Skip to main content

Featured

the letter reader

It is the third time I sit down to record The Letter Reader. The laundry rack has been pushed back, the lights dimmed. There is a flat grey sky outside the windows. The song has changed key three times. I even tried it a capella, the guitar just resting on my knee. The words felt hollow and empty when I heard them playing back. Unlistenable. The struggle is a familiar one - between the glowing idea of something butting up against the reality is presents as it enters the world. We are all famous in our own minds - heroes, geniuses, rock stars and saints. In the real world, we are flabby, and fallible. We are painfully human, and no angels. How to align all of this? How to put yourself in front of a microphone, or an empty piece of paper, an open road, a classroom full of children, an office?

Maybe there are glimpses of greatness. Maybe there are little cracks of something magical, if you wait for them, if you nurture them, if you struggle for them. I often find myself yelling at tv sc…

Where is Valery?

I am sitting with E on the bench in front of our house. An old man wobbles towards us and mumbles something. I get the name Valery from it. I guess he is asking for him, where he might be. I ask E what he is saying and she shrugs her shoulders. He looks at us with big wet eyes, his shoulders hanging slack, jeans hiked up with no belt on them, his shoes those big pillow-shaped old people shoes. I shake my head no, apologizing. 

He stands for some time.

Our taxi arrives and we are off. He spins to us, surprised. Maybe he thought we said we knew this Valery. Maybe he thought we told him Valery was coming soon. 




When we come back, there is a cane leaning against the wall under the mailboxes. E has to pee and we have negotiated who gets the bathroom first but I am kneeling on the dirty floor, taking a picture instead. E rolls her eyes.

"Art first!" I announce, jumping into the elevator.

Upstairs I stare at the picture. I tell E I am going back downstairs just for a minute.

The Leica in my hands, my meter in the other I see the cane as the doors slide open with their messy clang. Someone is cooking peppers, and the hall sends out that bitter, green smell.

I breathe slowly, holding it in once I click the shutter. This removes my body's vibrations, lets things be a little bit sharper. Two frames and I reach the end of the roll. I think to go back and load a fresh one but then ask myself if I got it. I go back, twisting the little lever, rewinding the film already.

Later, we go out for milk and eggs and the cane is gone.





Comments

jeannine nye said…
I discovered you through another blogger a while ago, and I am so pleased to read your latest post.. you make life so interesting and manage to convey all the little nuances that make up your day... It must be difficult bringing up a little girl on your own, in fact being a single parent for boy or girl would be hard.. but you seem to embrace all your adventures so happily and I am sure that you are building great memories for your little girl to savour in the future as an adult. I guess you are there for the long term, but hats off to you, you seem to be doing a smashing job.... Do you miss your family in America? I have two of my five kids living abroad.. one in Canada, and the other in Australia.. it broke my heart to see them leave, but it was their road to travel,and despite the cost of airfares I have managed to get to see them, plus of course facebook time to catch up all the news.. keep the stories coming and I shall be back to read them... all the very best from UK.. J

Popular Posts

best personal blogs
best personal blogs