The clock above the town has tallied one
more day. The tones suspend like domes
no longer than before, the hours have run
the normal pace. Gabled Rhineland homes
as ever sleep beneath the pointed church,
a crystal tree beside the wall like lace
or moonlight woven in the craftsman’s search
for all the lines that vanished with no trace.
Yet struck in brass tonight was time that made
me count thirty, ten thousand days that froze
into as many separate criss-crossed roads
with no sign of where my youth is laid.
Slender shadows stain the Gothic rose
cast from the ghost beside the chapel stones.
Here is the boat I bought for 500 dollars in Izmir. The first day out, after getting her fixed up, a storm tore up the mainsail and blew us onto a sand reef. The captain of the fishing boat who pulled usoff lost a finger in the winch. We (bandmaster Billy Bielmeir and I) spent the night in the bar of a safe harbor, while helicopters andrescue people searched after the storm cleared. The next day we tied up what was left of the mains’l and using that and the jib, we limpedback to the yacht club in Izmir. Meanwhile the newspaper AKSAM hadreported us lost at sea and supposed dead. The photo shows Mari receiving the news. Continue reading “Lost at Sea and Supposed Dead”
Here’s a letter from Fred to Patrick from the early 1960s in New York, with a reference to Mari. I’m guessing this is early 1963 (I arbitrarily gave it a date of 3 March 1963) but I’ll need to research the timing of Patrick’s purchase (and subsequent near-demise) of the Zambak.Continue reading “Don’t Sell the Ship”