Art by Nesa Treibitz
Taking My Old Dog Out To Pee Before Bed by Ellen Bass
Dew is already deep in the overgrown grass,
the air damp with a salty tang.
Zeke’s hips are too ground down
to lift a leg, so he just stands there. We both
just stand, looking into the darkness.
Sometimes a moon silvers his thinning fur.
Sometimes it’s clear enough for stars.
Orion strides across the heavens, his dog
trotting at his heel. A great live oak reaches over
from the neighbor’s yard, dense black limbs
silhouetted against a paler sky, single voluptuous
remnant of forests. Can a tree be lonely?
Zeke tips up his muzzle, scent streaming
through a hundred million olfactory cells
as he reads the illuminated manuscript of night —
raccoons prowling down the street, who’s in heat
or just out for a stroll. Handsome still,
he reminds me of an aging movie star with his striking
white eyebrows and square jaw. He always
had an urbane elegance, a gentleman
who could carry off satin lapels and a silver-tipped cane.
Tonight an ambulance wails. Someone not so far away
is frightened, in pain, trying to live or trying to die.
And then it’s quiet again. No birds. No wind.
We don’t speak. We just wait, alive together,
until one of us turns back to the door
and the other follows.
Other poems I enjoyed reading:
"There is a woman at the sink
rinsing dishes, sunlight washes
her hair, she can hear the snip
snip of his shears trimming the border
hedge, a chocolate egg drips
in the afternoon heat, ice cubes
are melting into her gin and tonic."
-from The Troubles by Matthew Geden
"We are heartened
when each year
the barn swallows
return.
They find their old nests,
teach their young to fly,
lining up on the barn roof
for their first flight.
They remind us,
for now, some rituals
of this good earth
continue." -The Return by Jonathan Greene
"I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,—that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders" -Closed Path by Rabindranath Tagore
"I remember what are called the old days and there is
no one to ask how they became the old days
and if I ask myself there is no answer
so this is old and what I have become
and the answer is something I would come to
later when I was old but this morning
is not old and I am the morning
in which the autumn leaves have no question
as the breeze passes through them and is gone" -from Old Man At Home Alone in the Morning by W.S. Merwin
Recommended Listening:
Lost in Yesterday - Tame Impala (what a great record!)
Color My Life - Chicano Batman
Skin Crawl - Alice Phoebe Lou Surf - Mac Miller
Links of the Week:
Hidden Illustrations in Swiss Maps (via the amazing Swiss Miss)
Free-to-download Colouring Books
Yawns (Warning: this will make you sleepy)
Designing For Belonging: Why Image Localization Matters + Spotify Design
Why I find solace in photobooks: Teju Cole
Meet Umar Khalid: India’s Young, Pro-Democratic Voice | VICE Asia (a very dear friend shot this. proud of you, namu!)
Instagram Finds:
via Submit to Love, a collective of artists who have survived brain injuries
Octavia Bromell (she's currently doing the Adobe residency)
Subway Hands Creativorian Tales of Tavag (overall awesome person who started #postcardprotest in Bangalore)
New on the website: An interview with French illustrator Bertrand Aznar
"My first memory with a real comic book is with Tintin Objectif Lune. I must have been three or four years old. I couldn’t read but just with pictures and this timeless graphic style, I understood the whole story. I spent time on each box to look at everything and discover all the details. I think this was the founding moment of my artistic life." -Bertrand Aznar
Read the full interview here.
Remember to wash your hands + read and share this comic about the Coronavirus!
Stay safe,
Rohini