who so unkindly delivered it to us in 2020.
Like other artists in this pandemic I have struggled to come to terms with
all the new burdens it has brought us: masks, social distancing, shortages,
less than truthful politicians and scientists, loneliness, fear, sexual frustration
and the sad irony of putting all this in the context of a beautiful spring and
creatures not knowing the world has changed. A woodpecker rat tat tapping
on a tree in the forest for his breakfast, puffs of daisy seeds flowing on the
breeze, the sun so warm, the grass so green and fresh. Robins, titmouse,
and tiny hummingbirds miraculously making their way across the Gulf for
a little bit of sugar water in burgeoning blossoms.
It is a world Camus first looked at in his book THE PLAGUE and another,
THE STRANGER. His words become prologue and epilogue to my
own observations, and in the middle of all of this so far, the season of Easter
with its promise of resurrection and transformation. Love, amusement, hope
and just training your mind to observe what the world has become and what
it may yet be, the opportunities Camus first looked at in his plague and later
the stranger.One happy result of this artistic thrashing about has been the chance to
reconnect with old friends such as Pancho Malenzanov who painted his village
in the middle of a hurricane which seems appropriate for the cover of
this particular book. I divided the book into four parts, somewhat arbitrarily
beginning with Pandemic; then Play including occasional observations and
attempts at humor; then Roommate, since when you're living with someone you
get to learn a lot about them; and-finally-Easter with prayers to help us see the light.
Covid Casualty is a sad reflection on the aftermath of living in lockdown with
someone you love, a drama which has played out in any number
of households as the isolation and forced togetherness takes its toll. A sacrilege
perhaps to compare the suffocation of a room mate who could not
breathe to that of George Floyd dying at the hands of a cruel fellow human
being, and the global uproar fueled by the frustrations of isolation. A single
poem serves as an epilogue, since its rather bleak assessment does not really
suit for the section titled Easter. Still, as an indictment indictment of capital
punishment, it seems an appropriate vision of Camus' humanism, his compassion
for the human predicament to end with. As da Vinci has said it is
an infinitely atrocious act to take away the life of a man. This is what the
virus has done atrociously in thousands of cases now. These poems mean
nothing if they forget those thousands who in desperation and courage have
achieved their own death. The collection ends with a final image of hope
and resurrection, a last final word. Even when its roots are in the dirtiest waters,
the lotus produces the most beautiful flower, an ancient symbol of rebirth, purity
and self regeneration. It calls for spiritual enlightenment so
direly needed in these troubling times when all life is threatened.
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