April 2, 2016
Last night -April Fool’s Day, appropriately enough – I began the final journey to the end of Ceremonies. That is to say, after all these years, I began the final revision. When completed, I will order up print-on-demand copies and…
March 29, 2016
PIERRE LOUΫS Pierre Louÿs (1870-1925) was a French author, poet and photographer. He explored various aspects of sexuality, especially focusing on lesbianism. Among others, his works included Astarte; The Songs of Bilitis; Aphrodite – Ancient Manners; The Adventures of…
March 28, 2016
At Northern Illinois University, in Founders Memorial Library, on the top floor, on the north side, I sifted through Ceremonies. Then I sat, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows into the night. Later, I walked down to the Private Collections Room. …
March 26, 2016
Driving back from Rockford Library, skimming around the curves on Marengo Road, I thought about Ceremonies. It was late summer, 1974. A fair amount of material had piled up. I kept the pieces in the order I wrote them. There…
March 22, 2016
On break, I curled up on a pile of boxes and read from my Mentor Book of Major American Poets. That winter I was working in a plastics factory. I also pondered the kinds of entries I was writing for…
March 18, 2016
Some months later, I sat on the bridge over the Kishwaukee River again. It was the end of summer. Cicadas buzzed. The sky was a bit overcast. I had been creating pieces for Ceremonies at random. A sentence, a paragraph,…
March 17, 2016
I wondered how to write about sexuality. It was a few weeks later. I was lying on the bed in my room. Summer light filtered through the window. I had read Henry Miller and D.H. Lawrence, both wonderful writers. But…
March 13, 2016
Writing about Ross gave me incredible joy. I crouched on the bridge, bent over, cross-legged. A breeze tumbled against my back. Bluegills fluttered in the water beneath me, then soared away. I could smell the prairie sage on the bank….
March 12, 2016
In June, 1973, after I left school, I found myself sitting on a bridge built of railroad ties over the Kishwaukee River. My feet dangled over the side. Below me rushed green and black water. Above me hung a blue…