falling

It was even better then last year: it was worth braving my way down to this festival for.There were these incomparable 25 minutes of poetry by CK Williams ,he went off at his usual pace spinning the sentences, his upper body in a movement that reminded me of the orthodox ones praying at the synagogue.He went into this trance, or maybe i did.The rare times i hear this man read the world seems the right place to be for the duration of his reading.You fall ,you fail,you get up,you succeed in getting up you listen ,you learn,you dream and it's all there it's all allowed.Heidegger and Vallejo can be brushed away by a simple mon amour,mon amour in the middle of a poem,we are reminded that without the essence of life,love there is nothing, no poetry,no existence After the reading we have dinner,i sit beside CK admire his grandchildren on a picture,admire his love for them,admire him for his warmth his being such a "Mensch".We are with other people who can all magnificently write their way through life.We speak about my father and his work ,his poems and i grow a deep sadness.I see a late september afternoon on an empty northern beach ,we are sitting in the warm sand,our hands and feet recognise the burn of the middaysun still there still held in the ground.We play,my sister and I.Her hair is covering her back in a thick golden mane ,i follow its swing when she runs towards the water where my father is wading his feet in the lukewarm sea.He is talking to a poet friend.They are talking poetry i think ,a six year old with dense copper curls and a head full of fantasies.I am happy for my father to be walking and talking poetry ,i think nothing will ever change in my life after this moment in which i am allowed to watch and hear poetry in the sea air in Bergen aan Zee in the sealight that shines on my mothers head,she's swimming out there in the flat shimmering sea . I,child, don't think i am looking at the poetry; just life.My life.