Author Archives: jillbpearlman

Debating Seder – for Mireille Knoll

What is Seder? A time to leave doors open like Mireille Knoll, late of Paris: “If she could have she would have welcomed the entire world into her home” entertain anyone who has a mother though she survived the Nazis, … Continue reading

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Dispatch from Haunting Lisbon

Lisbon is a haunting city. It is misty, caught in the process of decadence; its ambiance suggests a city that people long to hold onto yet haven’t been able to. You feel the old grandeur of gracious villas, private palaces, … Continue reading

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The Face Makes a Comeback

The face, I’m guessing, is itching for a comeback as a place of truth and confrontation. The dalliance in real life with the grotesque distortions is priming us for a reality check. I was moved by two shows in Paris … Continue reading

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Paris à Go-Go

Oh, the charms of having grown children! The Nor’Easter knew I couldn’t miss my visit to Planet Rachel! It let me slip out under the wire and get that plane to Paris. After a spell of ersatz sleep (as much … Continue reading

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Lucie Brock-Broido, Teenage Poetess

  I’m grieving for Lucie Brock-Broido, the poet who died yesterday. We grew up across a street from each other in Pittsburgh. It was a cobblestone lane, really, enchanted like much of her poetry. From her teenage years, she was … Continue reading

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Emily Post Meets Brut

It doesn’t matter that the concrete of this setting is less than elegant, neither marble nor oak. In Emily Post’s eyes, such form is near perfection: “the utensils are placed in the order of use; Forks go to the left … Continue reading

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My Mother’s Obelisk Lipstick

  Standing at my mother’s vanity I, girl child with wide eyes her self transformed nakedly with knots and tricks towards elegance, her hair teased to an oblong, her neck, like Cleopatra’s, lengthened: I eyed the miniature Obelisk that cased … Continue reading

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Snow Shoes (The Right Stuff)

I imagined an old-fashioned thatch — bamboo, birch, cat gut – a magic, organic weave of the kind that keeps our lives from sinking. We fitted our new shoes, meshed now in high-tech plastic, then went thrashing in deep snow. … Continue reading

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1-2-3 Sunset

In the sixties we had 1-2-3 Jell-O, opaque, medium, and frothy layers — a bright pink trio. When the sun sinks in three pink zones, is it the same freak chemical show? Please, God, say no.

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How I Learned to Love the Bomb Cyclone

The Shape of Snow Needlepoint of snow in the streetlight cross stitches in the gusting wind. Cars begin to disappear, the nearby elms fade in the distance. By the shore, four sharks roll up, bone dead, though a dog learns … Continue reading

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