Comments on: Still Sundays

By: Global Patriot

Global Patriot — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 20:59:36 +0000

I’ve always appreciated the lack of stillness when standing at water’s edge. The ocean is a constant reminder that while the universe may seem to take an occasional pause, it is as restless and lustful as Kerouac, having no choice by to express itself.

By: MsAfropolitan

MsAfropolitan — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 19:57:59 +0000

Amidst busy days I’ve missed reading you…

In “In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens” Alice Walker treats the matter of looking back at ancestors with such finesse. In the same prose, she also notes ”Anybody can observe the Sabbath, but making it holy surely takes the rest of the week.”

Annie, keep making the sabbath holy with your insights, they push the week forward.

By: Mark Parker

Mark Parker — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 06:25:45 +0000

Harold Bloom is probably the most important critic of the last fifty years. Alice Walker is one of the most insightful novelists of her generation. Ironically, Bloom has never had much good to say about Walker and Walker’s literary career has been, in large part, a reaction to Bloom’s Euro-centrism.

Between the two, navigates Kerouac, the opposite of both Bloom and Walker, insecure and alcoholic and obsessed with capturing the present.

Bloom and Walker are both fixated, or at least well established in their respective traditions (opposing though they be). Kerouac was in practice if not intention, like Whitman, at war with tradition. Kerouac had no time for his ancestors (unlike Walker) and breaks violently from Shakespeare (who is the center of Bloom’s literary universe).

It’s a fascinating triumvirate you’ve put together here, Annie, hardly the stuff of stillness. Nevertheless, you have created a provocative concoction and worthy of more thought.

By: Julie Jordan Scott

Julie Jordan Scott — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 22:53:49 +0000

Yes, the earth is so alive… and so not quiet. Yesterday I sat under a Sequoia using a log as my pillow and listened to the wind, ever present. My son heard a wood-pecker and nearly shouted, “What was that?!” I laughed aloud. He shouted his voice and giggled at the echoes. I hear God sounds in rural stillness, in wild stillness.

We are so close now, dear Annie. I look forward to being close enough to hug you!

By: loripop326

loripop326 — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 19:34:51 +0000

i lost a friend this morning annie. if i read nothing else today but the walker quote you have offered, i shall have done myself a kindness. thank you

By: David Weedmark

David Weedmark — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 19:17:34 +0000

There is always more, isn’t there. Ideas beget greater ideas. Love begets greater love. Passion inspires greater passion. And a spoonful of sunshine tossed onto the ground evokes a hidden orchestra of such colour and fragrance, we must wonder how we once called living our lives before such creations were borne. Not sure what Kerouac would have said, but that’s my thought on what you’ve written today.