A Blessed Ghost

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.

Excerpt from The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner,

a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Listen to the reading by Deborah Warner

September 16th, 2018 – Aboard the Schooner Pioneer

 

At the right place, the right time

At 10 a.m. precisely, the Chrysler’s famous spear is perfectly aligned with the corner of the MetLife Building.

At 1 p.m. the shadows recede and The Glory of Commerce, shines through. We are outside Grand Central Terminal on 42nd Street, walking past a masterpiece: the Tiffany glass clock surrounded by a sculptural group by Jules-Félix Coutan, representing Minerva, Hercules and Mercury – or to us Greeks, Athena, Hercules and Hermes.

Midtown, Manhattan

November 29th, 2017

Time.Travel.Dream.

Ten past nine. Time doesn’t matter. What matters is I lost you. You hugged me and drifted away in the shadows. You said it’s ok. You said you’d be back by nine. I tried to call you but I couldn’t remember your number. Your number. The one I called thousands – countless times year upon year upon year. I pushed the memory button but that didn’t work either. Anxiety turning to desperation. I start to panic but I try to focus. I start again, digit after digit after digit. Together they look familiar, perhaps I’m getting somewhere. Yet somehow I find it impossible to dial your number to the end. Either I loose track or the screen gets blurry – finally the battery goes dead. Best I can do is wait under the clock. Or wake up.

A recurrent dream.

October 7th, 2016