A Note From Noted Author David Kherdian . . .

Below missive sent to Marash Girl and others From: David Kherdian Subject: A note to my friends Date: August 28, 2021 at 2:15:21 PM EDT A note to my friends before reading... I would like to share with you my thoughts on an issue that has been bothering me for these past few weeks regarding the reluctance of the Journal Times of Racine, Wisconsin to run an article about my new book on Racine—A PLACE IN TIME. Please let me or the Journal Times hear from you with your thoughts. DEAR WORLD, DEAR JOURNAL TIMES, DEAR ME To measure this time I am in now I must go back to the time when I was a lone boy of immigrant parents who had survived the genocide, and in particular the memory of my mother who had lost everyone, a survivor who would hold helplessly to the ashes left behind. I was a difficult child, unruly, spoiled, searching, vibrant with energy—as were so many of the Armenian lads—who could not be contained by the imposed rules of that society, and often arrogant and disdainful toward those in command, that caused many of the boys (but never the obedient Armenian girls) to be flunked in grade school—in my case three times, once even in summer school, which had a profoundly harmful effect on the rest of my life, until at age 60, that resulted in my wife compelling me to write a biography of that period. Which I did, with my novella Asking that River (later collected in my memoir Root River Return) and in the process I at last crossed that river to stand on firm ground, earned by my forgiveness of those who had tormented me with their hatred, which I now understood for what it was—small minds reverting to racism, when their own self worth was brought into question by those who were innocently clamoring for a freedom they could sense but were feeling deprived of. The classroom now is this tormented world that seeks the only possible cure, which is love, but where can that love come from if it is not understood, just now terribly absent this is in so their many of their lives, who must helplessly seek some balance they cannot find, when it turns its face away to the antipode of hate, accompanied by blame, in seeking revenge in any form that can be found. This is my prelude to the theme of oppression that once again has come down on my head, but what a long arc it has been from childhood to this—flunked, once, dismissed, then admired, and now, once again unwanted because out of sync with the prevailing power possessors who are determined to run this country into the ground. It has come to this, My new book, A Place In Time: A 20th Century Memoir, that The Journal Times, my hometown newspaper has refused to review or even mention in its newspaper, with the great irony that this very paper once proudly proclaimed that I had put Racine on the map. Over the years I have published over twenty books on my youth in Racine: poetry, verse, memoirs, novels, short stories, receiving altogether countless awards, with my work translated into seventeen languages. My many awards and honors from Wisconsin include the prized Banta Award, and from my hometown The Emily Lee Award for lifetime achievement. America has over time become more inclusive and accepting of its changing make-up; I was in my thirties when I first began to think of myself, at last, as an American, and although I had worked hard to honor and understand my racial heritage, and for a time I was overtly proud of my ancestry, perhaps in part at least from a sense of isolation. But that began to change when I spent time with Allen Ginsberg, who seemed free of of his Jewish roots, working instead for the common good of humanity. This was in the 60s, when I was coming into my own, as was the case for so many who alive to their own individualities, to judge their previous devotions or identifications and causes, to seek a new freedom and not just for themselves, which began for me when I started writing poetry, while coming into my own as an artist, not wishing to be typed or caught up in any cause, even freedom for all, for how could I know that if I hadn't freed myself from my own humiliating past. Thus I became a loner, recognizing that I had always been that, first from my conditioning, that I had to overcome. But I realized that I could not come to this without first honoring my roots, by measuring and evaluating the contents of my own being, what I was born with, what I came out of, and what contained me, that is how my soul's body was holding its spirit in place. I began by studying and even translating some Armenian poets, with a growing interest in other Eastern poets, like Cavafy and Hikmet, slowly to realize in time that I was becoming a mystic poet, a label first put on me that I never would have assumed, as being too lofty, but it was a fact that my favorite poets then as now were Whitman, Blake, Wordsworth, Keats and Yeats, but I read everyone, and in time I came to study the ideas of G. I. Gurdjieff, who was the first master to bring Eastern spirituality to the West. Here, too I was almost instantly out of place, while writing an important book on my understanding of and experiences in a Fourth Way school, that my wife and I were in for nine years, being founded on Gurdjieff's system, and all the while I was writing poetry, published by the press my wife and I had founded there within our school. I feel it is incumbent on me to analyze why my hometown paper has rejected my book, and I think the clues are most likely to be found in my book. First of all, I wanted to honor Racine for the democratic principles that held it in place, by inviting workers from all parts of the world in its various ethnic alignments: Jews, Italians, Armenians, Greeks, Czechs, and also from central Europe, beginning with the Danes, and followed by the Irish, the Welsh, and still others. The native black population, although not treated equals where absorbed into the body politic and belonged, if not properly appreciated as equally, as they certainly were for me, and treated thusly, and not only because of my classmate, friend and neighbor, Ulysses Doss, but also Mr. Miller, who was the radio repairman in our neighborhood, who impressed me by his dignity and upright character. Also, just outside our neighborhood, I came to know an elderly, if not old, black couple, who befriended the children around them, sometimes feeding and nurturing them in their special way, who had a dignity and sweetness of character that I also found in other blacks, which I happily noted in my book. One of the very first poems I wrote was a reverential tribute to this couple. This poem and my regard for the blacks I encountered in our town as a boy, and then as adult, are described in this book. And I believe that both this and my regard for the democratic principles that existed there then has put me out of favor with the rascists that now run that newspaper, and I'm sure they represent other leaders in Racine, like the museum, and various clubs, yet I have never ceased to honor my hometown's importance and place in my life, all the years I lived there as a boy and young man. There is one other thing in my book that I feel must also mark it as something to avoid if not condemned by racists and fascists and bigots, and that is the books dedication, that subtly points out that the blacks from the south, that were brought into its labor force rather late, and soon abandoned, and then vilified after the factories shut down and moved away, leaving them stranded in a hostile world, that would not accommodate them, but that they had to accommodate themselves into its racist strictures. Here is my dedication in full, in which this is sadly denoted, along with all that I found praiseworthy and worthy of honoring. DEDICATION For Gilbert Knapp who found and then founded it For the Natives who first knew, loved and lived for it For William Horlick who helped to grow it For Jens Jensen who designed the lasting parts of it For Mr. Vance who brought along the children within it For the businessmen and town fathers who once cherished it For the factories that consumed and then abandoned it For the black workers, that last source of willing labor who were sacrificed and then abandoned for the good of it when there was no longer any good to be had in it And for those who never lost their love for it but who are now mostly not living there inside it. So why should I not be shameless for showing both the glory and the underside of Racine, when anything else would favor sentimentality, a falseness that would spoil the book and my memory of life there, which I believe most anyone of intelligence and sensitivity must feel for their homeplace. To be worthy of our humanity we must see ourselves as we are, flawed and aspiring, and the city the same, a work in progress or regress, which is how I have gone through my life here, on this sacred soil. Because of the Journal Times unique censorship of me, hundreds if not thousands of people in Racine, not to mention those who are far gone, will likely never know of my book, with its benefits I had had in mind for them. Sincerely, David

