It goes to show that letting people know about your whereabouts might inspire them to do something. Love you, do anything for you, or even dream about you. Upon my return from Sweden, here's what my friend, the very fine poet Robert Gibbons, sent me. He then allowed me to use his words right here so that others may enjoy them, or that inspiration may continue.

The Entire Stretch of Time

They must have taken some kind of vow of silence on their retreat, for I missed

hearing from them the entire stretch of Time, but realized the meaning of the

silence, which is essentially a way to return to words in some better, deeper form.

They couldn’t escape the cosmic realm of communication, however, showing up

together in the dream this morning, both working hard at their desks, typing, Bent

then turning back to make copies, Camelia with her face straight ahead, typing,

designing brochures in red & black & white for various projects & recipes. Bent

left the room for a while, so I paid more attention to her, lips full just like those

she used in the painting, the painting appearing, too, behind her on the dream

wall. I kept to my own vows in the dream, imagination not allowed to run too

wild, although some guy showed up in the corridor behind me naked & nodding

to me, I wondered if Camelia saw him, or whether it was all part of the Swedish

spa where they both spent their Easter retreat, incongruously & uncanny, though,

here with me at the same Time in Portland, working away as the unconscious is

prone to do during sleep, retreat, or no. Didn’t recall the visit right away until

later, when wanting to write to them, but expecting no answer, refrained, satisfied

by the dutiful appearance they both put in in the dream. -- (Robert Gibbons)


Stuart Noble said…
Oh silly me. I forgot to word verify my inspired comment earlier today which thus didn't publish "in time."
Camelia said…
Reconstruction, my friend, is always a good strategy to defy time. Leaving traces is all we can leave for posterity, I should think. So, fling the fragment, Stuart. Let's have it, however posthumously.

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