I Write About What I Know; And

It Is Not Fashionable Anymore, I Suppose, To Have A Regard For One's Mother In The Way My Brother And I Had Then, In The Mid-1950s, When The Noise Outside The Window Was Mostly Wind And Sea Chime.

The Irish Are Great For Their Tunes, But All Their Lovesongs Are Sad And Their Warsongs Happy.

There Are Fewer And Fewer Jews In Ireland, But We Still Have One Of The Most Famous Jewish Characters In Literary History, Of Course, In Leopold Bloom.

He's At Ease, His Body Sculpted To The Music, His Shoulder Searching The Other Shoulder, His Right Toe Knowing The Left Knee, The Height, The Depth, The Form, The Control, The Twist Of His Wrist, The Bend Of His Elbow, The Tilt Of His Neck, Notes Digging Into Arteries, And He Is In The Air Now, Forcing The Legs Up Beyond Muscular Memory, One Last Press Of The Thighs, An Elongation Of Form, A Loosening Of Human Contour, He Goes Higher And Is Skyheld.

Cynicism Is Easy. An Optimist Is A Braver Cynic.