July 14, 2012
By Mickey Friedman
It’s hard to knock the French. What with their incredible baguettes and that nifty decision to call potatoes the apples of the earth. But they got it wrong when it comes to change. From where I’m sitting their expression ought to be: “The more things change, the more things change.”
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Because I see change. I feel change. I experience change. Everywhere.
Like the words we use. Over time, some of them slip away. They die.
In the hustle and bustle that is life today, we don’t have time for complicated words. Especially words that describe things, but don’t sell them.
That came to me this morning as I was thinking about Bob B. Bob, a retired teacher and street performer, loves to read. He reads poetry. Pretty much every morning he brings a poetry book to Fuel. You just won’t find as many poetry readers today as you would fifty years ago, when many a young person would carry a dog-earred copy of Gary Snyder around, or Ferlinghetti, and some were brave enough to tackle Ezra Pound.
Aside from those slightly snooty literary critics, does any ordinary person know what the heck Ezra Pound was talking about? Or why?
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