alive.

Just don’t let me die again.

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Alabama Swamp at the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge - Basom, NY

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Spaulding Lake - Clarence, NY

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YES, DREAM Go ahead, fall in love.

In love with who and what you are and still aspire to be.

Live life as a great romantic adventure.

Constantly move out from your ‘comfort zone’, your routines.

Think obliquely.

Keep fun and comic relief central.

Read fiction, all types.

Date and court ideas, lead them onto consummation.

Imagine the unimaginable.

Smile and laugh a lot.

Notice the details around you, ask questions.

Be 9 when you are 43, 10 when 50, you get the idea.

Make a list each day of at least five inspiring wonders you experience.

Dream.

Yes, dream.

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I AM OF THEM My beloved parents of blessed memory.

My source of life.

It is for me to remember, to reflect, to sing their praises.

My love and gratitude is boundless for the light and goodness that they so carefully nurtured and placed, as an eternal flame, within my heart, within my thoughts.

Without this, without them, my soul might be dark, empty, without purpose.

I am of them.

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Canjilon Lake - Canjilon Mountains, NM

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Pond at Botanic Gardens - Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA

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SORROWS Sorrows.

To be a collector and then a disposer of them.

All sorrows.

All tears.

Especially those of children.

To be shared with me in their own words.

Then to be able to wipe each sorrow away.

Forever.

To destroy all memory of each sadness.

As though they never occurred.

Yes, please, may I be granted that task.

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YOU CAN FEEL TIME You can feel time.

I used to feel it blowing into my face, a very stiff wind, restraining me, much slower going than I wanted.

Now I feel an even stiffer wind at my back, propelling me forward, much faster than I want, much faster than I thought possible.

I can now see how little time there is remaining.

So for me, each moment is a precious treasure.

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Spaulding Lake - Clarence, NY

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MEMORY TREASURES I find it so peculiar.

The bits of things I remember about those I loved, and who loved me, who are now gone.

What’s more remarkable are all the things, all the times, I can’t remember.

I only seem to possess brief flashes of memory.

And why only those particular ones?

Is it the same for everyone?

Sometimes it’s not a clear image or recollection, but just a vague impression.

The loving warmth of my grandmother’s hand holding mine.

Is it that the loss is too painful so our mind mechanisms protect us?

The sparkle in my grandfather’s eyes, and his beaming smile, as he opens his apartment door to ‘our’ special knock.

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Or is it that we have just so many ‘bytes’ of storage capacity and lack control over what’s kept and what’s discarded?

Standing in the sink, about age two or three, just back from Brighton Beach, my mother laughing and washing the sand from my hair.

Just how are these lasting memory selections made?

My father, home late from work, him sitting on my bed, me pretending to already be asleep, him giving me a gentle kiss.

All so special, each a treasure, but still, how they get there is just another of life’s unsolvable mysteries.

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HOLDING THEM I’m holding him, them, my sons, so very gently, but tightly to my chest, against my heart, and feel each rapid beat, each breath, my lips resting on the sweet warmth of their resting cheeks.

I remember.

Each, then and now, a wonder far beyond expectation, precious beyond my capacity to explain, and the depth of my love unfathomable.

Before them I really didn’t understand what it would be like.

I didn’t understand the meaning.

The gift it would be for me.

That beyond the perfect beauty of their creation, of hope and possibilities for the them in my arms, I would also realize in each that in them I advance my life’s aspiration to assure the treasured link to all of the us who struggled so and came before, and through them have improved so the probabilities for all of the us that would come after.

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Pond at Norton Simon Museum - Pasadena, CA

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Pond at Norton Simon Museum - Pasadena, CA

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DANDELIONS I tried not to think about it.

I mean doesn’t false hope bloom like dandelions?

I well know that hanging onto the ifs, woulds and could haves, leads to repetitive disappointment.

Sure, obsessive optimism can brighten dark moments, but with objectivity it fades fast.

So, keep but restrain hope.

You just never know when life will surprise.

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Spaulding Lake - Clarence, NY

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AUTUMN Strange, isn’t it?

One morning there are beautiful yellow leaves on the branches, and the next they are bare.

One morning there is a veritable cacophony of birds singing, and the next it is quiet.

One morning a gentle breeze offers such promise, and the next a windy chill suggests mortality.

Change in life is always coming, but we are a bit surprised each time when it actually occurs.

Then, after autumn a still harsher winter awaits.

While in time we come to enjoy the splendors of autumn and then winter, it is the memory of the miraculous renewal of each spring, and then the following luxuriant delights of summer that rewards our hope and patience.

It’s that way with life as well, I think.

Life has its own recurring, predictable, and sometimes unpredictable cycles.

And in all of life’s seasons there is beauty and reason for rejoicing, because we’ve come to realize that hope and patience will again be rewarded.

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INSISTENT The past keeps following me.

Always getting closer.

It wants to be in my words.

To always be remembered, never forgotten.

So insistent.

It wants me there, to always be part of it.

I do understand.

For the past is what, in the end, we become.

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Hoyt Lake at Delaware Park - Buffalo, NY

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Alabama Swamp at the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge - Basom, NY

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SAVING THE WORLD It is a terrible thing to see, to know, that there is only gloom, hopelessness, even a premature death, lying on the life path of others.

And to feel powerless to alter the essential finality of that fate.

Yet, as part of the human community, if we ignore it, if we don’t at least try to change the outcome, aren’t we somehow complicit in allowing its continuance?

Aren’t we obligated to scream ‘fire’ when there is one, and aren’t we obligated to try and put it out?

‘And whoever saves a life, it is as if he saved an entire world’ (Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:1(21a)).

To have saved an entire world ---now that is truly a most worthy aspiration for each of us.

Isn’t it?

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WAS I EVER YOUNGER? Was I ever really younger than I am now?

Was my skin really firm, moist, without blemish?

Was I ever able to see, to hear, without assistance?

Did I ever have full balance, able to get up and walk without pain or stiffness?

Sleep through the whole night?

Be unconcerned about the inevitable progression of time?

Strange, I no longer remember being young like that, but still perceive myself to be unchanged.

How can that be?

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Hoyt Lake at Delaware Park - Buffalo, NY

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LOOK FOR THE UNKNOWABLE Look for things that are unknowable.

That can be explored but never discovered.

That can be approached but never reached.

Touched but not fully grasped.

Started but never completed.

Problems to be understood without concluding solutions.

Things that may have enduring meaning.

Look.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

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WHAT KIND OF POEM? So, what kind of poem shall it be this morning?

The beginning of love?

The end of love?

Love unrequited?

Love requited?

The wonders of love or its burdens?

Death and the Grim Reaper?

The unkindness of time?

Hope or hopelessness?

The wonders of childhood or the fears of senescence?

The blessings of intimacy or the omnipresence of loneliness?

Physical beauty or the end of it?

Memories or the loss of them?

Come on, come on, just pick one so that I can just get on with it!!

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IN GRATITUDE I offer thankful gratitude for the strength, humanity, wisdom, joyfulness, cordiality, of my spirit.

