Poetry, Who is My Neighbor?

Rolfe Jacobson: The age of the great symphonies is over now.

Today I’m feeling the loss of several poets—Kizer, Kinnell, Strand…

One night, years ago, I ran as fast as I could with my guide dog, late for the opera,  and came hurtling toward the doors of Lincoln Center, and though they were already closed, an usher, wearing a long cape, saw us, and swung his door wide and we were admitted to the music.

May the departed poets be admitted to the great opera house.

**

Its a tenderness I sometimes feel. Half of the United States in poverty and I don’t know how else to say this—I feel it in my hands. The roots of my fingers ache because of injustice. Poverty is collectively rheumatic.

If I wanted anything it was the shy, unassuming dignity of my neighbors, my neighbors who are not like me.

I wanted my country to be more daring.

Tenderness, speaking on behalf of others.

**

“When Jesus was asked “[W]ho is my neighbour?” (Lk 10:29), his answer was: everyone. ”

Excerpt From: Johnson, Paul. “Jesus.” iBooks. https://itun.es/us/C8qKv.l