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Moving on

May 20, 2018 — Leave a comment

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Hi there, and thanks again for reading this blog. A few things to report, in no particular order:

  • I’m moving my blog over to my website at frankrodick.com/blog. That’s where my recent posts are (including this one, on my latest work) and where I’ll post things in the future. So, if you want to read those posts, go there and, so you don’t miss anything, stay in touch with me by signing up for my quarterly newsletter. That newsletter won’t be only about me—I promise—and you can check out the most recent instalment here to see if it’s your cup of tea.
  • I’ll also be deleting my social media accounts shortly (yes, there’s a general housekeeping theme here), so once again, my newsletter is a good way to stay in touch. You can also contact me via my website and/or email.

I hope you’ll continue to read my stuff, and that you’ll stay in touch if you feel like it. I do want extend my thanks to you for reading and, especially, to those of you who I know read things carefully and thoughtfully shared with me your feelings and insights. I’ll be pleased if that can continue.

The days are always strange, but these seem a little stranger—a little more ominous than usual. I hope we do right by each other.

See you elsewhere, I hope….

Frank

frankrodick.com

 

 

 

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c6f803288af25c0255e5f6898e86c7bdWhen it comes to why writing verse, making music, putting some strokes on a canvas, constructing a photograph, or whatever else amounts to creating this weird and mysterious thing called art, when it comes to why any of this makes a difference, Kurt Vonnegut (in his novel Timequake) nailed it:

Many people need desperately to receive this message: “I feel and think as much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.”

Happy birthday Kurt, wherever and whatever you are. And thanks for your company.

We are all going into the dark. Some of us hope that before we do we have been honest enough to scream back at the fates. Or if we never did it ourselves, that someone, derelict or poet, did for us once in some euphonic way our inadequate capacity for love did not deny our hearing.

—Richard Hugo, “The Triggering Town.”

With Thanks to Derelicts and Poets: A Short Prayer I Can Say Amen To