This essence, defining, unique, distinguishing characteristic that is me.

Not sure who or what should take credit for its ever presence, or how exactly it was implanted, grew, flourished.

And I don’t remember purposely constructing and designing it.

It surely has been a wondrous companion and guide for, and through, my life.

Providing a balance of admirable choices, while pointing the way that I’ve, thankfully, mostly followed.

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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TO SOAR AND TO FALL I never realized that my days would wind down.

I know that sounds strange.

But I now know they do.

I seem to be on a journey.

Towards a more complete understanding.

Of myself, of a deeply embedded truth, previously obscured.

About the nature of life, about meaning and purpose, about who I am, who I was, and who I might yet be.

It’s surprising, refreshing, actually invigorating.

No, not dark at all.

There’s a sense that I can still achieve some sort of completion, a mastery, accomplish acts of meaning, acquire an elusive wisdom, satisfying insights, about life and purpose.

A closure.

Oddly, my spirit, my soul, does soar as the days fall away.

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THE ODD PECULIARITY OF DREAMS You lie there in the dark.

In the protective comfort and warmth of your bed.

Wondering.

There in your self constructed womb.

About the cosmic and the incidental.

Your hopes, your hidden desires, about today and tomorrow.

About your disappointments and your achievements, imagining and reconstructing them.

A participant in fantasies you wish could be made real.

And then you drift off, no longer having the burden of needing to do anything, regressing to the buoyant warmth of that ‘amniotic fluid’, yielding to night’s sleep and the odd peculiarity of dreams.

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Pond at Bassett Park - Amherst, NY

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Rio Grande River - Embudo, NM

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WHERE WILL YOU FIND ME? Now that I’m gone, where will you find me?

Most certainly in your memories, in my poems, in your heart.

In the remains of my works, and in their effects.

In the pictures.

In the bits of me now in you.

But no, not in that box, nor in that dirt and stone.

No, never there.

Not me at the end, only me before.

Promise me that.

I am now simply part of the harvest of what was.

But you are still part of the seed of what can be.

Please, cherish and never neglect that gift.

And know that my love for you will never disappear.

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DECEIVED Why is it so easy to deceive ourselves?

By the failure, the unwillingness, to look beneath.

Beneath the surfaces, the exterior of things.

Are we so devoid of judgment that we are incapable of seeing what’s most important?

Are we just lazy, shallow?

Is that truly possible?

Do we perceive a lack of exterior beauty in ourselves so we seek to acquire it from someone or something else somehow?

I mean, we must know that it’s the beauty within, that inner light that illuminates goodness, that we should want, be irresistibly drawn to.

Isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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Jones Beach – Long Island, NY

LASTING TRACKS In what now remains of my future, I want to follow my own path.

One always covered with fresh, undisturbed snow.

Where I can leave deep, indelible, lasting, tracks.

Of meaning, for me and others.

With every step, every moment, being a fond remembrance.

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WHAT’S MISSING? What more could I possible want?

Don’t I already have everything?

I’ve had every bit of joy and happiness that I ever could have imagined.

Actually, even far more than that.

But yet, periodically, a little sliver of emptiness, incompletion, seems to slip in.

Because something seems to be missing.

I don’t have a clue what that might be.

I can’t determine its source.

It’s sort of a small shadow that covers a small edge of my sun.

But, if I don’t know what it is, how will I know what to do about it?

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

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I CRY FOR YOU When you see me cry it will be for you, not for me.

After, later, I’ll be gone, but you will still be here.

To be guardian of our memories, to be the us for them, to carry the burden of emptiness and an always ‘what if’?

Yes, I cry for you.

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MY HOPE FOR THEM What is it that I’ve wanted, hoped for, for them?

My sons.

For them to become in time.

It has always been about the ‘who’, never the ‘what’ I’m not sure they understood this then, or perhaps, even now.

If not, my fault.

That it’s about values, active engagement, a view of life, about obligation.

Selfishly, perhaps, somewhat consistent with mine.

That, hopefully, they would be compassionate, sentimental romantics, embodying and passing on an eternal flame of righteousness and goodness expressed through a life filled with repeated acts of beneficial kindness, with an

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unbending commitment to the active defense of human rights and advancing the aspirations of those disadvantaged, living lives filled with love, happiness and purpose, attaining insightful judgmental wisdom and self-awareness, continuously contributing to the body of human life, worthy of being admired by those of the us who came before and all of the us who would come after.

Remembering with love and fondness those who enabled them to acquire these gifts.

In their end knowing that they had lived wondrous lives, having discovered and experienced profound meaning and purpose, all far beyond their expectation, and having created our next generation who would similarly embody these values, and would be forever mindful of being true to who, as a people, we were, are, and hope to yet become.

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WHO IS THAT? Have you ever looked into the mirror and wondered, ‘who is that?’.

I loved my father and grandfather, but never did I expect to be them.

Oh, you know.

Furrows appearing and deepening, muscles slackening, less hair in some places, more in others.

Spots and imperfections taking over.

You wonder, is anyone, or, oh no, is everyone else noticing?

You don’t really want anyone, especially the one you love, to be witness to your physical decline.

Of course, just as you realize that your love must notice, you admit that she’s been accumulating a set of related symptoms.

You wonder, how did all this happen so suddenly?

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You want to be seen, remembered, for your preferred image of yourself, the one in your mind that is long gone.

You still want younger women to notice and appreciate your imagined good looks and virility, not help you to cross the street.

Hold it, hold it, get a grip, stay calm.

It’s just the way things are.

You can modify it a bit, slow it down a little, but not reverse it.

You can’t really change life’s physical trajectory.

The same you is still there, you just have to look more carefully for him.

So, what is the right mind set?

In the end, the key is to love yourself.

Love yourself for who you are now, who you were, and who you will continue to be.

I mean, what other good choice is there?

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Puddle at Lodhi Gardens - New Delhi, India

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FORGOTTEN I fear being forgotten more than dying.

I expect that those who I now love, care most about, will remember and miss me deeply, some even profoundly, after I’m gone.

Perhaps long for, wish for, more moments together.

But, it’s the ones who follow just after who will let me slip away.

Because they were busy with other things, because I wasn’t well known or known to them.

Not relevant.

Understandably unaware that their grasp on me constantly weakens.

That if they don’t somehow hold on I will tumble away, into the void, lost forever.

I know it’s my fate, everyones, but one that I, nonetheless, fear and wish were otherwise.

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THE UNSEEN At age six, I recall being mesmerized by a late afternoon’s golden light filtering in through the wooden blinds in our Brooklyn apartment.

I watched in amazement as what my mother said were dust particles danced about to their own tune.

But, where did they go when darkness came?

And where, exactly, did they come from?

I tried using a flashlight to see if I could find them on cloudy days, but that didn’t work.

I could never locate these particles outside, even in the sunlight.

I finally came to realize that there were unseen things of mystery occurring all around me in this world.

Things that I might never fully understand.

