Author Archives: jillbpearlman

Immersed in Oswald’s Nobody

Posted on December 4, 2019 by jillbpearlman

I love the verbal incantation, the spell of words cast by poetry.   Our current social crisis, with its urgency and ER alarms, seems to overwhelm the lure of musical sound.   It’s no wonder that I love the power … Continue reading →

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Moscow Mania

Posted on October 30, 2019 by jillbpearlman

Moscow of eclectisms. Moscow of vast spaces. Moscow of KGB, and crossroads of empires, Moscow of mayonnaise salads. All those old things are still there, now layered with the new — Moscow of 100 open kitchens with tattooed chefs, young … Continue reading →

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Petersburg’s Fresh Waters

Posted on October 25, 2019 by jillbpearlman

Standing by the river Neva, wanting to compose poetry in St Petersburg, I couldn’t hear beyond the lines of great poets – Akhmatova, Blok, Tsvetaeva, Mandelstam. History dominates voice, especially in Russia. The Revolution, Stalin’s terrors, the siege, all produced … Continue reading →

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George and Francesca: The Magic Box

Posted on September 27, 2019 by jillbpearlman

In writing about his friend photographer Francesca Woodman, George Lange talks about a “magic box” that he kept after she died in 1981, a box of relics – not only photographs but clips of hair, napkins, contact sheets, scrawled notes, … Continue reading →

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Continuum

Posted on September 8, 2019 by jillbpearlman

“Some beetle trilling its midnight utterance.”   Beetle song opens Denise Levertov’s “Continuum,” a poem of late-summer return.  Returns can be precarious transitions…maybe you’re like me, having come back home with a certain euphoria, having recalibrated by quieting the melancholy news … Continue reading →

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Cut Me Loose

Posted on August 18, 2019 by jillbpearlman

How freeing to discover the curious way French acquaintances and friends are judging the US.  Fortunately Trump is not sucking out all the oxygen.  While they despise him, they’re perplexed by this passing nightmare and don’t hold it against us.  … Continue reading →

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Summer Bed

Posted on August 16, 2019 by jillbpearlman

The pine prepares a beddropping its needles long and thinas angel’s hair and smooth, each connectedto a partner, toasted like hay or ochreanticipating our autumnal bed though now we lay head to headwatching the summer stars

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Refugees: The Tragedy of Frenemies

Posted on August 7, 2019 by jillbpearlman

I saw a discrete sign for a Memorial to Internment Camps at Rivesaltes, outside Perpignan, France, and finally decided to visit.  Lacking indication, you’d have to know or have a reason to take the plunge. You’d have to choose right … Continue reading →

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Le Plus Ça Change…

Posted on August 2, 2019 by jillbpearlman

As the French take to the barricades to figure out what the country is about, one thing they don’t doubt is food. As Eric Delalande, a brilliant chef who traded Madison Avenue for Place des Marchés in Villèsque, a remote … Continue reading →

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Blank Space: Bastille Day

Posted on July 14, 2019 by jillbpearlman

What’s not to love? The first lines of the French chalkboard – “Today we celebrate” have been carefully written once. The last line shows traces of previous fêtes, erased and written over. Today’s humble last line, dashed off, ignoring a … Continue reading →

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