A Goat of a Vendor

When Marash Girl's young grandson Raffi asked the farmer (selling goat’s cheese at the Takoma Park Farmer’s Market) if he (Raffi) could visit the farmer's farm to see the goats, the farmer rudely answered in the negative. Not wanting to hurt the farmer’s feelings, Raffi gently replied, “That’s okay. . . I can visit the goat at my grandma's in Wilbraham."

. . . For Peace And Harmony

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

FOR THE LOVE OF BOOKS . . .

Marash Girl woke up this morning remembering Jimmy, the man who used to work in (or was the head of) the used book department at the Salvation Army Store on Boylston Street, Boston, all those many years ago. Jimmy loved books so much that he actually had to move from the apartment he was renting in Boston, to an apartment twice the size in order to make room for the loves of his life . . . his books!

Let's Beat This Thing Called COVID!!!!

Courtesy of NCS

Sound Advice For Committed Couples . . .

No matter what the issues, or disagreements, . . . "Never, never sleep alone! The life you save may be your own!" Above advice proferred many years ago by Ben Lifson, a friend and classmate at Yale University Graduate School . . .

"Peace Like A River . . ."

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

The Banks of the Charles . . . Where Old Friends Greet And New Friends Meet

Photo by MarashBoy©2021

ROSES TO REMEMBER THEM BY . . .

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Note: Vart (the Armenian word for "rose") is the "nickname" for Vartouhi, a very popular name for Armenian women, many of whom were Marash Girl's aunties!!!!

Sharing Love In The Neighborhood . . .

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

SUNFLOWER BEFORE THE STORM

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

THE CITY OF NEWTON RESPONDS!

