Extra
policemen direct the traffic at 9:30 am in #Tulsa. It is church time. Our family
of four, encased in a glass and steel cubicle filled with smoke, roll into a
parking lot. We get out of the swept-back Buick, pat down our clothes and head
for the huge Gothic church. Bells are ringing and hundreds of people in their
best clothes hurry towards the same broad steps.
Home page
Click here to buy "Pieces"
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
#Funen, morning. By John von Daler
You
hear it in your sleep at four or five in the morning. The summerhouse has been
quiet for some hours. Whatever marital quarrels or erotic shenanigans that
sounded through the walls in the night have been laid to rest hours ago.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Duplicity. By John von Daler
"Arrre
you speakeeeng Eeeenglish?" asks the voice behind the long number visible
on my digital telephone screen.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
The Half-Way Man. By John von Daler
It
all started with a steady regimen of study, every evening at the Firestone
Library in Princeton until 10 p.m. Then a walk down Nassau Street past the
movie theater. One evening he saw the ticket lady leave her cage with an
overcoat on. She just locked the side door and went home.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
A Kitchen Epiphany. By John von Daler
Do
the paths of Art and Life ever cross? I asked myself. Thank God, no! Hardly ever! (Except for
now...)
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Silken and Fleeting. By John von Daler
The day starts like so many others in Tulsa: not a cloud in the sky, it is already warm at 8 a.m. I walk to school down the gently curving lanes from the top of the hill where we live. The lawns are green and well-kept, but underneath the grass the red earth draws down whatever moisture there is and turns it into clay. The fresh morning air only barely conceals the threat of dust and draught that could follow at midday.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Cultivate your Garden. By John von Daler
In
my building we are not really allowed to have indoor gardens, but in all
secrecy I have planted a few rows of Similies in some hand-written literary mulch.
What I am hoping for are some full-fledged Metaphors one of these days and then
perhaps I can transplant them to a story or two. A few might even become
symbols.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Noncommittal. By John von Daler
These
Danes sure do listen a lot to Bob Dylan, I thought. I could hear the plaintive
whine through several closed windows and across a courtyard in my little cubby
hole on the second floor of a mansion in one of the rich suburbs of Copenhagen.
I paid for a room and access to two burners in the hallway where my next-door
neighbor and I were allowed to cook food that did not emit odors. In practice
this meant that I ate a lot of stuff that you boil in plastic bags.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Change of Blog Schedule
Change in scheduling: My blog will be published from now on three days a
week, tuesday, thursday and saturday at 4 p.m. (Central European Time) The other four days will be used to promote my book, "Pieces: A Life in Eight Movements and a Prelude" from WiDo Publishing (click on the "click here to buy" sign at the top of the blog or order from your bookstore). I might even play a little with my grandchildren, too. Thanks! John von Daler
Saturday, February 8, 2014
In passing. By John von Daler
The mouse felt the warmth from the pantry through the open door. It scurried through from the garage and found a hiding place behind the quietly purring freezer.
Friday, February 7, 2014
The Weaver. By John von Daler
Nothing
ever begins at the beginning. From the free fall of our lives we see passing
phenomena fly by with such speed that we must invent artificial stops and
starts to make sense of even the smallest part. In the eternal sky of our
history we maneuver our flying carpets in patterns of our own making, based on
our untethered logic, fastened only precariously to the edges of our minds.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Cyber-Staring. By John von Daler
Follow the bouncing ball! the text on
the screen used to suggest at the movies in the good old days. Then you could
sing along to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" or "Camptown
Races" or "Oklahoma" (my favorite) if you fastened your eyes on
the little, mechanical sphere. My tiny, out of tune voice usually joined the
other viewers in song.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Guile and Gullibility. By John von Daler
We
were in Greenland making a recording of some songs written to be played on a
new cd by three Greenlanders and three Danes. I had written a song about the
national bird of greenland, the Raven. The Inuits have a beautiful and quirky
legend about their favorite bird that fascinates me.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Fitting in. By John von Daler
They
pick me up at the station in Connecticut, the part populated with people who work
in New York and have an apartment there that they use four days a week. The
other three days they live here. It's too far away to waste time commuting.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Lines on lines. By John von Daler
It
starts with the lassos. Throwing them ahead in time, trying just for a second
to reel in a new age, an ability, an experience. The wish to capture and hold
on to the future catches hold of you: you wanting to be four when you are two,
ten when you are eight, sixteen when twelve. You cannot wait to grow older.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
#Updike Revisited. By John von Daler
John
Updike unfortunately no longer is with us here on earth. I read quite many of
the books he wrote. My favorites were the story anthologies, filled with small,
subtle descriptions of the crossroads in people's lives where trifling events
meet and enhance each other.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Most Popular Blogs
-
Flying in to the #Faroe Islands through the drifting clouds, the friendly man next to me pointed out from our window the exact spots w...
-
Like an old flame, not burnt out, but very much neglected, the language of my growing up reappeared just as the music of my...
-
The day starts like so many others in Tulsa: not a cloud in the sky, it is already warm at 8 a.m. I walk to school down ...
-
The little, old Russian sat on the edge of the bench in the train station in Copenhagen. Beside him to his right on the platfor...
-
I had recently finished a recording session with a famous writer-composer/musician-singer duo. Their songs were a...
-
Tonight the Danish summer, like some naughty teenager, had decided to behave itself just this once. T hrough the gree...
-
Being together with her you could feel that significant things were going to happen. At fifteen she possessed something that wo...
-
"Oh, my!" You see, I heard the words just as I awakened with a start - or a stop - in the mid...
-
I shot him at the worst - and most propitious - moment: just as he was putting the last touches on their home-to-be. With...
-
"Ding! Ding! Dong!" Down the lane he comes, good old M.M. His little truck of frozen goods rolls slowly pas...
Blog Archive
- May 2013 (34)
- June 2013 (30)
- July 2013 (19)
- August 2013 (31)
- September 2013 (30)
- October 2013 (27)
- November 2013 (26)
- December 2013 (27)
- January 2014 (26)
- February 2014 (16)
- March 2014 (13)
- April 2014 (13)
- May 2014 (15)
- June 2014 (12)
- July 2014 (14)
- August 2014 (13)
- September 2014 (13)
- October 2014 (13)
- November 2014 (1)
- January 2015 (1)