Weltschmerz and Me

To my wonderful readers and subscribers:

So sorry to have been MIA here on Substack. I think I might be suffering from Weltschmerz, and I know I’m not alone. This is a German word meaning “world-pain;’ often described as a mood of weariness or sadness about life arising from the acute awareness of evil and suffering. This condition interferes with my sense of humor, conviction, vitality, and clarity; which, while a source of determination and purpose for some, hampers my drive to write about any of the topics I’ve explored here on Open Tuning. I do want to come back!!!

Many years ago, I received a fan letter to my WPKN radio show from a supremely talented CT artist, Robert Reynolds, who described the spirit of my show as being “world-weary but with hope for the future.” I felt incredibly seen. We wound up meeting at his then studio in Branford, and made an exchange. He offered me a painting. I was drawn to an image on a slab of concrete propped against the corner. It reminded me of cave paintings. In return I brought him recorded cassettes (yes, it was THAT long ago!) of some of my shows.

Okay, here’s a piece of good news — because curating music for alternative radio continues to be possible during my writing “dry spell,” that effort not only continues (1st and 3rd Thursdays on wpkn.org from 9 - Noon), but is now AVAILABLE AS A PODCAST you can listen to ANYTIME. This is a new feature, so I’ve got seven episodes up of the most recent shows, and I hope to be posting past interviews (mostly with authors and musicians) soon.

While I train my muscles for longer pieces, I want to share a poem, Desert, I wrote a while back (see below). Don’t worry, I’m not in a current state of romantic heartbreak but I’m familiar with the terrain. If there is interest, I’ll do an audio recording of it.

Meanwhile, I wish everyone a safe and healthy holiday, and here’s to a better year in 2026!!!!

Desert

You dragged me out there, already parched

and opened my mouth so wide I could have drunk

the camel’s portion, saved in a leather pouch

and banging against his side as he lowered himself

to the ground, to rub his wide lips against the sand

You dragged me out there, already parched

and teased me with a drop of your goodness

You said your own portion was barely yours

but smoothed me out against the cool cloth

on the floor of your tent. You hovered,

levitating, animating me with

circles of dew.

You dragged me out there, already parched

and promised more water. It would come, you said

If only I could wait, if only I could trust.

But I saw crows hovering, too, out of place, out of time,

and I stripped off my rags

and went back out onto the sand.

When, did you say? Was, did you say? If, did you say?

You dragged me out there, already parched

And opened my mouth so wide it was an embarrassing sight

but you claimed it was beautiful, that my thirst was beautiful

and I prepared to receive, I opened my heart, I opened my trust,

You said it was right. I felt it was right.

So I lay in the tent, and sometimes out on the sand,

And soon became frozen in the shape of thirst

And I grew ugly like the camel, misshapen, accustomed to

dry and punishing conditions. I grew accustomed. I fell into step.

I did what you asked. I slit everything away, my gender, my sex,

my longing, my tongue. All I saw was darkness and the night.

With my camel mouth I shaped a final question:

If you were parched too

Where did you get your water

In your desert so hard and ungiving?

Binnie Klein