Lucia's mind blowing poem

The Wind Is The Breeze

The first day of me's
The first of anything
that you can ever see

The wind is always me and you
The wind is everywhere

The breeze is the wind
on the tears of the skin

The wind might be special
The wind might be cold
The wind is always outside
Sometimes you just can't see it

It takes the wind
to feel the breeze

The breeze is the wind
on top of your skin

Sometimes the breeze
which is on your knees
can be a little strong
and something can blow away
from your mind

Last night Lucia played piano for 45 minutes, and as she played random felt chord clusters she sang a warbling song she called Nature Nature. "Nature is you, nature is me, nature is everything you see, nature nature..." Afterward she told me she got happy tears in her eyes as she was playing.

Today I said, "Lucia, why is the sky so high?"

She answered, "Because birds fly."

last night's bedtime story:

THE RED HORSE

There was a red horse that was highly coveted by everyone in the kingdom because it was twice as fast as all the rest of the horses. All of the knights wanted to own the horse.

One night ("Wait, which kind of night/knight?" asks Sofia, "How do you spell it?") One night, with an N, all of the knights, with a K, got together to discuss who was going to own the red horse. 

Sir Reginald said, "I should own it, because I am the oldest and therefore have seniority." Sir Nigel said, "No I should own it because I am the strongest." Sir Gerald said, "No, I should own it because I am the fastest. And after all it is the fastest horse." Sir Alistair said, "No I should have the horse because I am the best swordsman." And Sir Findlay said, "Well, by my reasoning, I should have the horse because I am smartest!"

(Sofia suggests, "Maybe they can share the horse, each have it for one day of the week?" She's obviously smarter than Sir Findlay.)

"Here, Here," said Sir Reginald, "I don't want to share the horse and this is obviously going nowhere. Why don't we have a contest to see who gets the horse?"

"What kind of contest?" asked Sir Findlay. 

"I propose a history quiz," answered Sir Reginald. "Whoever does the best on the quiz will win the contest." 

"Pshaw!" said Sir Nigel. "You would win that easily as you are the oldest one here and know the most history. How about a contest to see who can lift the heaviest weight?"

"Fiddlesticks!" said Sir Gerald. "You would win that one because you are the strongest. How about instead we have a foot race?"

"Nonsense!" said Sir Alistair. "You would win that one because you are the fastest. I propose we have a sword fight for the red horse."

"I beg your pardon!" said Sir Findlay. "You would obviously win that one. Just as I, being the smartest, would win a contest of the wits. What we need is a contest in which none of us has an advantage."

(Sofia suggests a race in which each contestant holds one leg and hops on the other leg to the finish.)

The knights thought that was a great idea, but before they could hold the contest a messenger came to tell the knights that the princess had fallen in love with the red horse and decided to help it escape from the royal stables. Now, alas, it was gone with the wind.

lucia meditation

afra/ paterson/ Lucia interview

Went on a field trip with Sofia's class to see a marrionette show at the Swedish Cottage in Central Park. As we were boarding the bus a girl in Sofia's class named Afra looks up at me and says, "I have 2 talents."

 "Oh yeah, what are they?" 

"Drawing and being inside my body."

This floored me. Being inside your body is such a valuable talent. It's the key. But it's so hard to do well. It goes hand in hand with drawing.  

***

On This American Life this week there was a great father/daughter story. The father says that his 9 year-old daughter was at the stage where she was constantly asking questions and interrupting his work. So he told her to write them all down and give them to him at once.  So she makes a long list and includes questions like: What is love? What is time? Why are we here? Why do we exist at all? Etc. He's overwhelmed. The dad thinks about it really hard and takes three years to come up with his answers, long-winded essays full of quotations by esoteric philosophers, etc. He says the hardest one to answer is the one about love. The reporter asks the daughter if she got the answer she wanted to her questions. The daughter said she didn't really care about the answers, in the first place, she just wanted to have a conversation with her father. The irony...

Which reminds me somehow of Ron Padgett's poem in the film Paterson, "Another One." This is my memory's translation of that poem:

Another One 

In school you learn about 

the first, second and third dimension: 

A shoebox

Later you find out about the fourth dimension:

Time

And then the fifth, sixth, seventh... 

I look down 

at my beer 

and smile

One of the great things about Paterson is that the poems are written across the screen as Adam Driver is saying them in his mind, and we also hear and see them more than once. The film allows you to slow down and linger over the poems. 

I bet Padgett has more eyes and ears on his poems in this film than he's ever had before by a factor of 100. Kudos to Jarmusch for spreading the word.

I also liked the fact that the city of Paterson has a bus driving citizen named Paterson, echoing the central idea in William Carlos William's book, "Paterson;" the city as an extention of the individual and vice versa, "and so to man/ to Paterson." And how oddly perfect is it that the actor playing this "ur" bus driver is named Adam Driver?  

The poem above, "Another One," reminds me of another one, also by Ron Padgett: 

Chocolate Milk

Oh God! It's great!

to have someone fix you

chocolate milk

and to appreciate their doing it!

Even as they stir it

in the kitchen

your mouth is going crazy

for the chocolate milk!

The wonderful chocolate milk!

I interviewed Lucia yesterday. I asked her why we exist. She said because God exists. "And we were never going to die because God will never die." Big smile. I asked her why God exists. She said, "Oh, you're asking me the hard ones!" I said, "Just give me your best guess, why does God exist?" She said, "Because mommies exist." Doubt I could come up with a better answer than that.

On the bus Fynn told me this joke:  

Why was the chicken late for supper. Because he was pick pecking on his walk.