Two Wednesdays ago a moment of surprise came over me at first glance of the newspaper when I learned the Italian filmmaker, Michelangelo Antonioni had died. My astonishment was not because he had passed at 94, but by the timing of his death, being on the same day (Monday, July 30th) as Ingmar Bergman’s, the legendary Swedish auteur. Reading their obituaries side by side seemed coincidentally mysterious, shedding a new light on each’s oeuvre, which spoke predominantly of anguish and the impermanence of life. While contemplating the irony of death in tandem, I revisited the obituary page of the day before and noticed the relationship between the two persons featured on page B9-Tom Snyder, late-night television pioneer, and Bill Walsh, famed coach of the 49er’s, who both died on the same day in San Francisco of Leukemia related causes.
In a recent conversation with my mother, she shared some personal news in that the father of a co-worker of my Dad’s, an 80 year old man, was hit and killed by an SUV while crossing the street. The driver was a man who also happened to be 80 years of age.
Then came the headlines about the collapse of an eight-lane bridge in Minneapolis that connected the Twin cities of Minnesota killing seven people. The Star Tribune there cites six victims still missing.
I recently learned about the work of the new Poet Laureate, Charles Simic. Dubbed a “Surrealist With A Dark View” by columnist Motoko Rich, his poem, “Paradise Motel,” is from his new collection of poems out in February, entitled, “That Little Something” (Harcourt).
Paradise Motel
Millions were dead;
everybody was innocent.
I stayed in my room. The
President
Spoke of war as of a magic
love potion.
My eyes were opened in
astonishment.
In a mirror my face
appeared to me
Like a twice-canceled
postage stamp.
I lived well, but life was
awful.
There were so many soldiers
That day,
So many refugees crowding
the roads.
Naturally, they all vanished
With a touch of the hand.
History licked the corners of
its bloody mouth.
On the pay channel, a man
and a woman
Were trading hungry kisses
and tearing off
Each other’s clothes while I
looked on
With the sound off and the
room dark
Except for the screen where
the color
Had too much red in it, too
much pink.
