Nils Peterson: Talk in the Reading Room
About Nils Peterson

 The Reading Room
 Xmas Eve at the Big House 
 Christmas Mysteries 
Summers in Long Island 
 Father Arrives in the    Triumphal Car 
 Yankee Stadium Gone 
 A Thing of Beauty 
 Learning From My Father 
 Learning From My Mother 
The Bus


 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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