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Gerald Fleming: Two Somethings
This He could have run marathons, triathlons, could have blundered through densest jungles barefoot, quick-macheted, and not been prepared for this. He could have caressed the skin of a hundred women or men, every texture, every shade, but now this. Did we ever expect this? He could have begun writing: one and one and two and two and three—begun at age four, and now at age eighty well into the…
Gerald Fleming: The Secret
The man had the sense the secret was planning escape. It paced—wore grooves in the pine floor of the downstairs den. Quiet at first, content to be fed, it no longer behaved like a dispirited zoo animal but moaned in a way its owner found unnerving, as if from the center of the earth. The secret uttered rough gutturals—its own language, incomprehensible. Its owner would…
Gerald Fleming: On Ascension Thursday
Those tolling bells awake me: Ah: Ascension Thursday. Not a bad way to go, given the alternatives. They said he was dead already, body somehow leapt from the tomb, appeared to his friends, said a few things, slowly rose. For us stuck down here it’s fear of cold, fear of fire. My friend Tim says he once visited a crematorium to see how it was done. The bones don’t come…
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Gerald Fleming: To My Student Kenny, Before the Inauguration of Donald Trump
Gerald Fleming: To My Student Kenny, Before the Inauguration of Donald Trump
Who will speak these days, if not I, if not you?
—Muriel Rukeyser
.
November 9, 2016
Mr. Fleming,
I can’t believe what happened last night. I am shocked, appalled, and grieved.
I can’t help but to think back on the times when I was in your class, over 13 years ago. The things you taught us from history class, the times when I have learned so many things that make me so very PROUD of…
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Long Marriage You’re worried, so you wake her & you talk into the dark: Do you think I have cancer, you say, or Were there worms in that meat, or Do you think our son is OK, and it’s wonderful, really—almost ceremonial as you feel the vessel of your worry pass miraculously from you to her— Gee, the rain sounds so beautiful, you say—I’m going back to sleep. GERALD FLEMING
Gerald Fleming: A Thanksgiving Prayer for America
Gerald Fleming: A Thanksgiving Prayer for America
Lord, let us first ask you to bless this table: for the weight of the feast it must bear.
As you know, Lord, we have lately had an election in our country, and as we gather as family tonight, we thank you that no part of this election will come between us, for we are unified.
Therefore let us enjoy this meal you have provided, and let nothing set before us on this table of plenty represent…
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Gerald Fleming: A Letter to My Republican Friend
Gerald Fleming: A Letter to My Republican Friend
I’m sorry I’ve been so long in responding since you sent that last note just after July’s Republican convention, when your guy was nominated. “This’ll be a lot of fun!” you said, but not much more than that.
I haven’t known what to say. There’s been so much that’s overwhelming. I keep thinking back to our college days—remembering you called yourself “the perfect Republican”—remembering our long…
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Gerald Fleming: Last Notes from Paris
Gerald Fleming: Last Notes from Paris
Morose tonight—partly because of the events of the day in the north of the city, partly because I’ve had some bad family news, partly because I’ve had too much wine—and in avoidance, perhaps, of writing this. My wife and I had the iPod on at dinner, Brahms’ German Requieum came on—no help, though its beauty stops all talk between us—then, almost in random perversity, Charlie Haden & Pat Metheny’s…
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