This is the poem about the Beatles that
I never wrote, and now there are more
yesterdays than tomorrows
Today you’ll work in the room behind the barn. For years there’s been a stain on the sheetrock where the rain drips in, and the place smells of rot, and when the other day you yanked off a chunk of sheetrock, thinking might be rotten wood in there, thinking you’d maybe have to replace a few studs, you found, in that damp place, everything rotten.
you won’t know that squall in the soul
as when you pondered your place in the world.
Whatever that was, now is.
It wasn’t a dream, but the experience was dreamlike: across the computer screen, one day last week, a photograph of my father, sent by some well-meaning distant acquaintance, flashed without warning. In this black-and-white photo, Moses Hadas is sitting at the desk in his office…
Nothing stirs but the wind that rattles rain gutters and pulls on the hinges of blistered shutters. A pair of boots has been left out on a patio of gray flagstones, the mud still clinging to their heels like forgotten promises.
It’s the old dancers that fascinate me.
Training everyday as the body resists,
The spirit lifts them into clarity.
If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.
I remember sitting on the sofa in my grandparent’s house–my day care center–watching television with my grandfather.
I woke up this morning to a chill in the air. I closed the bedroom windows and shivered into my clothes, then hurried down to the kitchen to consult the … Continue reading
Cristina Robinson, et al: Complex birdsongs help biologists piece together the evolution of lifelong learning
Our human ability to learn language slows down as we get older, but scientists are not sure how or why this happens. An unexpected way to understand this learning process might come from listening to birds sing.