Category: This ‘n’ That

Did I choose the wrong metier? — I am a writer and as such my medium is the printed word. I am a biographer, charged with bringing people to life on the printed page. But even as I am in the midst of researching the Luther Henderson biography and writing People On The Page, a book about the process and nature of writing biographies, I have become mesmerized by multimedia, intrigued by video podcasts. Indeed I am becoming jealous of those whose have what I perceive to be the luxury of using audio and visual components in crafting their pieces.

Yesterday I watched online a new podcast created by Bret Primack for Sonny Rollins’ website. Bret does not have to struggle to find the words with which to describe Sonny’s intensity, or his warmth, or his prowess, when you can see and hear and feel it for yourself. Now don’t get me wrong — I know that what Bret does is not easy. Scripting, shooting, directing, producing films of any length is its own art form with it’s own dilemmas and challenges…I wish I knew how to do what he does so well! I remember too my reaction to the NPR radio piece that Sara Fishko did about John in January of last year — it was so good that it brought tears to my eyes and I told Sara then that I was in awe of her ability to distill someone’s very essence into the space of only several minutes. Her audio-only segment had, in my opinion, more emotional depth than the NEA’s very excellent biographical video clip about John, so clearly it’s not the added media component alone that makes the difference.

I am what I am, and will comfort myself with the thought that perhaps, on occasion, one of my finely-crafted sentences will evoke the envy of a videographer…the grass IS always greener, isn’t it?

I also awoke thinking about ways in which I can explore and incorporate the parallels between the work of a psychotherapist and that of a biographer — not only the reconstruction of a life, but also the nature of the relationship between biographer and subjects/sources and the complexities of transference and counter-transference. While in NY earlier this month I was telling a psychoanalyst friend about People On The Page and she said “hmmm, that’s a lot like the work that I do.” Then a few nights ago I had a conversation with a writer friend who is also a therapist and he agreed that there were similarities between the work of therapist and biographer. Okay, this is not a giant revelation; apparently it was not even a new thought to me, but one that had slipped my mind. So, just to be sure I was paying attention, the universe sent me another reminder message yesterday. While reviewing my note files, I came across an excerpted quote taken from an August 2000 newspaper article, “Writing from the Heart but Drawing on the Mind,” about novelist Amy Bloom. She said, “Some of the traits that led me to be a psychotherapist are the ones I find in myself as a writer. I’ve spent a lot of time listening to people, and I’m endlessly intrigued by relationships, particularly the gap between what people say and what they truly feel, and the gap between what they do and what they really want.” One might be able to ignore a one-two punch, but this thought has now come up three times in ten days, so I had best pay attention.

Another related thought has also reached my consciousness — with my mother being an analyst and my father a jazz musician, I am following in my parents’ footsteps as a biographer of jazz artists. Hmmmm….

I was missing in action…again. Just returned from 10 days in New York (cold, yes, but got out just before it turned really ugly-frigid) where I spent much time back at the Schomburg going through more of Luther Henderson’s files. I also spent some time with Mrs. H. and shot some very brief video snippets at their home for my People On The Page project. Now I’m back, warmed up so to speak, and playing catch-up with messages and mail.  In addition to the three books in progress (don’t forget John’s At the Feet of a Jazz Master), I’ve got a file folder full of notes to myself about blog topics so I had best get to work.

Now there’s a cheery thought to start off the new year. What a spectacle it’s been with the three major deaths in the news all at the same time. And what a trio: a villianous dictator/murderer, a past president, and the godfather of soul.

So what is it about death that makes us want to watch? Why have the masses been queing up to “say goodbye” to people they never met in life. How many hundreds walked through the rotunda and the Apollo theater to “pay their respects”? Millions watched on tv as the godfather’s gold casket arrived at the Apollo by horsedrawn carriage and a processional entourage. Today millions will watch Ford’s funeral and many will cringe while the current president delivers a eulogy — an honor that comes with the office and cuts both ways. But what’s really scary is how many millions of people would really have liked to have witnessed Sadam’s execution.

Maybe we all have a dark side, or maybe we like to view the dead to reassure ourselves that we’re still alive — you know, kind of like laughing at the guy who slips on the banana peel. Maybe we want to see the really bad guys die with our own eyes — seeing is believing. Of course, in the midst of all of this, we took a time out to watch the Rose Parade — those of a certain age watched especially to see the Star Wars’ Storm Troopers — followed by four games where bunches of guys tackled one another. What fun! But I didn’t stick around long enough to see how many, if any, got carried of their battle field.

You know I’d opt for music over politics or hoopla any day — perhaps a nice little requiem for the salvation of the souls of the departed.

It’s the morning before christmas with so much to do,
I can’t find my head, and can’t find my shoe.
I’m drowning in papers, my clothes in a heap,
away in the manger my husband still sleeps.

The sun has arisen, the air has a chill,
the streets are still quiet, there’s dew on the hill.
And then I remember, clear out of the blue,
I have to go shopping, oh where is that shoe?

Under and over, all through the house,
I look high and low, quiet as a mouse.
I find it in the kitchen, why I’ll never know;
doesn’t matter now, it time for me to go.

Oh wait, I can’t go, I must cease and desist,
I can’t leave the house before I make a list.
My friend is roasting lamb, and baking with her daughter,
her husband will tend bar…perhaps for me, just water.
Another friend brings corn pudding, all ready in a pot,
I get off too easy, hor’s d’oeuvres and veggies are my lot.

Crackers, cheese and olives, to snack on before,
tomatoes, and breadcrumbs, and more are in store.
The clock is a-ticking, I really must go;
thank heavens it’s California with nary a snow.
But first I must post this poem to my blog,
I almost forgot with my head in a fog.

On Slicer and Dicer, on Daughter, on Friend,
may such days be a-plenty, and never to end.
On Blogger, on Shopper, on Cooker, on Wife,
I won’t complain now, it’s the time of my life.

So picture me now in my Volkswagon sleigh,
saying “Happy Holidays to all, and to all a good day.”