What a lovely tribute to your friend and editor. I have never walked the Brooklyn Bridge as one of your readers says she does each time she visits. Since my mother was born and raised in Brooklyn, that is the least I can do next time I visit.
You just made me think of Frederick Buechner, also now passed, who wrote of the beautiful, powerful hilarity of Jesus' messages in the Gospels. I am going to type this one up for my notebook. And I hope when I finally walk the Brooklyn Bridge one day that I will meet Bob.
Your word images to your poetry editor bring a tear, and, as such, have touched me in a place that honors the gift of being able to share with us all the intimate sharing with someone you love.
How I love your poem. I do believe in spirits and ghosts and will think of your poem during my next visit to New York. I always walk across the Brooklyn Bridge once during a week-long visit.
I remember you walking on the Heavyweight Poetry Bout stage at the Sagebrush Inn in Taos during the Taos Poetry Circus, your belt, your cape, both arms high above your head. I've always admired the way you'd stop in mid-sentence when the five minute bell rang. You retired undefeated as the four times Heavyweight Poetry Champion of the World. Today, Peter Rabbit is a ghost. Annie is still here. The Taos Poetry Circus is a whisper. Clearly you still have the championship touch. Well done, sir.
Oh my God, Sherman, how you touched me with this poem! My dear husband, may he rest in peace, and I walked across that bridge when we lived in Brooklyn. We used to go down to the South Street Seaport and walk around before it changed as it always has. He too, was a poet as I’ve tried to be. And I so admire you and your work and the fact that you’ve actually made it as a poet! All the best to you and thank you for this memory.
So powerfully poignant.
What a lovely tribute to your friend and editor. I have never walked the Brooklyn Bridge as one of your readers says she does each time she visits. Since my mother was born and raised in Brooklyn, that is the least I can do next time I visit.
You just made me think of Frederick Buechner, also now passed, who wrote of the beautiful, powerful hilarity of Jesus' messages in the Gospels. I am going to type this one up for my notebook. And I hope when I finally walk the Brooklyn Bridge one day that I will meet Bob.
Thank you, Rachael.
Your word images to your poetry editor bring a tear, and, as such, have touched me in a place that honors the gift of being able to share with us all the intimate sharing with someone you love.
Thank you.
What an excellent tribute, and excellent memory, an excellent poem. I don’t know him, but it seems you captured him.
Thank you, Suzan. He was a good, good man.
Beautiful. Thank you for showing what it looks like to be a great writer and not take yourself so damn seriously.
Thanks, Andrew.
Aww, so touching. Thank you!
Thank you, Robin.
Thank you for this. I was born in new york city, 1943. You described the city of my childhood. Painful, beautiful, lonely. And I can’t go back.
Thank you, Janet.
How I love your poem. I do believe in spirits and ghosts and will think of your poem during my next visit to New York. I always walk across the Brooklyn Bridge once during a week-long visit.
Thank you, Laura.
Dealing with grief with complexity and even a bit of humor, Sherman.
Thank you, Mary.
Made me smile and think how I choose to remember those close to me who have left the physical world.
Thank you, Michelle.
OMG! That... made me tear up. Such a fitting and beautiful tribute.
Thank you, Reena.
Love this !!
Thank you.
Oh my gosh I love this poem so much I am smiling ear to ear!
Thank you, Christina.
I remember you walking on the Heavyweight Poetry Bout stage at the Sagebrush Inn in Taos during the Taos Poetry Circus, your belt, your cape, both arms high above your head. I've always admired the way you'd stop in mid-sentence when the five minute bell rang. You retired undefeated as the four times Heavyweight Poetry Champion of the World. Today, Peter Rabbit is a ghost. Annie is still here. The Taos Poetry Circus is a whisper. Clearly you still have the championship touch. Well done, sir.
Thank you, James. Those were such fun times. Say hello to Annie for me the next time you see her.
I'm due a visit with her. I'll give her a call today. Keep up the good work.
Oh my God, Sherman, how you touched me with this poem! My dear husband, may he rest in peace, and I walked across that bridge when we lived in Brooklyn. We used to go down to the South Street Seaport and walk around before it changed as it always has. He too, was a poet as I’ve tried to be. And I so admire you and your work and the fact that you’ve actually made it as a poet! All the best to you and thank you for this memory.
Thank you, Shielagh. Here's to your husband and his walks!