I still look for such mysteries, and when found I consider each one a wonderful new treasure.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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WAITING I dreamt I was waiting.

Sitting on this straight back chair, in the middle of a flat, grassy field that stretched beyond the horizon’s downward slope.

I was alone.

Not even birds or butterflies.

There was no wind, no trees.

The sun was brilliant, fixed, unmoving, in the sky.

There was no night.

I felt neither warmth nor cold.

I couldn’t tell my age.

It seemed as though I had always been there, and would always be there.

Waiting patiently, but without expectation.

I didn’t know why or for what.

I was just waiting.

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THE DEAD NEVER LEAVE The dead never leave.

The ones you loved, the ones who cared about you.

They never abandon you.

They are always there, nearby.

Just at the very edge of your awareness.

You are what they still, and will always, cherish.

When you need them, they hold you close.

For comfort, advice, support.

It’s what they now do.

No, not angels, but close.

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Pond at Maidan Park - Kolkata, India

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WHO IS THAT FOOL? Don’t you wonder sometimes?

‘Just who is that fool that is living here inside me?’

How is it that such ridiculous thoughts take root there?

How is it that such foolish words are not held back by my lips?

Where do such ideas and notions come from anyway?

Is it some sort of malicious imp or spirit having fun at my expense?

Is it the consequence of bad air or an imbalance of various body fluids, as the ancients thought?

Well, whatever the clearly thoughtless source, please accept my apology for that fool dwelling here inside me.

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Pond at The Nature Conservancy Preserve - Santa Fe, NM

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TIME IS WATCHING Time is always watching.

There, in the shadows.

Just beyond the edge of our recognition.

Witness to our lives.

Sometimes judging.

Keeping track.

Always ticking forward, diminishing constantly.

Never telling us, never reminding us, just how much of it is left.

That is, until it is too late, about to run out.

It is not our friend, not our ally.

We can never be its master.

Before it’s too late, learn how to avoid being its unwitting victim,

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and how to be a wise custodian of your own allotment.

In a life there are things we must do, things we hope to do, and things we dream of doing.

Don’t wait.

Assure yourself that satisfaction will be with you when the last grain of sand falls through your hourglass.

Realize that you can’t be passive or indifferent.

Treat time as the rarest of your life’s always diminishing commodities.

Remember, time does run out.

Remember, time is watching.

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Lagoon - Dubai, UAE

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WITHIN ME Within this outer casing, these boundaries that are the physical me, are things surprisingly delicate and previously unrevealed.

A certain curiosity, insights, wonderment about love, time, aging, memories, our inner presence.

Who knew?

I’m not sure how they got there.

I’m unclear why they were undiscovered for so long.

Perhaps a biologic trigger as my clock started to tick faster.

No, I don’t think that they were never there or lost, just hidden, waiting to make an appearance.

It’s another reason why my weathervane can’t help but point to hope.

‘If in me, why not in most anyone?’

It’s given me a deeper appreciation of the wise advice offered by the noted scientist, Carl Sagan, ‘.....cherish your species.’

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Pond at The Nature Conservancy Preserve - Santa Fe, NM

80

‘THANK YOU........’

I thought that I knew about the beauty and power of words.

But it was a young child, an HIV/AIDS orphan, living at a school in rural Uganda, who has taught me that there is so much more for me to learn.

At this school that I have had the privilege of assisting in many ways.

In his letter to me he said, ‘thank you for loving me’.

Imagine that!

‘Thank you for loving me’.

Him thanking me for his gift to me.

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Rio Grande River - Embudo, NM

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HOLDING ON It doesn’t stop.

The dying, the funerals.

There is this invisible, dark, threshold you cross at a certain age, and then it begins.

Your grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, spouse, all continue to disappear.

Seemingly swallowed up into an unknowable void.

You tighten your own grip onto the edge and avoid looking down.

Sometimes your soul gets restless, yearning for those who are gone.

You’re surprised at how quickly those who you’ve lost recede from your memory, and sadly realize it will also be your fate to be quickly forgotten.

Nevertheless, you hold on.

Because you want more, you need more.

Because maybe there is still time to experience more of your dreams.

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MY HIDING PLACE I know I’m not there, but sometimes it sure feels like it.

I’m sitting in my hiding place.

An alcove just off the backyard of my apartment building that no one except me seems to go to.

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. 1952, Avenue P. It is my favorite spot, mine, all mine.

I can hear the cars, the street noise, but in here it seems very quiet.

It’s just for me.

I’m playing with my yellow truck.

My favorite toy.

Moving stones from here to there.

So I can build something.

Oh, do I love my secret spot.

There is no place better.

Still.

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Pond - Kampala, Uganda

85

A WASTED LIFE I can imagine no greater fear than to have had a wasted life.

One without meaning, one without love.

The gift discarded, squandered.

To have failed to care.

To have failed to try and make the world and others better.

To have failed to share hope and possibilities.

A life without consequence, devoid of purpose.

An aimless existence.

To have taken, but not given.

A wasted life.

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Yolo Wildlife Area - Sacramento, CA

87

Pond at The Nature Conservancy Preserve - Santa Fe, NM

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‘GRANPA’ I wasn’t sure that I had heard it correctly.

So, I turned.

There, in his stroller, 18 months, with his hands outstretched.

Saying my ‘name’ for the first time.

Calling out to me to hold his hand.

Oh my, oh my!

There are a few special moments, gifts, treasures, that life offers for which you are surprisingly unprepared, but have such an indelible impact, that remind you how wondrous your existence is and has been.

How you are with purpose, the vital link to all that has gone before, that has enabled you to be who you are, where you are, connecting with what might yet be up on ahead.

And to think, it only took one word.

‘Granpa’.

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‘WILL YOU REMEMBER ME?’ Have you ever noticed how people just disappear?

People you knew, people you loved, special people.

Time seems to wipe away their tracks.

Time evaporates the memory of them somehow.

First, they are constantly on your mind.

You commit to holding on, to remembering them.

Then they are there with you occasionally, then less, then still less.

They just keep fading away no matter how hard you try.

Once in awhile you suddenly remember, feeling embarrassed because you have failed.

After awhile, a year, a generation, or perhaps two generations, all that’s left is their headstone in a quiet, rarely visited, cemetery.

It was these thoughts, personalized, that first led me to begin to write, to write about love and other personal reflections about life.

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To fulfill a need to, somehow, tell and to leave pieces of my story.

You see, I want to enable a reader to know me a bit, know who I am, who I was.

I do want my thoughts and words to be direct, unambiguous, strongly emotive, from my heart to yours.

You, the reader, perhaps you’re someone who knew me, who loved me, or perhaps you accidentally came across this very limited print edition when only my headstone remains.

Whoever you might be, it is my hope that some of my words will touch your heart, help you to consider the meaning of your life, and that I will be remembered.

Remembered for the best of reasons.

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Fenton Lake – Jemez Springs, NM

IT IS DESIRE I am propelled forward by desire.

