Already, the air is heavy, and the day's heat is flexing behind the morning's mist. I am sick at heart from yesterday's news, but trying, as I imagine you are, to trudge along. I suppose spending an afternoon playing music is not the worst thing I could be doing.
The man who drove the car into the crowd at Charlottesville was born in the same year as my own younger son. For some reason this distresses me, though it is nothing but coincidence. Yet I can't stop imaging that man as a child. And someone fed that child the poisons that spurred him to hatred.
And who’s this little fellow in his itty-bitty robe?
That’s tiny baby Adolf, the Hitlers’ little boy!
--from Wislawa Szymborska, "Hitler's First Photograph"
2 comments:
So sad to imagine what didnot happen to uphold.
I'm saddened, too. I've visited Charlottesville numerous times; what's transpired is sickening. I know the Szymborska poem you mention. So much of what she wrote remains apt today, with an immediacy that is stunning.
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