Nils Peterson: Talk in the Reading Room
About Nils Peterson
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PART 1: GROWING UP
 The Reading Room
 Halloween 
 Xmas Eve at the Big House 
 Christmas Mysteries 
• 
Summers in Long Island 
 Father Arrives in the    Triumphal Car 
 Yankee Stadium Gone 
• 
Sandlots 
 A Thing of Beauty 
 Learning From My Father 
 Learning From My Mother 
• 
The Bus

PART 2: COLLEGE

 Next Stop 
 Going to College
 My Lecture on Romanticism 
 A Story 
 Go Way From My Window 
• Singing in the Rain 
 On the Nature of Exposition 
 A Latin Class
 A Hero's Life
 Letter to Paul Cantrell
• Homecoming 
 The Moon and the Bulldozer
 

 

The Moon and the Bulldozer

A harvest moon — deep orange in a sapphire sky high above a black pond — parked between two trees, a huge bulldozer shining with the same orange as the moon. An old image — from my walks with two dogs ago — yet here to me this morning fresh as if from last night’s dream.

 What had the moon and the bulldozer to say to each other? Easy to talk about oppositions — bulldozer and moon, high — low, feminine — masculine, air — earth, pleasure — work, remote — present, yet what was real was the match of oranges, that likeness, and that glowing. A sensuous memory then...

but, I wonder if we remember what is meaningful, or if all is meaningful that we remember? — or is all meaningful whether remembered or not? or is the Other just other and this orangeness not a messenger? I drink my coffee remembering the old questions.

My memory is no longer a filing cabinet — it is an author. I am merely one of its characters.

Yesterday, I read an old poem which ended up with me seeing myself as a 16 year old arriving at college. How could I see myself? It is Memory the Author, at his work.

Sure, I was there, seeing — and I think I can bring back some of what I saw — the plain brown-black gray platform of the old Danville Station, the upperclassmen coming to meet their friends, their profiles sharp, present, defined.

But Memory stood among them taking notes, watching me soft-faced, luggage in hand, come down the train steps. He looks me over, maybe with a nod of approval which, if I could have seen, would have meant a lot.

Nils arriving at train station


  © 2014, Nils Peterson
 

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