hello from nyc where i have seen fires and floods over the last week but also sun and humidity, seven pigeons sitting in a row inside the subway, the lovely trees and light of central park, and bridges over brooklyn lit up like movies
it is Wednesday1 and i still have to prepare for a conversation with mark solms before i go to sleep so i am giving myself 23 minutes to write this; i hope it will be an exercise in mind as movement within itself
because landscapes are assembled, not only found
so let’s see what i find
as i open myself to myself here, open myself to you, wherever you are
has it been a hard week for you? or has this one passed with ease? what have you seen that is beautiful? is everyone around you also talking about the odyssey?
the first time i read the odyssey or any work by homer was in Mr. Cockran’s class in high school. he was one of the best teachers i’ve ever had and yet remembering his class is always a mix of pain and heartbreak alongside the visions of trojan horses and the aegean or (more fittingly for this moment) Ithica and the Fantastic Realms
when i remember his class i remember what i could not possibly have seen
battles and theaters and blood and swords and animals and skin and dust and the grit of lovers who cannot be still
i remember it all because he would take us outside and point across the american fields and read homer and ask that we imagine it
and i did
i have the feeling we all did
but the charismatic boys would not let Mr. Cockran2 get away with his name without being teased
endlessly
they would not let it pass that he was a bit overweight
one artist brought an egg into class
drawn onto that egg was Mr. Cockran
and because the shape fit, it was almost impossible not to laugh
and i hope that i didn’t
those boys in their hearts loved their teacher and in part
that is why they would think of him still at home
and draw his likeness onto a boiled egg
but they would not let him get away with the portal he opened in all of us
the emotions and elastic living that burst forth
teachers watched us out their windows as we danced around and stared out into fields full of epic poetry & as i remember it their faces were not pleasant
Mr. Cockran was fired for being ‘too much’
but he wasn’t
and it breaks my heart that i never got to tell him how much
he gave
I said I would write every other Wednesday so just trying to stay true to it!
I changed the name just in case my real teacher is still out there and does not want his real name here but it has the same significance.
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