Yes, our city responds . . . even when it's only(?) a clogged storm drain! Thank you, City of Newton!!!!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Curious Bunny Rabbit Visits Maple Avenue

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

A View of the Charles River Taken on August 17, 2021

Celebratory Photo by MarashGirl©2021

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, Anoushigus!!!!!

Sirounigus, Aghvorigus, Anoushigus, իմ վաղեմի սերը!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Heartfelt Reminder That Autumn Is On Its Way . . .

Look what Marash Girl found on the sidewalk during her walk home yesterday!!!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Peace On Cape Cod . . .

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Wish we were there . . . But where is there?

A VISIT TO STARBUCKS . . .

If you're going to Starbucks to pick up an order, an order to be delivered to your car in the Starbucks parking lot, be certain to BYO . . . that is, to bring your own napkins!!! Napkins seem to be a difficult commodity to come by these days at Starbucks... Forewarned is forearmed . . . or forewarned is fore-napkined, as it were!

Looking At Life Through The Eyes Of A Child

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

An Iris To Greet You This Morning!

Will you return the greeting?

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

BLACK EYED SUSANS SHARE JOY WITH PASSERS BY

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

"A Rose By Any Other Name . . . "

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

An Ancient Wagon Wheel Finds Its Way To Newton Corner . . .

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

"I Dream Of Jennie With The Light Brown Hair . . . "

And continuing yesterday's blog, Marash Girl remembers how often her dad would walk around the house crooning, "I Dream Of Jennie With The Light Brown Hair . . . "

Remembering Pete, Daddy, Grandpa Peter On His Birthday

Photos by MarashGirl©2021 If the comment section will not take your comments (which often it does not), please email your favorite memories of Daddy/Grandpa Peter, and Marash Girl will post them in the comments below... or better yet, she'll post them in her next blog posts . . . Dad was accepted to MIT with a scholarship, but was unable to attend because of family responsibilities . . . He always wanted to play the piano, but had no time or money to learn, so he taught himself to read music enough to play hymns on the piano and sing along . . . But he made sure that his daughters learned to play the piano, his son the violin!

Photos by MarashGirl©2021 With thanks to Bianca for locating the photos!

FIRST GENERATION was placed on the Mass Book Awards "Must Read" LIST

Congratulations to Krikor Der Hohannesian, whose latest book of poetry, FIRST GENERATION, was placed on the Mass Book Awards Must Read List. Published by Dos Madres Press in 2020, FIRST GENERATION is a collection of essays dealing with the author's experience of being first-born in the United States of America to survivors of the Armenian genocide. Der Hohannesian writes, "The essays were written with the intent to give voice to the silences the author never understood as a child - the seeming erasure of something too painful to put into words. The essays also represent his quest to rectify history and, concomitantly, to break down the resistance to acknowledgement of what transpired now over a century ago. On a more general level, both directly and indirectly, Der Hohannesian's poems attempt to describe the immigrant experience in its many forms, the experience of disparate groups in the United States of America. It is the author’s wish to explore and underscore commonalities that transcend particular ethnicities." N.B. Anyone interested in purchasing a copy may contact the author directly by emailing him at krikorndh@verizon.net

SIGN OF THE TIMES

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Turkish On The Charles!

Was she really understanding the voices floating towards her from the Charles River? Looking toward the voices, she saw two young men, young men speaking in a language other than English . . . a language Marash Girl had not heard in years . . . and, yes, she was understanding that language because it was Turkish . . . the language her parents spoke when they didn't want her to understand what they were saying, and, of course, which she immediately made it a point to understand . . . Turkish, that language from her childhood, in a voice often giving negative commands! "Etmeh!" "Gelmeh!" "Getmeh!" Or expressing negative sentiments . . . "Olmadu!" "O sevmedim!" Or positive sentiments! "O sevdim!" "O çok sevdim!"

MONARCH BUTTERFLY VISITS MARASH BOY TO WISH HIM A HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Can you see the butterfly at the top center of the above photo?

Happy Birthday, Anoushig!

Ծնունդդ շնորհավոր! All these years later, and you're wearing the same beard you were wearing on the very first day that Marash Girl met you at the Harvard Armenian Club, all those many years ago at the Philips Brooks House in Harvard Square!

Cello At The Charles!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021

Have you looked up at the sky recently?

Sometimes we have to remind ourselves to look up!

Photo by MarashGirl©2021