Holy shit. Which is not exactly a brilliant literary critique, but it was my immediate response. What a gorgeous piece of writing. It feels immortal. I felt the ghost of Hemingway, sure, but it was Damon's blood running through the heart of this. Thank you.
If my memory serves me right, I think it was Nabokov who said that a book cannot be read, only reread. I believe that, and I’d been practicing it long before I came across the quote. And so, it wasn’t until the second and third readings of your piece that I felt I could see behind its veil: that narrow strait in between, where people and animals disappear, and where this old man now sits watching. Like most of us who have reached a certain age, he watches the threshold draw nearer each time the sun becomes the sun again. Thank you for sharing this piece with us Damon, it's lovely.
Appreciate this comment, Luciano. It's true what you felt and explained. The blanketing and their removal. Like the eye opening and closing to find the soul. Thank you. Constance.
"Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf, a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. Then the Epilogue. 'AND I ONLY AM ESCAPED ALONE TO TELL THEE.'
Job 1.
*Last paragraph of Moby Dick, beloved. Damon, this piece was similar in that I lost myself in the sensation of the deep dive and return to the breath's redemption. Thank you for this. Constance
Oh damon. oh, damon.
Only you Tabby...
Would that it were fiction, I thought.
The early part of the story, with the salmon, reminds me of Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar."
Holy shit. Which is not exactly a brilliant literary critique, but it was my immediate response. What a gorgeous piece of writing. It feels immortal. I felt the ghost of Hemingway, sure, but it was Damon's blood running through the heart of this. Thank you.
If my memory serves me right, I think it was Nabokov who said that a book cannot be read, only reread. I believe that, and I’d been practicing it long before I came across the quote. And so, it wasn’t until the second and third readings of your piece that I felt I could see behind its veil: that narrow strait in between, where people and animals disappear, and where this old man now sits watching. Like most of us who have reached a certain age, he watches the threshold draw nearer each time the sun becomes the sun again. Thank you for sharing this piece with us Damon, it's lovely.
Appreciate this comment, Luciano. It's true what you felt and explained. The blanketing and their removal. Like the eye opening and closing to find the soul. Thank you. Constance.
simply beautiful and sad a the same time
"Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf, a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. Then the Epilogue. 'AND I ONLY AM ESCAPED ALONE TO TELL THEE.'
Job 1.
*Last paragraph of Moby Dick, beloved. Damon, this piece was similar in that I lost myself in the sensation of the deep dive and return to the breath's redemption. Thank you for this. Constance