The desire for love, meaning, intimacy, knowledge, joy, creation, wisdom, inner calm, truth, happiness, a life that makes the one for others better, that extends my line safely forward.

When I seem to obtain that which I seek the desire is only momentarily fulfilled.

It is in a never ending supply.

An endless cycle that anticipates a completion that never occurs.

It is desire.

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTE FE, NM

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HARMONIC RHYTHM I now see linkages more clearly.

That there is an underlying harmonic rhythm to life that stretches far across time and events.

Connecting us both to the before and after.

A surprising constancy amidst our perception of change.

How little change, how little difference, there really is in the essentials.

The connections.

The molecule of water that landed on my hand during last night’s rain has likely been recycling, unchanged, over several millennia.

That all living things have the same mitochondrial DNA. One degree of separation from my grandfather’s grandfather and it’s the 18th century, and likely one between me and the middle of the 22nd century.

We are linked, intermediaries, to both the past and the future.

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NEDRA’S POND - SANTE FE, NM

95

Pecos River - Cowles, NM

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BY CHANCE? Is it possible that nothing really happens by chance?

That everything is preordained?

That we just can’t ‘see’ that fact?

That we invent stories to give meaning to life’s events?

That we are only soft tissue androids?

That there is no such thing as spontaneity, creativity, serendipity, love?

Nah...., it is definitely not possible.

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Pecos River - Cowles, NM

98

THE FINAL ARC What was my dream?

The one at the beginning of my circle.

I don’t think I can remember any longer.

I’m too tired now.

Time is closing in.

I had so many, many hopes.

Things I wanted to do, to achieve, to leave.

Did I really have that dream?

I’m no longer sure.

Maybe though.

It’s hard now to recall.

With my final arc closing, I should know, shouldn’t I? Perhaps it’s just too much detail to recall now.

It’s the summation that’s really important though, isn’t it?

You know, the totality of everything together.

I think though, to be honest, that my life far surpassed my dream.

By a lot.

I believe, yes, that it was far far better.

A really good thing, although I had hoped for more, but who doesn’t?

Yes, a life so much better than my dream.

Oh yes, that’s good, really good.

I feel settled.

Time now to rest.

But, will I still dream?

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NEITHER GOD NOR SAINT, NEITHER ANGEL NOR PRINCE A Father.

Neither god nor saint.

A son.

Neither angel nor prince.

In the early years, both infallible.

Ascending.

With time, both increasingly fallible.

Descending.

With yet more time, with reflection, you should come to see and accept the imperfections in them, in yourself.

If you are honest, you note that many of the imperfections in the other are the very same as those in yourself, and some are present in all men.

Evolution itself, we hope, is unfinished.

If you look deep into your heart you can see the ferocity of your bond, your love, for him.

It is this bond that matters above all else.

But, since mens’ communication skills can be wanting, it is unlikely that you express this feeling often, or maybe ever.

So, when was the last time you did see your son, your father?

And, did you tell him that you love him?

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

101

AS WORLDS DISAPPEAR Everyone, everything, has the same fate.

All worlds, all people, all things, disappear in time.

Also, memories --- a mother’s kiss, a child’s birth, a love’s embrace, hopes fulfilled and unfulfilled, all gone.

But what’s gone wasn’t without meaning, without beauty, just because it doesn’t have a continuing existence.

It had meaning at that moment, and sometimes long after, for those who knew, for those who shared.

All pieces and bits in the grand human trajectory.

Each as spectacular, as wondrous, in their moments, as the stars and galaxies we view through Hubble’s lens, that may have already disappeared by the time we actually see them.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

103

East Fork of the Jemez River, Jemez Mountains, NM

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EVERYTHING OR NOTHING? Think for a second.

The role of chance in a life.

Everything or nothing?

This sperm uniting with that egg.

That family or this family who takes you home from the hospital.

An almost deadly car accident barely avoided.

Going to this school or that school.

Saying yes or no to a date with this person or that person.

Going for this job interview or that one.

It goes on and on.

You’ll never really know about the ‘what ifs’, the ‘what might have beens’.

The outcomes of a life are much more random, dependent on serendipity and good fortune than we care to admit.

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IMPERMANENCE Life offers the appearance of permanence, predictability.

We create the illusion by having ordered lives, filled with routine, surrounded by objects that we can touch, hold, see.

Like having a schedule for tomorrow, plans for next week.

But, the reality of life is much more fragile and uncertain.

We have no guarantee of a continuing existence, as all things will disappear in time.

Take a moment right now.

Go, gaze upward to the sky.

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Especially follow the clouds, their constantly changing form, the way their beauty is continuously being altered by the wind, by the light of the day and of the night.

Life is a bit like that.

It is filled with so much beauty, but what is to occur next is much more unpredictable than we care to admit.

So, always be prepared to allow life to astonish, to surprise, relish spontaneity, cherish serendipity.

And realize, that the greatest, most treasured, moments in a life will be just as ephemeral as the clouds in a spectacular sunset.

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DOWN TOGETHER After awhile, you begin to wonder.

The thought seeps in.

You pretend to be unconcerned about yourself, but you are.

Some of your contemporaries are dying.

Crippling illness suddenly strikes those you know, some who you love.

Seemingly a selection made at random.

You speculate, ‘will death and disease pass over my house, or am I about to hear its knock?’

‘If them now, why not me.’

There is no comfort when it’s someone else and not you, no deep sigh of relief.

Actually, you feel that their loss also chips away at you, your continuance.

That somehow you are part of a collectivity, and even part of a special generation in time that has begun to disappear.

As you think about this, a remembered phrase from the tune ‘Goodnight Saigon’,

by Billy Joel, keeps repeating itself within you, ‘....and we will all go down together.....’.

And then you know, that no matter how much you might wish otherwise, your far horizon just isn’t that far away.

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Pond at New York Botanic Gardens - Bronx, NY

109

Canjilon Lake - Canjilon Mountains, NM

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NATTERING ON OK, I confess.

I don’t know what to make of it.

There’s danger in even mentioning it.

You know, the risk of being called a ‘sexist’.

I’m sitting here and watching carefully.

Women of all ages, here in this coffee house.

But, it’s not just now, it’s the same wherever.

It doesn’t seem to vary by neighborhood, area of the country, setting, ethnicity, income level, time of day, time of year, or even country.

This fascinating level of animated conversational energy is truly remarkable.

And, if you listen carefully, they can talk, natter on, about multitudes of things, at impressive speeds in the brief span of a few minutes, even jumping back and forth, diagonally, grazing across topics.

And they seem so interested, engaged in whatever is being said.

So, I’d really like to know whether anyone out there really knows, unequivocally -- how do they get like that?

I mean, is it genetic, socialized in, or just what?

As for me, I like it, am drawn to it, find it one of the things that make women, truthfully, so appealing, so much more interesting.

Well, I think I’ll stay here a bit longer to watch, listen, and sure, have another muffin.

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Lakes at Central Park - New York, NY

112

FORGIVENESS?!

Born into abject poverty.

A life of constant struggle, torment, hardship.

