Bashō's Road

to the small poem and the quiet voice within

1. Don 07.25.10 / 10am

   Norb, ah, finally I connect with Kay Ryan, after reading her helter-skelter,
   here and there, upon her laureate nomination. It took your fine eye and
   tender soul to make her resonate for me.

   thanks,
   Don
2. Barbara Fitz Vroman 07.25.10 / 11pm

   …boats of mercy embark from our heart from the oddest knock…is enough to occupy the mind for half a day there is so much meaning embedded in that one line.
3. Phil Hansotia 07.26.10 / 2am

   Kay Ryan’s poem has an understated elegance. She opens with the timeless fatgue of aging–’when an acre dwindles down to a square foot’.How can you improve on that! The she arouses with a dancers’ joy in the connectedness of limbs and takes sollace in knowing that whatever our footprint at the edge of the water–it is equally shortlived. So much punch in a few lines. Thanks, Phil.
4. Jean Casey 07.26.10 / 5am

   I was born in Buffalo, spent my younger years in the 30’s often visiting the Falls with my parents carrying hampers of lunch before the existence of the imposing many-windowed structure with an inside look at the Main falls and a view of Horseshoe down the way. In those days, you could walk out to the edge,watch cows standing placidly cooling their hooves in the river not far back from the verge, and if you were very brave, you could don a raincoat, pay a fee and walk down a long slippery wooden stairway to walk in back of the main falls where it fell away from the rocky precipice. Even then, the Maid of the Mists boats were taking folks near the whirlpools at the foot of Horseshoe. I now enjoy living on the other edge of the Escarpment. Your magnificent picture of the edge brought back all these memories….

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