I was 17 by the time I wrote this one. It's sort of a bookend with the one I posted yesterday -- the beginning and the end of the journal dated December 1981 to June 1982. I turned 17 in February of 1982. There are lots of things in these old journals that I have no memory of at all, but I do have a strong recollection of how it felt writing this one and the one I posted yesterday. This one was a response to the late-June onset of summer heat and the malaise that can accompany it. I did write a series of them over the following few weeks, some of which have been preserved. Then I went to Vienna for martial arts training (which you can read a little about in my Vienna dozzina https://jopomojo.substack.com/p/vienna-dozzina).
I look forward to a slow reading of your dozzina, Jonathan. For a long while now I’ve been thinking about how memory is poetry saved in bright flashes and vignettes. It’s just that not all of us are able to write it down in words on the page like a true poet can.
Your pictures of your notebook would indicate that these just came out in a stream? Like a Beatles song? Damn, that sonnet was good, and I loves me some egg sandwiches, cooked in just the way you describe (well, maybe a little different, I have my own variations. Sometimes I tear a hole in the bread and put the egg inside and fry the whole thing and slice avocado on it) but I digress from my point, as though I had one.
Sometimes I feel like the poems I read here are karmically connected in sequence, and the feeling of your sonnet had the same deep feeling I had when I read Caroline Mellor's lates post.
But like the egg sandwiches, they have a similar vibe, but different preparations.
As you perhaps, suspect, Jonathan, I feel a certain hobo kindship to you and your path (like the egg sandwiches, I do my own varietal of hobo) but here in this sonnet, I have never been so proud to be one to see things from the shadowed side of the street.
I have one I call The Magnifico that is a fried egg on toasted sourdough with a slice of Cougar Gold cheese and avocado in an open-face format. I've thought about opening a food truck type place -- in fiction if not in reality -- that would be called The Magnifico and feature The Magnifico as its only menu item.
When we connect in March, we will take care of whatever business we must at SFO, then, if you are amenable, we will stop at the grocery for whatever supplies we need and head to the home front to make the Magnifico. I love a restaurant with a simple menu. I trust that there will be at least iced tea, black coffee, and one kind of red wine?
This is great. I love the originality of so many Substack authors, like yourself. (How did you get that great photo of yourself and your wife at a concert? Did you have one of those pole things with a camera on the end? (hee hee) I luv to remember my first triumphs. Now we must have something recent (or not, just kidding). https://liveyosemite.wordpress.com/2025/01/05/erotic-love-in-pluto-and-proserpine-by-bernini/
This is so cool, Jonathan. I don't have many poems that survived my teens but I do remember some early ones, and it's fascinating to recall (or read) them and looks for the ways my 'voice' then connects to my voice. Not to mention the memories attached. Awesome share!
Your voice was strong so early – remarkable. I'd be curious to know how all the twisted metal and glass entered your thought pattern, and how "death walking across the sky upright" developed. Good line, that.
An absolute Treasure. Wow— you were just 16 years old? Can you remember how you felt writing this—is it like a time capsule?
I was 17 by the time I wrote this one. It's sort of a bookend with the one I posted yesterday -- the beginning and the end of the journal dated December 1981 to June 1982. I turned 17 in February of 1982. There are lots of things in these old journals that I have no memory of at all, but I do have a strong recollection of how it felt writing this one and the one I posted yesterday. This one was a response to the late-June onset of summer heat and the malaise that can accompany it. I did write a series of them over the following few weeks, some of which have been preserved. Then I went to Vienna for martial arts training (which you can read a little about in my Vienna dozzina https://jopomojo.substack.com/p/vienna-dozzina).
I look forward to a slow reading of your dozzina, Jonathan. For a long while now I’ve been thinking about how memory is poetry saved in bright flashes and vignettes. It’s just that not all of us are able to write it down in words on the page like a true poet can.
Your pictures of your notebook would indicate that these just came out in a stream? Like a Beatles song? Damn, that sonnet was good, and I loves me some egg sandwiches, cooked in just the way you describe (well, maybe a little different, I have my own variations. Sometimes I tear a hole in the bread and put the egg inside and fry the whole thing and slice avocado on it) but I digress from my point, as though I had one.
Sometimes I feel like the poems I read here are karmically connected in sequence, and the feeling of your sonnet had the same deep feeling I had when I read Caroline Mellor's lates post.
But like the egg sandwiches, they have a similar vibe, but different preparations.
As you perhaps, suspect, Jonathan, I feel a certain hobo kindship to you and your path (like the egg sandwiches, I do my own varietal of hobo) but here in this sonnet, I have never been so proud to be one to see things from the shadowed side of the street.
I have one I call The Magnifico that is a fried egg on toasted sourdough with a slice of Cougar Gold cheese and avocado in an open-face format. I've thought about opening a food truck type place -- in fiction if not in reality -- that would be called The Magnifico and feature The Magnifico as its only menu item.
When we connect in March, we will take care of whatever business we must at SFO, then, if you are amenable, we will stop at the grocery for whatever supplies we need and head to the home front to make the Magnifico. I love a restaurant with a simple menu. I trust that there will be at least iced tea, black coffee, and one kind of red wine?
30 oz of Cougar Gold is headed your way -- feel free to sample it ahead of time but save some for the Magnifico experience. More info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cougar_Gold_cheese
This is great. I love the originality of so many Substack authors, like yourself. (How did you get that great photo of yourself and your wife at a concert? Did you have one of those pole things with a camera on the end? (hee hee) I luv to remember my first triumphs. Now we must have something recent (or not, just kidding). https://liveyosemite.wordpress.com/2025/01/05/erotic-love-in-pluto-and-proserpine-by-bernini/
Thanks Douglas -- just my arm!
This is so cool, Jonathan. I don't have many poems that survived my teens but I do remember some early ones, and it's fascinating to recall (or read) them and looks for the ways my 'voice' then connects to my voice. Not to mention the memories attached. Awesome share!
Thank you, Dan. Yes, it is fascinating ... the archaeology of the self
Excellent, very descriptive!
Thanks, Stan
So talented at such a young age - your poetry and even your cooking skills.
LOL! Thank you, Monica!
What a treat to have your old journals 😊
Thanks, Simone. I have a bunch of them stored in a wooden chest my dad made for me years ago. It is a trip to dip into them once in a while.
Thanks for sharing them, it takes me back to that era, l enjoyed that 16-18, senior high school time, l think we are the same age. 😊
Let us compare birthdates! Mine: 10 February 1965
Mine: 18 March 1966
You’re young
Because you’re about to cross the 60 barrier 🤣 … l am one lap behind. Have a good one, whatever you’re planning.
Excellence Jonathan. Then and now. Wonderful
Thank you, Patris
Your voice was strong so early – remarkable. I'd be curious to know how all the twisted metal and glass entered your thought pattern, and how "death walking across the sky upright" developed. Good line, that.
Thanks, Mark. Your guess is as good as mine! I was a weird kid. *Am*, I should say! There may be a couple of clues here: https://viewer.joomag.com/art-chowder-september-october-2021-issue-no-35-issue-35/0197640001630338315/p58