Each day, every day.

Working from before dawn to after dusk.

Just for food, clean water, basic sanitation, a roof, school for his children, access to health care, hope.

He prays to God. Asking for forgiveness for whatever it is that causes him to have this life, this misfortune.

But, why should this man be asking for forgiveness!!

It should be God asking this man for forgiveness!!

For His thoughtlessness and cruelty.

Let them exchange places for a bit.

Amen.

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THAT FIRST DAY AND AFTER It must have been deeply imprinted, embedded within me, then, that first day.

I must have felt their adoring kisses, tasted her milk’s sweetness, known love.

On that first day I must have seen the sun, felt its warmth and promise, listened to my parents’ whispers for the me to come, known hope.

On that first day I must have heard their laughter, seen their smiles, known happiness.

On that first day I must have been held so very close, so tenderly, known caring.

Everything, everything, I needed to know ------love, hope, happiness, caring-----I was taught by them on that first day and every day after.

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Herricks Pond - Herricks, NY

115

LOSING YOUR WAY? How is it possible to just ‘lose your way’?

To forget your intent, your hopes, your purpose, your dreams.

What you love, who you love, and why.

Even the whole intended trajectory of your life.

How can such a thing happen?

I mean, it’s not like misplacing your keys, or something just ‘slipping your mind’.

Is it?

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

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THE FINAL QUEUE They are queuing up.

The mourners.

Each waiting their turn.

To shovel some dirt.

Offering their last respects.

Taking their portion to help bury me deep.

For some finality.

The ‘amen’ of Kaddish, and I begin to disappear.

Memory of me quickly begins to seep deep into my fresh grave, day by day, until nothing, nothing remains.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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WHAT I LOST I lost something that day.

Hard to say exactly what it was.

But it was important, very important.

I think it was part of my gyroscope.

I was destabilized a bit.

A certain absolute confidence about the future.

That there might be much of one for me.

What it might be like.

Life now more about ambiguity than certainty.

The length and clarity of my path now unknown.

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FADING AWAY As time passed his features seemed to lose their shape.

The deepening lines on his face did not reveal any contained messages.

It appeared that his eyes no longer connected to the vibrant mind that was once present.

He now moved at quarter speed.

He became increasingly indistinct from his surroundings, colorless.

His voice now soundless.

He was simply fading away, shrinking.

Already labeled as having ‘passed’, he was ignored.

A barely living ghost.

However, what others thought they saw was at variance to the sharp, wise, and still vibrant person contained within.

But no one cared, no one wanted to take the time to find out.

He was at the end, and when they saw him they glimpsed their own future and wanted no part of it.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

123

MY NOSTALGIA It’s a most peculiar nostalgia.

That gets stronger as I get older.

This wish, this longing desire.

To relive some of my child times.

To hear my Mother laugh while helping her grind chicken livers.

To sit next to my Dad at Ebbets Field.

To sneak off with my pals and spend a few hours at Steeplechase.

To fight Halloween chalk wars.

To sit at the counter with my sister and have a cherry coke at Dot’s.

To flip baseball cards at the park.

Play stickball on West 9th.

Go with my Grandmother to Nathan’s for a hot dog and fries, and then see a movie across the street.

Sunday blintzes at the Famous with my Grandfather.

Oh...how sweet that all would be!!

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

125

APRICOTS AND FRESH BREAD The pine needles have set themselves as though exercising free will to symmetrical perfection under the awakening pale blue sky.

The sun and all of its attendant glory waits patiently to make its grand entrance.

The morning air, a strange mix of apricots and fresh bread.

Hunger or an olfactory hallucination?

Alone, but somehow feeling connected to everything and everyone in the cosmos.

I begin my morning mountain hike.

Regardless of what else, this day will be magnificent.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

128

MEN DON’T UNDERSTAND Some women understand this and enjoy a truly great power.

Unfortunately, men don’t.

Men constantly misjudge the level of attention women grant them.

Believing there is more, much more, being offered than is the case.

Why exactly is speculative.

I don’t think it’s because men are more hopeful.

It’s simply a little wiring defect.

A trusting of women that comes from our mother’s love.

It’s not that we’re fools, well mostly not.

It’s just a sweet gullibility.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

130

THE MOMENT There is this moment in time when you first realize, with absolute clarity, that you are no longer, and will never again, be who you were.

You’ve crossed over without a return ticket.

The changes are irreversible, your denouement the destination.

All that’s left is setting the date.

A moment of overwhelming, overpowering, melancholy.

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YOU JUST CAN’T TRUST TIME What if time stopped?

Today.

It died or suddenly ran out.

Or just refused to move ahead.

Became stuck, frozen where it was.

Began behaving unpredictably, erratically.

Time acting in a way so that you could no longer count on it.

Take a moment right now to ask yourself the following questions.

Would you have lived the life of purpose and love you had hoped for and desired?

Said and done those few things that seemed most important to your heart?

Been satisfied with the essentials of the only shot at a life you get?

Well, if not don’t just sit there, get started.

Yes, right now.

Because, you know, that you just can’t trust time.

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pond at Roslyn Harbor - Roslyn, NY

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

134

WINTER Harsh winds.

Swirling snow, ice.

Bleak, frigid.

The very depth of winter.

A lone, black, tree is seen against winter’s stark white snow canvas.

Desolate?

Perhaps, but always look beyond the surface.

What often appears grim and endless is really yet another beginning.

Warmth will surely come, another winter will pass.

The snow’s moisture will nourish winter’s trees.

Life will blossom.

Buds, leaves, oxygen.

Birds will nest.

Hope and passion regenerate.

Life recycles, renews.

It’s the way things are.

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Roslyn Harbor - Roslyn, NY

136

Jones Beach – Long Island, NY

THAT DAY Do you ever hope for a single day of such perfection that all you ever wanted would occur in that day?

A day to remember forever.

A day that fulfills, even far exceeds, all of your dreams, hopes, desires.

So that you would know that all you ever wanted were possible to have, and what it was like to have everything fulfilled at least once.

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PROTECT THE THREAD I have to always protect it.

To make sure it never tears.

This thread that constantly winds its way through my life.

Connecting everything.

Forever linking what was with what is, and what will be.

No discontinuity.

Everything linked together.

The thread, often unseen, is always there, and must forever be protected.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

139

NEVER REJECT HOPE Why reject hope?

Even when you might have every reason to do so.

Even when others do.

Even as time evaporates and circumstances erode reasons for optimism.

Better to have hopeful expectations that what is next will fulfill your aspirations.

Better to have a continued clarity of purpose and direction, and unshakable belief in the possibilities of life.

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Roslyn Harbor - Roslyn, NY

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

142

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FUTURE? There comes a point in a life when you begin to realize that the future isn’t about you any longer.

Time is collapsing in on itself.

Your future is really the present, not what lies over the horizon.

Possibilities are no longer endless.

It certainly changes your perspective.

Those who haven’t gotten there yet just don’t seem to understand.

Why would they?

With this recognition, I now have a greater requirement for certainty, unambiguous fulfillment, the need for completion, far less for delayed gratification.

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LIFE IN RETROGRADE Lately, I seem to be caught in some kind of weird time warp.

With every step forward, it seems that life moves backward.

With each tick of the clock, time recedes.

That the only future seems to be the past.

And, what first appeared ahead, turns out to be behind.

It is life in retrograde.

Well, I guess, perhaps, maybe, sometimes, the certainty of being back where you were may be better than what may, or may not, lie ahead.

Could be.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

146

CHERISH THE UNFATHOMABLE How little we really know.

How little we really understand.

So many penetrating mysteries.

Unfathomables.

That will always, forever, be there.

Some insist on the creation of fables to explain the unexplainable.

Superstitions, rituals, invented with a claim they originate from the ‘source’, and are the one and only truth.

So many, too many, blindly follow these self-proclaimed authorities who assert that they speak for, represent, the ‘source’.

But, what is beyond the beyond?

What grand collective purpose is there to our lives, our existence?

Important questions to be seriously considered.

However, why not be satisfied with dwelling on the question, knowing there is no final answer?

That the unknowable can’t be known.

Without accepting easy, convenient answers, simply because that’s what others believe.

Without allowing oneself to conform to outlandish, ritualistic answers that create an ‘us’ and a ‘them’, and the hate filled insistence that only ‘we’ can be right?

Beware of absolutes and their vendors.

Cherish the unknowable.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

148

THE PITY OF IT Aye, the pity of it!

Most don’t hear the universal calling, or do hear, but don’t care.

It’s an insistent, persistent voice through all ages, all times.

Because of the need that’s always been there, will always be there.

The need to help others.

Our obligation within the human community.

We’re needed you know.

To help the many whose circumstances have deprived.

That’s true enough.

Too bad, too many have a tin ear and don’t hear the call.

Aye, the pity of it!

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LEFT TO THE GHOSTS Have you ever had to clean out the home of a recently departed loved one?

The place they’ve inhabited, their things, that once were imbued with life, vitality, meaning, that now seems barren, empty, abandoned.

Without their owner the places seem discarded, lost, forgotten.

As though our loved one simply vanished with hardly any real trace of them left.

And after such long, full, lives.

You can almost see tumbleweed and dust blowing aimlessly through.

The place now left to whatever ghosts want to inhabit this deserted space.

If only there was a way for us to perform this task before we, ourselves, departed, so that others wouldn’t have to endure such penetrating melancholy.

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Pond at Pomeroy Park - Amherst, NY

151

THE DISAPPEARING CHILD Do you remember the child you once were?

I don’t mean remembering from all those pictures, or from stories told by others.

No, not the specific objective facts, but the subjective feelings.

The carefree happiness, the wonder, the constant playfulness, the innocence.

The inventiveness, the pleasure in small things, the easy and constant laughter.

The sense of self-importance, the questions.

You being so tightly linked to the rest of your known world, not separate from it.

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The warmth of the love and affection unconditionally given and received.

Do you ever now carefully watch children at play?

Do you ever puzzle over when all that good ‘stuff’ disappeared, and to where it went?

Well, you know, maybe it’s not really gone but lost.

So, why not try to find it again?

Yes, why not right now?

Things just might be so much better with that child back in your life.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

154

NO, YOU WILL NOT FIND ME No matter where you look, you will not find me.

No matter what you test, measure, examine, observe.

I’m not what you can touch, see or analyze.

Even if you could translate my encoded electrochemical neuro-activity, synapse by synapse, you would still not know.

I am all of, and none of, the sum and the parts.

Even if you could gather all possible information and inputs, it might only be an approximation of the ‘was’ me, not the ‘now’ me, or the ‘to be’ me.

I’m not a static, constant being.

I’m continually changing, evolving, devolving, even mutating occasionally.

Different than before, different than whatever is next.

No, you will not find me.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

156

OUR STORIES Our lives, as we try to recall them, are seemingly collections of stories.

We all have them, we all cherish them.

Somehow they come to describe and define much of who we were, or think we were.

Sometimes remembered accurately, sometimes edited, and other times invented, purposely or not.

And occasionally, dreams and stories get melded, confused with each other.

Regardless, we talk about them as though they are factual and true.

Interestingly, out of all those years, all those days, for each life period, there just seem to be a select few that we repeatedly call up.

These somehow are markers in our lives.

How often do we remember ourselves as we think we used to be, but fail to recognize that person is no longer us?

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EACH IS WITHIN ME Each and every wonder that life has granted me is encoded, here inside.

All the bits and pieces.

Mysteriously incorporated into the complex double helix of memory and experience that shapes who I am, who I was, affecting who I might yet be.

Just as determinative as the A--T.....sequences that define my genetic DNA. All within me, part of me, and I am in each.

His smile as he says, ‘grandpa I love you’.

Last night’s last fiery burst of spectacular colors.

My mother’s hug, my love’s tender touch, all encoded.

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Ellicott Creek - Amherst, NY

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

160

A GRAND ADVENTURE The unforeseen, serendipity.

They play such a central, critical, unacknowledged, role in our lives.

And because of that, life is truly an unscripted, grand adventure.

We cannot know in which day, in what moment of that day, the direction of our life may be forever altered.

When it will shift without a return to what it was.

When we become someone a bit different, in unanticipated circumstances, facing new and unexpected challenges.

When we suddenly have a new life script to write.

Yes, a grand adventure.

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

162

THE TERRAIN OF MEMORIES I’m here now, in this place, this park.

Such expansive, tranquil beauty.

A place for happiness, for wonderful memories, but not only for me.

It is a portal of sorts.

Where I am transported into a memory wormhole, back through time.

My father took me here.

His father, my grandfather, took him here.

They played.

I remember my father telling me.

And I took my son here, we laughed, explored.

And now I run after my grandson here, and we roll around on the grass, playing.

We are linked to places where we climb up and down the peculiar terrain of memories.

We are people of places that mark our territories, that connect the stream of memories across generations.

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THE WIND AT YOUR BACK Hope can wither from disuse, fade away, even disappear.

It’s easy to forget to live your own life, the one you want, expect, dream of, hope for, rather than the one others want for you.

Always remember what you truly long for.

Then find your wind, the one that is there only for you, and always, always, keep it at your back.

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pond at Roslyn Harbor - Roslyn, NY

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Mill Pond - Bellmore, NY

166

SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE LEFT ME WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE It is strange how I can walk in and out of particular memories that I hold onto, but not moments just before or just after them.

And, after all these years, the truth is that I’m not sure I understand what happened in some, especially this one that I want to share.

They had left me all alone in my grandparents’ apartment, to go to the cemetery.

They told me that my grandmother had died and was to be buried, but that I was ‘too young’ to go, that ‘it was not a place’ for me.

That’s how I remember it.

Years later, my older sister said she was with me, but I only remember being alone.

It was so very quiet.

I was only five and didn’t understand what they meant.

I walked through their apartment looking for my grandmother, for traces of her, knowing that she would come back soon.

I sensed that she was still there, I smelled her perfume.

She never would have left me without saying goodbye.

No, not without a big hug, her warm laugh, a kiss, and a ‘I love you’.

No, never.

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THE LOSS OF IMAGINATION When we’re young we imagine.

Imagine the possibilities of a future, our future.

Our lives then filled with expectation, with hope.

When we’re old we tend to re-imagine the past, in part because our memory is imperfect, patchy, incomplete.

And in part, subconsciously, we edit our stories so that they are more positive, fitting our self-perceived persona.

Of course, why shouldn’t we want to feel better about ourselves?

But sadly, the gift of imagination and the enthusiasm for possibilities seems to erode as we age.

And, unfortunately, it’s imagination that is necessary for hope to exist.

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McCauley Hot Springs - Jemez Mountains, NM

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SEARCHING I am out here, there somewhere.

Wrapped tightly in the black cloth of the night.

Embraced by it.

Indistinguishable from it.

Part of it.

Unseen.

Not sure where I begin and it continues.

Searching.

But, not sure for what exactly.

For meaning, surely.

But, for what else?

I’m not really sure.

Wish I knew.

Or do I?

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McCauley Hot Springs - Jemez Mountains, NM

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Pond at Denver Botanic Gardens - Denver, CO

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AROUND THE BEND OF TIME Sometimes the future seems just out of reach.

Doesn’t it?

You desperately seek forward motion in your life to what is unseen, unknown, just around the bend of time.

You are convinced that what is next will always be better than what is, what was.

But the future is stalled, in limbo.

You do sense it is coming.

You wait with anticipation.

Believing that it will be, has to be better, even when now is really, really good.

You’re filled with hope because that’s your nature, always dreaming for what might come.

But, too much waiting disheartens, undermines your confidence.

The past, the present, keep ahead of the future, blocking its arrival.

So, you wait.

What else is there to do?

Because you can’t give up hope.

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THE FABRIC AND THE THREAD Things that we most cherish, both animate and not, have an existence beyond the objective, factual, descriptive.

They are also alive in our imagination, often enjoying a richly textured, subjective, presence.

One that may be constantly crossing a line between non-fiction and fiction, documentary, and romantic adventure.

The conscious or subconscious script is by and for ourselves, from our internal well-spring of hope and possibility.

It is our fertile imagination that allows us to understand and appreciate beyond the surface, to create a deeper meaning that things have within our lives.

We see both the fabric and the thread --- the objective particular, as well as the context for us.

It is our imagination, always at work, even as we sleep, that provides the enjoyment and wonder of our most special things.

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Pond at Denver Botanic Gardens - Denver, CO

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Pond at Denver Botanic Gardens - Denver, CO

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WHEN MY HEART WAS FULL I wonder.

What didn’t I do that I should have, and what did I do wrong?

You know, the errors of omission and commission.

No, not all of them.

But the few that remain on my mind, that I ruminate about.

And what would I do differently, if I could?

I seem to be most troubled by the errors of omission, especially things that I should have said, or said more clearly.

To have made my inner most feelings unambiguous.

To change those moments when my heart was full, but I was strangely mute.

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Bear Swamp - Saratoga Springs, NY

178

AN EMPTINESS She stood there for the last time.

Everything that had once been in this house seemed to be gone.

No, not the furniture, not the things, but the memories, the laughter, the wonder, the love, the hopes that the future is boundless.

Inside she felt the emptiness that she saw.

Uncertain now that she would ever feel that way again.

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A MOMENT OF INTIMATE RELEVANCE Is it poetry or prose?

Structured or de-constructured?

Imagism or romanticism?

Rhyme or syllabic verse?

Metaphor or simile?

Just what is it?

I mean, does it really matter?

Well, perhaps to some, but surely not to most.

Rules about form, etc., can be barriers to making the emotive, stimulant, power of words accessible.

Some poetry is so dense that you need a jackhammer and dynamite to penetrate.

Maybe this is why so few read, and so few write poetry.

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But, for me, poetry is about creating a moment of intimate relevance about an idea, an emotion, a person, an admired object, a belief, something between a writer and a reader.

You know, an artistic communication using an ordered collection of words that offers the possibility of meaning, recognition, felt personal value for both the giver and receiver.

Not to be judged, but something that can be appreciated, understood, a human moment or experience that makes some positive difference in a life.

181

PULLING BACK THE COVERS The first light of day is once again interrupting.

Intruding into the preferred, detached, pleasures of my wondrous dream world.

It is insistent.

Its radiance has found its way in and is pulling back the very covers of my sleep.

Wiping away, bit by bit, the fabulous make believe and ‘what if’ of my dreams.

Disturbing and unraveling my warm nest, my cocoon.

All attempts to forestall the inevitable, to keep the day at a distance awhile longer, are failing.

That spectacular inner beauty of quiet is dissipating.

Forcing the inevitable confrontation between semi-consciousness and consciousness.

Nights’ delightful passivity is being rudely swept away.

The every day challenge will require renewed, demonstrable, mastery over the unpredictable daily rebirth and events of life.

Well, time has now come to peer over the edge and see what today might bring.

182

Rio En Medio - En Medio - Santa Fe, NM

183

Pond at Wright’s Graycliff Estate - Derby, NY

184

MORE I want more.

More time.

I want to see my children and their children grow old, happy, fulfilled.

To always be with my Love.

To always feel the warmth and splendor of the sun, to experience all of the beauty and wonders of life.

To see the end of poverty and suffering.

To know the earth is safe.

To see a thousand more full moons and every sunrise and sunset in between.

And to find more ways to make the world a better place.

185

I hear the dead I hear the dead.

The constant echo of their cries.

The children.

The slaughtered.

Lost forever.

Victims of unbearable torment, pain, horror, suffering.

From the four corners of my own diaspora -- Blazowa, Rotmistrovka, Boryslav, Libau, and far beyond.

My generations and all the others left behind.

Vanished, erased, from the body of collective humanity.

They were seeds of what could have been.

The dead and all those after, who will now never be.

They were also the loss of all the generations before, who struggled so in hardship

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and anguish to give life and hope to those exterminated.

Memory of them all, them all, now evaporating with time.

Am I not who they were?

They would not have forgotten me.

Was Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, said for each, for all?

But, most had no one left to say it for them.

How can we, who remain, rest until we know that their precious souls are forever under God’s eternal protection, bound up in the collective presence of their own people, for all time, beyond time?

But no answer is ever heard.

God is mute, hiding in shame.

As He should.

These were bestial acts of intentional, unspeakable inhumanity.

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Nourished by those who acted in the name of their god, with their perverse beliefs, both then and in the centuries before, that was the cause, the original sin.

Of those who knew what was occurring, few stood up, fewer acted.

It is my deepest hope that those with the stain of blood, and those consenting, have been condemned to an eternity of endless and horrific suffering for their crimes.

This occurred within our lifetime, not another place, another time.

It was the most unspeakable, abominable crime in all human history.

And yet, the memory still fades.

Some, who are reincarnations of the beasts, in harsh and further cruelty, even deny that the horror ever took place.

Where then are the millions?

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First as a child, I secretly prayed to God to anoint me as His avenging angel, so that I could sweep across the earth, gathering up and devouring the guilty and complicit.

I can’t bear the thought that some of these demons still walk the earth, while the sweet innocents are forgotten.

I continue to awake, hoping to find the anointing oil moist on my forehead.

Maybe it will be so with tomorrow’s first light.

Because, still, I hear the dead.

We are what now remains of the strands of cloth woven together by Jacob for Joseph’s coat. So, it is for us, in most blessed memory for all of the perished and forgotten, to always remember, to always pass on and honor that memory, and to say Kaddish now, hoping that all their departed souls will be bound up with ours, and will finally be at rest, in peace, forever and ever.

Amen

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Kaddish:

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Yees’gadal v’yees’kadash sh’mey rabba B’alma dee v’ra cheer’usey, v’yamleech malchu’say B’cha’yey’chon, u’v’yo’mey’chon, u’v’cha’yei d’chol Beis Yisrael, Ba’agala u’veez’man kareev, v’eem’ru: Amein.

Y’hey sh’mey rabba m’varach l’alam u’l’almey almaya.

Yees’barach, v’yeesh’tabach, v’yees’pa’ar, v’yees’romam, v’yees’nasei, v’yees’hadar, v’yees’aleh, v’yees’halal sh’mey d’kood’sha b’reech hoo L’eylah meen kol beer’chasa v’sheer’asa, toosh’b’chasa v’nechem’asa, da’ameeran b’al’ma, v’eemru: Amein.

Y’hei shlama rabba meen sh’maya v’chaim aleynu v’al kol Yisrael, v’eemru: Amein.

Oseh shalom beem’ro’mav, Hoo ya’aseh shalom, aleynu v’al kol Yisrael, v’eemru: Amein.

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about the author Dr. Arthur R. Goshin first began writing poetry as he turned sixty. Educated as a physician and in public health, he’s had a forty year health care career, first developing health centers based in communities of poverty, then developing and managing large not-for-profit health care programs. He currently serves as a board chair, board member or advisor for a range of entities including private companies, organizations, foundations and academic institutions. As he retired from ‘employed work’ (as he puts it) and began writing poetry, he also became the founder/funder/president/ceo of his own foundation (www.healthyworldfoundation.org) engaged in numerous health projects in Uganda and India. A website at www.arthurgoshin.com is under development that will include e-copies of Art’s recent books as well as selections of his photography. He splits his living time between New York City and Santa Fe with his wife Renee.

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Table of Contents

Table of Contents I Was a Dream..............................................................................................................................1 I Will Do My Best.........................................................................................................................3 Each Day’s First Gift.....................................................................................................................4 We Are What Is In Between........................................................................................................6 For All This We Give Thanks.......................................................................................................9 As Hope Yields to Fate.............................................................................................................10 A Broken Promise......................................................................................................................13 Where I Was Meant to Be.........................................................................................................14 How?...........................................................................................................................................17 Don’t Let Me Die Again............................................................................................................18 Yes, Dream.................................................................................................................................21 I Am of Them.............................................................................................................................22 Sorrows.......................................................................................................................................25 You Can Feel Me.......................................................................................................................26 Memory Treasures.....................................................................................................................28 Holding Them............................................................................................................................30 Dandelions.................................................................................................................................33 Autumn.......................................................................................................................................35 Insistent......................................................................................................................................36 Saving the World.......................................................................................................................39 Was I Ever Younger?..................................................................................................................40 Look for the Unknowable..........................................................................................................42 What Kind of Poem?..................................................................................................................45 In Gratitude................................................................................................................................46

Table of Contents To Soar and to Fall.....................................................................................................................49 The Odd Peculiarity of Dreams................................................................................................50 Where Will You Find Me?..........................................................................................................53 Deceived....................................................................................................................................54 Lasting Tracks.............................................................................................................................57 What’s Missing?.........................................................................................................................58 I Cry for You................................................................................................................................61 My Hope for Them....................................................................................................................62 Who is That?..............................................................................................................................64 Forgotten...................................................................................................................................67 The Unseen................................................................................................................................68 Waiting.......................................................................................................................................71 The Dead Never Leave.............................................................................................................72 Who is that Fool?.......................................................................................................................74 Time is Watching.......................................................................................................................76 Within Me...................................................................................................................................79 ‘Thank You......’ ..........................................................................................................................81 Holding On................................................................................................................................83 My Hiding Place.........................................................................................................................84 A Wasted Life.............................................................................................................................86 ‘Granpa’......................................................................................................................................89 ‘Will You Remember Me?’.........................................................................................................90 It is Desire...................................................................................................................................92 Harmonic Rhythm......................................................................................................................94

Table of Contents

By Chance?.................................................................................................................................97 The Final Arc..............................................................................................................................99 Neither God Nor Saint, Neither Angel Nor Prince...............................................................100 As Worlds Disappear...............................................................................................................102 Everything or Nothing?...........................................................................................................105 Impermanence.........................................................................................................................106 Down Together........................................................................................................................108 Nattering On............................................................................................................................111 Forgiveness?!...........................................................................................................................113 The First Day and After...........................................................................................................114 Losing Your Way?.....................................................................................................................116 The Final Queue......................................................................................................................119 What I Lost...............................................................................................................................121 Fading Away.............................................................................................................................122 My Nostalgia............................................................................................................................124 Apricots and Fresh Bread.......................................................................................................126 Men Don’t Understand...........................................................................................................129 The Moment............................................................................................................................131 You Just Can’t Trust Me...........................................................................................................132 Winter.......................................................................................................................................135 That Day...................................................................................................................................137 Protect the Thread...................................................................................................................138 Never Reject Hope..................................................................................................................140 What Happened to My Future?..............................................................................................143

Table of Contents Life in Retrograde....................................................................................................................144 Cherish the Unfathomable......................................................................................................147 The Pity of It.............................................................................................................................149 Left to the Ghosts....................................................................................................................150 The Disappearing Child..........................................................................................................152 No, You Will Not Find Me.......................................................................................................155 Our Stories...............................................................................................................................157 Each is Within Me....................................................................................................................158 A Grand Adventure.................................................................................................................161 The Terrain of Memories.........................................................................................................163 The Wind at Your Back............................................................................................................164 She Never Would Have Left Me Without Saying Goodbye................................................167 Searching..................................................................................................................................170 Around the Bend of Time.......................................................................................................173 The Fabric and the Thread.....................................................................................................174 When My Heart Was Full.........................................................................................................177 An Emptiness...........................................................................................................................179 A Moment of Intimate Relevance..........................................................................................180 Pulling Back the Covers..........................................................................................................182 More.........................................................................................................................................185 I Hear the Dead.......................................................................................................................188

Table of Contents

Photos of Children from the Holocaust from the Museum of Tolerance, Los Angles, CA

Table of Contents